Page 17 of The Twelve-Hour Rule
“Probably,” he agrees. Neither of us moves.
Then I laugh again, softer this time, and he catches the sound with another kiss.
The next few minutes are a blur—the rush of water, the heat in my chest, the shared, unspoken understanding that this isn’t over quite yet.
By the time we stumble into his room, dripping and sun-flushed, I can’t remember who reached for who first. His fingers find the small of my back, and my heart does something traitorous.
The door clicks shut behind us, and I’m already turning toward him when he catches my face with both hands.
The kiss is harder this time, more certain. Lesswhat ifand moreI need.
“Shit, okay,” he says into my mouth, dropping a kiss and walking me backwards deeper into the room. He stops mid-hallway and pulls me against his body, grabbing at my ass and wrapping my leg around his hip. He rocks his hips slowly, his erection pressing against my core and my knee buckles. Somehow, in the fumble, I end up with both legs wrapped around him, and he’s carrying me to the bed, peppering kisses down my neck while tugging at my hair with one of his hands. “Fuck, yes.”
“Yes?” I say, but I mean to sayyes!Absolutely and enthusiastically yes.
“I mean, are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say with a laugh, and he smiles into my mouth before dropping me on top of the covers, dripping wet from the abrupt pool departure. “But I only have two hours so?—”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he cuts me off.
“That’s absolutely not what I was going to say but I won’t oppose that idea.”
He laughs and starts taking off his clothes. His shirt comes first, and I’m mesmerized by his movements; hurried and urgent, but efficient and intentional at the same time. He pulls me towards the edge of the bed and slips my bikini bottoms off and a shiver runs up my spine at the way he inspects me, licking his lips like I’m the most delicious meal.
He’s been doing this all day—watching me with those blue eyes like he wants to memorize every inch of me.
“Fuck.”
“You’ve said that already,” I tease, my voice softer than I intend. He drops his shorts, tugging at his cock a couple of times so casually that I lose focus. “Get over here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with that fucking smile of his and I don’t know what to do, because it’s completely undoing me.
When he reaches for me, the world narrows—heat, breath, touch, and the impossible awareness of how close we are. Everything blurs into sound and movement, and for once in a long time, my thoughts finally go quiet.
“Do you have any idea the dirty, dirty things I want to do to you?” he whispers, licking from my shoulder to my ear as he crawls over me. I barely catch his words over the rush of blood in my ears. Whatever he’s saying, it isn’t rehearsed. It’s raw and instinctive and feral. And it sends another shiver down my spine.
I drag my hands up his inked arms and tangle my fingers through his tousled hair. His pupils are blown, and I know I’m in trouble as soon as he looks at me. He leans in until our foreheads touch, and for a second, neither of us moves.
My breathing grows erratic and I slam my lips against his, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow—partly because there isn’t. I’m leaving in a few hours and won’t see him again. There’s no point in holding back, really.
“Do them, then,” I say into his mouth. I feel his smile on my lips, and he starts rocking his hips into mine, thrusting slowly and pressing his cock against my clit in slow motion.
“Oh, Sunshine,” he says, reaching his hand to the nightstand where a box of unopened condoms sits. “I don’t think we have time for that.”
The air feels thick, unsteady, charged with everything we’re not saying.
I don’t make a sound, instead choosing to follow him with my eyes as he covers his dick with a condom with so much precision. I’m losing my patience, but at the same time this gives me a moment to simply observe: how his muscles bunch as he moves, how the fine lines of his tattoos shift with him and not because of him. My heart thrashes in my chest, and I know that this is the right thing, right now. I might regret it later, but I feel like thisis exactly what I needed to get out of my funk and I hate that my friends were right all along.
Ben surges forward, his mouth on my lips before I can take a breath. His tongue is moving with mine, and his hips are pressing against me—his cock is so hard and hot and pressing against my clit in just the right way.
My hands find his hair and he whimpers, and I swear that makes me almost come. It feels like we’re both needy for each other, just trying to find pleasure in each other in a desperate way. I’ll never see this man again.
He sucks on my bottom lip and I moan, feeling how his cock is moving against my pussy. The press of him makes my breath catch, and everything in my tightens, heat spooling deep in my belly.
“Fuck,” he says as he moves slowly in and out. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Heat surges through my body, and my toes curl slightly because I’m suddenly aware I’m so, so close to orgasm. He moves at a steady pace as he kisses up my shoulder and neck, licking right below my ear. My hands keep searching for something to hold on to but I’m too distracted by the pressure building in me, and the way his movements are hitting that spot in just the right way.
