‘No, this is just for you,’ he said. He didn’t mean it in a martyred way, he was lost too, but somewhere inside he wanted her to know that it could be about her, that it could just be about this...
He was kissing her hard, this lovely wet kiss that was so deep she didn’t want to move or breathe again.
Was there any place nicer to be than on a sofa with her?
He was eighteen again—only it hadn’t been that good then.
He was peeling open the zipper of her shorts, wriggling them down over her bottom. As he pressed her body against his, his mouth was on her neck, kissing her, trying to remember not to leave any marks, because it was the last thing she needed with her mother. He was glad he didn’t have a condom in the house because he so badly wanted to dive into her. He was holding her hips now, guiding her along his hard length still safely under his jeans. He thought he might explode from the delicious pressure building, but was determined that he wouldn’t—because even now it was still about her.
For Celeste was lost within herself, savouring and catching up on everything she’d ever missed—those little licks of pleasure inside her were building to a crescendo. She could hear humming, and realised it was her; she was humming as she coiled her legs around him, coming just to his kiss, coming just for Ben.
‘Willow...’ she gasped, feeling as if she’d been drinking as the piercing tone of her baby’s cries brought her back down to a rather nice place. His kiss welcomed her back slowly as she worked out that she could, in fact, breathe, and then on wobbly legs and dishevelled she stood there in front of him, hauling her shorts back up her legs, more than a little embarrassed but at the same time not.
Then she gave him that wonderful smile and he smiled back and she decided that even if that embrace was all it could be for now—it was more than enough.
Quite simply it was the nicest thing that had happened to her.
* * *
Ben had never expected to feel again.
Over the years he had tried and over the past few weeks he had resisted, but feelings didn’t listen to logic.
Finally, he was starting to believe.
There were two glasses on the draining board, her footsteps were on the stairs as she came back down from soothing Willow and there was this delicious presence that filled each room. For the first time in years he was glimpsing a future—not in bricks or gardens, or hours filled with work, but hours and—later on—nights with her.
Maybe he could get used to this.
‘Hey!’ She was standing at the kitchen, hands behind her back, her dark brown hair black in the low living-room light. Her eyes were glittering and she was wearing a provocative smile that demanded caution.
‘How’s Willow?’ he asked.
‘Asleep again,’ Celeste said. ‘How are you?’
‘Good,’ Ben said, because he was. Having Celeste here was making him feel wonderful.
God, she was gorgeous, standing there just smiling, her cheeks all flushed, eyes glittering, the top button of her shorts undone.
He was hard again so he turned away, made a big show of washing the two glasses, just to give himself time to recover.
She walked over and kissed him on the lips and he kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her, wet, soapy hands holding her, but she didn’t hold him back, she just kissed him.
‘Which hand?’ She pulled her lips away and smiled up at him wickedly.
He frowned. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Which hand?’ she repeated.
He was smiling and frowning simultaneously. He was beginning to get a hint of an idea as to where this might be leading, but he dismissed it, because he’d determinedly discounted it.
‘Left or right?’ Celeste prompted.
‘Left.’
She pulled her hand from behind her back, and offered it to him but didn’t reveal what was in it. ‘Open it.’
Ben prised open her fingers and saw the little silver package, the key to heaven, and he was so tempted to reach out and take it.
‘Celeste...’
‘Before you say anything...’ she laughed ‘...I didn’t even know that I had them—I got a free bag of samples from the hospital, and I was looking for some nappy cream for Willow...’ She didn’t have to explain any more, so he smiled and interrupted her, reaching for her other hand and opening it to reveal the same contents.
‘That’s cheating,’ Ben said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t lose.’
‘Maybe you deserve to win.’
God, since Jen had died, sex had been just that—sex. Good, bad or indifferent, that was all it had ever been.
But with Celeste?
He stared into those amber eyes, his body charged with the memory of before and the possibility of after, her kiss still wet on his lips.
‘I don’t want to rush you,’ he said gruffly.
‘I want you to rush me,’ she murmured back. How could she explain how different he made her feel? Sex had been a mystery for Celeste before Dean, yet how it had been for them was completely different from what she’d so far experienced with Ben. For her and Dean it had been a logical, preconceived act. Booking into a hotel on a Friday night, she had prepared for the occasion all week, nervousness mounting like the waxing moon and disappointment waning after the event.
But tonight, pressed into him, kissing him, ignoring the film like two teenagers necking in a cinema, it had been the closest she had ever come to her body—to the bliss of a kiss and the intimacy of two people blocking out the world and letting someone else in.
It was neither logical nor preconceived.
And she certainly wasn’t smooth and spraytanned!
But all it felt was right.
‘You know I’m moving back home, Ben, so we won’t be able to see each other that much, but just for tonight...’
‘Are you sure?’
She was about to say something flip, but she stopped, looked into those lovely green eyes and there was no question—this was how it should have been, this was what it was all about, because this was Ben, and always, always, she’d wanted him. Now, finally, she could have him. That he wanted to forge some kind of a future with her—however that might turn out—just blew her mind.
‘Absolutely,’ Celeste said. ‘Except...’ She screwed her eyes closed.
‘Say it,’ he urged.
‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’
“You could never disappoint me,’ he said emphatically.
‘Oh.’ She gave a very wry laugh. ‘I might just surprise you.’
A mother she may be but she had little more sexual experience than an amoeba—and most of that had been gained tonight in Ben’s living room.
He kissed her to the bedroom and beyond—only that didn’t quell her nerves.
As Celeste dashed to the bathroom, Ben took a moment too...quickly turning over Jen’s photo.
Celeste stood in front of the mirror, talking to herself and berating her lack of preparation for what was about to happen. Her bikini line stopped at all stations and as thin as she might be, thanks to Willow, bits of her wobbled in a way they never had before. Even if Ben assured her that he wasn’t comparing her to his wife, Celeste was—imagining Jen’s perfect white sports bras versus her rather faded maternity one.
She sighed heavily, girded her loins and went back into the bedroom, to where Ben was waiting for her. She jangled with nerves and cellulite for every second of the disrobing, torn between shame and want, but then Ben started kissing her again, hands stroking her, seemingly not fazed at all by her post-pregnancy body.
Rather liking it, in fact, Celeste soon realised. So why waste two hands covering yourself when there was six feet three of male pressed against you?
‘We’ll take it really slow...’ he said, laying her down on the bed carefully. He lay down too, facing her, and then he kissed her. His legs without jeans were right up against hers—scratchy, big, muscly legs—and she was suddenly quivering with a mixture of excitement and fear, feeling as if she were about to turn over the page of an exam and hoping to hell she’d studied enough...
‘What are you scared of?’ he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered back, closing her eyes once again.
Ben hated the man who had taken her confidence even before it had had the chance to bloom. Hated her self-doubts, but he had assurance enough for them both. But that she was scared of something so very, very wonderful saddened him too.
She was shaking with nerves as he took her in his arms. It felt so very different from before, because this time she knew where it was leading. He was so lovely to lie with, so big and male...and all hers. While they kissed she explored his body slowly, her hands running down his arms, feeling them solid and strong. Then she progressed to his chest—hard and flat and smooth. Her mouth moved there and she kissed the skin as his hands stroked and soothed her. Wrapped in this warm cocoon of skin and muscle and Ben, her hands slid over his hips and met solid thighs. She could feel him caressing her waist and over her hips, and it was Ben’s mouth exploring her now, kissing her pale breasts, one hand moving to the front and making tiny circles on her soft stomach. Had there been a muscle working there, maybe she’d have thought about it and held it in, but there wasn’t and anyway Celeste wasn’t really thinking, her throat too tight with nerves as his hand crept downwards. Then he was stroking her and she made little noises, pretending to like it, but was too embarrassed to really. He kissed her again, so she stopped making all the right noises and kissed him back, concentrating on that, and tried not to resist his fingers slipping deep inside her, as his thumb stroked her softly and rhythmically.