Page 35 of Love Beyond Repair
This night is turning out to be unforgettable, and I’m finally going to get my girl.
Chapter eighteen
Ben
My sheets still smell like her. Lilies and wine, a fragrance uniquely Bex. It lingers on my skin, on my pillow, in the air surrounding me. I lie still, my body aching in the best way possible, but my mind won’t settle. Last night was everything I dreamed it would be and more.
The ball. Her dress. The way she looked at me like I was worth something. The slow dance. And later, the way she touched me like she already knew me. What happened has been building for months, maybe years. Or longer. It wasn’t a mistake. It was exactly what I wanted. But now, with the high fading, reality starts to creep in. What the hell happens now?
I glance over to the other side of the bed. No sign of her. Perhaps she woke and ran. I wouldn’t blame her. My chest tightens. Not from guilt, exactly. But I think of Kelsey back in her childhood bedroom, cuddled up somewhere between her pink sheets and stuffed toys. We’ve been done for over a year, but I know what people will say.
Once I step out of this room, it all gets complicated.
I’m lying, staring at the ceiling, when the soft hum of music playing from my bathroom grabs my attention. She’s still here. My body relaxes. I sit up and pull the crumpled sheets up over myself, wrapping them around my waist. Swinging my feet out of the bed, I flex my toes before they connect with the cold laminate floor.
Scanning the room, I think it looks like a bad porno has taken place. The side table has been knocked over, leaving a bottle of wine smashed on the floor. I vaguely remember my back connecting with it as we whirled into the room, all mouths and hands. Clothes are scattered across the floor; we ripped them off each other in our enthusiasm.
I look up, and a dirty smile stretches across my face when I notice the black lace hanging from the ceiling light. How the fuck did her bra get up there? And just like that, I’m hard again as the memories of last night come flooding back.
The car dropped us at the curb, the night air cool against my skin. I opened her door, my final gentlemanly act of the evening. As we walked up the path, adrenaline thrummedthrough me, and I couldn’t help myself. I’d scooped her up and thrown her over my shoulder.
Bex squealed, kicking her legs as her evening gown floated around us in the low breeze. Her laughter echoed in my ears, sparking a need deep in my chest that almost felt primal.
We crashed through the front door, half stumbling, half devouring each other. Her mouth found mine, wild and hungry, and I staggered backward toward my room. My jacket hit the floor, quickly followed by her wrap. Her fingers clawed at my shirt, dragging me closer, and there was no space left between us—only need and the thrumming desire.
My world narrowed to her. The taste of wine on her lips, the hitch in her breath, the way her nails scraped my skin. Every touch spent sparks racing; each kiss left me aching for more.
The bed caught the back of my legs, and we tumbled down together, half laughing, half moaning. She landed on top of me, her nose tip brushing mine. For a heartbeat, she smiled softly, almost coy, before slipping from my hold, standing, and turning away.
“Can you unzip my dress?” she whispered with a glance over her shoulder.
I was on my feet in a nano-second, pinching the silver clasp and sliding it downward. The dark material parted, exposing smooth skin and a flash of black lace. When thezipper came to the small of her back, silence stretched between us, thick with anticipation and the possibility of everything that was about to happen.
Bex let the dress fall in a silky pool at her feet. When she turned back to face me, her cheeks flushed a delicate rose. Her eyes widened with a flicker of uncertainty that twisted something inside me, a desperate need to reassure her and claim this moment as ours.
“You’re stunning,” I murmured, lowering my hands to her hips.
“Ben…” she whispered, almost like a question.
“It’s happening. We’re happening.”
Sensing she needed reassurance, I drew her close. Her breath caught as my fingers traced the curve of her spine, each touch measured, gentle, and deliberate. This was our first time, and I was damn sure I was going to savor it. She rested her palms on my chest, fingers flexing as if needing to steady herself.
As I snapped my cufflinks from my shirt sleeves, her fingers moved to the buttons, releasing each one slowly before pushing it over my shoulders so it joined her dress on the floor.
Her hands skimmed over my chest, a featherlight touch that sent heat rushing through me. The soft brush of her fingertips left a trail of fire, and when she looked up at me through her lashes, something inside me unraveled. My control wavering completely until it vanished.
I cupped her face, thumbs brushing her flushed cheeks, and kissed her slow—so slow it nearly undid me. She sighed into the kiss, the sound fragile and sweet, before pressing herself closer, her nails grazing down my sides as if to anchor herself.
When she sat on the edge of the bed, I kneeled to slip off her heels, my lips tracing the inside of her ankle before trailing upward. She shivered, her breath coming faster, and I knew she felt it too. The weight of this moment, the years of longing coiled tight between us. A longing neither of us had given space until now.
She pulled me up to her, her mouth finding mine again, hungrier this time. The kiss deepened, heat building as her hands tangled in my hair. I let my palms roam her body, memorizing every curve, every shiver she gave me.
As I eased her onto her back, any doubt melted away, replaced by a pure and fierce need. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her. I felt her heart hammer in her chest, synchronized with mine. Each beat bringing us a step closer to what we both craved.
I took my time, our remaining clothes becoming tangled within the sheets. Each kiss, each touch, told more truth than any words could. She met my need with the same urgency, her fingers finding my cock and wrapping around the shaft, guiding me home.
As I slid inside, she opened for me; there was no pause, no friction. We were the perfect fit, both heat andconnection as I sank deep. We moved together, slow at first. The tension building higher with each deliberate stroke. Bex arched her back, pushing her hips toward me, wanting more. She moaned, and my patience broke. The need, the desire, the want, all rushing to the surface.
