Summary: An abysmal date and a little bit of domestic banter have to happen before she realizes what's beginning to bloom in her own chest.
Rating: M
She doesn't want to say it's grungy, but it is. The music is better than she promised and she thinks that's okay, but she realizes she has no idea what kind of music he likes. They've been hooking up for a month, but it's never been about much more than the sex. And it's good, she's not complaining, she just…doesn't know who he is as a person. They spoke about themselves a little that first night, but since, it's been nothing but teeth and moans, with exhausting nights and large coffee mornings.
He's cute though. Rey steals a glance at Mr. Tall Dark and Corporate from over her beer. His eyes are on the performers to her left, head turned to expose the long pale length from his jaw to the collarbone peaking from his V-neck. He dressed down for her—to the point where he was almost unrecognizable—and she decides she likes him in thin shirts and leather jackets, his boots climbing midway up his calves. But there's that ever-posh look about his aquiline nose and thick brows he'll never be fully able to shake.
Her eyes dart away when he turns back to take a sip of his bourbon, long fingers cradling his glass. For two people who have been intimate, they both seem so uncomfortable around each other.
"This isn't as whiny as you said it would be."
"Yeah."
"The alcohol's not too shitty either."
"It's not." She takes a swig of her beer to avoid talking again. A fear begins to creep up her spine. They're good in bed together, but what if they're not good together at anything else? Maybe they should just cut the night's losses, go home, fuck, and she can leave early in the morning before he wakes up.
It sounds like a good idea. He doesn't seem to be all that interested in her and her heart sinks a little further down in her chest. Finn had warned her—warned her the second she told him about when they'd gone out to dinner—but she'd been too pigheaded to listen. She should have listened. Ben Solo likes to play with his food before dumping it uneaten into the trashcan.
She loses herself to her microbrew while the internal debate takes place. On one hand, she can cut her losses and get out without too much heartache. It's not like she invested a lot of emotions into him. It's not like he's been her first thing since that god-awful college boyfriend who left her hanging from so many metaphorical cliff faces. It's not like she had a little hope.
"I'll be right back," she says as she pushes herself up from their booth, twisting through the tables and laughing faces to the lady's room. She needs a moment to herself, but she also needs to pee. Fuck beer.
The bathroom is nicer than ones at most bars, which probably came from the benefit of the music venue. It's a little dim inside, but the lights are yellow-white and not the wildly dark blues, greens, and violets in the main portion of the house. The moment she's in the stall, she whips out her phone to send a frantic text to Finn. He's going to go on about how he told her so, but she doesn't care much in the moment. She really should have listened to her best friend.
Where are you? She knows he'll be somewhere in Chelsea at this time of night. He and Poe have a favorite sports bar they like to go to with the rest of the dev team to get pleasantly drunk and annoyingly worked up over soccer. For an aerospace manufacturing company, it seems a little strange that getting hired seems to require a love of sports.
Smithfield. It's a Saturday—is that really a question?
She maps it—a twenty-minute walk, but the F will be running for another few hours. She could get the fuck out of here. Might swing by, I'll keep you posted.
He texts back a question mark, but she doesn't answer—can't answer, not right now. She can tell him when she sees him, it's not like her date is all that interested in her anyway.
She fusses with her hair in the mirror, already sick of having it down. She hates how it gets in her face and won't ever stay out of her eyes. Impractical. It's a real wonder how she hasn't lopped it all off yet.
Ben is as distant as before when she returns, even hardly seems to notice she'd left. It takes a lot of strength not to bolt past their table and head for the door, but she sits down with a little less grace than before. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
The band is good. She likes the band. They've got an arrangement of brass instruments and strings, playing some mish-mash mix up of ska and big band. It's the only redeemable factor of this night. She chugs the last of her beer, thankful she paid for it at the bar.
He looks about to say something but she steamrolls over it. "Listen, Ben, I don't think this is working out." It feels like she's stabbing herself in the chest. "We had a good run with the other stuff, but this…we don't quite fit." She stands and his face betrays no emotions. "I'll see you around, yeah?"
A beat, and he nods. "Yeah."
Walking out of the bar, it feels like her heels are skewering every last shred of hope she had. Whatever. The chilly autumn air hits her and it's whatever, he's just another dead end. Like all of them thus far. She can't say she's surprised, not when they all amount to nothing every time.
The F finds her on the Avenue of the Americas and she hurries the few blocks to West 25th, a huge weight dissolving as she pulls open the door to the bar. She finds Finn easily and wedges herself between him and Niamh, the only other girl intern in their department. She and the small blonde mouse exchange friendly smiles before Rey turns all of her attention to Finn.
"I should have listened."
"What's our girl done now?" Poe is to Finn's left, leaning on the table to see around. He's got one eyebrow cocked and a tall stout in his right hand.
A long sigh and she lets herself start to fracture. "I was sort of seeing Solo for a while and we went out tonight and just…he's really not interested."
"Even I could have told you that." Jerry from across the table, works in fuel technology. He's good people. "He's always making moony eyes at Hux."
The table recoils at the name. There is a collective hatred for the chief propulsion engineer. Everyone likes rockets; no one likes Hux.
"Really Rey, we all thought you had better taste than that."
"Hey, at least I am not making cute eyes at Satan."
That gets a laugh and she finds herself chuckling along. She likes this crowd. They're fun and full of warmth, all smiles at the peak of the evening. Someone orders her a pint and she stammers out a thank you, not knowing many of them here all that well, surprised an unfamiliar face would do something so nice for her.
One of the teams on the television above scores and half the table cheers—not like animals, but like enthusiastic parents at a little league game. She's smiling again. Why had she sacrificed bonding with her coworkers for sleeping around with an executive? That was a stupid fucking decision if she ever made one.
"Do you guys do this every Saturday?"
"Not every, but most," Finn says, picking around a leftover entrée. "You feeling better?"
"A lot, yeah. Everyone's so friendly."
"We're a good bunch, you know? And we've only been trying to get you to come out with us for a month. But you'll be free to now, won't you?"
She takes a drink of her beer, new warmth in her chest. "Absolutely."
When the night winds down, she says goodbye and begins the long journey home with Niamh who happens to live a few neighborhoods away from her. It bothers her that she didn't know, never asked. Niamh is short and a little mousy, but she has a grin too big for her small face and wears clothes with shorter hems and more style than Rey ever will in her life. She likes Niamh; sad they haven't spoken too much yet.
"Don't let him drag you too far down," she says when they approach her apartment first. "Solo's always been a jerk; it's nothing you've done or haven't done."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like you don't." She grins and it's huge, catching the streetlamps. "Chin up. I'll see you on Monday!"
"Good night!"
The walk home isn't as hollow as she feared it could be, but a little piece of dread sticks with her until she's under her covers, sleep surrounding her every move. She's going to be fine. He was only another guy.
Monday morning was more tense than usual, the interns scattering and rushing about, another deadline pushed way the fuck up past the point of unreasonable. The engineers they were working with today were equally annoyed and frustrated, dashing about like greyhounds in a race.
"Fuck Solo." She hears it out of more than one mouth. He's fucking mad and she agrees. Fuck Benjamin Solo and the hell he's wrought upon Aerodynamics. She won't be surprised if they throw him to the hounds by the end of the day.
"We're not even his fucking department," she hisses at Finn over the crackle of a welding torch.
"Clearly no one is reining him in."
Then, finally, at two in the morning, it stops. Rey is exhausted and she tosses her gloves onto her workbench like they're made of fire ants. Everything is sore and she's not going to make it back to her apartment. She knows Software has a lounge somewhere on their floor and she's determined to call it home for a night.
"I'm not too far uptown," Finn says when he sees the conflict rushing across her face. "I have a couch too."
"Is it comfortable?"
"More comfortable than the bricks upstairs."
He also lives close to the 2, making her way home in the morning a lot easier.
The work rush continues on for a week and she has a hard time getting to her classes and back, panicking over whichever place she isn't. By Friday night, they've finished the horrible project that feels almost cobbled together, more slapdash than precise. Thank god the chemistry department isn't around to witness their careless work habits—they'd all have heart attacks.
And on Friday night, her black nightmare is stalking through their lab, long dark coat flowing around his calves. He looks enraged and the younger team members all back up, not wanting to catch his eye or risk getting fired. In the month they slept together, she forgot how mercilessly intimidating he tended to be, how cruel his eyes usually seemed. This reminder is unpleasant.
"It's passable," he says with a cold tone before sweeping away and vanishing up the stairs.
"We're not fired," one of the devs sighs in relief.
He didn't even pass her a glance. Her suspicions are confirmed and it stings, it stings so badly.
Her ruthless fury dissipates into a dejected fog and she gathers up her books and materials, wishing Finn a good night as she slips on her coat. At last she can go home and sleep uninterrupted with fears of intellectual inadequacy.
But he's outside the building doors, hands in his pockets, looking out onto the street. It's busy as it should be on a late Friday night. She stiffens and makes a concentrated effort to get the fuck away from this man.
"Rey."
And now she's a statue full of anger. She manages to turn halfway, not looking at him directly. "What do you want?"
He doesn't flinch, not once.
"To apologize for being a jerk."
She thinks of how he's dragged them through hell, and then she thinks of her own hurt. "Yeah, well, you're a week too late, Solo."
He chuckles, his voice humorless. "In trying not to fuck things up, I royally fucked things up and am in no place to ask for a second chance. Have a good night, Rey."
She watches him walk away with her heart thundering in her chest. She feels like she should run after him, shout, do something to make him turn back around, but instead she pivots on her heel and heads for home, more ready for sleep than anything else.
Saturday night she goes out with the gang to Smithfield and has a proper burger with a tall Irish beer, laughing and chatting with her new set of friends. But the whole night feels a little hollow, worse than last Saturday, and she can't explain where the feeling is coming from. Poe catches it first and head-butts her shoulder, trying to encourage her to laugh.
"No frowns here, sweet cheeks," he warns with a playful glint in his eye. She smiles and waves him off, plastering a fake cheeriness on her face that lasts all of a half hour. Then she's back on the train to mope central. It's been a cold long week without spending any of it in Ben's bed. A spike quietly lodges itself between her ribs. It was against the rules to develop feelings for a hookup and she committed a cardinal sin. Now if only it didn't hurt so badly.
They've got her laughing again by the time they all head out, the next event on the agenda another bar in the area that's hosting a drag night. She hasn't been to one in ages and the excitement of going is enough of a buzz for her to snap from that dreadful melancholia.
On the way, the party runs almost directly into another set of coworkers, both groups confused about the other. The newcomers are better dressed and Rey can see Phasma's platinum hair before she recognizes the rest of them. She has her arm linked with Solo's and Rey suddenly very much regrets being anywhere near the front of the group. Finn goes rigid beside her.
She avoids eye contact and walks around them, her group parting like the Red Sea around the higher ups. She holds back all emotions for another two blocks and then cracks. She hates being weak, she hates that this is the only thing that makes her weak.
"You're worth more than him, c'mon." Poe has an arm around her and she nods, knowing he's right but aching so badly regardless. She deserves so much more than him.
Wednesday morning she's called into the office of the Ginger Witch himself. She's never been to this part of the building, barely having time to venture further than the third flood. Hux has grease on his face and a snarl building on his lips, but he seems to calm a little with her presence. She has no clue why rocketry would want a thing to do with her.
"Make up with him please," he says while tinkering with an engine piece. She never expected Hux to be someone who worked with his hands. It had to be a job requirement. "He's the whiniest, moody bitch right now and we'd all appreciate not being subjected to his constant fits."
"What's in it for me?"
His eyebrows quirk and he seems more frustrated. "What's in it for you? I don't know, actually, I see no benefits to making nice with Solo. He's a pompous asshole with little to no self control."
"Then what part of that makes you think I want to subject myself to it?"
"You wanted to before." He stops, setting down his work. "You saw benefits to him. Have they disappeared?"
"He's not interested."
Something in Hux snaps. "Would the two of you stop being so stubborn? Go!"
She is shooed from his office and forcefully pushed towards a menacing dark wood door. Hux has the audacity to knock for her before storming back down the hall to his project. Rey's stomach has more knots than a properly rigged sailboat.
A crushingly hard it's open calls from beyond the wood and her hand hesitates on the knob. She can just accept his apology and be on her way. She doesn't need to start anything again, put herself in a position to get hurt again.
He has his back to her when she walks in, standing in front of a large tacked up collage of blueprints that make up a new satellite design. There are more numbers and equations scrawled on the pages than she's ever seen down in her department. Somehow, she feels she forgot he has a doctorate in a really fucking complex branch of physics. His suit jacket is on the back of his chair and his vest is tight on his waist. He's not hers, but he is beautiful. She wants to forget how she knows his shoulders look under his clothes.
"I'm going to have a tough time getting this thing into orbit with the size she's packing and the rockets we have available. My estimates are coming in too high for us to—"
He turns then and freezes for a brief moment. "That was Hux's knock. You're not Hux."
"I'm not Hux."
He grits his teeth before folding his arms across his chest. He looks like he's in a bit of pain. "Well, what do you want?"
"Hux asked me to make up with you."
"Of course he did." Solo returns to his blueprints, scribbling something out in a white pencil. "You can go."
"You don't want to make up?"
"No, not particularly. I had something to say when you didn't want to listen, and now I have nothing at all. I would appreciate if you don't slam the door on your way out."
"So that's it?"
"That's it."
She sighs, another bout of self-hatred brimming to the top of her lungs. She should know not to trust gingers at this point. She takes the few steps back to the office's entrance, doing her best not to look over her shoulder.
"You're really not going to fight for me?"
She closes the small sliver of open door. "Fight for you?" Her temper clicks on like a gas stove, with a hiss and a shot of flames. "Fight for someone who only wants me for sex? Who has no interested in me whatsoever? Who won't even look at me in a room full of other people?" She's rounded on him now, stalking like a lioness to his desk, bristling as she does. "Fight for the man who had another woman on his arm last Saturday? I pick my battles wisely; this isn't one I'm going to fight."
"On second thought, you're right, from that perspective it sounds like a bad idea." He's calm and she wants to punch him in the jaw. "You should, however, let me fight for you, since I am disgustingly infatuated to the point where I couldn't figure out how to talk to you the second I had you in a situation that could procure a romance."
"To the point where you're sleeping with other women."
"Hux wants to jump Phasma's bones so we buddy up when we go out, nothing more. She's too tall for my liking."
She's got a snarl on her face, hands on her hips, temper not quelled an inch. "I'm not convinced I should give you another shot, sorry."
"And you shouldn't. I'm not worth it. Just thought I'd give it a shot." His shoulders relax and he slumps a little. "You're talented, Rey, and I wish you the best of luck downstairs."
He is a broken man before her, even if his seams and cracks are barely showing. The slightest glimpse is enough to know.
Her heart aches again and the traitor makes her speak. "What would you do with a second chance, if I gave one?"
"Take you home, make dinner, hold your hand somewhere the thought of being in public won't grate on my brain whenever I want to tell you how much your eyes shine. Something quiet left only for dreams. I'll see you around the office."
He plunges back into his work.
Her heart fractures down the middle.
"I'm finishing up at six today."
He turns half to her. "Don't do this out of pity."
"It's not pity. I'll wait for you in the lobby."
His smile is beautiful, she decides, and she's surprised she's never seen it quite this big before. The trip to his apartment was quiet and awkward, but he came alive when his apartment door shut, a far different man standing before her than the one she saw two weeks ago. He cooks a gorgeous dinner and makes good on his promise to hold her hand like a grade school kid all through wine and dessert.
She's a blushing mess the second or third time he calls her beautiful and she can't help but reject his compliments. She's not pretty, she's just not, but he seems to see something she's missed in her reflection for the past twenty-three and a half years. Let him believe that, especially since he won't accept her compliments either.
They talk into the night and she remembers exactly why her horrible crush on him developed as quickly as it had. He's gorgeous, he's charismatic when he's comfortable, and…he looks at her like she'd hung every star in the sky on little silver strings. How did she come to believe he had no interested in her?
He doesn't kiss her, not once, and does the gentlemanly thing of offering to take the couch. They've shared a bed so many times that this all makes so little sense to her.
"I want to do right by you," he explains when she pushes. "I screwed up the first time and now I want to fix it."
She lets him stay on the couch by himself for a half hour before creeping out and making a concentrated effort to snuggle up to him in too small of a space. It doesn't work well and, in her pushy determination, she gets him to come back and lie beside her. They've never cuddled before and, oh, she's delighted that she fits up against him so perfectly. He's marvelous.
She doesn't deserve him.
They've been dating for two and a half months by the time Christmas rolls around. It's her favorite holiday and she finds herself stuck in the city away from her Grandfather for the first time in years. He's too deep into the Vietnamese wilderness for her to travel to him or him to get out and see her. It's a little painful to have to go without him this year, but in his place she has—
"Ben!" She shrieks as she finds herself lifted from her desk, pencil pulling sloppily away from a complex diagram of an internal wing piece. Her boyfriend is merciless.
"I told you on Sunday: you're coming home with me tonight, we're having a party tomorrow, and then we're going to have so much sex on Christmas morning." He throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and puts her down in the small kitchen area of her apartment. "It's going to be amazing, wait until you see what I got you."
"I have work to be doing—"
"I remember grad school, I know. But if you've got time to see Finn, you've got time to see me."
"But I'm not dating Finn! Seeing Finn is a much smaller time commitment!"
"Too bad, girl, I'm going to spoil you rotten and you will like it."
He is such a cheesy mess around her. She loves it.
She spends almost the entire afternoon decorating his apartment. It's small, yes, but he exaggerates just how small it is. She's living in a proper shoebox—he has several rooms, not to mention his kitchen is enormous. There isn't enough space for the two of them to live side by side, but there's enough for a gathering of friends.
He's allowed to do work unlike her and he's slumped at his desk in slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. "Can you check on the cake in the oven by the fridge." He has two ovens. Two ovens! How can he say this place is small!?
She gets down from her tinsel covered perch to peek in at his concoction. The cake itself is white but the flavor is peppermint. He has a Yule log cooking in the other oven. Cookie dough is in three different wrapped containers in the fridge. If he baked this much all the time, she would put on an astronomical amount of weight.
"It looks fine."
"Did you use a toothpick?"
She fishes one out of the drawer by the stovetop. "It's sticking a little."
"Perfect." He's beside her then, hands on her hips as he gently moves her out of his way. The master baker sets both layers of his cake on the cooling racks atop the island and switches them out for a sheet of cookies.
"Where did you learn to bake like this?"
"My mom. She baked a lot when I was a kid, probably out of stress." He closes the oven door and pecks her on the cheek. "You're sprucing this place up nicely, I love the little ornaments hanging on the lights."
"I like to overdo it a little."
He bends to really kiss her this time, the force of it making her stumble a little. "I don't think it's overdone."
"You're just buttering me up."
"Hmm, maybe." His hand slides up her shirt, cupping a breast over her bra. "Maybe I just like complimenting the beautiful woman in my kitchen."
"Where is she?"
He snorts and digs his fingers under the cup, the position awkward but arousing. "You'd think she'd notice when I'm playing with her tits, but alas. My Rey is clueless as ever."
Smiling, she runs a finger down his bare chest, biting her lip the way she knows he loves. "I can show you a few more ways in which I'm clueless."
"Oh, no." He draws back, striding back to his work. "We haven't the time. Those will be out in twelve minutes and I just have so much work." His grin is teasing and her cheeks feel hotter than they were a moment ago.
Back at her decorating, she hums quietly to herself. She likes this, their domestic dynamic. Could see herself growing very used to all the touching during mundane chores and cute banter. A brief thought flickers to permanent living arrangements, with them taking turns to make dinner, bickering about sports teams, kissing every morning when they wake up, wearing matching rings. Warmth slides up her shoulders and she gives the fantasy another few seconds before waving it away. It would be nice, but she doesn't think she's one to settle down, not anytime soon at least.
Valentine's Day isn't anything special. They both forget about it until it's almost nine and they're still at work, her bustling around with blueprints and him doing so many calculations with the rest of his team.
It's Finn who reminds her. "Aren't you and Solo going out tonight?"
She doesn't think he'll ever call him Ben. "No, it's a Monday. Why would we?"
"It's Valentine's Day. It's that thing couples do."
…Fuck. She didn't even remember that existed. "Oh."
"You forgot."
"I forgot."
Quarter of an hour later and Ben is down in the lab without his suit jacket, hair a mess and a pencil caught between one of his huge ears. He looks more than panicked.
"Hey." He kisses her forehead in greeting and no one glances to sneer. They all know he's been courting her for months and secretly most of the employees around and in his department are grateful—she's lulled him into not being a huge pain in the ass all the time. "Please don't hate me, but I—"
"Forgot what day it is. I did too." She smiles up at him, lacing her hands into his. "Get back to work, they're probably upset you left."
"They're probably taking a breather now that I've left. Our numbers are looking terrible right now."
"Then go, sheesh, even less reason to be down here."
He kisses her forehead again before hurrying back to his frustrated team.
Finn has a look of utter revulsion on when she turns back around. "He turns into a toothache around you, it's weird."
"It's weird because…?"
"Because Ben Solo's never been a nice guy and you manage to make him fall over his own feet and give all onlookers cavities."
"Sorry he's not always a huge jerk anymore?"
"It's just…weird."
They celebrate on that Friday, but it's less of a celebration and more of them lazing on the couch after work. Dinner and wine finished, she's sitting in his lap while he—of course—has a hand down her pants, his touch tender and a little teasing. Nothing is on the television this time, but she had been trying to read before he decided he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He never can.
"Where do you want to go tomorrow?" He asks, rubbing one finger back and forth against her clit.
"I told you, I'm perfectly fine with staying in."
"But I want to take you out. We should do something."
He's got his middle finger buried deep inside her now, angled perfectly that he's hitting that one highly-sensitive area and she moans, resting her head back against his chest. "Really, Ben, it's fine."
"It's fine?"
A shriller noise comes from her throat. "Yes, fine!"
"Fine is no fun." His free hand travels from her thigh to under her loose t-shirt, playing lightly with a breast. "We both missed Valentine's Day."
"It's not important."
"No?" He squeezes harder and moves a second finger to play at her entrance. "I think it's very important we express our feelings for one another."
He does something evil with her nipple and she whines. "I think you're the devil, happy?"
"Not really." He bites at her ear, overloading her senses. She's going to fucking lose it soon if he doesn't knock it off.
"Ben, your fun here is going to last another few minutes before your hand gets soaking wet."
"In that case." He withdraws his hand and wipes his soiled fingers off on her bare stomach, making her squirm. With one graceful motion, he picks her up and carries her into his bedroom, giving her no time to react before he's got her bottoms and underwear off. First thing he does is lick her stomach clean and her eyes roll back into her skull.
"That's filthy."
He shrugs. "I like it dirty. I like you dirty." Pressing a thumb close to—but not on—her clit, he smirks when she wriggles. "Tell me how you want it."
She's still not terribly comfortable with…bedroom talk. "Ben—"
"Tell me, Rey. How do you want my warm, wet mouth on your nice, tight pussy?" His thumb strokes up where her hip meets her thigh. "Do you want me to fuck you with my tongue? Or should I suck and lick your clit until you come around my fingers?"
Her face is hot and she buries it in her hands. "I can't do this."
"Can't do what, love? Can't deal with the suspense before I eat you out until dawn?" He's got a finger back inside her as he lies quite calmly on his stomach, unfazed by her embarrassment. "Or the suspense of how many times I'm going to make you come tonight? Because I'm not stopping until you can't move."
When she doesn't respond, he leaves a great big hickey on the inside of her right thigh, making her moan and squirm.
"I can also brand you until you make a decision." Another one goes right next to the first. "Been a while since you've had to go places with the lingering redness of me all over you for everyone to see. How does it feel, to know everyone in the office is aware that you're mine?" He kisses up her stomach, leaving a red blossom under her left breast. Then he's at her neck and she should have the common decency to push him away before he sets about destroying her neck like a horny teenager, but she doesn't. She lets him have his way.
"I love all these little noises you make," he says quietly, stroking his sixth work of art on her skin. "I feel like if you moan loud enough, I'm going to come from knowing that it's me you're moaning for."
"We can try it out."
"Tell me what to do."
She takes a deep breath, somehow nervous of being in bed with him. Their near-constant sexcapades have made her far better at making him feel amazing, but he's still far more experienced. And he's a god with his mouth, she has no idea how he does it.
"I want you to…" This is going to sound so weird. "Fingerfuck me until I'm near the edge. And the…the what you did earlier was pretty hot."
"Licking your own fluids off you?"
"Yeah, that."
"Excellent choice." He moves down so his face is again level with her hips and eases two fingers in this time, knowing how wet she is, how much she can handle. "Can you imagine how hot it would be if we got one of those internal vibrators and fucked while you had it in? God, you'd get off at least twice in the first ten minutes."
"We haven't fucked in months, Ben."
He chuckles and kisses her stomach, where she can still feel the burning of where her own wetness was. Arousal shoots down her spine. "You're right, we been making love. That sounds too pure for what you've been doing with my cock."
She's easing into this filthy conversation. "And what have I been doing?"
"First, you got the fucking vibrating cock ring and then I fucked you silly into three orgasms and you were so goddamn tight I left a bite mark on your shoulder from trying not to scream." He's building up a nice steady rhythm and she can feel her chest begin to grow heavy. He gets a third finger in there and she's not sure she can hear what he's saying anymore. "Then you spent an entire week sucking me off with that sweet little mouth of yours when you were on your period and I swear to god I've never felt anything more amazing in my life." He dips his head to lavish her clit with pressure and flicks and sucking, frenzied off the memory.
"What was I doing?" Her voice is nothing but breathy gasps.
"I don't even know. Then next thing I know you've got me on all fours with one hand on my hip and the other on my balls and you peg me into the best orgasm I've ever had." He says this all with his lips pressed against her and she can feel his voice in her hips.
With an arch of her back, she hits release for the first time this night, no doubt not the last. He's holding one of her hands when she gets back to her senses, the other smearing her own come all over her belly. He's filthy; he's fucking filthy as he laps it away, nuzzling into her soft middle when he's finished.
"You should get out the strap-on again soon," he says as he's kissing down her hip. "Not tonight—this is all about you tonight—but soon. I fucking love it when you dominate me."
She laces her fingers in his hair and brings him up for a kiss way too sweet for their current positions. There's something in the way he's been looking at her all night that she can't get over. It builds butterflies in her stomach whenever she catches it. She thinks she knows what it is, but she's a little afraid to admit it. "You're fucking perfect, Ben."
He presses into her neck to hide a smile she absolutely saw. "So are you, Sunshine."
For once, she doesn't hate the pet name. In fact, this time, she kind of loves it. Really loves it, the way it falls like gold from his tongue. The way he sees her as something gold, warm, and wonderful. She sighs, positive of it now. Positive she's starting to fall in love.
"You better get back down there before I tie you to the headboard and do everything but make you come."
His eyes are hungry for that—he loves the idea of that—but he obeys. "Yes, ma'am."
Her fingers are back in his hair when his tongue meets her folds and she shivers. "That's my boy."
"I'm not a dog," he huffs, but his licks up and down are too good for him to be nothing special. "But I am yours."
Hers.
She likes how that sounds, what it means. Hers. Yes, she is certainly falling in love with him. And she's scared, scared to give him that much of herself, but excited. So excited to share it with him. But not…yet. It's only been a few months and she doesn't want to say anything, at least not until she knows how he feels.
She brings him up to kiss his soiled lips, rolling him over, kissing him silly for what feels like an eternity before letting him go back to his need to please. His eyes are so bright and she knows he's marvelous, beyond marvelous. She would be content to have him to herself until the sun burned out and time stopped, and for a good long while after that, too.