Page 22 of More With You

“No complaints here, just don’t stop,” I tell him, dipping my head to capture his kiss once more.

He takes my demand to heart and keeps his promise. He’s slow and attentive to every piece of me, as if he’s putting me together again when I had no idea I was even broken. I’m alive in his arms. More alive than I’ve ever been. This is what the books and the movies said it would be, and for all my adult life, I was convinced it had to be a lie. A story that women are told to sell lingerie and flowers and false hopes of earth-shattering sex. I’m realizing that, before this, I knew nothing about being with someone. I thought it was meant to be awkward and embarrassing and the root of so much regret, but it’s none of that. It’s… art made flesh.

“Stand up,” he says, all of a sudden.

I do as he asks, itching to be back in his arms. If I don’t satisfy my craving for him, I think I might burst. My heart is beating to a new rhythm, like frantic jazz, and my breath is the racing woodwind section. He hasn’t changed his mind, has he? He answers that question as he slides off the edge of the sofa and onto his knees, to remove the only obstacles that are still in our way.

As he slowly draws those final flimsy barriers down my thighs, his lips chase the fabric, and I’m submerged in the wonder of him again. How can a kiss feel like paradise? How can his lips on my skin feel like magic? I don’t understand it and I don’t want to. I just want to enjoy him, and this feeling, for as long as it lasts.

Stepping out of the pooled clothes, I hold onto his shoulders for support. My fingernails dig into his muscled back as his tongue finds me, my legs trembling. Hell, all of me is trembling, as if we’ve reached a different frequency in this world, together.

He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t intend to rush, tasting me as if I’m something to be savored. But my body is a traitor, eager to betray his promise. It’s the magic of him, I swear, already driving me toward the edge of pleasure. It started to build the second he came through the door and swept me into his arms, and I can feel myself tipping with every taste he takes.

“Ben… I’m…” I cry out before I can finish the sentence. Words don’t mean anything anymore. We’re beyond that. Instead, I let my body talk, gripping his shoulders as electricity fires through me, my legs so shaky that I stumble against him.

His arms steady me as he rises to his feet, kissing his way to standing. As our eyes meet, something shifts. It’s like rainfall cutting through summer humidity, giving the air a crisp clarity, no longer sluggish and slow. I don’t feel like I’m in control anymore, and I don’t think I want to be. I’m always too careful and too cautious, and I want to throw that caution to the wind for once. Maybe that, in itself, is a kind of power. It feels that way, as I tug his t-shirt over his head and hurriedly unfasten his shorts.

I can’t help but stare at him, as he stands naked in front of me. Anyone would. He might as well have been sculpted, but he’s warm and real and gazing at me as if I’m the first and the last. I step closer to him, feeling his arms wrap around me, and press a kiss to where his heart is beating fast, as my fingertips smooth over the mountain range of his abdomen and up through the center of his chest, committing him to memory the way he’s committed me.

As his mouth finds mine again, I know there’s no turning back. This is what I want. He is what I want. I give into that thought, kissing him until I’m sure our lips must be bruised.

Gasping for air, he sinks back down on the sofa and pulls me onto his lap, ending where we began. It’s a subtle gesture, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s giving me the control. He’s letting me decide how the night will finish. I guess he doesn’t know that I’ve already made my decision, but there’s something I have to do first.

“I’ll be two minutes.” Reluctantly, I climb off him, leaving him in a state of panting confusion, as I race to my bedroom and ransack a few drawers for what I’m looking for. I find it and take a deep breath, hoping the mood hasn’t changed, or that my nerves might get the better of me.

Before I can turn, however, I feel his arms around me, pulling me against him. The heat of his skin sears against mine, evaporating the breath out of my lungs, as my head tilts back. He must’ve come in while I was searching. His lips ignite against my neck as he takes the foil packet out of my hand and turns me around to face him, bringing that beautiful fire to my mouth. With his arm around my waist, we walk back to the edge of the bed, where he sits and tears the packet with his teeth, keeping me in delicious suspense.

Smiling, he urges me to come closer, reaching for my hand. As his fingertips interlace with mine, he pulls me through any lingering fear I might still have. I can’t even think. I suppose I don’t need to. Desperate to feel him, I sit astride his carved thighs, and slowly sink down, satisfying the craving I’ve had since I met him. But I know that hunger won’t end here, because this is no random encounter: this is fate, and this is more than two people having sex. This is two bodies tying a knot in the thread of fate, bound for life, even if I never feel him again.

Secure in his arms, I move as if this is the only time. There’s no awkwardness or fumbling, no getting to know the rhythm of the other. Somehow, we’re already in sync. It’s like we’ve done this before, our bodies remembering something that our minds can’t. Throwing my head back, adorned by his eager kisses on every speck of my skin, complete in a way that I can’t describe, transported to a plane of blissful existence that feels like it should be forbidden, I am invincible. Moving with him, guided by him, while skillful fingertips coax me toward that cresting pleasure again, I’m not Summer Larson anymore. I’m a being made of euphoria, and I speak the language of that bliss—a vocabulary of one word, to be cried out for the slow-moving waters of the Gulf to hear, “Ben.” The rest is breath and moans and ecstasy, and a quiet gratitude that I opened the door tonight.

* * *

I stretch out like a cat, every muscle loose and relaxed, before nestling back into Ben’s welcoming arms. My head rests on his chest, fingertips etching light strokes onto his tanned skin, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that we slept together. Not just that, but that it was good. Really good. Life-changing sounds dramatic, but it wasn’t far off. Even if I’d had more experience, I still think it would’ve been the best I’ve ever had.

The trouble is, now that it’s over, my mind is engaged again. It disappeared for a while in the whirlwind of distraction, letting my body take the reins, but it’s whispering things in the easy silence, stopping me from fully enjoying the pleasure of just lying in his arms. Actually, it’s just whispering one thing. One name. There are things I still don’t know, and I just stripped myself bare in front of this man, in every meaning of the word. The last thing I want is to wake up tomorrow after such an amazing night, find out the truth, and end up repeating old sensations of regret.

I peer up at him, and he grins back down.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his fingertips dancing an elegant ballet up and down my arm. “That wasn’t too fast, was it?”

I shake my head, wishing I could shut my mind up again. “It’s not that.”

“No, I didn’t think it was,” he replies, smiling sadly. “The elephant in the room, right?”

Which one? I don’t say it. This “Grace” thing is probably nothing. Just a vain attempt from Levi to ruin something good for me.

“What happened today?” I start with that. Who knows, maybe it’ll somehow lead into the “Grace” mystery of its own accord.

He continues the fingertip ballet on my arm and lifts his free hand to my face, his thumb brushing the apple of my cheek. “Vacation happened.”

“Huh?”

“My parents, when they’re away, they rent out the pool house and the basement floor to guests. Both have their own entrances, so the vacation people can’t snoop around the main part of the house,” he explains wearily. “Some bachelor party booked for the last two weeks my parents are away. They broke into the main part of the house, after destroying a shit ton of stuff in the pool house and the basement. My parents have staff, but they had the last couple of weeks off, aside from the housekeeper, Mae, and… I guess you’d call him a butler, but I just call him Foster. They live in the house. Anyway, they couldn’t handle the bachelor party, and things got out of hand, so I went to go kick those assholes out of my parents’ house.”

I feel a bit guilty for thinking it was something trivial. “Didn’t they call the cops?”

“My parents are weird about that. Something about upholding a reputation,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. “If I couldn’t handle it, I’d have called the cops, but they wouldn’t be the first bachelor party I’ve had to deal with. I hope they’ll be the last, though. It’s too much stress on Foster and Mae. Maybe, this time, my parents will listen.”

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