He lets out a moan and I realize he doesn’t have a condom on. Part of me doesn’t care and doesn’t want him to stop. His dick has been in my mouth multiple times; I’m just as likely to get an STD from him by sucking his cock as I am from him raw dogging it.

I just don’t want to get pregnant. I have messed-up cycles and can go way over a month without bleeding, and never know when I’m going to start until I get crumple-into-bed-with-pain cramps. Then a few hours later Aunt Flo shows up. I haven’t had a period since I’ve met Ben. I should be due for one soon.

But that’s a big risk.

He pushes in as deep as he can and all logic goes out the window. I wrap my legs around him and move my hips along with his, needing this now. I come for the third time, clinging to him as my body goes haywire. He bites down at my neck, lets out a breath, and pulls out as he climaxes, coming onto my thigh. He pushes himself against me, trying to get some sensation out of it.

He relaxes against me, his weight crushing, and buries his head in the cleavage that’s popping out of the tight leather corset.

“That was nice,” I say and run my hands down his arms. “And by nice I mean fucking amazing.”

Ben’s still panting. He rises his head and kisses me. “You’re fucking amazing.”

My heart swells and I feel myself inching closer and closer to the edge. No. I’m not falling for him. Not now. Not yet. I can’t when there is so much up in the air, so much unknown.

“Want me to get you a towel or something?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s already dripping down my leg onto the skirt. That’ll work well enough.” I use the material to wipe up my thigh.

Ben makes a face. “Sorry?”

“You should be. So sorry you do me again.”

He rolls off me, chest rapidly rising and falling. “That can be arranged.”

“Actually, you can unlace the corset and call it even.”

“If undressing you is the price I have to pay for fucking you…” He grabs me and pulls me onto him. Our eyes meet and his lips part, like he wants to say something. He kisses me instead and sits us both up. Deft fingers unlace the corset and I got into the bathroom to undress and run a damp washcloth over my sticky skin.

I want to bring up the “since we’ve been together” thing but I’m not sure how to do it. I don’t want to insult him if we have been together in his eyes. It’s not like I’m seeing anyone else, or have any intentions to.

Why can’t we go back to the days when we passed a note where you just had to circle yes or no? So simple. Black and white. Unless that fucker adds a “maybe” option to that note.

Ben has his boxers on, and he’s lying on the bed flipping through channels. He’s everything I want and everything I thought I’d never have.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Not really, but I do have cookies.”

“You like to bake, don’t you?” he asks.

“I do,” I tell him and open the top drawer on my dresser. I pull out panties and a Captain America tank top to wear to bed. I undress in front of him, knowing he’s watching but not feeling self-conscious. “My best friend owns a bakery. She pretty much forced my love of baking from an early age.  She’s way better than me, which is good since she owns a bakery and all. Want milk with your cookies?”

“Is there any other way to eat them?”

I smile and leave the room, coming back with chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. I’m surprised to see Ser Pounce sitting on the foot of the bed. He’s not cuddled up with Bed by any means, but he’s blissfully ignoring him. And hey, that’s progress. I snuggle with Ben as we eat and watch another episode of Game of Thrones. Ben says he should leave since we both have work in the morning, but makes no attempt to get up.

I put the dishes aside and we cuddle under the blankets, comfortably tangled together.

“What are you doing for the Fourth of July?” I ask lazily, close to the point of being so tired my logic filter is off. I’m not worried about asking him anymore.

“A friend is having a party,” he says and my heart sinks. “Why? Do you have plans?”

“Kind of. My parents own cabins and boats and stuff along the lake and have a huge hillbilly boat party thing.”

“Did you say boats?”

I nod. “And a few jet skis. They rent them out to people who rent the cabins. But they always save a few for the party.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It is, actually. There’s more food than you can eat and everyone is drunk. Even my mom, and she’s a trip once you get enough wine in her. I haven’t been home much lately. I’m kind of looking forward to it,” I confess as it hits me. “Erin always goes. And makes a tasty cake.”

“The one who owns the bakery?”

“Yeah. I should have mentioned it sooner so you could have gone with me.” My eyes are closed and the steady beating of Ben’s heart is relaxing. I don’t want him to leave.

“My friend’s party isn’t something I’d be sad to miss,” he says slowly.

“Really?” I sound too hopeful.

“Really. When are you leaving?”

“Sometime that Friday evening. I intended on spending the weekend there, since the Fourth is on Saturday and all. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know it’s a long time to be with me and all…”

“I do want to,” he says. “I like being with you, Felicity. You act like it’s a surprise.”

“Just making sure,” I add quickly. I smile, and wrap my arm tighter around him.

“I have to go to an art exhibit opening Wednesday night, and I should spend tomorrow getting ready,” he says. “I’ll be at the gallery late, and Thursday I have to drive three hours to another gallery and be gone the whole day. So I won’t get to see you the rest of the week. I’ll be looking forward to the whole weekend together.”

“Good. Because I am too.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tissue paper crunches under my ass, which is hardly covered in a disposable thong. I shift on the foam bed, nervously looking at the door. My heart is racing. Fuck. I shouldn’t have done this. I can still get up, put my pants back on, and dash out of the salon before someone comes in, covers my cooter with hot wax, and rips my hair from my body.

There’s a knock on the door. I smooth out the white robe I’ve been given over my lap. Crap. No time.

A pretty esthetician with her hair in a tight bun comes into the room. She looks like she could be my mother, which is both reassuring and awkward at the same time. Please be gentle with me. I’m a wax virgin.

“Felicity?” she asks, looking down at the paper I filled out at the front desk.

“Yeah,” I say and swallow hard. The smell of the wax fills the air and my thighs clench shut on their own accord. I’m nervous as fuck and feel like I’m about to get a PAP smear or something invasive like that. Though, in the end, that’ll probably hurt less.

“You forget check box,” she says in a thick Russian accent. I can hardly understand her. “You want backside wax too?”

“Uh, sure,” I say. After an hour-long debate Monday night, I decided to call and make an appointment today for a wax after getting my hair dyed back to its original color of brunette. That way I won’t have to worry about shaving or having an unsightly bikini line while on the lake. And I thought it might be a nice surprise for Ben when he sees me tomorrow night, since his head is frequently between my legs.

And I hate shaving with a passion.

“First wax?” she says and sets the paper down.

I nod.

“Relax. Pain over quick.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

I lay back and squeeze my eyes closed. I’m about to freak the fuck out. Over a wax. Get it together, Felicity. I need to channel my inner Black Widow. Pretend I’m being tortured for info. Yes, that works. I’ll think about how utterly messed up that is later.

The esthetician puts on gloves and gets to work. My fingers dig into the foam bed as she cleanses my skin, dries it, and preps for the wax. My heart is pounding when the hot wax is spread onto my skin.