November 9
Page 47

Ben’s eyes darken and then he slides his body over mine, caging me in with his arms. I can feel him hard against me and I try not to whimper. “You can’t say things like that unless you mean them, Fallon.”
I meant it with everything I am. For the first time, I realize that I don’t care about the five years. I don’t care that I’m not twenty-three. All I care about is Ben and how I feel when I’m with him, and how I want so much more of this. “I want you to be my only,” I say, my voice quieter, but with more resolve.
He winces as if he’s in pain, but I know by now that’s a good thing. A very good thing.
He brushes his thumb over my lips. “I want to be your only, Fallon. I want it more than anything. But it’s not happening tonight unless you promise me that I’ll be able to hear your voice tomorrow and every day that follows.”
I nod, surprised we’re having this conversation. I wasn’t anticipating this at all when I got on that flight this morning. But I know it’s right. I’m never going to meet anyone who makes me feel the way he does. People don’t get this lucky more than once in the same lifetime. “I promise.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “I want your phone number before you leave in the morning.”
I nod again. “You can have it. I want you to have it. And my email address. I’ll even go buy an all-in-one printer with a fax machine so I can give you that number, too.”
“Baby,” he says, his lips forming a smile. “You have already made this the best sex I’ve ever had, and I’m not even inside you yet.”
I bite my lip as I run my fingers up his arms, dragging them up his neck until I’m cupping his face. “What are you waiting for?”
He drags in a raspy breath. “To wake up, I think.” He lowers his mouth and kisses my neck. “I’m dreaming, right?”
I shake my head, just as he moves his hips against me. A moan escapes my mouth and the gentle kiss against my neck grows wilder.
“Definitely dreaming,” he mutters. His mouth meets the base of my throat and he touches the tip of his tongue to my skin, dragging it up my throat until he’s kissing me again. It’s by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever felt.
Seconds turn into minutes. Fingers turn into hands. Teasing turns into torture. Torture turns into unimaginable pleasure.
His boxers have met their fate on the floor. In an insurmountable display of willpower, he’s pressed against me, but still not inside me.
“Fallon,” he whispers, dragging his lips slowly across mine. “Thank you for this beautiful gift.”
As soon as his words brush over my mouth, he covers me in a deep kiss. My whole body tenses from the burst of pain that ripples through me as he pushes inside of me, but the perfection of the way we fit together makes the pain a mere inconvenience.
It’s beautiful.
He’s beautiful.
And somehow, with the way he’s looking down at me, I even believe I’m beautiful.
He presses his mouth against my ear and whispers, “No combination of written words could ever do this moment justice.”
I smile between moans. “How are you going to write about it, then?”
He kisses me, softly, right on the corner of my mouth. “I guess I’ll just have to fade to black . . .”
• • •
I’m not sure if sex is supposed to make you feel like you’ve just lost a part of yourself to the person inside you, but that’s exactly what it felt like. It felt as if the second we joined together, a tiny piece of our souls got confused and a piece of his fell into me and a piece of mine fell into him. It was by far the single most intense moment I’ve ever shared with another person.
I feel a warmth creeping up my face like I want to cry, but I keep the tears at bay. I just know that there’s no way I can tell him goodbye after this. It’ll tear me apart, way worse than last year. I can’t go another day without him being a part of my everyday life. Not after this.
His arm is wrapped around me, and even though it’s been several minutes and he’s already been to the bathroom and crawled back into bed, he’s still breathing like he was just inside me a matter of seconds ago. I like this part of sex, I think. The aftermath. The quiet. Still feeling connected after the physical connection is no longer there.
His lips meet my shoulder—the scarred one—and he places the gentlest kiss against my skin. So soft and thought out, it feels like so much more than just a kiss. It feels like a promise, and I’d give anything to be able to read his mind right now.
“Fallon,” he whispers, pulling me closer to his side. “You know all those romance novels you made me read for research?”
“I only made you read five. The others were of your own accord.”
He runs his nose along my jawline until his lips are at my ear. “Well,” he continues, “I was thinking about some of the things those guys say when they’re with a girl. The ones we said we’d never say? Like when a guy tells a girl he owns her? I know we’ve laughed about it before, but . . . holy shit.” He pulls back and holds me captive with an intense stare. “I’ve never wanted to say anything like I wanted to say those things to you while I was inside you. It took everything I had not to.”
I never thought a sentence could make me whimper, but it absolutely does. “If you did . . . I wouldn’t have asked you to stop.”
He drags his lips across my cheek until he reaches my mouth. “I’m not saying those things to you until you really are mine.” He wraps his arms around me, cradling me against him, begging me without words for whatever it is he’s not saying. I can feel it. The desperation.