*
Four-and-a-half hours later, I wake from my drug-induced slumber. After a long, hot shower, I feel completely better. I look better too, which is awesome.
I get my packing done in under an hour, set things up for Ser Pounce to be alone all weekend (I need to remember to shut the windows and turn the AC on before I leave so the kitty doesn’t cook in case it gets hot), and call Ben. His phone rings but goes to voicemail. I leave him a message, sure he’s busy painting or sculpting or talking to people who come in to buy his expensive work, and go into the kitchen.
I need to make something to bring to the cookout, and I’ve been too lazy to go grocery shopping this past week. Lazy, and distracted with Ben. I have a lot of apples. I could make apple pie. That’s easy and tasty.
I preheat the oven and start making the crust. It has to chill for a while, and I rationalize that I should probably finish the open bottle of moscato in the fridge so it doesn’t go bad by the time I get back from the weekend getaway. I pour myself a big glass and sit at the island, scrolling through Facebook and Pinterest for half an hour before getting up to slice the apples.
The oven has been on for way too long now, and the kitchen is hot. I twist my hair up and use a pen to secure it in a bun. I’m sweating by the time I get the pie in the oven. My phone rings as I go around closing windows to turn on the air.
“Hey,” I say to Ben. “How are you?”
“Better now.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “How’s work?”
“I got out early,” I tell him. “On good behavior. What about you?”
“I’m finishing up at the gallery. I need to shower. I’m covered in paint.”
“I think you look rather good covered in paint.”
He laughs. “That’s good, because I am most of the time.”
“You can come over earlier if you want,” I say. “I’m packed. I just need to shower again because I’m hot and sweaty.”
“And why are you hot and sweaty?” he asks, voice seductive.
“I made apple pie.”
A moment of silence goes by. Then Ben asks. “Is that a sex reference?”
I almost choke on my wine. “I can totally see how it could be interpreted that way, but I actually made apple pie. My kitchen gets hot when I use the oven. Curse of a small house, I guess.” I look at the timer. “It’ll be done soon-ish. Do you want to come over and enjoy a slice of my pie? And that is a sex reference. But you can eat real pie too. I made it to take with us to my parent’s, but it smells too good not to eat now.”
“Yes,” he says right away. “Give me like an hour. I still have to pack a bag. Then I’m going to have a slice of your pie. Maybe two.”
“Or three.” I drink the rest of my wine. “See you soon.”
“Bye, Felicity.”
I hang up with a smile. My mission this weekend is to find out what exactly Ben considers me, because I really want to be his girlfriend. There’s still a stupid part of me that’s nagging about how he’s not “my type” and is totally out of my league. Not wanting to think about it, I quickly rinse off in the shower and put on a bit of makeup. I pull on a blue cotton dress—comfy for traveling—and put a pair of Toms by the door next to my bag and my purse.
There. I’m ready. Mom will be proud of how light I packed. Though realistically, I’ll be in my bathing suit most of the weekend on the boat. I don’t need much. I sit in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the cool air rushing down on me from the ceiling fan, and watch reruns of Supernatural until Ben gets here.
“You look pretty,” he says when he steps inside. “I like the darker hair.” My arms go around him, and I pull us together. Being away for a few days reminded me how much I love being together.
“Thanks,” I say and we kiss. The timer goes off for the pie, and we both go into the kitchen to get it.
“It smells amazing,” he says, arms locking around my waist. I close my eyes and lean back into him, dropping the pot holders on the counter. My mind goes to what Cameron says, that Ben sees me as a friend material only, and I get hit with sadness.
That was unexpected.
I force a smile, trying to push aside how strongly I feel for him. I don’t want to be friend-zoned as a fuck buddy only. I want something more with Ben because even though he might be totally out of my league, he’s my total dream guy.
“It has to cool for a while,” I tell him. “It’s too hot to eat.”
His lips meet my neck and his teeth graze my skin. “I know something we can do to pass the time.”
I shiver, whirling around in Ben’s arms and linking mine around his neck. He looks into my eyes, expression full of lust and … something else.
I’m not sure what it is, but I am entirely sure you don’t look at a friend that way.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask. I run my hands down his back and under his shirt. Just the feel of his warm skin against my palms makes me hot. Ben is spending the weekend with me.
With my family.
Meeting my parents.
My brother and his stupid fiancée.
Driving two hours and blowing off a friend’s party.
Fuck buddies don’t do that, right? It’s too much effort. He’s a good-looking guy with an impressive career. He could easily get some wherever he goes. And by now I know there is more to Ben than pussy seeking.
He shrugs. “We could watch TV, go for a walk … you know, exciting stuff like that.” His hands travel along my front and his fingers pull on the hem of my dress. “Or we could go into the bedroom and nap.”
“Yes. Nap. How responsible of us. Since we’re going to drive and all. Don’t want to nod off in the car.”
Ben takes a step back, bringing me with him “Not, not at all.” With no warning, he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder, then runs to the bedroom. He tosses me down on the bed and pins me down with his body.
His heart is beating fast against mine and he gives me that look again, a look that says he thinks the world of me. My first thought is what the fuck is wrong with him, to look at me that way. I’m laying beneath this incredible man, this incredible man with an incredible boner that’s pressing into me, by the way, and I’m feeling self-conscious and shy like I did when I ran into Mindy fucking Abraham outside the Adult Toybox.
I close my eyes and push those thoughts from my head. Thoughts that I’m told I shouldn’t have as an adult. I shouldn’t care what other people think. I shouldn’t worry about others’ opinions.
But I do, even though I try so hard not to.
I open my eyes and see Ben still looking down at me like he wants to devour me. A moment of clarity hits me.
I do care about others’ opinions. But that list of “others” just got a whole lot shorter.
I run my hands through Ben’s hair. He matters. I feel so strongly toward him at the moment, I don’t trust myself to speak. So I kiss him, locking my lips with his, sealing in any bumbling emotional words that might spill from my mouth.
He pushes his tongue inside and pulls my dress up. Things get heated quickly, and before I know it, my panties are on the floor and Ben is lowering his head between my legs. He runs his hands over the smooth skin on my bikini line. No pain, no bumps, and no redness. Thank the fucking lord.
I watch him work, tongue lashing in and out, harsh then soft on me, until I can’t take it anymore. My eyes close and I ball the blankets in my hands as I scream, coming so hard my legs shake. Holy fuck. The more we mess around, the better he knows me and my body. And the stronger the orgasms are.
A girl could get used to this.
I’m panting like crazy, chest rising and falling as he move up next to me. I smile at him. “That was great, thanks. We can leave now. Totally rested.”
He bites his lip and smiles back before grabbing my waist. He moves between my legs. “There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight, out of my reach, my grasp, my touch, right now.”