I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 16 BEN

Chapter 16

B EN

“Good morning, gorgeous,” I tell the snoring monster in my bed.

She’s on that razor’s edge between passed out and sleeping, her hair wild, arms and legs askew across the whole bed, and one foot dangling toward the floor.

When we got home last night, I had to carry her inside, help her change into sleep clothes—one of my Midnight Destruction shirts again—and tuck her in. I also did not sleep on top of the covers this time, but rather wrapped around her, keeping her close all night. I told myself it was so I could be sure she didn’t get sick in her sleep, but the truth is, I’d wanted to hold her.

Drunk Hope was horny as hell, though, and put me through the wringer, snuggling into me, wiggling her ass against my hard cock, which refused to be contained by my underwear, and whispering such delightful things as, Shhh, don’t tell Ben, but I want him to kiss my vajayjay, and What if I’m bad at sex because I’ve only done it with Roy? There was also an off-key rendition of “Let’s Get It On” in which Hope attempted to sing baritone while dancing horizontally.

In short, last night was great.

For me, at least. For Hope, I’m afraid she’ll be paying the price this morning despite the water and aspirin I got her to take after giving her my Girl Scout pledge—yes, Girl Scout —that I was not roofie’ing her to “have my wicked way with her and then steal her kidney.”

“Wut? Why wake up?” she mutters as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Getting one open, she peers at me. “If you say the word boat , I’m gonna throw up,” she deadpans. Even hungover, she’s got jokes.

I laugh. “If you didn’t throw up last night, you probably won’t this morning.” Then I lift the tray I’m holding up into her line of sight. “Breakfast.”

That gets her moving, and she picks up her head, both eyes open now. “What is it?” When she sees the avocado toast with a fried egg on top, cup of coffee, and water bottle, she sighs. “Oh, that looks delicious.” She sits up in bed, arranging the blanket over her lap and then looking on in wonder as I set the tray over her legs. “Thank you.”

As I sit down on the bed beside her, she digs in, moaning about how good the simple breakfast is and doing an adorable food-happy dance. “Figured you could use it after last night.”

The fork freezes in midair, halfway to her mouth, and she groans as she remembers. “Hamburger Help-me, I was so drunk. Did I do anything embarrassing?”

“You don’t remember calling the waitress a bitch and humping my leg, begging me to kiss your vajayjay?” I ask, holding up the leg in question. It’s paler than the rest of me, a by-product of always wearing jeans and living a vampire’s schedule for the past few months of touring.

She blinks slowly once, twice, three times and then grins. “I said ‘embarrassing.’ That”—she points the thankfully empty fork at me—“was awesome. Except you didn’t kiss me.” She takes a bite, snapping her teeth on the fork in fake anger.

“You sober now?”

“Judging by the faint drum solo happening in my head,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, “unfortunately, yes.”

I lean over, tilting her chin up. I see the smile on her lips for a split second before I close my eyes and touch my lips to hers. She kisses me back, but suddenly jerks away with wide eyes, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Nooo, I’ve got morning breath!”

“I don’t care, Hope,” I laugh. “I’d kiss you anywhere, anytime—morning breath, sweaty, or fresh as a daisy. If I’m sticking my tongue in you, I. Don’t. Care.”

She blushes and teases, “Aw, you say the sweetest things.” But since she takes another drink of water and swishes it around in her mouth, I’m guessing she’s still a little mortified. “You keep seeing me at my worst.”

“If this is your worst, you’re in damn-good shape.”

Her eyes drop to her plate, where she pokes at her toast. “I didn’t mean me getting drunk. I meant all of it.” She chances lifting her gaze to mine as she waves her hand around, encompassing what I’m guessing is the entirety of the time I’ve known her.

I touch my nose to hers and peer into her eyes. “So did I.” I kiss her again to prove my point.

Hope’s smile blooms by degrees as my words sink in.

And then it’s like the small touches, glances, and cuddling all night catch up with us in an instant. We ignite, and Hope grasps my face to pull me in closer. I lean over the tray, probably spilling coffee everywhere, but all I care about is kissing her.

Her mouth is air. Her body, fire. Her soul is earth. I want to drink her like water.

“Elemental,” I murmur against her mouth, not meaning to speak.

“Huh?” she answers, and I shake my head, not able to explain right now.

I move the tray out of our way and pull Hope over my lap to straddle me. The heat of her pussy, through both her panties and my underwear, is scorching, and I groan at the contact, gripping her hips to move her up and down my cock, rubbing myself with her.

Hope throws her head back, her nails digging into my bare chest. “Keep doing that,” she pleads.

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I push and pull her along my shaft, dragging her clit over me so she gets the friction she wants. Normally, I’d wish I were truly inside her, but watching Hope lose control from this is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, and it’s enough to take me to the edge. In minutes, I’m fighting to hold on as her hips start to buck and she seizes control of the pace, taking what she needs.

I move my hands up her body, under her shirt, to pluck her nipples. I could take the shirt off her, but there’s something primal about her wearing my band name across her chest while getting off on me. Even though she doesn’t know the significance of the shirt, it feels like a claim in a dark way I should probably examine. Like with a therapist, though I never will.

“Come on me, Hope. Use me to get off.”

Her eyes flutter closed as her panting breaths become a cry. “Yes, now—” Hope’s body goes tight as a guitar string, and then she full-body shudders as spasms rack through her. She sags over me, and I take her mouth fiercely, wanting to swallow her sounds of pleasure as I move her hips for both of us, helping her ride it out as long as possible.

“Ohmagawd,” she mumbles, blissed out.

I roll us, putting her back to the bed before I crawl down, centering my shoulders beneath her knees and nuzzling my nose along her inner thigh. I can smell her arousal, and fuck, I want to taste her. “Still want me to kiss your pussy, Hope?” I look up her body to find her peering down at me hungrily. Her lips are parted, her chest rising and falling, and she nods, giving me permission.

This is a big deal to her. It’s a big deal to me too. It’s the first time I’m going to discover her heaven.

I push her soaked panties to the side, revealing her pussy. She’s bare, probably freshly waxed for her wedding, and flushed a deep pink from rubbing on me. “So fucking pretty, Hope.”

When I trace a gentle finger over her outer lips, goose bumps pop up on her legs. She’s so responsive. This is going to be fun. Hope’s learning about herself in so many ways, and this is one way I can definitely be of use.

“Tell me what you like, what you want.” I meet her gaze, but she stays quiet, her jagged breathing the only answer.

Keeping our eyes locked, I dip a finger into the wetness at her opening and spread it up to her clit, circling it slowly. Her brows knit together as she nods.

“Good girl.”

I press a kiss right on her clit. Another nod.

I lick her with the tip of my tongue, getting a hint of her taste. “Mmm,” I moan, and she whimpers, nodding stiffly. I slip my tongue inside her, wanting more of her sweetness. “Fucking delicious.”

“Please—” she cries.

“Please what, Hope? Tell me. Anything,” I say roughly. I’m on edge, wanting to attack her with pleasure, but I don’t want to go too hard, too fast, too soon. Fuck, I could scare her with all the filthy things I want to do to her ... with her.

“Fingers. Mouth,” she gasps, arching her pussy up to my face to explain where she wants me.

That, I can do. I easily slide two fingers into her and suck her clit into my mouth, battering it with flutters of my tongue. “Yessss,” she sighs. I fuck her with my fingers, giving her clit all the attention it deserves, while watching her reactions to see what she likes best. I want to learn everything about her—body, mind, and soul.

Before long, my hand’s drenched and she’s jerking sporadically. I crook my fingers up, petting her front wall. She instantly curls up, her hands weaving into my hair to hold me at her center. “What are you doing to me?” she gasps. “Something’s happening ... Don’t ... stop ... please ...”

Has she never had her G-spot touched? Or her clit worshipped? By her own fingers, a toy, or—it pisses me off to even think it but—her ex? Given her reaction, it doesn’t seem so. My grin is pure evil as excitement builds inside me because I get to be the lucky fucker to corrupt Hope’s sweet innocence. I rub the rough spot inside her, sucking her clit the way I’ve discovered she responds to most, and take her higher and higher.

She’s trying to stay quiet, biting her lip and holding back. “Let go, Hope. I’ve got you.” I don’t show any mercy, roughly fingering and licking her like my life depends on her next orgasm.

My future might. Because I’m completely addicted to her. It’s happened slowly over the past few days, little microdoses getting me attuned with her, wanting her, needing her until she became the sun in my dark days.

Consumed with her spirit, obsessed with her soul, her body is a vessel beyond all control.

When she shatters, she nearly screams her pleasure as her body contorts from the release. “Fucking beautiful,” I praise her. “All of you.”

I should say more, but I’m too far gone, my cock painfully hard and leaking. I rise up to my knees, pulling myself free. I watch her eyes go wide with a mix of fear, excitement, and lust when she sees me. “Not this time, Hope. When I get inside you, I want to stay there as long as I can. You’ve got me on the edge of blowing right now.”

I swipe my fingers through her juices and take myself in hand, smearing the mix of her come and my pre-come up and down my shaft. Her eyes never leave my cock as she watches me pump myself right above her pussy, bumping the head to her swollen clit every few strokes. Hell, I don’t think she even blinks, not wanting to miss a moment, which is sexy as fuck.

My whole life is complicated by the anxiety that consumes me when people watch me being vulnerable onstage. No matter how many times I tell myself it’s fine, that they like me and my music and aren’t going to boo me out of there for being a worthless piece of shit, I don’t believe it. I hide from them, from everyone.

But I want Hope to see me. I want her eyes, her attention, her mind ... her pussy ... right there beneath me ...

I growl as I feel the explosion coming. I try to keep my eyes open, wanting to watch as I shoot white jets of come onto her body, marking her with every hot drop, but my lids close as my eyes roll back. She hasn’t even touched me and it’s the hardest I’ve ever come in my life.

I collapse over her, propping myself on an elbow to kiss her. As our kisses turn gentle, she starts to giggle, which is not exactly the post-orgasm response I was hoping for.

“Hope?”

She tries to cover her grin, but it’s reaching all the way to her eyes, making them sparkle, so it doesn’t work in the slightest. Plus, she’s in full-on giggle mode now.

“I’m sorry—I’m not laughing at you.” I raise a brow, not believing her. “I’m laughing at me because I think I’ve been doing sex wrong my whole life.” She waves her hands through the air and shakes her head. I can see the joy in her smile, the satisfaction in her body, and the bliss turning her blue eyes hazy and happy.

“Wait until I tell you that we haven’t even had sex yet,” I deadpan.

“It gets better, doesn’t it?” she asks, looking downright giddy.

I smirk, glad she’s not regretting what we’ve done. “It does, but you might need a minute after that.”

She mimes checking her watch, though her wrist is bare. “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!”