Make Me Bad (Page 37)

We’re not very good at heeding our own advice.

My hands tug impatiently on the zipper of his jeans. It’s only halfway down when I give up and yank the denim down with all the strength I’ve got. He kicks them the rest of the way off and in the process of removing his pants, I nearly took off his briefs too. The tight black material hangs low on his hips. More of him is exposed than ever before, the hard edges of his abdominal muscles pulling tight with each inhale he takes. I’m crouching down in front of him before I fully realize what I’m initiating.

I want to see him. God, I just need him in my hands, and the groan that slips past my lips is only half as lust-filled as it should be. I tug his briefs down his legs and my eyes go wide. Without a thought, I reach out to grip his hard length and run my hand up and down it. Ben bucks his hips forward. I grow courageous and empowered. I do it twice more, pumping, fisting, bringing my mouth closer but not quite touching him there…yet. My lips are a whisper against him.

“Madison,” he says, his voice full of longing.

He seems big, but then I don’t really have much to compare him to. All I know is that when I look at it from this angle, I’m not totally sure how he’s going to fit. The thought sends a spiral of panic through me, but I brush it aside. This is natural, meant to be. It will fit. Hopefully.

I lean forward and drag my tongue across the tip and he fists my hair, a little nonverbal plea for more. I oblige, taking him in my mouth and sucking deep. How did we get here? How did our night turn from innocent construction to clothes-shredding passion?

I take him deeper and suck again and again. I want him so wound up, coiled tight, tight, tight like a spring. My name passes through his lips again and it’s more ragged than the first time, desperate, depraved.

I will keep going until he gives in, until his hips thrust uncontrolled and he releases everything. Before this moment, I’d have turned my nose up at the idea. Now, I don’t want to waste a single drop.

I can feel him at the back of my throat and my breaths come shallow, pained. This is where I die, I think as he starts thrusting faster. Goodbye sweet, sweet world.

I barely finish the thought before he hooks his hands underneath my arms and hauls me to my feet. My mouth hangs open.

“I’m not finished,” I say, sounding deprived. I’m a child whose lollipop has just been ripped from her mouth.

Ben doesn’t care about my disappointment, and he apparently doesn’t care about taking care of himself either. He’s spreading his hands over my body, edging me back step by step. My legs hit the futon as his hands unclasp my bra. The soft material slides off my skin and it’s immediately replaced by impatient hands and greedy touches. His palms roll across the tips of my breasts and my head falls back. He bends and his mouth takes over. He closes his lips and sucks. I’m thrust from one heady sensation to another, rough to soft. The juxtaposition is enough to jumble my thoughts. I’m no longer in control here. Oh right—I never was.

Ben’s a master at this: his mouth, his tongue, the flick of it across my delicate skin. I have tingles between my thighs, wetness that feels naughty. When I glance down, my fair skin is a map of where he’s been. His hands leave marks across my body—it’s the curse of being pale, though in this moment, it seems more like a blessing.

His mouth moves to my other breast and his hand slides down my stomach, down farther past my navel, and then his finger curls beneath my underwear. A shiver racks through me.

“Should we talk about what we’re doing?” I ask, suddenly nervous.

He pulls back and the self-assured smile he’s wearing makes me want to punch myself in the face for asking such a silly question.

His brow arches. “You want the play-by-play?”

Oh Jesus.

He looks like the devil.

His hair is dark brown in this light. I’m surprised I ever thought his eyes were the color of amber. In here, right now, they’re black as night.

“I’m kissing my way down your body,” he says just before he fulfills his promise.

I wish my stomach would quiver a little less, wish my heart would slow its pace or my hands would stop reaching for him. I want to touch him everywhere I can, the bulge of his biceps, the hard ridges of his abs.

“I’m going to slide your panties off.”

I cover my eyes. “Oh my gosh. Stop.”

“This?” he asks, nudging my panties down an inch. I’m barely concealed.

“No, the words. Your narration—it’s making me blush.”

A low chuckle escapes him and then he pushes me back onto the futon like I’m a stuffed animal. I flop down, legs splayed, and he crawls on top of me. I’m trapped.

This stupid excuse for a piece of furniture was not made for this. It’s wobbly and small. There’s hardly enough room for one person, let alone two. Ben keeps one of his feet planted on the ground and leans down over me, mouth taking mine in a soul-stealing kiss. I arch up to meet him when it seems like he’s going to pull away and he returns full force, tongue meeting mine. My hands cradle his neck and he peels my panties down my legs. I’m completely bared.

I’d have time to freak out about being naked in front of him if he didn’t reach down and cover me with his palm. He rubs the heel of his hand up and down, right between my thighs. Right. There. Again. Once more and my nails dig into skin. I’m wounding him because he’s wounding me. My heart will never be the same.

“Do you want to feel more?” he asks right before his middle finger slides inside me.

“Yes.”

“Like this?” He pumps in deep.

“Jee-zus.”

“You’re more than ready for me. God, you feel so good.” He sounds mad as he adds a second finger. My toes curl. “I’ll make you come like this. I’ll give you the play-by-play, yeah? You’re so tight. I’m seconds away from losing…” He groans. “Spread your legs.”

My legs fall apart as if they belong to him now.

I pinch my eyes closed and his fingers pump faster.

“It’s going to hurt, Madison. Look. Open your eyes.”

I do and he’s wiping hair from my face, tilting my chin so I have to meet his heavy gaze. He kisses me quickly and then leans back again.

“This can be over now. I can make you come just like this. It feels good, right?”

He swirls his thumb and, “Yes.” I let out the word on an exhale.

“We don’t have to keep going. We don’t have to have sex.”

If I had a condom in hand, I’d tear it open and throw it at him.

“Please, Ben.”

He doesn’t give in to my demands. He keeps going, keeps pumping, keeps turning me on. I know he’s ensuring that I’m ready, that I’m as wet as I could ever be, but I’m dying a slow death here. He’s kissing me seductively and his tongue is so convincing, I nearly give in. I’m so close to orgasming just from this—

No. I break off our kiss and cradle his face in my hands, staring pleadingly into his eyes.

“Please.”

Our gazes stay locked and I brush my thumb across his cheek.

“Please.”

He stands then, depriving me of his touch. He turns to find his pants and tugs a condom out of the back pocket.

I sit up a little, watching him. Suddenly, I feel very naked with him halfway across the room.

I feel silly and small and what does he think of this ridiculous apartment? What does he think of me? I hate that I’m even thinking about that right now, but this is all new to me. Not to him, though—he’s been here before. Other women have come before me, and maybe this moment doesn’t meet his expectations. Maybe I don’t meet his expectations.

Then he turns back and he halts as his gaze catches on me. I’m completely naked, lying there, waiting for him. His eyes light a fire across my skin, he starts between my thighs, then he moves up across my taught stomach and my full, heavy breasts. When our gazes lock, he looks wild, feral. I might not know everything about this, but I know one thing: the way Ben’s looking at me, it’s like there’s no other woman on earth. This place might as well be a penthouse suite. I might as well be lying on a bed of silk and rose petals instead of scratchy black cotton.

He comes back to the futon, condom in hand, and reaches down to arrange me so there’s more room for him to wedge his knee between my thigh and the cushion.

Foil tears and I watch, attention riveted, as he unrolls the condom onto himself, pumping up and down twice before he positions himself on top of me.

“Wrap your legs around my hips,” he says, grabbing the backs of my thighs. When I comply, he nods. “Yeah, like that.”

He fists his length and brushes it up and down between my thighs, coaxing me, drawing this out just a little bit more. When my nails bite into his skin, he starts to push himself inside slowly. His upper body falls over me, blanketing me from the world.

His lips hit my cheek and he whispers, “Just try to relax.”

I take a deep breath and he pushes in another inch. It burns in such a unique way, a way that seems unbearable. My first instinct is to tell him to stop. I fist my hands and push against him. No, you can’t keep going. It doesn’t feel right. He slides in another inch. The pain intensifies and I must make a sound because Ben kisses me hard on the mouth, assuring me, promising me, soothing me. He continues until he’s all the way in and the fire is eating me up from the inside out. Instead of shoving him away, my hands are on his back now, gripping him and ensuring he stays right where he is. I’m scared of movement, of the potential for more pain.