His stare lingered on my face for a while as he considered it. “You don’t want to have dinner with me?”
“That’s not what I said—”
“But that’s how it seems.” His hard eyes pierced me like he was the hammer and I was the nails. “Why?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to—”
“Why?”
I glanced behind him, seeing the couples talking quietly with one another, the sounds of the guitar coming from inside the restaurant. “This isn’t us…”
He pressed me with his look, wanting more.
“We aren’t some couple that met each other online. Met in a bar. Whatever. And it’s fine that it’s not us. What we have…is deeper than a first date. There’s already so much between us. I know this isn’t your thing, and it’s not my thing either.”
“You didn’t use to go on dates before all of this happened?”
“Yes. But that was before…and now I have you.”
His hands slid into his pockets as he remained in front of me.
“I hope I never have to go on a date again…” I didn’t realize what I said until it was out in the open between us. It just came out, pure honesty, feelings so raw they ached. It shouldn’t have been said, but it was done now, and I had no idea how he would react.
He didn’t react at all.
Now I couldn’t take it back. It was just floating in the air between us, hanging there like a corpse on a noose.
He stepped closer, his eyes focused on mine as he drew near. He stopped just in front of me, his eyes dropping to my lips. One of his massive arms circled my lower back, and he tugged me into him before he laid a hot kiss on my mouth. “Let’s go.”
It was a beautiful suite at a boutique hotel just a few blocks from his apartment. A four-poster bed, with white wooden dressers against the wall. The sheets were French linens, soft to the touch but also durable. Small pots of fresh flowers were everywhere, making it feel like summer instead of bitter winter.
He got me in the center of the bed, his heavy body directly on top of me, the heat from his skin traveling through the air and reaching my bare skin. Before he got his clothes off and came close, I was cold, lying on chilled sheets with pointed nipples. But once his hips were between my thighs and he smothered me against the mattress, he brought the summer sun into the wintry room.
His blue eyes took me in as he guided himself inside me, his head coated in my arousal so the entry was easy, flawless. He pushed through the initial tightness and sank deeper, invading all of me like a conqueror who already knew the lay of the land. He was a quiet lover, but his eyes were loud, and now they tightened in pleasure once he was fully inside me.
I was the opposite. I was full of gasps and moans, loud tears and sharp nails.
Once he got going, everything else faded from existence.
Forneus wasn’t following me. The camp never existed. I didn’t kill a faceless man with a knife. Beatrice wasn’t mutilated like an animal. None of that happened. He made everything go away every time he touched me, every time he was buried deep inside me.
He took me once and kept going, still hard despite his release. Nothing could deter him. No amount of pleasure could make his satisfaction permanent. His hand slid into my hair and fisted it as he angled my hips farther, hitting me at a deeper angle than before.
I pulled him close and panted in his face, giving a mixture of whimpers and moans, of writhing nails that sliced into his skin, of gentle whispers of his name. “Benton…” He took me higher than I’d ever been, became a greater drug than the acid I’d been forced to take. It was therapeutic. It was healing. Cleansing.
I wondered if it felt the same for him.
Benton opened the door in just his boxers and took the room service tray.
The woman couldn’t hide her shock at his appearance, even though she probably saw this sort of thing often. But she’d never seen a man like Benton—a freakin’ tank.
As he signed the tab, her eyes darted to me where I lay on the bed in a robe.
She sent me subtle thumbs-up.
I gave a quiet chuckle.
Benton didn’t seem to notice—or more likely, didn’t care—and brought the tray inside. He set it at the small dining table near the window and took a seat. He pulled the silver lids off the platters and got set to eat as if he wasn’t going to wait for me.
I took a seat beside him and started to eat.
He’d ordered steak frites with a side of Brussels sprouts, then looked down at my dinner. He didn’t say anything, but there was a subtle look of disapproval in his eyes.