Page 39 of The Destined SEAL
I scoff. “Don’t be such a dude. We’re having a conversation.” I feel giddy I have that effect on him. “You’re all over me,” I say again, smiling this time.
He slides his right hand into his pants and pulls out his cock and starts stroking it in between us. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “I want to be in you,” he says, mouth slightly parted as his breaths come quicker.
I reach up and unbutton the few buttons I have done and let his shirt fall to the floor. “I’m already wet,” I reply, bringing my hand down to slip my middle finger into my wet slit. Ben’s lustful gaze watches, lighting like fire when I move my finger in and out to stroke my clit.
He drops to his knees and moves my hand with his chin. He scratches my inner thighs with his five o’clock shadow, but his lips and tongue? Oh, they lick and suck and fuck me into a wild orgasm that brings me to the floor.
Ben fucks me doggy style in front of the full-length mirror. He forces me to watch him in our reflection, holding my face in place with one hand. “I’m yours, Harper. Do you understand that?” he asks, eyes painfully serious as he pounds me furiously.
I nod, and he shakes his head.
“No. I want to hear you say it. You need to know I’ll never belong to anyone else the way you have me.”
“I understand,” I moan. “I’m going to come hard. All over your cock,” I say, keeping my eyes on his.
He reaches around with his free arm and strokes my clit until I explode around him, flexing and clenching furiously. Waves and waves of pleasure knock me over. Never in my life has sex been such blind bliss. His cock is a balm to my body, the only thing that brings it to life. He comes seconds later, driving his dick deep inside me, hot bursts spraying over and over. I feel the last jerk, and he falls on top of me, barely holding himself up.
We’re both covered in sweat when he rolls off me to rub his knees.
“Guess we have it all sorted then,” Ben says.
“For now,” I pant, grabbing the soreness between my legs. “Ass later?” I ask, pulling one arm across my chest to stretch it, and then the other.
“Heaven, I tell you,” Ben says, leaning over to kiss my lips. When he pulls away, he slides down to kiss my wet pussy. “Heal up, kitten. I’ll see you soon.”
Even through the sore pain, a tingle of pleasure still comes at his lapping tongue. How is that even possible?
“Let’s shower,” Ben says, hopping up. My heart is pounding out a staccato of everything I’m feeling in this moment.
He lets me have all the hot water and finishes me off for the millionth time with his fingers.
“We’re never leaving this house,” I murmur.
“Bowling,” he says.
It sounds more like a threat than anything else.
The beer tastes gross, and the food has more calories than Grandma’s pound cake, but I’m with Ben, so nothing else matters. I throw a spare and dance a little even though I feel like I’ve been ridden hard and hung up wet. We can’t get enough of each other. That’s saying something because we spent every single day together the summer when we turned eleven. We called it the summer challenge. I went on his family vacation, and he came on mine. Our parents took bets on how long it would be until we’d tire of each other. We never did, and they all lost.
Now that we’re adults, it’s a bit of the case of the summer challenge, except years of pent-up sexual frustration equals some seriously mind-blowing orgasms.
“That was lucky. You’re cheating, though, so if you win today it’s because you wore that skirt. I can’t focus.” Ben slides his fingers across the short hem of my skirt and takes them away quickly, teasing both him and me.
“Listen, I can remember multiple times in our past when I wore things far more provocative than this skirt, and you won. Weren’t you paying attention back then?”
He nods, drying his hands on top of the hand dryer. “I’m always paying attention. I hadn’t tasted your pussy minutes before throwing balls down the lane, though. That makes a difference. I think you’re laced with illegal drugs.”
I raise one brow. “Better hope they don’t pop on your next drug screen.” Laughing, I hug him around the waist. “Or maybethey should show up, and then you’ll be dishonorably discharged for swallowing too much Harper Rosehall.”
His chuckle reverberates through my body—buzzing, eliciting the new electric current that connects us. “In all seriousness, though. I love you, Harper Jean.” He squeezes me. Just once. “Everything about this is right. Breathing is easier. Living makes sense. I love you more than anything else, and I can finally say it out loud.” He taps some guy on the shoulder as he gets up to bowl on the lane next to us.
“Sir, excuse me. I need you to know that I love this woman. I love her,” he says again, repeating himself just to make me squirm with embarrassment. Ben releases me, throws his fists up to the ceiling, and screams, “I’m in love with Harper Jean!”
The guy looks at him funny, flicks his gaze to me wearing a confused smirk, and points at his ball waiting for him on the rack.
I’m too smitten to be angry at Ben’s insane outburst. Grabbing me again, he pulls me against his chest. “I love you,” he whispers, confirming I understand the severity of his words.
While we’ve said I love you to each other so many times in our past, this time it means something more. It means the love we spent years cultivating through friendship finally gets the opportunity to break through and live on its own. Gazing at his face, so different, yet exactly the same, I finally reply, “I love you, too.”
