Page 35 of More With You

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

I nod, speechless.

He draws the thin garment down my legs, his lips refusing to abandon my skin for even a moment. As the underwear reaches my ankles, he lifts each foot, as if he’s sizing me for Cinderella’s glass slipper. I doubt Cinderella got up to this kind of thing with her Prince Charming after the ball, but you never know. That stuff isn’t for children’s fairytales; it’s for the adults who still have hope for a happily ever after.

Sure, I haven’t met Grace yet, and this might fall apart like a clump of sand in my hands, but, right now, we’re together and I’m happy. I want this. Even if it doesn’t work out, I want this moment and this night to be a precious keepsake. Unmarred by a shocking revelation, with any luck. A do-over.

He leans forward and kisses my stomach. “If you change your mind, we can—”

“I’m not going to,” I reply, tilting his head up to look at me. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?”

He grins. “Not even one. You’re the only thing in my head.”

“Then, kiss me.” I bend down to press my lips to his, but he’s already one step ahead, catching me around the waist and pulling me into his lap. I yelp in surprise, but he kisses the fright away, pushing his mouth to mine with renewed hunger. I can’t help but match it: my heart beating so hard I can feel it in my neck.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as we sit there in the grass, our bodies entwined, his hand cradling the back of my neck as his other hand runs up the dip of my waist. My fingertips are in his hair again, reveling in the softness, as my hips rock to the rhythm of my desire. His tongue tastes mine, our breaths ragged, our skin hot to the touch, our lips already bruised with passion, our hearts pounding out the same eager drumbeat.

“Thank you for coming to the dock,” he rasps, dipping his head to my throat, exploring every bare part of me.

“I couldn’t have stayed away,” I pant back, as he deftly undoes the last buttons of my dress with one hand. He’s not the ripping, tearing, destructive kind of guy, and I’m glad. He’s slow and sensual and attentive; in no rush to end this, and neither am I.

I close my eyes, arching backward. His hands support my waist, anchoring my spine’s attempt to perform some kind of tantric yoga. Honestly, the strength of him could probably support anything I wanted to try.

“This might sound strange, but you taste incredible,” he whispers against the hollow at the base of my throat. He must feel the chuckle that ripples through me.

“Cocoa butter,” I divulge.

He sighs contentedly. “It’s like the buttercream in the bowl that I’ve been waiting to lick.”

“I’m not stopping you.” I don’t know where the saucy side of me has come from, but I’m not mad at it. Being around Ben has already opened me up in ways I never expected, and I can’t help but think of Lou’s boat, and the sunshine trying to pierce the depths of the ocean. If I were that ocean and Ben was the sunshine, he’d be halfway to seeing the hidden world of the seabed—the innermost part of me that, perhaps, even I haven’t explored.

Smiling, Ben tugs me closer. Gripping me to his chest, my legs tight like a vise around his waist, he gets to his feet. The grass submits to his footfalls, leaving faint prints in the night-darkened green, as he walks to the back porch. I notice him holding the side of my now-open dress, so I don’t expose my bare backside to anyone who might be snooping, even if it’s just the blue heron that’s still waiting for its meal. A sweet gesture of chivalry that brings my lips to his neck, savoring the slightly salty, slightly sweet, slightly metallic taste of his skin. Way better than crawfish heads.

Before I know it, we’re in my bedroom. It’s cool and welcoming: the breeze of the AC washing over us both, wicking away the varnish of humidity.

He guides my legs from around his waist and sets me down. Walking backward with an approving look in his eyes, he closes the bedroom door and stops there for a moment: his back to the duck-egg blue wood that I painted myself.

“You’re… a masterpiece, Summer,” he says raggedly. “I could paint for the rest of my life and never create something as beautiful.”

Shyly, I close my dress a little. “I’ve seen one piece of your artwork and I know that’s a lie.”

“Don’t…” He crosses to me, hooking his fingers in the thin straps of the dress and pushing them off my shoulders. A moment later, the sunflower-spotted dress pools at my feet and I’m all but naked in front of him. I feel… powerful, like I’m a nude model in the center of a life drawing class, all eyes taking in my curves and lines and contours, my shade and light; the details of myself that even I haven’t spotted.

Towering over me, I’m not intimidated by Ben. There’s no reason to be. His strength, his physical prowess, and his height don’t strike fear in me, like they might’ve done, once upon a time. The sum of his parts equals safety and protection: the masculinity of him used for good instead of evil.

His hands cradle my face, and his lips are on mine again, but there’s a change in the way he kisses me. It’s not hunger that’s driving him anymore, but something else. Something I don’t dare to name. It’s too soon for that.

I kiss him back, but the change is there in my body, too. I melt into him, our lips in perfect sync, knowing when the slow parts of our silent, sensual song were coming, and when the crescendo was about to hit. Our tongues dance, our hands chart the new world of one another’s bodies, our breaths harsh and blissful, our passion chasing away the cool of the AC.

I barely notice when he unhooks my bra, but I sure as heck notice when his mouth closes over my nipple. I tug his hair lightly as he sucks a moan from the very core of me, my stomach tightening as a network of tiny lightning bolts crackle through my veins. The electricity splinters into my limbs, triggering a fresh dose of that strange feeling of power.

“This doesn’t feel fair,” I gasp, clinging to him.

He brushes his tongue to my nipple. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve still… got your clothes… on.” My lungs are on fire and my chest is threatening to burst with longing.

He smiles. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I’ve been aching for days. I’m bruised all over, under this shirt.”

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