His eyes returned to the road, and he pulled up to a stoplight. He hit the blinker, ready to turn left once the light turned green. “No.”
“No tree or anything?”
“Yes, there’s a tree. And gifts from Santa.”
“You do the Santa thing?” I asked, slightly surprised he would allow a fictitious fairy tale inside the household.
“Yes.” He turned to give me a look, as if he dared me to make a jab.
“That’s cute.”
He looked forward again, his eyes reflecting the red light.
“Claire goes on Christmas break soon, so should I get a tree?”
“You’ll never be able to do that by yourself.”
“I’m a lot more capable than you think.”
The light turned green, and he made the turn, pulling onto our street. “We’ll go together when Claire gets home. She likes to pick out the tree.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
He pulled up to the back of his apartment and tucked his Range Rover into the garage. We entered the apartment, shielded from the pouring rain, the heated floors making it the coziest place I’d ever been.
His shoulders were drenched with water spots because he’d exposed himself to the rain, his hair a little flat because it was damp too. But he never seemed to mind physical discomfort. Whether it was going outside nearly naked and barefoot in the freezing cold to look for an intruder or helping his daughter in the pouring rain. “I’m going to bed.”
“How was last night?”
He stilled at the question, his eyes piercing my face like small daggers.
“I’m not prying. Just…want to know how things are going.”
He never gave an answer before he walked down the hallway to his bedroom.
“Benton?”
He stilled without turning around, his enormous mass blocking out most of the hallway. He turned his body slightly but never turned around entirely. The side of his face was visible, his jawline hard, his neck thick with veins.
“I didn’t sleep well last night…”
His head finally turned my way, his stare fixed on me, and he gave a subtle nod in the direction of his bedroom.
The rain never let up.
I slept for hours by his side, and when I woke up, the rain was still loud against the windows, even audible against the roof on the second story, a floor above us. My clothes were on the floor, and I was in my underwear beside him. Nothing physical happened because he seemed more interested in sleep than sex.
I was wide awake now, but the house didn’t require my attention. Leftovers were on the menu for dinner tonight, and the laundry was done. There was nowhere else for me to be, so I lingered, comfortable in the warm sheets, safe with this man beside me.
When he was asleep, his face was different. The sternness of his jawline was altered, relaxed. His shoulders weren’t so rigid, and he wasn’t tense in preparation for a provocation. He was at his kindest.
Hours later, he grew restless, his large mass changing positions more often. He turned on his side and came closer to me, his arm instinctively reaching out and landing around my waist.
I didn’t mind.
Our heads were close together now, on the same pillow, his manly smell right in my face.
I studied his hard cheekbones, his chiseled jawline, his massive shoulders that poked out from underneath the sheets.
It was hard to believe he was the same man from the theatre, that our relationship started there and ended up here. We were both touched by the camp—just in very different ways.
His sleepy eyes opened and immediately focused on my face. It seemed to take a few seconds for him to digest his sight. A deep breath was pulled into his lungs, and his arm slowly withdrew, his hand stopping at my hip.
The rain continued to pour, louder than it’d ever been. The thunder started, far away at first, but almost deafening as it drew near. The natural sounds of the apartment no longer disturbed me. I didn’t jolt when the heater kicked on, when the floorboards creaked from the change in temperature, when Claire’s open door shut once the air pushed it closed. This man gave me peace—and I was addicted.
After a long stare, he turned over and reached into his nightstand.
I pushed off my panties and left them on the sheets at my feet.
After he was ready to go, he rolled back over, his massive body getting on top of mine, one arm hooked behind a knee. There was no preamble, not even a kiss. He was inside me with a thrust and a moan, and then his massive body worked me and the mattress to make his headboard tap against the wall at the pace of a galloping horse.
I clung to him and enjoyed it, nails digging into his hard flesh, moaning against his jawline. It was so damn good, the union between our bodies, the inherent security it provided. It was an ascension, but one I actually enjoyed.