Page 78 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“You know, it’s okay for you to take the couch, Benedikt. You don’t need to sleep in that thing,” I tease and hide a grin.
He shoots me a look, places the bed near the door, and taps on the cushion, trying to lure what appears to be our new roommate over. The raccoon, not falling for such a simple trick, glances at me, then over to Ben, and back at me again.
“Right,” I say, mostly relieved I still haven’t been mauled, and carry him over to Ben.
He slides out of my arms and onto the little mattress, where he stretches dramatically, and waits for Ben to provide him with more snacks.
“You know feeding wild animals is not recommended for a number of reasons. So I’m thinking giving them a bed in your home is definitely frowned upon.”
Ben shakes his head. “He’s not wild, Panda. Obviously. He must be a highly trained emotional support animal. Or maybe he was trained for the movies. Either way, he’s always welcome here. He is our son after all.” Ben leaves the door slightly ajar and continues to play with his new friend. I watch them for a moment, then return to work on the painting.
When it gets late and the two of them are still bonding, I inform my new roommate that our furry visitor can’t actually stay the night.
Ben agrees, thankfully. “I just got the bed in case he visits. Which he did.” He checks the clock. “And now it’s time to go to bed.”
We both glance down and, as if on cue, the raccoon rolls off the bed and onto Ben’s lap, reaching for the handful of treats he’s holding. Once he’s grabbed more than he can reasonably carry, he scurries off like he has his own plans for the night.
“Very well-behaved, don’t you think?” Ben laughs when he closes and locks the door. “I’d like to think he got that from me. But anyway, time for bed, Panda.”
Without thinking about it too much, I do as Ben—or rather my new routine—tells me to do. He helps me clean the paintbrushes, before we’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the tiny bathroom, brushing our teeth like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like we do this every night.
Well, it feels normal… apart from the fact that I’m trying hard not to stare at him. Which, of course, I fail at. Eventually, he does catch my eye in the mirror, his mouth covered in foam. Once again, he looks annoyingly adorable.
“Are you always this focused when brushing your teeth, Panda?” he asks.
I spit into the sink. “Well, it’s the only time my arms ever get a proper workout. Gotta make it count.”
Ben laughs, trying to keep his mouth shut, but some of the foam escapes and splatters onto the mirror. He has these little wrinkles around his eyes that I love.
“You should see me floss,” I add in an attempt to make him spit even more toothpaste. “It’s a whole performance. Not many people know this, but me flossing actually inspired Steven Spielberg to make the movie Jaws.”
More white droplets splash against the mirror as a little smirk creeps onto my lips. I rinse my brush and, without me asking, Ben hands me the towel.
His lips curl around the bristles in a wide, foamy grin. “Funny. Because that was my exact thought when I first met you. I thought: she’s just like the shark in Jaws. Of course, you didn’t bite me, you just slapped me.”
“I did. You and your hand deserved it. And thank you for noticing. People rarely ever get what I’m going for. Anyway,” I say as Ben is finishing up as well, “get out so I can take a shower.” I flick the towel at him playfully.
Without much effort, he catches the edge of the fabric, holding it like a challenge. He pulls me closer, as if he’s testing the waters, and we stare at each other for a beat before he lets go.
I release a deep sigh.
“Don’t forget to clean behind your gills, Panda Shark,” he teases.
The door shuts behind him, leaving me once again alone—and horny—and in desperate need of an ice-cold shower. It’s already close to bedtime, so I wash quickly, towel off, and head straight to bed.
Outside, Ben is already waiting his turn. He steps past me—slow, deliberate—and into the bathroom.
“Goodnight, Helena,” he says, low and velvety, each word dripping like honey, making me feel warm and… like I need to be spanked. Hard.
For having thoughts like this.
For wanting to be spanked by him.
For wanting all of this. All of him.
I try even harder not to think about Ben Lyon. About Ben Lyon getting undressed in the next room. About Ben Lyon lathering his muscles in body wash. About Ben Lyon rubbing his?—
Charger.
