“Birdie?” he demands again.
I fist my hands in his hair and nod over and over again, and still, it’s not enough. He wants me to say it. His brown eyes look up at me with piercing need.
“Yes.”
He bends his elbows and falls down on me like I’m the source of long-awaited solace after a hard day, the dessert at the end of a meal. His cheek rests against my navel and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying not to cry, willing myself to keep it together long enough to see this through without the embarrassment of tears.
He kisses me and drags his hand down lower, gripping my thighs and spreading me. He kisses me again and shifts lower. It’s all so smooth—the way his hand slides between my thighs, the way his mouth follows. The combination of both is soul-searing. I want to cry out, but I clamp my lips together and keep my eyes closed. He shifts until his shoulders are sandwiched between my thighs, and he settles into place as if he intends to be there a while.
I arch up off the bed when his finger circles and then presses into me, followed by a second one. He pumps in and out, and I peek my eyes open to see his attention caught on my parted legs before he leans in and tastes me.
My mouth drops open on a silent moan. Long strokes of his tongue are enough to undo me in seconds, but I stave it off, shifting, fighting, arching, rocking—I want the blissful ending and yet I’m running from it, wanting so much more of this, desperate for it to last forever. He wins though; his finger curls inside me and an orgasm races through me so suddenly I cry out.
He’s relentless as he coaxes out every last moan, and when he rises up to rip his shirt off his head and retrieve a condom from his bedside drawer, I’m nothing more than a mass of useless limbs. He smiles down at me, proud, clearly.
I let him rearrange us higher on the bed, grateful he can do the heavy lifting because I just…can’t. He unzips his pants and tugs them down. He rips the condom open and slides it on while I watch with rapt attention. His eyes capture mine. He wants further consent and I nod, giving it to him eagerly. I’d beg if he wanted. I’d plead and cry and demand he let me feel this heaven on earth. There’s nothing like it, I’m reminded, as he settles himself between my legs and teases me with a few strokes before gently pushing his length in the first inch. His hand splits my legs farther, and he slides in a little more.
I clamp down out of impulse, and he groans.
“Sorry!”
He laughs and shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words. I don’t think my apology was necessary.
He falls down to one elbow, kissing my cheek and neck as he pushes in, edging in farther and farther until he can’t go any more, until I feel like I’m so full it’s borderline painful.
“Relax,” he whispers, flattening his finger over my eyebrows, and I realize I’ve been nervously bracing myself.
I smile, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him like crazy, all over his face and lips and neck. I want to tell him how insane he makes me feel, how much I’ve longed for this moment ever since he walked out of my life.
“God, I missed you,” he says, sounding agonized.
I finally lose the battle with my tears, wishing I could conceal them, wishing I wasn’t so intimately touched by our lovemaking. It’s just so unbearably good, his naked chest on mine, his hands on my skin.
Let’s move to Mexico.
Let’s leave our lives.
Let’s get married, have children, get matching tattoos.
He could suggest anything right now and I would be ready and willing.
And then he starts to rock in and out of me, creating a rhythm, dragging his hands down my body, and when he touches between my parted legs, I arch off the bed and dig my nails into his shoulders. I come again and then he turns us around and lies back, sits me up on top of him, and watches as I start to roll my hips back and forth for him. He looks lost in the sight of us together. His brown eyes are soft and warm as they skim over my body. His hands grip my waist as he holds me down, stilling me as his body jerks and his fingers bite into my skin. I feel it when he lets go, watching with awe, soaking up the power that comes from having him underneath me like this, absolutely enraptured.
When he finishes and quiets, I fall down and lie on his chest, catching my breath and staring off at the balcony doors, letting my gaze go unfocused and hazy on the night sky. Tiny balls of light dance in my vision—stars, I realize—as Ben’s chest rises and falls, moving my head along with it. He’s still inside me. A bond that feels utterly unbreakable. A perverse part of me wants to stay here forever, keep him underneath me always. But my eyelids get heavy and start to close. Ben stirs a few minutes later, and we begrudgingly rise to rejoin the world.
I grow embarrassed and self-conscious once we extricate ourselves and stand. My nakedness feels almost obscene now, every freckle and dimple on display. I peer up and Ben is staring. My blush doubles down and he walks over to me, grabs my hand, and tugs me into the bathroom so he can run a hot shower. We step in together without speaking, soap ourselves and each other. He has to bend down so much for me to reach the top of his head, I can’t help but laugh.
When we’re done, we dry off and change. Inside the closet where I’ve stored a few items, I see that Nina’s added even more. There are a few comfy sets of pajamas and plenty of panties and bras to choose from. I make a mental note to thank her, again.
The next day, Ben has a game, and I finally drag myself back to the Caltech campus. It’s the Saturday before classes resume after spring break, and I can no longer put off the inevitable. I have nearly fifty unread emails that are waiting for responses, not to mention my friends are all back in town. Kayla greets me when I walk into our room with a huge smile.
“Someone had a very good, very sex-filled spring break,” she says, stopping me dead in my tracks.
How does she know? Were we not as careful as we thought with the paparazzi?
My confused expression makes her roll her eyes. “Me. I had a sex-filled spring break,” she says before unfurling a huge gloating smile. “Not only did I see Daniel AKA Mr. Break My Heart Senior Year of High School, but he was looking fine as shit. One thing led to another, as it always does when I’m wearing that Revolve dress, and well…let’s just say the boy is begging for a relationship.”
By this point, she’s inspecting her fingernails as if the entire topic bores her.
“And? Are you going to do it?”
She looks offended. “Absolutely not.”
I laugh and she looks up, shooting me a playful wink before turning back to finish unpacking her bag. And by unpacking, I mean dumping out the contents onto her bed in one big heap.
“Anyway, what did you do? Tell me you didn’t languish away in Cahill. So help me god, if you—”
The door to our room slams open suddenly, and I leap back as Julia and Ryan come to a screeching halt, catching their breaths as if they ran all the way here.
“You!” Julia shouts, pointing at me before bending over and holding her knees.
She nudges Ryan as if to get him to continue whatever she was about to say, but he can barely function either. He stands and sucks in air, waving his hand in circles.
“You and—” he manages.
“Ben,” Julia finishes.
“What in the hell is wrong with you two?” Kayla asks with a snappy tone. “Are you on drugs? I specifically told you not to leave me out if you were ever going to try something and now look at you, high as kites. What was it? Mushrooms? A little molly? Did someone bring pot brownies into the computer lab again and leave them for unsuspecting freshmen?”