What Comes With It

Chapter 13

Ben's ice blue eyes darken as he puts those hands of his on my ass and pulls me into him, closing the final few centimeters of space. My breath quickens when I feel every inch of him pressing against me.

Two things happen in rapid succession: our lips collide and I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He lifts me with ease. It is here, in this moment, that I get why people covet athletes. He is strong and solid, like he's been training his whole life for this moment. And also like he could break me in the best way.

As we hungrily kiss each other, he smoothly moves us over to the bed. Or at least I think he does. I don't even notice it happening. The towel is surprisingly still in place, suspended between us by friction and my legs.

He throws — yes, throws — me onto the king-size bed, then crawls on top of me, his arms, shoulders, and neck flexed and gigantic. I'm pretty sure all the Grecian sculptures in every museum are modeled after this guy. (Why did I ever waste my time with so many bird-boned musicians and actors??) He's delicately hovering above me like he doesn't want to hurt me.

I desperately need us to keep going, but he pushes himself up and just ... gazes at me?

"Is everything OK? Is this OK?" He asks me quietly.

"Um, this is beyond OK," I answer breathily. "I need this. I need you."

That's all he needs to hear. The urgency has vanished and he moves precisely and teasingly. He nips my ear, kisses my jaw, then moves painfully slow to the most sensitive parts of my neck. All the while I can feel how much he wants me. I need to get that towel out of here.

I reach down to rectify the situation and he wordlessly catches my hand. Damn these athletes and their reflexes. He grabs my other hand and pins them both above my head.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time, Serena," he growls in my ear. "I'm not taking any shortcuts."

I catch his mouth with mine and he kisses me passionately, nibbling my lower lip before tearing himself away to continue his agonizing descent.

I feel his facial hair tickle my skin as he works his way down my collarbone, plants a kiss between my breasts, then slips off the straps of my silk camisole.

"This needs to go," he says gruffly as he releases my hands and briefly separates from my body.

I quickly oblige. When a 6'5" football player orders you around in bed, you listen.

He stares at my naked top half for a second, looking as intoxicated as I feel, before resuming his mission. He takes one of my nipples between his lips, tantalizing me while he cups my other breast, twisting and teasing away. I am positively disintegrating with every touch.

Just when I'm about to take things into my own hands, he kisses his way down to the top of my silk shorts. He lowers himself off the bed and tugs my legs to its edge. He's now on his knees, pulling my silk shorts off.

"No underwear? Were you expecting someone?" He says, looking up at me with a devilish grin.

He guides my legs over his shoulders and dives into me, tongue first. A moan escapes me as he gently sucks and licks my clit. The warmth of his mouth sends streams of heat through my body. I rake my hands through his hair. I need more. He picks up the speed and amps up the pressure.

Just when I think it can't get more mind-scrambling he inserts a finger. And then another one.

"Fuck, Serena. You're so fucking wet," he murmurs into me.

I have lost control of my hips as they grind against his mouth. I'm building past the point of no return, simultaneously wanting to climax immediately and also draw it out as long as possible. His rhythm increases and I feel his other hand tighten its grip on my thigh.

As my entire body begins to seize, he doubles down on his going down, stroking me with his tongue as I release. I manage to grab a pillow to muffle my screams.

He stands to his full height, wiping the slick off his face and admiring his work: me, melted into a puddle on the bed with a pillow over my head. I shove it aside and see that the towel has finally lost its valiant battle. Ben Archer is standing naked in front of me.

I gasp in my head. I must also gasp out loud because he is smirking. His dick is a masterpiece, like the rest of him. It's weighed down by its own size. I immediately need to know what it feels like.

I scramble to my knees to meet him at the edge of the bed. I kiss him deeply, tasting myself and not giving a fuck. I snake my hand between us and finally get hold of that magnificent dick.

As I pump my hand, his kisses grow more desperate, sloppier. His breath irregular. I know that without question I need him to be inside me.

"Take me, Ben, any way you want," I whisper, before nibbling his earlobe. I know I should be worried about protection but after that orgasm he just gave me, all logic ceases to exist. "Please, I need you," I beg.

He looks at me quizzically. Thankfully, his brain is still working and he painstakingly pulls away to grab a condom. I clock the black and gold wrapper. He expertly guides the condom down his length. I lay back, ready.

Instead of climbing on top of me, he deftly flips me over onto my knees.

"Any way I want?" He growls, marveling at my ass.

He takes his dick and gently teases my still swollen clit with it. His self-discipline is truly admirable.

"Ben..." I manage, before he finally plunges into me.

The air is squeezed out of my body. I can feel every inch of him, until I realize it's not even all of him. He moves methodically, testing the waters and checking in with me.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmurs as he pulls my hips toward him harder, picking up speed. At this point, I can't even speak. And then he reaches around and starts playing with me. His hand-dick coordination is remarkable and I feel another, more powerful, explosion begin to build.

My entire body shudders as I come around him, freeing Ben to finally give in. He moans as he releases, pumping purposefully as he empties himself. After a few beats, he gently pulls out. He then proceeds to take that same pesky towel from earlier and cleans us both up. I collapse into the bed, full-on starfishing, while he sneaks away to grab some boxer briefs out of his bag.

He climbs into bed next to me and pulls me into his arms. I'm suddenly bashful as I rush to cover my naked body, averting my eyes.

"Hey," he says, forcing me to look at him.

"Hi," I say back.

"This is going to sound so cheesy, but like, this is my biggest fantasy coming true. I'm sorry to put you on a pedestal like that, I just. ... Damn, Serena," He blushes and buries his face in the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. "Thank you for texting me. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for being you."

This isn't the first time a paramour has checked me off his bucket list, but it's the first time it didn't offend me. I'm a person with real feelings and real fame, but to know that he is genuinely overcome with gratitude is almost refreshing.

I don't really know what to say so I lift his head up in my hands.

"Hey," I whisper. "I should be thanking you. I know we just met a few days ago, but you have no idea how much I needed this.

We fall asleep in each other's arms just in time for my 10 p.m. bedtime. It's the best sleep I've had in months.