Before I can wrap my mind around those words, especially the “honey,” he continues. “Who would you rather stroke you to orgasm? Some loser you found on a dating app or your best friend?”
It’s so close to what I imagined I worry briefly that I said it out loud.
“You can trust me. I won’t pressure you into doing anything else. You’ll enjoy yourself, guaranteed. I’m very, very good.”
Before my stomach can sour at the idea of the plethora of practice he’s had in the past, I laugh again. “Now you’re giving me your resume for the job?”
“It won’t be a job for either one of us. You’ll sleep better too.”
His offer isn’t a profession of love or even lust. I’m trying to decide if I care that he doesn’t want me but is offering the very thing I’ve been dreaming of since I started working for him.
“It’s just sex,” he states plainly, murdering any remaining hope that he might be overcome with passion during. “And it’s not even real sex. It’s fingering, which barely counts. I can go down on you if you want.”
I make a little “meep” sound in the back of my throat. He chuckles.
“Okay, too much. That’s fair.” He holds my hand. “We can start with kissing, see how that goes. Do you like nipple play?” he asks casually as he helps me to my feet. He watches me expectantly.
I nod my head. “I think so.”
His eyes flare, burnishing the browns to vivid gold. Not so impersonal for him after all. “I’m your best friend,” he repeats. “Completely safe.”
Oh, but he isn’t safe. No, he wouldn’t hurt me, and yes, he’d likely give me the orgasm of my life, but he is not safe. I have to set my mind on not allowing this to mean anything. Or worse, not allowing this to mean everything.
He grips my hips and tugs me so close our chests almost touch. “It won’t be weird if we don’t let it. Your body is in need and my body is happy to give yours what it needs. It’s simple.”
“It is?” I have my doubts. When it comes to relationships, it’s never simple.
“Yep. We’ll start with a kiss and if it’s weird, we’ll stop and pretend it never happened.”
“You swear?” I ask hopefully. I wish he’d forget the phone call instead, but if he won’t, maybe one kiss will lead to us calling it off, and then we can embrace our agreed-upon amnesia.
It’s as close to a time machine as I’m going to get.
Not that I could forget kissing Benjamin Owen. No way, no how. My gaze strays to his full lips, his rounded shoulders. He fills out his pale blue dress shirt better than any man I’ve seen. His torso is slim and fit, giving him a V formation thanks to his religious gym habit. Home gym, with a trainer. God bless Vlad. He’s an artist. I make out the outline of Benji’s pectorals through the shirt and imagine his abs—which I’d love to set my mouth to. Oh my God.
“I can’t do this.” I shove his chest. “I—”
“Cris.” Both his hands rest on top of mine. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s me. The guy who’s known you since you were a college dropout working for my dad and I was a horny, annoying twenty-three-year-old.” His lips quirk. “Now I’m a horny, annoying thirty-three-year-old.”
I blow out a short laugh. Remarkably, he’s setting me at ease.
“You can trust me,” he insists.
I trust him more than anyone. He’s been there for me even when I didn’t work for him. I fold easier than I would have thought.
I nod. He leans in. I don’t stop him this time.
Gently, his mouth presses mine. The touch of his lips melts me like warm chocolate. The hand I put on his chest fists, and I grab a handful of material and pull him to me, slanting my mouth and deepening our kiss. It’s every fantasy I’ve had about him come to life. And proof my imagination is blurry black-and-white compared to the crisp, bright technicolor of this moment.
He returns my kiss with vigor, opening wide and touching my tongue with his. A bolt of lightning streaks through my body and ignites between my legs. He wraps both arms around my back and smashes my breasts against his torso. Then he’s diving in with renewed vigor, the scrape of his five o’clock shadow rasping my jaw.
It’s incredible. It’s amazing. It’s…
I whimper and my hips roll forward, my belly bumping into a telltale hard ridge. He grunts and then pulls his amazing mouth away.
I’m dazed. Uncertain.
He draws his chin back and smiles down at me. “Damn. You’re a firecracker.”
Then his smile blooms into one of his infectious grins.