Is he awake? Delirious? He won’t remember any of this in the morning. He rubs my nipples and presses his hot velvety cock into my backside.
“Fawl.” He says it harshly, and he slips his hand away from my breast to stroke himself behind me. The head of his thick cock slips between the full cheeks of my ass as he soothes himself.
“Ah, gods, it hurts,” he moans. “I need you.”
I close my eyes and press my thighs together. Everything feels tight, flushed,achingwith need. I feel the slick, heated tip of him nestling between my cheeks, and—God help me—I lift my thigh in invitation.
He’s hurting, I remind myself. This is mercy. I guide the thick, throbbing length of him between my slick folds—but not inside.Not inside.See? I still have control. I’m not a monster.
He grinds once, and the textured ridges of him scrape against my clit, dragging a sound from my throat I didn’t know I could make. My back arches. My eyes fly open.
He’s scorching between my legs, every inch of him pulsing with need, and when I glance down, I see the glistening crown nudging forward—a gorgeous, pulsing purple, velvet, platinum-veined thing that makes my mouth water. He rocks his hips, sliding against me until the head finds that perfect spot again.
His hands grip my hips. He has me, and he’s not letting me go.
“So wet…” He groans, his voice rough with disbelief, each roll of his hips pulling another low moan from us both.
I double over. He feels so good slick, velvet-hard—rubbing me off, the glimmering tip catching, dragging, gliding across my clit—it’s too much. Too good. I'm unraveling.
He reaches up and pinches my nipple, then squeezes and kneads me until I whimper helplessly.
“Fawl…incredible,” he mutters. He is searing and maybe delirious, but he knows what he’s doing.
“Ben!” It’s the first time an orgasm has snuck up on me and grabbed me by the neck. “Fuck! Holy! Ben!” I come. Dazed and half-blind, shaking. Gripping the sheets and pushing my ass into him. I close my legs tighter around his thickness, and that’s when he explodes over my pussy. His cum pumps hot and thick, running down my already-slick thighs.
“Holy Ben,” he says softly against my shoulder blades. Then he falls asleep—simply drops like a stone in the bed, like someone turned off a switch in his head.
If his theory of skin is bullshit, I may have just made him worse.
Chapter17
The Lab
For two days, Ben barely slept, barely ate, running on nothing but data and nerve endings, a live wire sparking against the world. His hedonism teetered from hyper-fixation on me to his work. I thought—hoped—he had burned through the worst of it.
I was wrong.
Atthree in the goddamn morning, I wake to find him sitting by my bedside.
Not pacing. Sitting. Hands folded. Perfectly still.
I startle so hard that I nearly fall off the bed. “God, Ben, don’t do that!” My pulse is a drumbeat against my ribs. “What—what is it? What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t blink. He barely breathes.
“Come with me,” he says.
That’s it. No explanation, no context. Just that.
“Ben. Where?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s top secret.” His voice is low, urgent. “No one has ever seen this before.”
I squint at him in the dark. “What are you doing?”
His lips twitch, the shadow of a smile flickering—uncertain, almost shy. “I’m being impulsive.”
I squeeze his hand. I don’t want to break whatever fragile thread we’re spinning between us.
