“Oh…” Air rushes out of my lungs. What’s he saying, exactly?
“Only if you want,” he says. “We don’t need to be exclusive if you’re not into that, but I think…I think going on another date with you would be grand, Charlie. Get to know each other more. What do you think?”
I squeeze his hand.
Maybe Emily’s right. Maybe I need to let go of the dating ban and take a chance. At least for a little while.
“Believe me, I don’t have time for dating a harem with my schedule. Just you. I mean…maybe a little longer? Till the snow melts?”
He grins. “Fair enough. I’ve cut back on my harem. And I hear you about your schedule. I definitely don’t want to interfere with time spent with your daughter. Plus, I’ve got my tour coming up after Christmas. It’s going to be busy, and I want it to be big, you know?”
“I don’t want to hold you back if you want to see other people. I get it. I’m also really busy and all that—”
“But listen. There’s no one else I want to date right now. My ex is old news.” Ben pauses, as though to clear his head of memories, a flicker of something across his face. “I want to get to knowyou. When you have time. I’ll wait. And do whatever I can to help you.”
An ex? Interesting.
I want to know more about that, but tonight we’ve covered more than plenty. I don’t want to wreck the mood after getting to this point after the mess I made of things. I’ll leave the subject for another day. But it’s silly that it didn’t occur to me before that he has histories and hurts of his own. I guess I was just thinking it was a weekend fling and what does Ben’s history matter? And I didn’t expect the weird twist of my guts at that flicker ofsomethingacross Ben’s face at the mention of his ex.
What if I’m the rebound diversion? Then again, what does it matter? This can’t last beyond the snow melt, can it? And yet it feels like so much more, even in a handful of days. Because he seesme. As I am, not as I should be or how other people want me to be.
Heat rises in my face again. “I’m not used to this sort of attention.”
Ben lightly bites my fingers. “I can tell. You’ll need to start getting used to it, I’m afraid. Beginning now.”
I laugh, relaxing at last between his touch and his interest. “All right.”
“Good?”
“Good. More than great. Fantastic.”
Ben’s gone and done something funny to me, leaving me all soft inside. We kiss then and once more it’s electric between us.
His kisses burn my lips, his hands roaming and hot, and I’m whimpering and hungering for more. I want him—all of him—most greedily and soon we’re sliding urgent fingers inside each other’s clothes by the fire. Soft sounds escape us and dear God this would be a terrible time for his housemate to walk in. He must have had the same thought, and we pause long enough to fumble our way down the hall to his room and resume.
We kiss in the doorway. I press him inside the room.
Ben beams at me, his lips against my ear. “I’d rather like it if you tied me up again.”
“Mmm.” Excellent news: tying him the other day had been rather spectacular. I could grow used to trussing Ben into art, sculpting him into new forms.
He leads me over to a wooden box—a mid-sized oak chest—sat on a table and he opens it, revealing all manner of things. Sex toys. Floggers. Restraints.
“Very educational,” I say, grasping his arse while I rummage through the box, taking stock. As far as I can make out, there’s two sets of cuffs, one in black leather and the other in gold. I think he’d look spectacular in gold, like a naughty angel in gilt, bound to the bed so I can commit all manner of sins to him. I shudder in anticipation.
“These.” I retrieve the gold set of restraints.
“Mmm,” he says with approval, satisfied. “What else? You’ll need to tie me down, probably. I mean, I hate to interfere with your vision.”
I shiver at the thought, running my fingers over the items in the box, trying to figure out what’s what. There are lengths of rope in different shades: oxblood, black, green. Tape, even. Colorful strapping catches my eye. My fingers hesitate over dark purple leather. Like the yarn, I’m drawn to the color.
I take the items over to the bed, setting them down on the crimson bedspread.
“A fine vintage,” he says lightly, kissing me as we continue to help each other out of our clothes. I strip him down. I still wear my boxers while I admire the sight of him. In the low light, he’s all lean muscle, arms toned from all that guitar playing or bar work, or who knows what. But he’s a vision to look at and after our revelations not long ago, all our emotions are on the surface, at least for me. I’m not used to feeling like this, and it’s another sort of euphoria.
I see him like this and I’m filled with all kinds of urges. Like the discovery of another me beneath the surface, dormant, that comes to life when I touch Ben. And the desire to do filthy things, to have him beg and release at my bidding, already has me dancing on the edge of euphoria. Combined with some angst that I’m not entirely sure of what I’m doing. But judging by the way he looks at me, he’s well up for anything. His body’s already taut with anticipation. His breath catches just so, the movement of his stomach barely visible beneath his graceful ribs.
We stand face to face, my hand tracing his pecs. They’re warm and sleek, covered in fine hair, and when I tease his nipples, he shivers, watching me.
