Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Silently, Ben removes his own clothes and lowers his body on mine. His cock slides into me in one swift stroke, but he doesn’t move, just leaves himself buried deep inside me.
Our gazes collide, and what I see steals the breath from my lungs. He looks turned on and needy and even a little vulnerable, and my heart does somersaults in my chest.
“Maggie,” he says, his voice coming out hoarse, ragged.
I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. Instead he starts to move, his pace a sweet, rolling rhythm that has me gasping with impatience. He ignores my tiny whimpers, the way I grip his butt and try to pull him deeper inside.
“There’s no rush,” he whispers, pushing strands of hair out of my eyes.
He resumes the slow pace and I’m not sure how long he keeps it up. Minutes could’ve ticked by, hours even, but I don’t care. My eyelids flutter closed, and I almost purr, breathing in Ben’s spicy masculine scent as he fucks me slowly.
I kiss his chest, running my tongue along his collarbone, meeting his gentle thrusts with the measured rise of my hips. And just when I’m getting close, he withdraws abruptly, slides down between my legs, and presses his lips to my swollen clit. Licking, sucking, until I cry out from an orgasm so intense a wave of dizziness crashes over me.
Ben doesn’t let me recover, nor does he resume his lazy pace when he thrusts back inside me. “Now we can rush,” he growls, and plunges into me so fast and deep that it isn’t long before a second orgasm seizes my inner muscles. A moment later, Ben shudders and comes, finally allowing himself his own release.
He kisses my forehead, and then rolls off me to dispose of the condom. Staring at his sinewy, sweat-soaked back, I bite my lip to stop myself from asking him what just happened. Sex happened, duh, but it feels like something between us has shifted. Something that scares me and exhilarates me at the same time. Something I can’t explain with words, or label, or even analyze.
Oh fuck.
For the first time in my life, I wonder if maybe I’m falling in love.
29
Maggie
I don’t wake Ben before I leave the apartment the next morning. I know it makes me a coward, but I’m not ready to face him yet. Something changed last night and I know he felt it too. It showed in the way he held me after sex, the way he stroked my hair and fell asleep with his head against my breasts. The entire exchange was so damn intimate that I don’t even know what to make of it. It worries me. So much that I’m sneaking out today without a word and heading to the community center despite the chicken pox risk.
I just can’t be around Ben right now. Last night when the L-word floated its way into my mind, I was stunned. And terrified. Is it even possible to start falling for someone this fast? I’ve never been in love before, never allowed myself to feel anything even remotely close to it, so the fact that I somehow dropped my guard around Ben is petrifying. I’m supposed to hate him for messing with my job, for complicating my entire life with his sexy smiles and drugging kisses.
A day working with the kids is what I need. Kids have the strangest ability to clear your head and help you gain perspective on life.
I don’t usually work on Sundays, but I need to be out of the apartment, away from Ben and the conflicting emotions he stirs inside me. Paying my driver, I step out of the car and onto the sidewalk. The temperature is surprisingly hot for May. The sky is a clear blue and the breeze warm as it snakes through my hair. Yet, despite such a perfect day, the Broger Center is under attack by an evil presence.
As in, the crowd of paparazzi milling on the sidewalk in front of the building.
A chill runs up my spine despite the sunshine warming my face. The crowd rushes me the second they spot me.
“Maggie!” one reporter shouts. “Maggie, want to say a few words to TMZ?”
Oh God.
“How long have you been dating Ben Barrett?”
“Are you aware of his affair with Gretchen Goodrich?”
I want to melt into the sidewalk and become one with the cement, but the jerks won’t let me. Before I can blink, they’ve surrounded me. Cameras keep getting thrust in my direction.
“Maggie, did Ben pay you for sex? Is that why you were with him at the Lester Hotel?”
Something sharp pierces my heart. Are they implying I’m a prostitute?
Unable to breathe, I push one of the cameras out of my face and stalk forward. “I won’t even dignify that with an answer,” I mutter.