Soldier Boy Page 7

  I grasp the countertop, grounding myself before I’m swept away in the sensations of his lips and tongue. The delicious threat of teeth.

  ‘They’re just what?’ His gaze crawls up my chest with a smug kind of satisfaction.

  ‘So good,’ I rasp, pushing myself into him as I feed my hands into his sun-kissed hair to contain the sensation.

  ‘Something we agree on.’

  ‘W-we should go upstairs, shouldn’t we?’ I mumble because we’re doing this—doing it. Definitely. I refuse to let my mind ruin this for me. I’m unthinking, working purely on how I feel. And what I feel when he smiles against the swell of my flesh before his soft breath blows over the hard peak. As for where we’re doing this, he doesn’t answer, at least not with words, as he licks and laves, drawing my pleasure out.

  ‘I want to fuck them.’ His words are rough, his fingers the same as he grips my breasts, raising them higher and pushing them together.

  The noise I make in response? It doesn’t sound like a no.

  ‘Ben, please.’

  ‘Please what?’ he demands. ‘Please fuck you? Fuck your creamy tits?’ I’ve never been spoken to like this before and part of me wants to know why—why haven’t I had the pleasure of this kind of baseness in my life before now. Is this what happens when you tie yourself to one man? You aren’t free to experience other tastes and flavours? Other ways it can be?

  But my thoughts disintegrate as his hands move to my waist, and he begins pulling at the tie of my scrubs. The baggy cotton falls from my legs almost immediately, and from his expression, you’d think my pale cotton panties were something to be revealed, like the silk cover that reveals a work of art or a piece of exquisite statuary. Ben drops to his heels, the remains of my scrubs and my running shoes pulled from my feet and abandoned to the floor.

  I shiver as his breath caresses the soft skin of my thighs and inhale sharply as he presses his face between my legs and inhales.

  We’re doing this. We’re really doing this. If my legs hold out.

  ‘You’re wet.’ His tone is dark and delicious, his words the kind of praise that makes me want to show him, makes me want to step out of my panties and spread my legs. For more of his approval, more of his touch.

  ‘Is this for me?’ he asks darkly as he presses the knuckle of his index finger against me. Against my pussy. I nod, unable to speak as he works it deeper inside, coating the cotton of my panties in my own slickness as he applies pressure on my clit. The feeling is immense—it’s everything and not enough as I arch my body, forcing the contact harder, chasing my relief. And as all this happens, I can’t help but stare at him. At his thick lashes, his eyes lowered and intent on the triangle between my legs. At the proud thickness of his cock straining between us.

  His smile is pure wickedness as he glances up and notices.

  ‘But I don’t think you’re wet enough,’ his deep rumbling voice asserts as he makes a show of wrapping his fingers around his cock to give it a solid tug. Everything inside me clenches. God, I want to feel, feel the weight of his body over mine. ‘Because you don’t want me to hurt you, do you? You want me to make you wet.’

  It takes a moment for his words to make sense, but when they do, I nod eagerly. ‘Yes, yes.’ So it’s a yes, then. Truthfully, I’d take either of those things.

  A moment later, Ben hooks his fingers into the sides of my panties, dragging them leisurely—deliciously—down my legs, igniting the nerve endings there. He hooks his hands under my knees, lifting me onto the sun-warmed countertop as he stands, his hard body a friction I can barely stand.

  ‘How do we make you wet?’ he ponders, his gaze as mesmerising as any flame. ‘How do we do it?’

  My heart beats wildly, his words barely making sense as he brings his index and middle finger to my bottom lip, barely pushing them inside. Oh. . . He drags them farther down my chin and down between my breasts.

  ‘W-with your fingers?’ I suggest, my chest heaving between us and not going unnoticed by him. His fingers at my sternum, he presses me backwards until I’m propped on my forearms and his mouth is at my breast. A touch of tongue, the kiss of his lips, then a bite to the full flesh underneath causes me to cry out, throwing my head back so I can see the September sky from the window. I find I no longer care who sees me, though somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope we spare Mrs H. Right now, Ben could probably fuck me outside on the tiny balcony for the passing busses to judge.

  His fingers continue their way down my body, trailing a slow circle around my navel, the muscles of my abdomen trembling before Ben slips two fingers down to my slit, trailing them farther to where I’m wet. He pushes them inside my body, and I cry out, arching my back, trying to impale myself on his hand.

  ‘I’m going to fuck you with my tongue.’ It isn’t a request. ‘After you come all over my fingers, I’m going to make you come on my tongue.’

  Ben twists his wrist, driving those fingers inside me again and again.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I whimper, bucking up into his hand, unable to get close enough. I can’t concentrate, feeling full and hollow all at once. A sensation of abundance with the need to be filled.

  ‘Can you hear how wet you are—just for me?’ I feel instantly empty as he pulls away, rubbing the evidence between his glistening fingers and thumb before bringing them to his mouth. The noise he makes is so fucking dirty, I find myself lifting my hips as though I could pull closer, pull him in.

  ‘Ben, please,’ I pant, unable to keep still.

  ‘I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.’ His smirk is something else to add to this maddening effect he has over me.

  ‘Ben, please,’ I plead, ‘stop playing. Please, get a condom. Please just fuck me.’

  He stares at me for a beat. As though he can’t quite discern my meaning, or my words are a foreign language to him. His expression firms, his hands on my thighs gripping tight as he inhales a deep breath. Fingers release, feet move. He grabs his wallet from near the sink, turning back to face me and smirking quite suddenly.

  ‘Were you staring at my arse?’

  ‘Fair’s fair,’ I answer. ‘Like I haven’t caught you staring at mine.’

  He slaps the leather wallet down by my thigh, his long fingers tearing the condom wrapper. Watching him sheath himself makes my stomach twist, the kind of sensation that demands relief. Did I ever watch Liam with this kind of avarice? This kind of need?

  ‘You do like to watch.’ Holding the root of his cock, he stares up at me through those thick lashes. ‘What I wouldn’t give to feel you skin to skin.’

  ‘Ben . . .’

  ‘On my life,’ he begins, his big hands stilling my thighs. ‘On Mel’s—I would cut off my right arm rather than risk hurting you.’

  Maybe I’m just another woman foolish over a man, but I believe him. And I’m desperate to relieve this ache, so I whisper my answer to him.

  ‘I’m on the pill. Take it off.’

  I don’t have to tell him twice. He inhales a deep breath, taking himself in his hand to glide the head against me once, twice. We both watch as he breaches my wetness.

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . ’ Oh. My. God.

  ‘Fuck,’ he grunts, watching my body accept his. ‘So fucking snug.’ My back bows in a silent urge for him to thrust.

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . .’ I wouldn’t win any prizes for scintillating wit right now.

  ‘Jesus.’ Ben pulls back, and with one solid thrust, he fills me to his hilt.

  Our breathing is rapid, our exchange of smiles speaking our words. He starts to move, slowly at first, easing me into the size of him.

  ‘That’s it. Yes . . . That’s it, sweetheart. Relax.’

  My whimpers turn to cries as he picks up the pace, nudging places inside me that have never been reached. Sliding from base to tip, he switches to shallow movements; small jabs and punches of his hips. And I love it. Love it all. Especially as he begins to whisper my name like a soft catechism of praise. His eyes are dark and stormy as h
e bends to flick the tip of his tongue across both nipples in turn. Sliding his hands under my ass, he lifts me from the counter, changing the depth and pace.

  ‘Oh, Ben . . .’

  ‘You look like a dream, but you feel so fucking real. So fucking delicious,’ he whispers, burying his face in my neck as the pressure builds between my thighs like a dam about to break. I flex against him, my movements tight and almost jolting.

  ‘God. Oh, God. I’m . . . I’m . . .’

  Exploding. Like a super nova. I’m falling apart, unable to process the overwhelming rush of sensation and heat.

  ‘I can feel you,’ Ben grunts. ‘I can feel you coming so hard.’ Before his guttural words turn to curses as he joins me until we’re a joint twitching, pulsing mess.

  Chapter 10

  BEN

  I’ve become one of those men who watch women while they sleep. Not the creepy kind that hang around uninvited, watching through chinks in curtains or blinds, or worse still, planting cameras and craping where they’re not invited. Because those blokes are sick. And I was invited—not only into her body but also her bed.

  Round two was a lot less frantic and desperate but no less enjoyable. We’d kissed and kissed until I thought my heart would burst. We kissed so long her face had to be sore from my stubble. Then, with our hands linked above her head, we’d fucked missionary style, slow and deep. Well, until she started wriggling under me, so I’d flipped her over and fucked her from behind. One mind-shattering orgasm later, she’d flattened herself like a starfish in the middle of the bed, snuffled her sweet little face into her dusky pink pillow, and fell asleep. And while it would’ve been nice to have felt needed, you know, for cuddling purposes, I still couldn’t quite believe my luck. And I’ve pretty much watched her for hours since.

  So yeah, I’ve become one of those kinds of men. A soft, soppy bastard.

  And I’ve no regrets.

  The feel of her . . . let me just say that, along with no regrets, I also have no words. There are not words in the English language to adequately describe what it felt like to have her trust. Yeah, of course, given that situation again, I’d have fucked with a sock on my knob if that’s what she’d wanted. But she didn’t. She wanted me just as badly, and she trusted me. And that means everything—above the feeling of her, hot and wet and so tight, above the sensation of her pulse beating around me, through me, her exhales my inhales.

  She. Trusted. Me.

  But it doesn’t change anything.

  ‘What time is it?’ Like Frankenstein resurrected from the dead, Nell comes up off the mattress, her eyes wild and panicked, her breathing rapid and anxious.

  ‘It’s about five.’ Fuck, that view. Side boob, full and round. A narrow back and shoulders, the sweet swell of her arse. I reach out, rubbing my hand at the base of her skull, her head immediately falling forward, her shoulders dropping like a marionette with cut strings.

  ‘Oh. Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d overslept.’

  ‘Hey.’ I pull myself up full, resisting the urge to wrap her in my arms and pull her down to the mattress again. ‘You haven’t. Come on, it’s okay. Besides, being late is hardly life and death, is it?’

  ‘But it is,’ she says, turning her head sharply. ‘Or it can be.’ She brings her hands to her hair, ruffling her already wild curls. ‘No one tells you the job will be like this. I suppose that would be bad for business, hey?’ She turns her head over her shoulder, her forced smile so forlorn.

  ‘Come on.’ I pull on her shoulders until she’s relaxed against my chest. Fuck, no one tells you the job would be like this should be my mantra. The Army’s motto is hardly join the Army and get to shoot shit. ‘Tell me about your job,’ I find myself saying, not wanting to dwell on thoughts I’m avoiding.

  ‘I love it. And I hate it. I’m just so tired of being tired all the time.’

  ‘And this is because . . . ’ How do I put this delicately? ‘The dumb fucker left you to pay the bills?’

  ‘Partly,’ she half laughs. No, on second thought, that wasn’t laughter at all. ‘The dumb fucker bailed, and that’s fine—painful at the time, but fine. I just wished he’d concluded I wasn’t the woman for him before he hung the albatross around my neck.’ She sighs, her body rising and falling against mine. How could anyone give this woman up? I swallow uncomfortably because I’ll have to do just that. ‘The problem is mine because the house is mostly mine. My grandma died and left me a chunk of cash. I used it as a deposit, but the mortgage is still huge. It was big for two incomes, but it was supposed to be an investment. Buy, fix, sell.’

  ‘So jump to the end,’ I reply, tightening my arm around her shoulder. ‘Sell it. Get rid of it.’

  ‘I can’t. Not until it looks less like a demolition site. I’d end up in debt to the bank and have nothing to show for it,’ she says, tipping her head, her gaze finding mine. ‘Can I tell you the truth?’ she asks softly. As I nod, she turns onto her side, her palm on my chest. ‘I’m not surprised he left,’ she murmurs. ‘I’m not fun to be around.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ I find myself tightening my arm around her, wondering if I should tell her than all men are pricks. But that seems a bit fatalistic.

  ‘You’ve only just arrived. Stick around and your opinion will change.’ I swallow thickly, the silence and the exchange of our gazes acknowledging that this wouldn’t happen. I won’t be here for long, and I’m not the man for her. I’m just the rebound.

  ‘You’re wrong. You could never be boring.’

  ‘You don’t even know me.’ She smiles rather sadly. ‘Not anymore. This job has sucked the fun out of me.’

  ‘Bullshit. You’re witty and sharp, and you’re so fucking pretty.’ Without realising it, I lean forward, pressing my lips into her hair. Who the fuck did this to you?

  ‘Maybe when I’m not working all the hours, and I’m always working. My regular hours are pretty bad, too. I can’t tell you the number of anniversaries I’ve missed, birthday parties, weddings, and shit. It was never on purpose. It’s just, in my line of work, I can’t leave just because the clock reads five.’

  ‘Only an arsehole wouldn’t get that. Babies aren’t born during office hours. It’s all part of the job, though, isn’t it? It’s what you signed up to do. Your duty.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I need to talk to you about duty, do I?’ She reaches a languid hand, poking me gently in the chest. ‘Is that why you joined the Army? A sense of duty?’

  ‘Nah.’ I draw out the word, having not even the least intention of being honest. ‘Chicks dig a bloke in uniform.’

  ‘Always with the quip,’ she says with a sigh. ‘But I guess you understand better than most. You know, in your line of work.’

  I nod, realising she can’t see me agreeing. ‘Yeah, I get it. And someday, you’ll meet a man who’s right for you, and he’ll get it, too.’

  She’s quiet for a moment, so quiet that I feel the pinch of her silence like an ache in my chest. We hardly discussed the parameters of today. I truly hadn’t expected her to react the way she did. I expected her to brush me off a few more times at least. I don’t want to hurt her, but a relationship with a man like me would only hurt her more in the end. I’m so caught up in my own fears, I almost don’t realise as she begins to speak.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s a man out there for me. But maybe,’ she adds, ‘if there is, I hope his skills in the kitchen are as good as you’ve shown me today.’

  ‘Now that’s probably a tall order. A good man might be hard to find, but a good, hard man—’

  ‘I might’ve known,’ she drawls, ‘you weren’t being nice but only feeding your own ego.’

  ‘Ow, what the fuck!’ I squeak as she pinches my nipple.

  ‘I thought you liked it rough.’ Her body shakes against my chest as she begins to giggle.

  ‘I like to fuck rough, but my ego is delicate,’ I retort.

  ‘Delicate, my ass,’ she scolds. ‘You’re a compliment whore.’

&nb
sp; ‘Agreed, but that’s your fault.’

  ‘My fault?’ she begins, twisting her body to look at me.

  ‘When you spend your whole life feeling like the ugly duckling and basically being ignored—’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ This time, she pokes me in my thigh, and my cock twitches under the sheet.

  ‘—by the one person you’re desperate for attention from.’

  ‘Asshole!’ she chastises softly. ‘Ignoring you was a protection mechanism. It was my version of not poking the bear.’

  Speaking of bears, or bare. Random thought: I kind of love that she doesn’t look like a pre-teen. I dig the neat little triangle and love the smooth underneath, ripe for the glide of my tongue.

  Back to our usual programming . . .

  ‘It had everything to do with protecting myself,’ she continues.

  ‘I was misunderstood,’ I reply, my tone pouty and sad even as I relish the heat in her comebacks.

  ‘You were a horrid, mean little boy who chased me with worms and killed my fish.’

  I bark out a laugh. ‘I didn’t kill your fucking fish!’ Oh, God. I’d forgotten about this.

  ‘Yeah, you did. I watched you flush Swim Shady down the pan!’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ I rub my palm down my bristled face. I walked right into this one. ‘You killed your fish,’ I reply, reining in my amusement. ‘I was just trying to save you from the painful realisation that you were a murderer.’ While also saving Melody from an afternoon spent at a goldfish funeral, with mourning wear, hymns, and a matchbox coffin. And for that, she gave me her pocket money for the week.

  ‘I did no such thing!’ Nell’s voice is filled with indignation as she tries to sit—to pull away.

  ‘Not so fast, fishy killer,’ I growl, pulling her back . . . and tweaking her nipple for good measure.

  ‘You—’

  ‘Ah—quiet, jailbird. Or it’s the pokey for you.’ Or maybe I just want to poke her. Again. Fingering is so underrated in my not-so-humble opinion. And while it’s not as mind blowing as, well, being blown, or as good as the steal-the-air-from-your-lungs kind of good as penetrative sex, it’s still fucking spectacular. Especially with her. I can’t wait to see the evidence of our fucking. The teeth marks on her skin matching the long red scratches on my back.