King of the Court

His admission strikes through me. My lips part in shock.

Love?

Nan is the last person who told me she loved me, well before her disease took hold, before I left for California. I never took the word for granted. Growing up, there wasn’t enough love surrounding me, so when Nan passed it hurt all the more.

Does Ben realize that?

Does he realize I haven’t said “I love you” to someone in so long I can’t find my voice? It’s so deeply buried under emotion that I can’t draw upon it. Instead, I arch up and kiss him on the lips, trailing my mouth down his chin and jaw then lower along his neck. I grow bolder and sit up straighter on him, settling myself in the center of his lap as my kisses grow wild and abandoned. His love is freeing, and I want to show him that.

He realizes before I do that we can’t continue kissing out in the living room where anyone could walk by. He stands and lifts me up, carrying me to his bedroom as my legs wrap around his waist. His hands grip and knead my backside and I kiss him in a frenzy, not caring if we bump into corners or walls. What’s a little bruise in the name of love?

He laughs at my relentless need, tumbling quickly toward the bed and sitting down on the edge so I stay on his lap. Hungrily, he grabs my shirt and tugs it up and over my head. It hits the floor and he leans in, kissing between my breasts, just over my heart. He stills for a moment, breathing me in, and I rest my hands on his shoulders as my heart drums against his mouth. It’s excruciating to slow down, but I let him stay there as his finger trails around my bra cup, eliciting goose bumps from my head to my toes.

Gently, he tugs the material down, baring me for his lips.

I squeeze my eyes closed as he rolls his tongue over my breast, taking the weight of his hand before moving to the other side and tugging my other bra cup down as well. He looks hypnotized, and it emboldens me enough to reach back and unclasp my bra. The silky straps fall down my arms and Ben finishes the rest of the job for me, tugging it off and dropping it to the floor behind my back. In a flash, his mouth returns, hungry as he licks and kisses and works me up. My hips keep moving and it feels so torturous. Every time he elicits a moan from me, I want to do the same for him. I want to share this madness.

My hand slides down between our bodies, first underneath his shirt, and then lower, beneath the hem of his pants. His zipper comes undone just enough to let me slide my hand into his boxer briefs. He’s hard as steel and so smooth I can’t resist the first few strokes. I lose track of my objective. I just want to feel him, remind myself of how luxurious it is to have him in my hand, at my mercy.

Love, I remind myself. This is in the name of love.

My name is a whisper on his lips as I guide my hand up and down, pumping. His mouth moves from one breast to the other, and then my hand squeezes tighter and he’s suddenly at his limit.

He lifts me up, twists around, and drops me on the bed with a soft plop.

His eyes glide over my body like a feather, making me shiver. For agonizing seconds, he only looks, stealing pieces of me with his gaze, plucking my heart right out of my body.

When his eyes land on my navel, he reaches out to touch me like he can’t help himself. He hovers over me with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he bends slowly, his mouth kissing down my belly until he reaches the waistband of my yoga pants. He makes quick work of them, along with my panties, dropping them both on top of my bra.

“More?” he asks, his lips skimming my hip bone.

I arch off the bed, hoping he’ll do that again.

“Birdie?” he demands again.

I fist my hands in his hair and nod over and over again, and still, it’s not enough. He wants me to say it. His brown eyes look up at me with piercing need.

“Yes.”

He bends his elbows and falls down on me like I’m the source of long-awaited solace after a hard day, the dessert at the end of a meal. His cheek rests against my navel and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying not to cry, willing myself to keep it together long enough to see this through without the embarrassment of tears.

He kisses me and drags his hand down lower, gripping my thighs and spreading me. He kisses me again and shifts lower. It’s all so smooth—the way his hand slides between my thighs, the way his mouth follows. The combination of both is soul-searing. I want to cry out, but I clamp my lips together and keep my eyes closed. He shifts until his shoulders are sandwiched between my thighs, and he settles into place as if he intends to be there a while.