#indianakatt

3: First Time:

Leslie watches him as he moves through her kitchen, opening the cabinet that contains her wine glasses. He opens the bottle with practiced ease and pours, offering her one. She takes the glass, her hand shaking but miraculously able to control the glass as she brings it to her lips. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous, it’s not as if this is her first time ever having sex. It’s not even her first time having sex with Ben.

But it’s real now, completely out in the open, and that makes it feel brand new. 

He takes the glass from her hand, setting it beside the bottle and then his lips are on hers, fingers threading through her hair as he pushes her through her kitchen until the reach the couch. She falls backwards and he goes with her, lips now falling on her neck, his fingers exploring her skin. 

She wants to say she missed him, but she’s said it so much she feels like a broken record.But it’s true though, she missed him so much she ached in her bones. There were too many nights when she woke up thinking he was beside her, only to be disappointed to find nothing but empty space. 

“Bedroom?”

“Not yet.” The words ghost cross her lips. It’s her natural instinct to hurry, to take him to her room so she can sink down on him, but as Ben’s lips slide across hers, saying everything she needs to hear without saying a word at all, she realizes she’s okay with going slow for right now. 

He’s not going anywhere. 

27: Rough, bite, scratch. 

She comes in the middle of the night, wanting to talk about the budget. Ben blames the summer heat and his own exhaustion for letting her in, but the moment the door closes, something in the room shifts and he doesn’t know who makes the first move, though he would like to blame her.

What he can’t blame her for is he way he pushes her down on his bed, or the way he rips off her blouse, uncaring when she protests. He can’t blame her when he scrapes his teeth on her cleavage, or for the way he palms her cunt, rubbing it through her pants until she’s whimpering for him to stop.

He does, but his hand stays. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she growls, her fingers pulling on the back of his hair, bringing him back down.