Outside the Lines (Rebel Hearts #1) (19 page)

He pushes two fingers inside me, finding my g-spot, then moves back to my clit. After a few minutes of going back and forth like that, I’m coming so hard my ears ring and my toes tingle.
 

And he doesn’t fucking stop.
 

He moves his head between my legs, kissing the inside of my thighs before taking me in his mouth. Then his tongue lashes out and in just seconds, I’m welcoming my second orgasm.
 

He moves back up on the bed, holding me close. I get a moment to recover—and I need it—as he rubs my arms and shoulders. I’m starting to majorly relax when he trails his hand down between my legs again.
 

I moan and roll onto my back, giving him access. He’s hard again, and wastes no time getting on top of me. The tip of his dick rubs against my clit, sending me over the edge again. I lift my hips and he slides into me.
 

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.
 

The strip goes on next.
 

Holy crap, pain is coming. I start the countdown in my head.
Three, two—
she pulls that sucker right off. Oh, that wasn’t so bad. I let out a breath. She spreads more wax on my skin and rips up another section of hair. I’m tempted to look but, having the feeling it will resemble something torn off Chewbacca, I don’t to save myself the embarrassment. I had to forgo shaving all week to get this wax.
 

It takes longer than I anticipated, and when I’m told to roll over and spread my thighs, the realization that “backside” means “butt crack” hits me like a sucker punch to the stomach and I’m so stunned I can’t do anything but lay there in terror and hope I don’t fart.
 

I leave feeling smooth, sore, and just a little violated. My skin begins to burn as the fabric from my panties and jeans rubs against it, and by the time I get home it’s on fire and super itchy.
 

Then I realize the lotion put on after the waxing was scented. I’m okay with scented stuff most of the time.
 

Most. Of. The. Time.
 

Freshly waxed, fragile skin plus a history of eczema and psoriasis going back years isn’t most of the time. Damn it. I rip my clothes off as soon as I get through the door and run to the shower to wash off what I can.
 

I pause in front of the mirror while the water is warming up and stare in horror at my bikini line. It’s red as hell. Yes, definitely a reaction to the scented lotion. This is the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to make my fun zone more
fun
. Not angry and red, like it wants to kill anything that enters it.
 

I open my medicine cabinet and pop a Benadryl in my mouth, then get into the shower, taking a drink from the water streaming down to swallow the pill. I stand in the warm water, scared to touch my irritated skin, but curious as to how smooth it feels, and feel considerably better when I get out. I slather on cortisone cream, pull on a thigh-length nightgown, foregoing undies all together, and go into the kitchen to make dinner. I call Erin while my mac n’ cheese is cooking and tell her about my poor lady bits and how I was too terrified to even think of being allergic to scented shit.
 

She can’t stop laughing. A best friend, yes she is.
 

I eat, then crash into bed, feeling sleepy from the Benadryl. I watch a few episodes of
The Big Bang Theory
, get up to brush my teeth, check on my skin—yep, still red—and take one more Benadryl in hopes that I’ll wake up better.
 

It almost works.
 

I sleep through my alarm. I’m a lightweight when it comes to anything, and two Benadryls knocks me out. I half ass my hair and makeup, wear a flowy dress and my granniest panties to avoid any chaffing during the day, and take one more Benadryl since I’m looking better. I’ll counter act it with coffee and be fine once it wears off by midday.
 

I pack a lunch, feed Ser Pounce, and try my best not to fall asleep while driving. I trudge into the office and plop into my desk.
 

“Oh, like the new hair color!” Mariah says.
 

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“Are you okay?”
 

“In a sense, yes. I had an allergic reaction to something and the Benadryl is making me so tired.”
 

I stash my purse under my desk and fire up my computer. “I just need a few hours for it to get out of my system then I’ll be fine.”
 

“You’re making me worried, honey,” she says, sounding motherly. Do I look that bad? “Maybe you should go home and get some rest.”
 

That is a great idea, but I can’t ask to go home because of this. I blink several times, trying to get my head out of this fog. I didn’t bring coffee with me since I didn’t have time to make any. I push my shoulders back and walk to the break room.
 

There are fresh donuts on the table. I could kiss whoever brought them. I take two, and fill a cup with coffee, mixing in creamer. I run into Cameron on my way back to my desk.
 

“Sexy color,” he says and touches my hair, then he flicks his eyes to my face. “Rough night?” he asks.
 

“You could say that.”
 

“The boy toy?”