Deep (Stage Dive 4)

His brows descended in a fierce look.

I just shrugged. Reap what you sow, baby.

“Had to pay her off to keep quiet about you. Adrian and the lawyers sorted it out.”

“No! The bitch.”

“Hmm.”

I huffed out a breath. “So we’ve established that we make each other behave like we’re back in middle school. What does that prove?”

“That we need to figure this thing out between us.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been trying to do.”

A hand cupped my jaw. “I don’t mean fight it. I’m done fighting it. I mean go slow and figure this thing out.”

My forehead was a mass of wrinkles, I could feel it. I doubt my heart was much better.

“Sweetheart?”

“I don’t trust you, Ben. I’m sorry. I wish I could feel differently. But I keep trying to do this with you, and thinking you want it too, and…”

“And I keep fucking it up.”

“Yes.”

I thought he’d let me go, run off back to the party to lick his wounds—or someone else maybe. But he didn’t. Instead he settled on the bed with his back to the headboard, taking me with him, arranging me in his lap. I didn’t fight him.

“Are you angry?” I asked, mystified.

“How do they say…” He made a low noise that was pure damn sex of the vocal chords, I tell you. “Lizzy, when you say you don’t trust me it makes me feel like I want to tear shit up and go ballistic.”

“That’s an understandable if somewhat violent response.”

“But with our history, shit’s complicated,” he said, rubbing his mouth and bristly beard against the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Oh wow yeah. I needed to wear my hair up all the time. That felt divine.

“And as you said, we’re having a baby,” he said.

“True.”

“But I’m not running away this time. Say what you want. Shred me. I’m staying.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” Capable hands separated my legs, hot skin soothing up my thighs. Christ, I loved it when he touched me. So damn much.

“What are you doing?” I asked, ever so slightly breathy.

“Nothing.”

The backs of his fingers ran up my inner thighs, tracing a path with his knuckles. I nearly cried when he stopped short of my pussy and turned back.

“I do not believe you.”

Neatly, he folded up my skirt, exposing it all. A sound of pure sex vibrated out of his chest, traveling through into my spine. “Fuck, Liz. Look at you. Love your pussy. Missed it.”

“Mm.” My shoulders tensed, rising higher. “Ben…”

“It’s okay.”

“This feels dangerous.”

“No. This feels right,” he murmured, teeth nipping at my ear. “You got my dick on a leash. Might as well have the rest of me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I’ve given up getting over you and I’m focusing on getting into you instead.”

“Neither of these statements are reassuring me, Ben.” I leaned my head back, twisting to the side so I could see his face. Seemed sincere. But then, I’d made that mistake a time or two before. “Explain in non–rock ’n’ roll speech please.”

“And you said Sasha had an attitude.” The corner of his lips twitched. “Means I’m going to get you to trust me again.”

Me? I had nothing.

Staring at me all the while, he stuck two fingers in his mouth to wet them. Then he ever so slowly traced them back and forth over my labia, making me gasp. Everything down there spasmed in glee. Lord help me. If the man ever guessed to what degree he owned me, I’d be doomed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You really are out of control. I’ve barely touched you.”

“It’s the baby hormones. They’re psycho.”

He smiled. That smile—I didn’t trust it. But holy hell was it beautiful. My heart and my loins went into bloom. A rush of heat and emotion crashed through me. It was entirely possible I was in love with the bearded jerk, god help me. “You really want me to trust you?” I asked.

He drew slow circles around my clit before sliding the tip of a finger back and forth through me. The man slowly played with me. Pure, exquisite torture.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”

“You’re serious about this? Us?”

“I am.” Still not breaking eye contact, he slid a finger into me. “You’re very wet.”

“Yeah. You know, it’s kind of hard to focus on relationship talk when you’re fingering me.”

“We can talk all you want later. Promise.”

“’kay.” I made a pitiful noise in my throat, my muscles tightening on his thick digit. My own hands were claws, digging into his rock-hard, jean-clad thighs.

“I mean, you got hot for me in Vegas. But this … Sweetheart, Christ, this is fucking awesome.”

“I masturbate. A lot.”

“Not anymore,” he rumbled. “Looking after you is my job. Trust me, Lizzy. I won’t let you down again.”

The finger inside me sought a sweet spot and proceeded to massage it with expert ease. Just that simply, he turned me inside out. It was a mercy my nipples didn’t poke holes through the fabric of my shirt. They sure as hell felt hard enough. My shoulders pushed back against his solid chest as the side of his thumb brushed back and forth across my clit. Lightning and shooting stars and all of the good stuff. The whole world went to white.

I throttled the scream in my throat. Or at least part of it. Oh boy and damn. I lay panting in his lap, my skin oversensitized, sweat beading on my forehead and back. How perfect.

He gently cupped my pussy with his hand. “I can still feel you throbbing.”

I stretched and yawned, slowly coming back down to earth. All of the happy was mine.

“You really needed that.”

“Yeah.” I turned, cuddling against his chest. If I stayed sort of on my side, the bump was happy enough. And what a nice, big, comfortable man he was. Especially helpful when it came to orgasms too. His fingers were far superior to my own, I had to say.

“You going to sleep on me now?” he asked, incredulous.

I nodded, closing my eyes. Damn he smelled good. They should bottle his sweat. I’d buy it in bulk. Meanwhile his hard-on continued to press into my hip. Bad luck, bud. I was down and out for the count. No could do.