Page 18 of The Twelve-Hour Rule
“Touch your clit, Sunshine,” Ben whispers in my ear. His words are clipped, and it’s almost like he’s out of breath as he mutters words of affirmation, something about being so warm and so tight and how this can’t be real. “Come with me, honey.”
His mouth finds my collarbone, slow and patient, and my pulse stumbles. The air between us is heavy with everything that’s happening—this thing that ends right now and the meaning it has for me… My hands hover at his shoulders, then fall back to my sides.
“I—” The word trips out, soft, uncertain. I don’t even know what I’m about to say. Maybewait. MaybeI’ve never done that before.MaybeI’ve only had sex with three people my whole life and you’re asking too much of me.
Ben stops moving immediately. Pulls back just enough to look at me. His hands are flat on the bed, right by my head, and I can feel his warmth from head to toe. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You okay?”
I nod too fast. “I’m in my head.”
“Get out of it,” he says with a slight lift of his lips. It’s not demanding or aggressive, but playful and it makes my body relax. The embarrassment eases and the rush quiets. And this moment becomes something else—steady, careful, real.
“Have I told you how hot you are?” he whispers in my ear, then places a careful kiss on my forehead. His blue eyes are searching mine and I think I know what he’s doing.
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Yes, honey,” he replies, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like we’ve done this a million times and he’s just concerned for my pleasure. “I want you to get out of your head and enjoy this.”
“I am,” I say, and a nervous laugh starts bubbling in my chest and up my throat, until I can’t contain it. He’s still moving inside me, slowly and casually, so I tighten my legs around his waist and pull him in. “More.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with that crooked smile, and his lips find mine once again. This time, it’s needy and urgent, and like he’s definitely trying to get me out of my funk. It works, because the next thing I know, everything in my body coils and tightens, and the only thing I can hear is Ben’s groan and my own scream following after.
My hands press to the cool tile as I breathe, steam curling around me. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear Ben moving around the room—low, quiet sounds of him getting dressed, the rustle of fabric, the zip of a suitcase.
I step out, dry myself with the large towel, and glance outside. I can see him in the reflection: sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s trying to collect himself.
“I should go,” I say once I’m changed.
He looks up, startled. “Already?”
I nod, managing a small smile. “I’ve got a flight to catch.”
He stands, runs a hand through his hair. “Right.”
For a second, neither of us moves. The air feels very thick, and I want to blurt out that maybe we should exchange numbers. We live in the same city… maybe this could work?
“Thanks,” I say finally. It sounds stupid the second it leaves my mouth, especially given all the thoughts I’m having. But I mean it. “For today. For… everything. This was fun.”
His smile is softer this time, almost careful, a little sad. “Anytime.”
I grab my things and head to the door, glancing one last time before I cross the threshold. He’s still there, watching me, eyes steady and unreadable.
“Goodbye, Ben.”
He nods. “Goodbye, Sunshine.”
And that’s it. No grand ending or promise. Just the quiet thud of the door closing between us and the sound of my footsteps fading down the hall.
CHAPTER 9
SOL
“Next,”I hear someone yell, and the line moves forward a few steps.
I’m standing in the check-in line, boarding pass glowing on my phone, suitcase handle slick under my palm. My heart isn’t in it, and I’m dreading going back to mynormallife—an empty, crappy apartment and a city that is way too cold for me.
I tell myself that this is what adults do—what responsible, well-adjusted people do. They have a brief vacation, pack up, and go home. Back to work and the noise and pretending like they don’t feel the quiet creeping in at night.
The woman ahead of me adjusts her reindeer headband and laughs into her phone. Her screen flashes with the smiling faces of what looks like her family, gathered and all wearing cozy sweaters. Behind me, a man hums along to a tropical rendition of “Feliz Navidad” playing through the speakers.
