Ben considers, smiling. God, that smile. Right, before I get lost in daydreams about chasing the freckles from his cheeks to somewhere considerably lower, I make myself focus. He’s talking. I think.
“…for us,” he finishes.
“Right.” Flustered, I chew my lip. Shit. I missed what he was saying.Focus, Charlie.
We go to work selecting colors. I pick out a blue that matches Ben’s eyes, beautiful and deep, a shade I could dive into.
Chapter Seventeen
We have another crunch through snow back to Ben’s house, the snowflakes coming down something fierce. He empties the carrier bag full of wool on his bed: soft pink and charcoal and sea blue, burnt orange and sage green and ivory. Everything feels magical this afternoon, time suspended, like time belongs to people other than us.
The city’s transformed under a fresh canopy of white—and so am I, having grinned all of the way back to Ben’s, not even caring in the slightest who saw me like that. I love getting to know him, and I’m thrilled he trusted me enough to share his secret wool habit with me. When was the last time I was so curious about someone? Or, if I’m totally honest, so happy?
“Will you make another hat?” I ask curiously, admiring the wool haul. Unable to resist, I squeeze the sea-blue ball of yarn from the scatter on the bed, soft in my hand.
I’m definitely getting into the spirt of this now, after my initial hesitation. I’ve already been caught up in Ben’s passion for making things. In addition to his hat, he’d knit the multicolored striped scarf he wore the day we met, and the throw blanket on the bed. And I have a suspicion he’s knit a pullover or cardigan or two, along with the colorful socks on his feet.
Ben grins like he’d been waiting ages for me to ask that specific question. He comes close, sliding his arms around my waist, and nuzzles me, which instantly sparks a cascade of goose bumps across my body. “Nope. I have something else in mind.”
I’ve forgotten what we were saying, and I think he has too. I slide my hands beneath his cloud soft pullover, and his skin is silk. Euphoria thrums taut in my body.
Oh God, he’s way better than any drug.
Before long, I’m helping him out of his top and he’s keen to return the favor. Compared to the morning, we’re more leisurely in our kisses and teasing. Slowly, each piece of clothing falls away: pullovers and jeans and boxers. I leave his socks on, though, because the fuchsia, periwinkle, and dove gray is too damn appealing, and my Debenham’s black socks from a plastic pack are appalling by comparison. Those come off.
We stand in front of the fireplace, fingers tracing each other’s bodies, learning a new landscape. What will make him sigh, shudder, gasp? What will make him feel anything like I feel right now, my breath caught up in my chest, a tangle of anticipation and longing? I explore his body, limned by the spill of daylight from the window behind us. As he responds to me, I thrill in the luxury of him.
My fingernails lightly rake Ben’s back as he groans softly. God, I want him. I want to please him. I want him to want me just as badly.
I cup his arse, press my hardness against his thigh. Meanwhile, he drifts slow kisses across my shoulders and chest, soft as the snowflakes outside. His mouth sears a promise, an answer to my questions, and I tremble in response. Somehow, it feels like we have all the time in the world, caught suspended inside a snow globe, separate from the city beyond this room, separate from reality.
Ben draws me into a deep kiss and I shudder, senses heightened after prolonged teasing. He delights in my responses to him, so raw and so eager. My heart’s exposed like I haven’t dared with anyone else. I’m way past pretending I still have any facade of cool, open in my longing for him.
My cock aches, hot and urgent. Eventually, he sinks to his knees, so close I can feel his breath. His tongue darts for a teasing lick along the head of my damp cock and I can’t help a soft cry. He grins up at me before starting a merciless blow job that soon has me desperate for release. And he teases me to the brink and stops.
He looks up at me with serious sea-blue eyes before that grin I already love appears, wicked and impish and irresistible. “Right. So now you’re going to tie me up.”
What?
“Hmm?” I reel before him on unsteady legs, trying to catch my breath. God, what a state he’s left me in. “’Kay.”
We haven’t covered this sort of territory before, but I’m certainly into it. “Like handcuffs?”
“Like in wool.” Ben’s grin widens, so open and all for me. He nods at the bed, the chaotic tumble of spilled yarn. “You’re going to make me look brilliant. And then you can do anything you want to me.”
“Holy shit, you’re serious.” I laugh, delighted.
Right, so if this is what crafts is all about, I’m definitely in. Except…I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. But I’m damn eager to learn.
“Absolutely.” He dives onto the bed and lobs the pink yarn at me. His cock is rigid, reaching for his belly. Freckles cover his face, shoulders and arms, paling on his torso, and reappear on his legs. “Safe word’s ‘nan.’”
“That’s sick.”
Ben laughs, a beautiful pink blush running from his face to his chest. He brushes bleached hair from his eyes as he gazes affectionately at me. “A color per limb. Go. You have bedposts. Start wrapping. Think shibari.”
I lick my lips, absorbing the gorgeous sight of him, lean and pale, spread out on the crimson duvet. At least I know what he’s talking about, though I’m not exactly up on Japanese bondage techniques, and I can’t promise what I do will be beautiful. But if he wants to be caught in a web of color, that I can manage. With glee.
“Also…blindfold me. I want to be impressed when you let me see again.” He reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out a midnight silk sash.
