Working It (27 page)

It wasn’t something I could just overlook and laugh off. I had to see Fiona every day, knowing they’d been together. I shuddered at the thought. Realizing Ellie was still on the line, I thanked her for the advice and said good-bye, needing time to process.

I shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the faucet to fill the tub. Escaping into a steaming hot bubble bath and shutting off my brain was the only thing I wanted tonight.

19

Ben

I didn’t want Emmy to think I’d brought up the idea of a monogamous relationship between us to smooth over my past with Fiona. That wasn’t the case. Not at all. I should have told her about Fiona sooner, or not answered the door that morning. It was a shitty thing I’d done—shoving Emmy into the bathroom and closing the door. Like that would erase the problem.

I knew Fiona and I had a fucked up past. But honestly, it never bothered me. She was an attractive woman, and neither of us was looking for a relationship. We stayed in the same cities where we didn’t know anyone else, and we were both typically single. Sex was nothing but convenient—a purely physical release. But I understood why Emmy hated that Fiona had experienced the pleasures of my body. I considered Braydon a good friend, and I fucking hated that he’d seen Emmy’s gorgeous, plump breasts, that he’d tasted how sweet she was and heard the soft whimpering sounds she made when she came. That experience had opened my eyes. I didn’t ever want to share her again. She was mine, and selfishly I wanted her all to myself.

I’d never wanted a relationship before, but this hit me like a smack to the head. I wanted all that and more with Emmy. My sweet southern belle. The idea of calling myself her boyfriend put a stupid little grin on my face. And now, before we’d even started, I’d fucked it up already. It almost made me rethink what I was doing. Almost. But I knew I would fight for her. I just had no idea how. My texts over the last few days had gone unanswered and I wasn’t bold enough to show up at her door and risk getting sent away. I missed her. And once again, I wasn’t sleeping for shit.

I decided to call Braydon. He knew me and he’d gotten to know Emmy a little, too—too much, in my opinion. But maybe he’d have some advice. He was in London doing a small fashion show, and I had no clue what his schedule might be. I’d opted not to do the show. I had the luxury of being a bit more selective with the jobs I took. I sent him a text, unsure if he had time to talk.

Me: Hey . . . I need help with Emmy. Call me.

Braydon: I’m in. ; )

Me: No. Not for that, fucktard. Call me.

A few minutes later my phone rang. “Hey, man,” I greeted him.

“I was just thinking about you guys. Well, not you. But Emmy. Mmm . . .” He made a low humming sound in his throat.

“Well, stop thinking about her, asshole. That’s never happening again.”

“Whoa, getting a little possessive, aren’t we? That’s new for you.”

“Yeah, no shit. All this is new for me. I think I’m falling for her, man.”

“Wow. Big Ben’s growing up. That’s huge, man.”

Dick. “Well, she’s not talking to me right now.”

Braydon chuckled. “What’d you do? Lemme guess . . . she wants you to get an APA now and you won’t?”

“This isn’t about your dick or its stupid-ass jewelry, dude. And no, I’m never getting my junk pierced.” I stood from the bed and began pacing the room, suddenly restless. I explained Emmy’s already strained relationship with Fiona and the hurt in her eyes when I told her about our past. Braydon stayed quiet, listening to the whole thing. I blew out a heavy sigh. “I need to get her back. What do I do?”

“You need to show her what she means to you. Make her understand how special she is to you. Make her forget all about Fiona.”

That did make sense. “So how do I do that?”

“You have to think about the things she likes . . . if she’s into poetry, you write her a poem . . . or if her favorite food is sushi, you find the best Japanese restaurant to take her to. Shit like that.”

Okay . . . that was pretty good.

“Thanks, man.” Now I just needed to think about what to do to show her how I felt.

Christ. I wasn’t good with feelings. This should be interesting. . . .

20

Emmy

That week after Ben’s confession about his relationship with Fiona was hell, but I threw myself into my work. Being Fiona’s bitch was the perfect distraction. I thought about Ben often, a dull ache always present inside my chest, but I did my best. I woke groggy and unrested, went about my day, and collapsed into bed each night clutching my phone. I had to talk myself out of calling him at least six hundred times. I called Ellie instead.

I’d successfully ignored his few texts, one adorably addressed to “Tennessee.” It was difficult not to cave, but I deserved better. I knew I did. And the daily pep talks from Ellie helped remind me. Ben would need to try harder if he actually wanted a go at a real relationship. I needed to make sure he was committed to this idea. I wanted to see him work for it. I needed to make sure he was serious about me before jumping back in, because I was his, body and soul.

Slipping out of my heels, I was ready to collapse on the bed when a knock at the door stopped me. My heart thumped unevenly, and I wondered who it could be. It was a delivery from the concierge.

Opening the door wider to accommodate him, the concierge wheeled in a cart and unloaded several items onto the table: a glass vase of flowers, a six-pack of Hap & Harry’s Tennessee Lager—one of my favorites from home—and a white bakery box full of blueberry muffins. What in the world?

Once the concierge had left, I tried to make sense of this delivery. The deep purple irises on tall, vibrant, green stems had a light, floral scent that reminded me of home. The notecard attached to the vase of flowers said, “State flower of Tennessee.” Oh . . . that was interesting. All my favorites from home. Did irises even grow in France? And I doubted they sold this brand of beer. Had Ben done this? Flown these in just for me?

I lifted an ice cold bottle of beer from the carton, twisted off the cap, and took a long sip. Mmmm . . . My taste buds did a little happy dance. Looked like I’d be having muffins and beer for dinner. Which suited me just fine.

It was strange how these little comforts of home improved my mood. I smiled for the first time in a week. Everything looked brighter.

My phone rang and I crossed the room, beer in hand, to fish it from my purse. “Hello?”

“Hi.” It was Ben.

The coarse sound of his voice surprised me. I had been so wrapped up in my own little world, I hadn’t even thought to check the caller ID. I didn’t say anything else and neither did he right away, but I could hear him breathing.

“Did you get a delivery?” he asked, tentatively.

“Yes, thank you. It just came. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to show you that I was thinking of you, that I care about you, Emmy. You’re all I can think about. We should talk. I miss you.”

I missed him, too. Every hour of every day. “Okay.”

“Okay?” His hopeful, happy tone made me smile.

“Yeah, come have a beer with me. I’m guessing you’ve never had Hap & Harry’s.”

He laughed. “Be down in a minute.”

When Ben arrived, the urge to crush myself against his body was nearly overpowering. Instead, I opened the door wide and invited him in. Handing him a beer, I couldn’t help but notice the deep, dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and I felt a pang of guilt at that realization.

He took a slow sip from the bottle, tilting his head back, but his eyes remained on mine. His scrutiny was too much. I busied myself at the little table, removing two muffins from the pastry box, and placed them on napkins for us. Ben’s large form loomed just behind me, and I felt the heat radiate from his skin, felt him breathe my scent against the back of my neck. He reached around me to set his beer on the table then took mine from my hands and placed it beside his.

“Emmy . . .” His gruff whisper sent a rush of goose bumps breaking out over my skin. His hands captured my jean-clad hips and he tugged me back a step until my back met his firm chest and his arms closed around me, hugging me from behind. He buried his face against the side of my neck. “I can’t do this anymore. I miss you so fuckin’ much, baby. And I’m so sorry about everything with Fiona. I should’ve told you sooner.” His soft, whispered apology murmured against my skin made tears spring to my eyes. I missed him, too. Terribly.

I turned in his arms, feeling the first of the tears roll down my cheeks. Ben looked at me, a pained expression on his face, and brushed away the drops with his thumbs, capturing my cheeks in his palms. I didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The look we shared communicated so much; there was no need for words. Ben watched me in wonder, smoothed the hair back from my face, and ran his fingers through the long strands before he eventually bent down and brought his mouth to mine. “I’m falling for you, Emmy,” he whispered just as his lips pressed against mine.

Endorphins, lust, love, and desire flooded my system all at once. I kissed him back—hard—crushing my mouth to his. His words were everything I’d wanted to hear, but actually hearing them, in his deep, sexy voice, was too much.

I clawed at his clothes, pushing my hands under his shirt, tugging at his belt. Ben groaned against my mouth and his hands helped me. He tugged off his shirt, only breaking our kiss for a second, then removed my top. He cupped my breasts over my white lacy bra, groaning as his palms made contact with my skin. I’d missed that; I’d missed him too much to go slow. And Ben obviously felt the same way. I felt his rock-hard erection press into my stomach. Desire coursed through my veins and I groaned into his mouth. Ben lifted me from my feet, carrying me in a cradle hold over to the bed.

He laid me down against the center of the mattress and looked down at me. My breathing came much too fast, my chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes lingered on my chest, moving over each curve. He delicately traced a fingertip along the lacy edge of my bra before reaching behind me to unclasp it.

He petted and kissed me gently all over. Sliding down the bed so he was even with my chest, he placed tender kisses along my collarbone, ribs, and the center of my stomach. He lifted my hands to his mouth, kissing the inside of each wrist, right where my pulse slammed violently in my veins. I twisted restlessly underneath him, trying to press my core against his heavy erection. He chuckled against my skin, lighting me up like a damn Christmas tree. I was so turned on, so unabashedly horny. I wanted him. I needed him to claim me. Even if he wasn’t good at using pretty words or big emotional displays, I needed him to show me.

He came to rest beside me, laying so we faced each other. Stroking my cheek softly, his eyes watched mine with wonder. “God, I’ve missed you.”

I placed my own palm against his rough cheek and my thumb skittered past the bruise-colored skin underneath his eye, acknowledging that this past week had been rough on us both. “You said that night with Braydon made you realize some things?” I whispered.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I’m not good at expressing my feelings, but fuck, I wanted to punch him square in the face when I saw him touch you.”

I smiled. “We didn’t have to do that, you know . . . I’d never even thought about having a threesome before you suggested it.”

“That was stupid of me. He and I had done it before, so I figured it was no big deal. If it was something you wanted, and I could give it to you, I didn’t want to deny you anything. But then when it was actually happening, I don’t know. All this emotion and regret just hit me like a brick. I didn’t want him touching you. I wanted you all to myself: your sweet laugh, your beautiful, lush body. I don’t want to share you, Emmy.”

“You don’t have to.”

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine, lightly kissing my lips. “Never again.”

I nodded, agreeing completely. It was sort of a bucket list thing, and once had definitely been enough for me.

“I need to be inside you,” he whispered, hoarsely.

I let out a ragged breath. “Bennn . . .”

His fingers fumbled with the button on my jeans, and I found myself helping him to push them down my thighs.

Once I was stripped of every last stitch of clothing, Ben curled his hand around my pubic bone, his fingers lightly brushing my sex. “This pussy’s mine. No one gets to fuck this but me.”

“Yes, Ben. Just you.”

He shed his boxer briefs and jeans in one quick movement, sending them over the edge of the bed.

I gripped his smooth, firm length in my hand, slowly stroking him, and was rewarded by a husky moan tumbling from his parted lips. My body responded with a surge of moisture between my legs.

“I need to fuck you, Emmy.”

Reading the tension in the firm set of his jaw, I knew this would be hard and fast, and that was exactly what I needed. We both needed to chase away any lingering thoughts of Braydon, or Fiona. This was just us, wild and passionate.

His body slanted over mine. Ben kissed my mouth hard and inched himself forward, the head of his cock parting my folds as he pushed inside me slowly, allowing my body time to adjust.

He sank all the way in, inch by delicious inch, until he was fully buried within me. I sucked in a sharp breath at the same time he released a low groan, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

I was doing little more than lying underneath him but I took the compliment, pressing a kiss to his neck. I loved his scent, the weight of him on top of me. Finally, Ben started to move—little shallow thrusts until he was sure I was stretched around him and ready for more. I wrapped my legs around his back and Ben gripped my ass in one hand, angling my hips up to meet his thrusts. The sensation was almost too much. He was so deep inside me.

He drove into me, pounding hard against my core. I clung to his broad back while Ben moved against me, pushing me into the mattress with each deep thrust, claiming me, owning me, making me his.