Page 51 of Off Script
“You look hilarious!” I sputter.
He’s wearing a ridiculous seventies-style mustache, thick-framed glasses, and a hairpiece that makes his hair look longer and darker.
“Ah, but do I look like the movie star Ben Sutton? That’s the important question,” he says, as he sweeps me in for a hug, molding my body into his.
Holding me tightly, I can’t assess him well enough to answer his question. But I don’t mind. There’s no place I’d rather be than in his arms.
When he releases me, I step back to judge his disguise. “You still look like you… but different enough that I’m not sure I’d recognize you if I saw you on the street.”
“Perfect, I knew this would be good enough. The costume designer suggested that I wear a fat pack to look heavier and a mouthpiece to give me an overbite. But I was too vain to go for the fat pack and I didn’t want the overbite because then I couldn’t kiss you properly.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” I reply, my voice sounding a little breathy.
“We absolutely cannot.”
Ben runs his hands through my hair until he cups the nape of my neck. His touch lights a fire within me, a searing warmth which spreads through my chest and down my core as he gazes at me. Without speaking a word, his eyes convey so much emotion. He nuzzlesmy cheek with his nose before pressing his lips to mine, claiming them. A soft sigh escapes me when Ben prolongs our kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. As our kissing continues, a growing ache pulses between my thighs.
Since meeting in person, Ben and I have taken things slowly. Lots of kissing and some over the clothes touching. On one hand, I appreciate Ben's willingness not to rush me into a physical relationship, but on the other hand, I'm going to bed each night sexually frustrated and horny as hell. If Ben isn't going to instigate taking things to the next level, then I will.
“Get a room!”
We jump apart, flustered by the abrupt interruption. Joanna stands in the doorway, arms crossed and with a wicked smirk plastered across her face.
“I swear to God, JoJo,” Ben grumbles. “I own the whole fucking house. I don’t need to get a room. You need to knock.”
Ben’s wrath doesn’t seem to bother Joanna in the slightest. She replies in a saccharine tone, “Sorry to disturb you, but your driver has arrived.”
Snuggled into his side in the backseat of the black Lincoln Town Car, Ben asks the driver to drop us off about a block from the restaurant, on one of the smaller side streets and away from the prying eyes of any onlookers.
As we walk down the deserted street, I can’t help but stare at Ben. Even with his ridiculous costume, Ben still manages to look handsome. Feeling my eyes on him, he warns, “Don’t look at me like that, Carlisle, or we’ll never make it to dinner.”
Arching a brow, I murmur, “That doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.”
“I guess we do have a few minutes before our reservation at Le Bistro.”
Ben circles his arms around my waist and my hands creep up his muscled chest to rest at the back of his neck. He drops gentle kisses along my hairline, and I tilt my face upwards, wanting to feel his lips on mine again, even if his fake mustache does tickle.
His kiss starts off slow and soft, and I revel in the feeling of his lips. With a needy whimper, I run my hands through his hair, holding his face to mine and slanting my head as Ben’s tongue swirls around mine.
Placing his hands on my hips, Ben pushes me backwards several steps until my back hits the brick building behind me. Pinned against the wall, I feel every inch of Ben’s hard body pressing into me. Shamelessly, I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands move down my hips, drifting to my ass to hold me in place. The feel and friction of his hardening length moving against my core feels exquisite.
Breathing heavily, he rips his mouth away from mine, kissing across my cheek and nibbling the outer shell of my ear.
“Yeah, the mouthguard thing would have been a major mistake,” I pant.
“Fuck me,” he groans, the sexual tension hanging heavily between us.
“I’d like to,” I flirt. The offer to skip our dinner reservation is sounding better and better.
“I’m really trying to do the right thing with you, Carlisle. To take things slowly, but you make it so fucking hard to resist you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine, lust simmering in the depth of his expressive eyes.
“That’s not the only thing that’s hard."
Ben barks out a laugh and releases his grip on my legs, dropping them to the pavement. Then he steps back, adjusting himself in hispants. The sides of his mouth tilt up as he shakes his head slowly. “Come on, my little sex kitten,” he says, holding out his hand towards me. “If we don’t stop now, one, or both, of us will get arrested for indecent exposure.”
When we enter the sophisticated French eatery a few minutes later, it's bustling with patrons and staff, but Ben's costume appears to work because no one pays us any attention. Following the hostess, we weave our way through the dining area as she leads us to a small table in the back, far removed from the crowded front of the house seating. It’s perfect for the privacy that Ben craves.
Glancing around, I spy a few other celebrities eating and drinking at other tables, and I make note to tell Harper about them since she’s into that kind of thing.
