HOLLISTER
Ben slouched out of the studio rubbing his forehead. He looked miserable and adorable at the same time, and my heart softened despite the vexation still simmering inside me. I was confusing him. I was confusing myself. A month ago, if someone told me I would have trouble walking away from Ben Rose, I would have said they’d lost their mind. Now here I was, pulled in both directions by my emotions and, let’s be honest, by my hormones. Something happened between us in that dance studio—erotic zone tingly feelings that could not be denied. It was what I’d felt brewing between us at the Mud Warrior practice but more intense, more electric, and yet we still ended up in a disagreement that was frustratingly familiar.
“Do you really think this can work out?” I asked him. “You and me?”
Instead of answering the question, he scowled up at the clouds in the sky. “It’s about to dump down rain. Can we have this conversation indoors?”
“No, it’s not,” I said with a huff. “They said no rain until later this evening. You’re changing the subject.”
He took a step toward me. “Hollister, I jumped out of a plane because I wanted to spend time with you. Is that not enough proof that I think it can work out between us? The question here is, do you think it can? Where’s your leap of faith?”
The wind picked up and swirled leaves and sidewalk trash around our feet. That, combined with the rumble of thunder in the distance, told me I was wrong about the rain holding off. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the rising noise of the wind.
“I’m scared! Isn’t that obvious? I want to leap, but I don’t know if I can trust you to catch me. Or dip me. Whatever metaphor you want to use!”
The skies opened and pelted cold, angry rain down on us. Nature’s response to our argument made the moment feel bigger, weighted with importance beyond this one conversation. Ben stood there, motionless, as the raindrops darkened the shoulders of his light blue shirt. He wanted so badly to say I told you so, and it was killing him to hold it inside. There was a storm in his blue eyes that shouldn’t have made me hot and bothered, but it did.
“Fine, you were right about the rain.” I shivered and rubbed my arms. “Let’s get in the car.”
He reached out his hand, water coursing down his wrist. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the storm. “Come on.”
I grabbed onto him, and we sprinted down the street, even though running was pointless when we were already wet to the bone. If I hadn’t been holding onto him, my high heels would have slipped on the wet leaves under our feet, but he kept me upright. When we got to his car, he fumbled with his keys and unlocked the doors. His soaked shirt clung to his skin. Rivulets of water coursed down his face, dripping off his jawline and into his collar. Instead of getting inside the car then worrying about me later, he was at my side, opening my door first. And that spoke volumes.
I slammed the door closed again, breathing hard and acting on impulse.
“What are you doing?” He didn’t look pleased with me.
“This.”
I reached up and grasped onto his shoulders, pulling him toward me, my lips crashing onto his. It was a brash, impetuous first kiss without any finesse, but what it lacked in skill it made up for in hunger. His surprise only lasted a moment before his mouth softened against mine, and his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me against him. I brushed my tongue against his lips, tasting cool autumn rain. Wanting more of it, I sucked and nipped at his bottom lip until he groaned and swept his tongue into my mouth.
Backing me up against the car, he kissed me like he’d been waiting to do it his whole life. His mouth claimed and devoured me, and I possessed him right back, his need stoking mine. I could feel him through my soaking wet clothing, growing harder by the second. We were standing in a deluge, but the rain wasn’t going to quench the fire building inside me. Everywhere his body touched mine, I burned for more of him.
I broke away from him only long enough to ask, “How far away is your place?”
His eyes were heavy-lidded and hazy. “Not far. Five minutes.”
“Take me there.”
He opened my door again, and this time I leapt inside. He hopped in his side, grabbed the stick shift, and yanked it into reverse, his foot heavy on the gas pedal. The car jerked a little as he maneuvered us out of the spot where he’d parallel parked. As we drove down the street splashing through puddles, I needed to touch him again, to see if I’d been imagining how badly he wanted me. I slid my hand up his thigh, over his wet khakis.
“Hollister!” he yelped as his foot came down heavy on the accelerator, lurching us forward. “You can’t do that when I’m driving. I’ll crash the car.”
“Sorry.”
I wasn’t really sorry. Was this long-overdue hate sex, or was I developing romantic feelings for Ben? I didn’t really care at that moment. All I knew was that I needed this. I needed him. I wanted to take him in my hands and my mouth and make him beg for mercy. I couldn’t get him out of those rain-soaked pants fast enough.
At the next red light, I leaned over and licked my tongue against the shell of his ear, then bit the lobe.
“Goddammit,” he moaned. “You’re killing me.”
That only made me smile, and I decided that since we were stopped at a light, it was safe to let my fingertips gently trail over the bulge in his pants again.
“This is torture,” he said in a strangled voice as the light turned green, and he slammed his foot onto the gas. We rounded a corner, then screeched into a parking garage. He maneuvered up two levels like an Indy 500 driver and whipped the car into a numbered parking space. His eyes were wild when he turned to me.
“We’re here.”
I wasn’t sure if he was going to dash ahead of me in his excitement, but he came around to my side again and took my hand. Then we were off. We only made it to the elevator before we were at it again, his hands stroking the front of my wet dress where my nipples were pearled against the wet fabric. Onto the elevator, where we kissed some more, and I wrapped one leg around his waist, rubbing my core against him. Ding ding, the door opened at his floor. We tumbled out and sprinted to his apartment, where he messed with fitting his key into the lock. And then we were inside his dark foyer, tearing at each other’s clothing like werewolves.
I panted as I worked off his shirt, some of the buttons popping off instead of opening. No regrets. He probably had twenty more of these in his closet. With a doctor’s deft hands, he undid the hook at the back of my neck and the sash at my waist, then I threw my hands in the air so he could tug the dress over my head. He tossed it aside with an abandon I didn’t know he was capable of, and the wet fabric landed on the floor with a slap. His eyes darkened as he took me in, my body clad in only my pink bra and underpants, which were soaked to transparency and useless for hiding anything.
“Hollister Moran,” he said in a deep, somewhat threatening tone that made every nerve ending leap to attention. “Get up on that kitchen counter. I need to taste you.”
“I want to taste you,” I argued. “Me first.”
“No way. You first. I insist.”
“Ben.” I set my hands on my hips, prepared to fight. “Take your fucking pants off.”
“Not until I make you come.” He reached around and swatted my backside. My mouth dropped open in shock. Not that he’d done it, but that I liked it. “Now get up there.”
“Fine, but only because I want to, not because you’re telling me to.” I didn’t have to stumble far to his kitchen, which was to the right of the foyer. In the center of the long, narrow room was a gigantic island topped with a slab of slate-colored granite. Everything in the room was stone or metal, dark tones and sharp edges, no softness in sight. I must have taken too long staring at his imposing kitchen instead of hoisting myself onto the countertop, because his hands took hold of my waist and lifted me the rest of the way. Then his fingers tugged at the edges of my underwear.
“Take these off.”
Not that I’d ever admit it, but his bossy attitude was turning me on. I shimmied out of my panties and let them fall to the floor. The stone under my ass was freezing cold, as was my skin from the rain. On the outside my body was one big goosebump, shaking with anticipation, but inside I was burning up. He reached around to unhook my bra and tossed that aside too. Then he cupped my breasts in his hands, and I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped my lips. I was bare-assed and perched on Ben Rose’s kitchen counter, and I’d never been more excited about anything in my life.
“Open.” His tone was commanding as he dropped his hands to gently coax my knees apart.
He stepped between my legs and bent down to run his tongue over one of my nipples. I gasped in response.
“I like thaaaa…” The words caught in my throat as he moved his kisses down further, sprinkling them over my chest and stomach before getting onto his knees.
“What are you doing?” I asked, knowing damn well what he was doing. I just couldn’t believe it.
“Bruising my patellae.” He cringed and shifted from side to side. “Shit, this floor is hard.”
I smacked his shoulder. “Get up then. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“No.” He ripped open a drawer and pulled out two potholders. “I’ve got it.” All I could do was laugh as he slid them under his battered knees.
“Sucks to get old,” I said.
He parted my knees as he looked up at me, mischief in his eyes. “How dare you call me old. You’ll pay for that.”
His hands held my inner thighs as his mouth went exploring.
He started off with swirls and licks, humming with enjoyment. I pulsed against him, the pressure for release building inside me. My body swayed backward, and I gripped my hands on the counter to stay upright. He kept close to the edges, teasing and kissing.
“That feels good,” I said. “So good. Stay there.”
He stopped and glared up at me. “Good is not good enough.”
Who was I to hold back an overachiever? “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
He went back to work and flicked his tongue deeper. “Oh my God. That’s really nice.” It was fucking amazing, but I knew the word nice would make him work harder.
He grunted in response and moved his strokes deeper, rhythmically hitting my clit with his tongue. My body responded to his efforts, throbbing with pent-up energy.
“Ben!” I leaned forward and wound my hands into his wet hair. “Right there.”
Everything inside me relaxed, the calm before the storm, then I clenched hard as the first wave hit me. Sweet release sang through me as I crested and dropped back down then soared up again. Three climaxes later, I collapsed, my chin to my chest.
I didn’t even realize I’d closed my eyes until I opened them and lifted my head to see his smug face. He was standing there, rain-soaked and disheveled, way too pleased with himself.
“You got your way,” I said. “But I had an orgasm and you have on wet dress pants. Who’s the real winner?”
“Me,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “I’m the winner.”