Sonny rearranged her face to hide her emotions, something she’d become very good at. “What name was he going by then? Arlen what?”
“Diels,” her mother said softly. “Arlen Diels.”
CHAPTER 14
James opened the door for her, his hair sticking up all over the place, a fleece blanket around his thin shoulders. He rubbed his eyes in a measured lack of concern to see her, returned to his comfy spot on the couch, and proceeded to snooze.
Sonny tiptoed upstairs to Ben’s room. Finding the door unlocked, she entered quietly, determined not to wake him up. She was feeling too raw for sexual intimacy anyway, too emotional to look him in the eye.
But she needed something only he could give her.
After visiting her mother, she’d turned off her cell phone and disengaged the GPS. Grant couldn’t call her and he couldn’t track her. When he caught up with her, she’d be reprimanded, at the very least. Until then, she was going to treasure every stolen moment.
Ben slept like the dead, obviously. He was sprawled out on his back, one arm flung across the bed, the other lying on top of his chest. The comforter hung off the side of the bed. One leg, dark and hairy against the white sheets, was completely exposed.
She unbuttoned her jeans and let them fall to the floor, then hesitated at the hem of her T-shirt. Would he expect something from her if she came to his bed naked? Mired in self-doubt, she stood there, legs shaking, until fatigue overcame her. Pulling the T-shirt over her head, she crawled across his bed, succumbing to it. And to the overwhelming desire to explore his body, while he was asleep and vulnerable.
Very carefully, she pushed aside the comforter.
Beneath the dark blue cotton of his boxer shorts, his penis lay soft and thick, clearly outlined, impressive even in repose. He stirred, kicked the comforter off the bed completely, and rolled over onto his stomach.
The man looked as good from the back as he did from the front. His shoulders seemed to span more than half the width of the bed, his deltoids were well defined, and his butt was the stuff female masturbatory fantasies were made of.
She knew that paddling and swimming kept his upper body tight and right. Obviously, maintaining balance on a surfboard also required well-developed lower body muscles, all working together in perfect harmony.
Sonny imagined some of those muscles working, with him on top of her.
Unable to resist, she pushed down his shorts and eyeballed his sculpted buttocks like a voyeur. Below the waist, his skin was a shade lighter than his sun-browned back, and that paleness endeared her even as it added an illicit thrill. Sliding her palm over that masculine curve, she snuggled against him and fell asleep.
When she awoke several hours later, she was still lying on her side, her face pressed against his smooth back.
His body was tense. He was awake.
Moving her hand over his hip and down the front of his shorts, she discovered that he was not only awake but fully aroused. He must have been having some very sexy dreams, because so was she. The points of her breasts tingled, and between her legs she was already warm and moist, pulsing with sensation.
Even in sleep they turned each other on.
Instead of letting her explore, he took her hand and placed it over his flat stomach, covering it with his, stroking her fingers. Making a sound of longing, she placed a soft, openmouthed kiss between his shoulder blades, and he turned to face her.
Feeling vulnerable, Sonny ran a hand through her disheveled hair. She wished she could smooth over her emotions the same way, rearrange her face to show confidence and allure.
His eyes were hot on her skin, her breasts, her belly. From the set of his mouth and the hunger in his expression, she knew that he’d been awake and wanting her for a while.
Too nervous to speak, she hooked her thumbs in her panties and pushed them off. Lying back against the pillows, she offered herself to him in a gesture that needed no interpretation.
He reached into the nightstand and came up with a single condom. Suddenly as awkward as she, he stared at the foil-wrapped package as if it were a totally foreign object he had no idea what to do with.
Sitting up, she took the wrapper from him, pressing her lips to the throbbing pulse point at the base of his throat. He closed his eyes, struggling with some inner demons, and she saw that he was shaking.
His uneasiness calmed her as nothing else could have. She stepped into the role of nurturer, soothing him as well as herself.
She motioned for him to take off his boxer shorts, which he did. Then she held out her arms, a silent invitation for him to come over her, and he did that, too. Neither of them saying a word, she rolled the condom down him in a slow caress, taking her time.
When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he trapped her wandering hands. Put them over her head. Pinned them to the mattress.
She wouldn’t have allowed another man to restrain her, but with Ben, she felt excited, not overpowered. She wanted him on top of her. Inside her.
Moaning, she wrapped her legs around his waist, squirming beneath him, all but begging for him to come into her. He was right there, so close she could feel the blunt head of his erection throbbing at her body’s opening.
She lifted her hips, wanting to feel more.
With a strangled groan, he laced his fingers through hers and he pushed forward, filling her with one perfect thrust.
She gasped.
Nothing had prepared her for that moment. Not the intimate scene in the Jacuzzi. Not the sweet rasp of his tongue the night before.
It was too much. He was too big, too thick, too heavy, too masculine. The sensation was too intense, too emotional. She was on the verge of tears, and orgasm, and he hadn’t even touched the right spot.
Very deliberately, he released her hands.
Sobbing, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his throat, longing for the sweet torment to end, hoping it would go on forever.
Using the position to his advantage, he slid his hands underneath her, curling his fingers around her collarbone. With his body covering hers, he pulled back and thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt, again. And again.
She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, sliding into her, creating an impossibly arousing friction. She couldn’t stop herself from coming any more than she could keep from crying out loud.
He covered his mouth with hers, swallowing the sound. When she quieted, he raised his head to look at her, his eyes so full of wonder that she burst into tears.
Undeterred by her emotionalism, he just kept moving inside her, slow and easy, in no hurry to finish even though she already had. He watched her face, gauging her reactions, and soon she forgot her tears because he drove himself deep and hard and at just the right angle, hitting just the right spot.
She came again, almost immediately.
This time it was too much for him. Shuddering, he buried his head in the crook of her neck and let her skin muffle his cry as she convulsed around him.
Then it was over, much too soon, and he was heavy, sweaty, and spent.
Refusing to let herself bask in the warmth of his embrace, she pushed at his chest. “Get off me. You must weigh a thousand pounds.”
He lifted his head from her neck and smiled that sexy, crooked half smile of his. His eyes were still sleepy, his cheekbones flushed, and his hair was all messed up, damp at the edges. He’d never looked better.
And she could no longer deny what she’d known all along. She was in love with him. “Feeling smug, are you?”
That wiped the grin off his face. “Well, yes. I mean, I can do a lot better, actually. But you did come twice.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re proud of that? I can do that in the shower.”
Taking the hint, finally, that she needed some space, he heaved himself off her. His ego, among other things, much too large to be daunted by her insults, he whistled a snappy tune all the way to the bathroom while she curled up in a miserable ball, feeling sorry for herself.