Chapter 17

The snow had melted by the time we arrived at the fairgrounds that hosted Belleville’s Annual Pie Festival the week of Thanksgiving. I’d never attended before. Miles had never taken me—which was apparently a motherfucking shame. Because the second I arrived, I was both shocked and delighted by how bright and lovely the whole place was.

This was nothing like any of the events I attended in L.A.

The closest I’d gotten to anything this lively was the one and only time Nancy had taken me to the Santa Monica Pier for my birthday, and even that paled in comparison to the event that unfolded at the Belleville fairgrounds. It hadn’t helped that the paparazzi had found me there, but I was trying not to think about that—and them, and the way they affected my life back home.

It seemed like every member of the entire community had decided to attend. There were colorful booths, similar to the market Ben and I had just attended. Vendors that sold fall treats delicious enough to make your mouth water. Signs, jauntily painted and arranged, pointed to various areas of the fair grounds. And hilarious depictions of apples were thrown up everywhere.

There was soul in everything here. In every handmade product. In every pie booth. In every stroke of paint and fabric tent.

People laughed and grinned at each other. They shared treats back and forth. The air was full of cheerful chatter and the sweet smell of apple cider donuts. There was this odd sense of camaraderie, like friendship itself had a scent.

Before, I’d thought the oddest part of Belleville was the fact that no one recognized me.

I’d since changed my mind.

The weirdest part about Belleville wasn’t its penchant for decorating for Christmas too early, its tiny population, or the fact that everyone seemed widely invested in each other’s lives. No. The weirdest part about Belleville was the fact that every single person here seemed to genuinely be nice.

They helped each other.

They were quick to throw compliments—barbs, sometimes, in good fun—but everything was done in good faith.

I could see why Miles loved it here.

Why he fit in.

This was the kind of place he should have always lived.

“Robin, look!” Bubba’s voice was loud and cheerful, muffled a little because he had a fucking apple in his mouth. I’d seen him bob for apples about fifty times—and holy fuck, it got even more impressive each time he did it.

The kid should be in the Guinness Book of World Records or some shit.

“Dude,” I replied, just as shocked this time as I’d been the first time. “Holy fuck.”

Rosie’s little hand immediately shot out, bumping into me. I laughed, fumbling around in my pocket for a dollar bill without having to look. I pressed it into her little palm before she retreated back to her spot by my side, her other hand clutching my coat.

I’d offered to hold her hand and she’d refused.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t stuck to my side like a goth barnacle though. Cutest little barnacle I’d ever seen.

Ben was off somewhere…being sexy and dad-ish. Jane had wanted a donut. So Papa Ben Ben was finding her a fucking donut. Because he was just, you know, perfect like that?

We’d been up late the night before, but neither of us had complained.

Neither of us had complained about our early morning together either.

I mean…what was there to complain about? Wasn’t like I was anything but pleased with the way Ben had eaten my ass till I made a mess of the sheets, and then tucked his cock between my thighs and rode me like a goddamn champion. He’d made me sticky enough we’d spent half an hour in the shower cleaning up.

Okay fine, an hour .

Because he apparently had not been done with my ass yet.

He took his plan to “train” me quite seriously. No matter how much I assured him that I could take his gigantic-monster-dick, he simply ignored me. I didn’t mind. Ben knew better than I did, anyway.

And it was nice to trust someone else like that.

Lord knew, I never had before.

You know…it’s funny?

Really.

All of this was.

Standing here, with Bubba grinning at me. With Rosie clutched close. With the world full of orange and red and happiness.

It was funny because I hadn’t expected it. Because even though I’d come home hoping to spend time with my family, I’d never let myself dream that my reality could be so bright. That the world could be soft. That I would be welcome.

That I would feel like I belonged.

There were times I felt a shadow of this happiness out on the road. When the lights were bright and the crowd was loud—and then quiet. When they waited, patient, phone flashlights dancing in the dark—and I opened my mouth and sang. When their words mirrored mine, and my music became theirs, and the world felt like a small, perfect place.

But those moments were few and far between.

And Nancy’s words had been rattling around inside my head—especially after Ben and I had talked the night before.

“It would be okay for you to quit, Robin,” Nancy had said the last time we’d spoken. “I mean, I’d miss you. You’re my favorite boss. But even I can see you’re slipping. And if you keep going down this path, you might fall too far to get back up again.”

I was tired of feeling off balance.

Tired of having one foot out the door.

Tired of living the way I had.

And as I stood there, in a crowd of people that weren’t family but felt like they were—I wondered if I’d feel that way if Belleville was my home. If I’d be so exhausted if my days were full of Ben’s smile, the girls’ laughter, chocolate chip pancakes, werewolf book clubs, and Miles’s homemade pizza.

Maybe there was room for me here.

Maybe I’d be happy here.

In Vermont—with its watercolor falls, with its bonfires, with its Pie Festivals, and early snow storms. It was a slice of heaven tucked tight in the mountains and farmland. An oasis in a world that was too big, too empty, too full all at once.

I wished then that I hadn’t chickened out the night before.

That I’d given Ben the surprise I’d promised.

But I figured…there was time for that later.

“You okay, Robin?” Ben asked, his voice startling me out of my thoughts. Bubba had run off. I could see him showing Trent and Miles the apple he’d just won, his hands gesticulating wildly as they smiled at him, indulgent and fond.

The perfect parents.

In the perfect town.

My hands squeezed into a fist, the pair of gloves Ben had bought me creaking.

“Robin?” Ben asked again.

And then he was in front of me. His dark red hair was windswept, his cheeks flushed from the chill in the air. His lips twisted into a smile, but there was a worried quirk to his dark brows. A lock fluttered free from his usually perfectly styled hair falling across his forehead.

Rosie’s hand found mine and I squeezed her gently, warmth flooding my body.

“I’m good,” I told him, surprised to find it was true.

“Yeah?” Ben hummed, watching me carefully. He had Jane attached to one arm, and a box full of donuts in the other. His back was much better today. My stomach rumbled.

“I’d be better if you shared some of that with me,” I nodded toward the box, and Ben snorted out a laugh.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” he teased. “There might not be enough.”

“There’s like six donuts,” I pointed out, mock outraged. “You’re telling me you’re going to eat all of them?”

“Big feet, big appetite,” Ben replied with a teasing twist to his lips.

“You’re greedy,” I complained. “Greedy, greedy.”

“ Hey ,” Jane said, voice quiet and as close to angry as I’d ever heard her. “You said they were for me .”

Ben’s teasing smile softened as he turned to look at her. He crouched low to speak, tone gentle. “I was just flirting with Robin,” he promised, like she was a little adult.

So fucking cute, oh my god!

I seriously doubted Jane knew what “flirting” meant, but she seemed to settle regardless, nodding seriously up at her dad, her little pigtails swinging. “I want two donuts,” she negotiated—because he’d made her sad.

Apparently Rosie wasn’t the only evil mastermind in their family.

“How about a donut and some cider?” Ben negotiated right back, always aware of the twins’ sugar intake. He’d already promised them cider—earlier, when we’d first arrived. But Jane didn’t seem to realize she’d been tricked because she nodded along, excited about the idea of not just one, but two different kinds of treats.

Ben broke the box open, handing a donut to both of the girls with a napkin each. And then he made one up for me, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he passed it over. I accepted the donut with a grin, then groaned, because damn—it smelled like fucking nirvana.

“You Vermontinarians don’t fuck around when it comes to apples,” I told him around my mouthful of chewy, delicious goodness.

Ben snorted, lips quirking up. “I think that word gets longer every time you say it.”

“What word?” I played dumb as he reached out to gently brush the sugar from my lip with the hand Jane had abandoned so she could double-fist her own donut. “Vermontinarianarians?”

“Jesus Christ ,” Ben laughed. I fluttered a kiss against his gloved fingers, simply because I could—even though he wouldn’t feel it.

His eyes were the color of honey when the sun hit just right, and for a second, I was lost in them. Lost in the way he looked at me like I was something good, and right, and precious. Lost in his smile, the prettiest smile in the whole wide world.

No one had ever looked at me like that.

His eyes said, I adore you.

They said, I adore you.

They said, I adore you, I adore you, I adore you.

My throat felt tight all of a sudden. My eyes burned. I shoved more donut into my mouth and pretended like I hadn’t read the sonnet in Ben’s gaze. Pretended like my heart wasn’t racing. Like my hands weren’t sweaty. Like I wasn’t two seconds from bolting the moment he turned his back.

Because Ben was Ben, he didn’t push.

He never did.

He was more of a coaxer, that one.

Like I spoke a secret language and he’d figured out how to translate.

Always patient, even now.

“It’s okay, Robin,” Jane told me, leaning heavily against my side, her tiny voice sweeter than ever. “Don’t worry.”

We’d lost the race. Which…shouldn’t have come as a surprise despite our training. I was slow and uncoordinated. The girls were better than me—but only by a bit. And Ben, despite being pretty fast, hadn’t been able to make up for the lack of skill on his team.

Still though, he was grinning, like he wasn’t mad at all.

His smile was brilliant as he spun Rosie around in lazy circles on the dance floor. The way he was bending had to be hurting his back, and I made a mental note to make sure to give him a rub later to help ease the ache.

The sun had set, fairy lights twinkling in arcing loops above us. Other families littered the shoddily put up, temporary dance floor. But the chaos of the day had softened, and the crowds had begun to dwindle. Jane hadn’t wanted to dance, and I’d lied and told her I didn’t either—so that we could hang out together.

“Thanks, baby,” I said softly, leaning down to kiss her fuzzy head. I hadn’t thought the kiss through—probably should’ve asked first. And for a second, I just froze, worried I’d crossed a line that I shouldn’t have. Apparently, I hadn’t needed to worry, because instead of pushing me off, Jane twisted and smacked a kinda slimy but perfect kiss against my cheek in return.

Jane seemed to think I was torn up about losing.

And I was—in a way—because I would’ve loved nothing more than to help my favorite little gremlins win.

Honestly, if the race had taken place even two months ago I would’ve been devastated. Would’ve been beating myself up. Would’ve been dissecting every move I’d made to try and figure out where I could’ve been better.

But instead, I just felt…peace.

Because despite the fact we’d lost because of me—despite the fact Ben had bet on the slowest pony on the track—things hadn’t changed a bit. He was just as gentle, just as flirty, just as Ben-nish as before.

His smiles were wide and bright and unrepentant.

He handed them to me freely.

Like it cost him nothing.

Like they were mine .

And I didn’t feel like a loser. I didn’t feel like a waste of space. I didn’t feel like a nuisance, or a problem. I didn’t feel like it was my fault. And the girls didn’t treat me like it was either. They simply told me that we would keep training and try again next year.

Next year.

Like they expected me to be around that long.

Ben swayed to the beat, Rosie’s little feet on top of his as he led her in a looping, graceful circle. And as Jane leaned into me, and I curled my arm around her, settling my cheek on her warm, fuzzy head, I watched him.

I watched him because he was a miracle dressed in cashmere and a tan flannel coat.

I’d spent a lot of time wondering about Ben lately. Daydreaming about what he liked to do when he was bored. About his emo days in highschool—because oh my god, Ben in eyeliner? Fuck me! About where he chose to shop. About his favorite foods, his favorite color, his favorite place to go when he was sad.

And now, I wondered where he’d learned to dance.

Where he’d learned to smile like that. All wrinkly and soft and beautiful.

I wondered how someone so wonderful could be real at all.

And how he could love me.

Because he did.

I’d have to be blind not to see it.

Eventually, Jane changed her mind and decided that she did in fact want to dance after all, so we joined Ben and Rosie on the dance floor. Some twangy country song was playing over the speakers. And though it wasn’t my jam, I could appreciate the ambiance. Especially when Ben swapped me for Jane and I got to enjoy swinging Rosie around, her riotous giggles carrying through the air.

That night, both twins wanted me to read them bedtime stories.

Both of them.

Which felt like a gigantic fucking honor, man. And I was so excited I couldn’t help but stumble over my words. Especially because the picture books they wanted were all Edgar Allan Poe remakes—and used words I’d often read (in books) but hadn’t really used aloud.

Reading and speaking were two different things.

But neither twin seemed to mind when I stumbled, they simply corrected me when I fucked something up.

Ben leaned against the doorway the whole time, listening silently in the dark like the giant teddy bear he was. And when both little girls had collected kisses from their dad, he led me to his room and undressed me slowly and deliberately, with flickering little pecks against my cheeks and ears, precious and gentle and perfect.

“Spend the night,” Ben requested, even though I’d already spent the night before.

“Okay,” I agreed, breaking my own personal rule not to cross that line as if I’d never made it at all.

I gave him the back rub I’d promised myself I would.

And Ben curled around me, protective, and warm—and the scent of sandalwood and blossom lulled me into sleep. And once again, I didn’t bring up the surprise.

Thanksgiving Day came and went. It was as hectic as I’d expected. Mama Montgomery was a fucking matchmaker, oh my god. Put me right next to Ben with a knowing glint in her eyes—like she knew just how whipped I fucking was and wanted to help me out.

I’d stopped sleeping at the B&B altogether.

Ben would text me—even on the days I hadn’t seen him. He’d make sure I ate, checking up on me when he decided was the “proper time” for meals to take place. In turn, I made sure he kept up with his physical therapy.

Dude lived on a fucking schedule, and though I found it kinda hilarious and annoying in an endearing way, I loved that about him too.

He was structure, safety, and warmth.

He had therapy appointments on Thursdays. Had physical therapy once a month. Had his Saturdays with his mom. His Sundays with the girls. He worked out in the mornings. His shift started at ten on the dot. And he left work at exactly the same time every day.

And despite how busy he was, despite the fact that there was always something he had to be doing, Ben somehow made time for me. Like I was important. Like he wanted me around. Like he was willing to adjust his carefully put-together life just so he could fit me inside it.

Like clockwork, every night without fail, he’d invite me over.

And I’d come.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

When my time here in Belleville was almost up, and I couldn’t sleep without him anyway. I didn’t pretend to put distance between us anymore. We practically lived in each other’s pockets.

We’d spend sleepy, happy mornings together, with and without the twins. And instead of training on Sundays, I got to spend the day playing with Rosie and Jane. Counting their now full swear jar, and rewatching the same fucking episode of their favorite show with them over and over again.

On the days Ben had taken off to finish his book, I spent all day feeding him snacks, and entertaining the twins. His mom had been the one that was supposed to watch them, but she’d come down with a cold right after Thanksgiving.

Not that I minded.

I liked helping.

Liked when Ben leaned on me.

And even more than that, I loved the twins. Loved the way they laughed. The way they sassed me. The way they watched me with wide, toffee-colored eyes—just like their dad’s—staring at me like they thought I was as wonderful as I thought they were.

It was on the last day of Ben’s time off that the truth about my surprise finally came out. But not before I accidentally terrorized Ben first.

Rosie was building a wall in front of me with pillows, blocking me in the back corner of the room. As far as I could tell, we were reenacting the Cask of Amontillado —which again, was their favorite episode of LilPoe.

After the second time the pillow wall collapsed, Rosie’s face went red, her mouth opened—and a horrible cry escaped.

“Hey, hey —” I hummed, gently pushing the pillows aside and reaching for her. “It’s okay, sweetie?—”

She made another garbled noise, angry and wet, and I glanced around the room desperately to try and figure out what to do. Ben had already begun wrapping gifts and putting them beneath the tree that we’d decorated together—motherfucker had surprised me with ornaments of my own, the big softie. And as my gaze raked over the baubles, it landed on an empty cardboard box that was stacked in the corner ready to be recycled.

Distract the gremlin.

“Why don’t we make a better wall?” I offered, trying to redirect her attention.

Despite the fact I’d been the primary caregivers for the girls for the last few days, this was my first time witnessing a true freakout. For the most part, they were incredibly chill kids. But…they were still toddlers.

And Rosie had reached her limit.

“You can even tape me in!” I declared, already leaping over the pile of pillows and toward the giant fucking box. “It’ll be like building a wall, only better.” I had no idea what Ben had bought that was that fucking big, but hey! Didn’t matter at the moment.

Rosie sniffed dubiously, her face still as splotchy red as Ben’s became when he was embarrassed. I could see the resemblance then, because her eyebrows twitched the same way that his did as she debated whether or not I was full of shit.

“I want to trap Robin in a box,” Jane replied helpfully from where she’d been sitting quietly on the couch watching the same fucking episode of LilPoe they always did. It was turned down low, and she’d still been able to mouth every word.

“Um.” Well, this had escalated quickly.

But hey! What was the worst that could happen? I’d just kick the box open if I got stuck.

Twenty minutes later, I could hear the girls giggling and whispering and the sticky sound of tape being smacked on the box I was inside. They were downright chipper, all ire forgotten.

“Can you breathe?” Jane double-checked, her voice muffled by cardboard.

It was dark in here, and I was hunched in a tiny little ball, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“I can breathe,” I promised, loud enough to make sure they could hear.

“I love this game,” Rosie told me, slapping another piece of tape on. Her evil laugh returned, and I choked on a laugh of my own.

It was only when the very top flap of the box was completely shut that we got caught.

I heard Ben’s feet enter the room and pause. He had heavy steps, probably because he was one heavy motherfucker— believe me, I know— dude smashed me into surfaces like ninety percent of the time I was with him.

“Where’s Robin?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

The girls giggled evilly.

It was getting a little sweaty in the box. And I didn’t want to freak Ben out, so I called out to him so he’d know I was fine. “I’m in here!”

“In where?”

“In the wall,” Rosie cackled.

“He’s in the wall!” Jane echoed, sounding slightly less evil than her sister.

“He’s in the…” Ben somehow sounded more concerned than before.

“In the box!” I answered.

“ What ?” Ben’s voice was flat, true confusion flooding his tone.

“Robin’s in the wall,” both girls told him unison. “We put him there.”

“Oh Christ.” And then the top of the box was being torn open, light was flooding in, and Ben’s concerned face was lingering right above me. “Robin, are you okay?” he asked. He was gorgeous as always. Different than normal because there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his beard was longer than usual.

“I’m fine, baby,” I replied, leaning up to smooch him. “We were just playing.”

“In a box?” Ben’s voice went high.

“Yeah!” He didn’t kiss back. Which made it obvious that something was off. I frowned, popping the rest of the way out of the box like a fucked up magic trick, game forgotten. “Hey,” I hummed, following him when he retreated. My fingers curled in the hem of his sweater, giving it a gentle tug. “I’m okay.”

It was a testament to how tired Ben was that he’d been this freaked out by an innocent game. He was normally a very controlled person. I knew he had anxiety like I did—it would be impossible to miss it, even if he hadn’t outright told me about it and the therapist he’d been seeing since he was in school.

But…damn.

It hurt to see him so upset and to know that I’d inadvertently caused it.

This was way worse than the escalator.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Rosie’s little voice was small and sweet.

“I’m sorry too,” Jane agreed, crowding around his legs.

“Me too,” I tacked on, still searching his gaze, noting the flicker of concern still there. He stared at me like he was searching for injuries, only relaxing when he saw none.

“It’s okay,” Ben’s voice was rough as he squeezed an arm around me and pressed a kiss into my hair. “It’s okay,” he promised again, kissing me one more time before leaning down to gather the girls up in his arms. “I just got worried.”

They curled up against him, murmuring sweet little apologies against his collar as Ben kissed their heads.

I thought he’d be mad at me.

But he wasn’t.

“C’mere,” he hummed, still looking exhausted and hot and amazing. “I only have two arms.”

I stepped out of the box, tripping, then righted myself before tumbling into Ben’s embrace.

“We won’t play Amontillado anymore,” Rosie promised, her sweet voice pressed to Ben’s throat.

“You can play,” Ben hummed. “But with an open box, please?”

“Of course.” I squeezed him tight, more than a little pleased when he melted into me. “I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine,” he said softly. “It’s fine.”

And it was fine.

Because he was warm again, warm the way he always was. And despite the fact that I’d somehow fucked up—it was his reaction to that mistake that made it obvious what a very good, wonderful man Ben was.

Because he was patient.

And he was kind.

And he forgave me—even when I was stupid.

Later, in bed, Ben explained to me why he’d been so worried. Apparently, it wasn’t the safest thing in the world to be taped inside a box. Even one made with something as flimsy as cardboard. Something about air flow and cardboard dust particles, and allergens.

I’d never known that.

I’d always just figured cardboard was cardboard, you know?

And maybe it was.

Maybe it hadn’t actually been dangerous at all.

But to Ben…it had certainly felt that way. And I wasn’t about to write off his feelings like they didn’t matter, especially when it was easy to apologize for scaring him and promise not to do it again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ben promised, when I did just that. He stroked a hand over my cheek, fingers curling in my hair. “I swear.”

“I know,” I agreed, because I did know. “But I’d rather not freak you out again, if I can help it.”

“Sometimes I get…” Ben shrugged a shoulder—something he’d only recently picked up after spending more time with me. “Sometimes all I can see is the worst case scenario,” he tried to explain. “I’ve been this way since I was a kid. But after medical school, and working as a doctor, it’s only gotten worse. Nowadays, I mostly see people for little ailments. Colds, sprains, the flu.” He frowned, eyes growing darker. “But when I was a resident at the hospital I’d see the most horrible… random things. Especially on the nights when I worked the ER.” I kissed his palm and his lips quirked up, the faraway look in his eyes fading. “I don’t think I’ve ever quite shaken the fear that something like that could happen to someone I love.”

“I’m a pretty tough guy,” I promised him, and Ben’s eyes crinkled.

“I know,” he agreed, pressing in close. “And most of the time, I can rationalize with myself. But I’ve been so…”

“Tired,” I finished for him. “You’ve been so tired.” It was easy to give him grace, to understand that he might not be functioning the same way he always did, while running on little to no sleep.

You should give yourself the same grace.

It was a random thought, but poignant.

“I’m so close,” Ben murmured, sliding in to kiss me slow and sweet. “Only the epilogue.”

“And then what?” I replied against his mouth.

“I edit it,” he laughed, kissing me again. “And I send it away.”

I perked up when something occurred to me. After returning his kiss, I then pulled far enough away that I could speak, “Did the cardboard box thing scare you?” I asked, sounding way too excited about the prospect.

Ben snorted out a laugh. “You worried me,” he corrected.

“Damn,” I sighed, then kissed him again. “I wanna know what happens to Beckett.”

“We have a deal,” Ben reminded me, as if I could forget.

“I’m starting to think this was an unfair deal,” I countered against his mouth as he grinned. “You’re impossible to scare.”

“Not impossible,” he hummed, curling those big, lovely arms around me and squeezing me in close enough my ribs ached. I wheezed, just to make him laugh. “Just difficult.” His eyes sparkled, like a fucking cartoon or something.

“I’ve tried everything,” I complained.

“Mmm,” Ben agreed noncommittally. “Jumping out at me and yelling ‘boo’ isn’t ‘trying everything.’”

“ Boo ,” I pouted, grinning when he snorted out another laugh.

I’d miss him.

I knew that.

I’d miss him a shit ton after Christmas too—but mostly I was referring to the dress rehearsal I was required to attend in just a few short days. The dress rehearsal that was supposed to be my surprise. The surprise I hadn’t had the guts to give him…at least…until now. “Hey, Ben?” I asked, shifting back so I could look at him. “I know it’s a long shot but…would you wanna go to L.A. with me?”

Ben’s eyes widened, but other than that, he didn’t react. “Go to L.A. with you?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. I could see a thousand thoughts flitting in his eyes. And it took me a solid ten seconds to realize how my question might have sounded.

“Oh shit. I mean for the weekend!” I laughed, face bright red. “Not like…permanently.”

“Oh,” Ben replied, sounding oddly…disappointed?

No.

No.

There was no way.

I was reading way too much into this.

“I know you’ve got the girls, and you’re super busy, and it’s really late notice?” I rambled, cheeks still hot. “But I have to go back home for the dress rehearsal and I just thought…um.” God, what had I thought? That he’d want to drop everything and join me?

Christ.

He had a life here.

That was ridicu?—

“Of course, I’d love to come,” Ben replied immediately, fingers tightening in my hair. It stung the way I loved, and my lashes fluttered, wandering thoughts skittering to a halt. “When? I’ll need to book a ticket.”

“Um, about that—” My pulse thrummed, and for a second it was hard to meet Ben’s gaze. “I kinda already got you one? You know. Um. Just in case.”

Ben was silent for a moment as he processed this. And then he was forcing me to look at him, and when our gazes met heat flooded my body. “That was so sweet of you,” he rumbled, lips curved into the private, special smile that felt like mine and mine alone. “Thank you, baby.”

“Um. Yeah,” I stuttered, feeling hot and achy—my hole twitching. He normally only looked at me like that when he wanted to fuck his fingers into me. I licked my lips, and Ben chased the movement with his gaze.

“When do we leave?” he asked, still staring at my mouth.

“Friday,” I stuttered. “We’d be back by Monday.” That wasn’t even the worst of it. I might as well confess. “I already asked your mom, and she said she was feeling well enough that she could watch the girls.” That had been an awkward fucking conversation. But only because Beatrice had grinned at me the entire fucking time like a fucked up old-lady version of the Cheshire Cat.

“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” Ben purred, low and sweet.

“I figured I could show you my place,” I squeaked, shuddering when his teeth sunk into the side of my neck as I spoke. “A-and the—um. The taco stand I like.” Sounded stupid when I said it out loud. It’d been way more romantic in my head. “We could fuck?—”

“Now that’s a good idea,” Ben bit harder and I moaned, pleasure zinging up and down my spine.

“No interruptions—” I managed. “And then we’d?—”

“Mmm,” Ben dragged his tongue over the skin he’d just bit, sending shockwaves through my body.

“We’d—” I twitched.

“You know what I think?” Ben asked, syrupy sweet.

“W-What?”

“I think if I’m going to fuck you on Friday, we better get some more training in, don’t you?”

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck yes.

His hand slipped into my pants easily bypassing both layers of fabric, nails scratching down my thigh. “You owe me a surprise,” Ben hummed conversationally. “I feel cheated.”

“This was the surprise!” I laughed, cheeks hot. “I just…got distracted and forgot to tell you.” More like I chickened out.

“I expected something a little lacier,” Ben replied, point blank. Graciously allowing me to be a coward.

“You are a greedy monster,” I gasped out, shocked.

The idea wasn’t a bad one though. I’d never worn lingerie. It’d never occurred to me as something I could do—as a dude. But now I definitely was thinking about it. Ben would like that, wouldn’t he? Seeing my ass cupped in lace. Those big fucking hands pulling on the edges of the thong, smoothing them flat so they lay just the way he wanted.

“You like it,” Ben hummed, fingers slipping around my now very hard cock. I groaned, the tight dry warmth of his grip making the heat that had pooled low in my belly simmer. Bucking up, my lashes fluttered as Ben pushed between my legs, his fingers moving slow and dry and easy. Not tight enough to sting. Not tight enough to be anything but a tease.

“I…do,” I agreed, because it was true.

“You wish I was meaner,” Ben teased. His thumb traced the seam between my balls, and I quaked.

“I like the way you are,” I replied, honest—and distracted—because his big hand was still on my dick, stroke, stroke, stroking. “You’re perfect.”

Ben was quiet for a moment, and when I met his gaze again his eyes were full of heat. “You’re perfect too,” he replied, kissing me soft and slow and sweet. “So fucking perfect.”

Because Ben was actually the best man in the world, he grabbed the lube.

Slick, tight, and hot, he wrung my cock. I was two seconds from spilling when he released me, and the ungodly whine that escaped simply made him chuckle.

“Give me a second,” he murmured, fumbling with his own pants. When his dick slipped free, the tip flushed red and wet, I groaned. “There we go,” he murmured, pressing his length against mine, his fist squeezing us tightly together.

“Jesus,” I gasped out, head lolling back.

“ That’s it, ” Ben urged, stroking us up and down, tighter than before. He liked it tight. Liked it to hurt a little, just like I did. “Let me take care of you, just like I promised.”

I shuddered, a sharp sob escaping when Ben’s free hand came up to pull hard on one of my nipple piercings. “F-fuck” He pulled again, and my toes curled. It hurt so good, the pleasure-pain making my blood sing. Three more times he tugged, timing each pluck with his other hand, so I was squeezed and hot, and flushed.

“So close—I’m so?—”

Again, he brought me right to the edge before backing off.

“You sadistic motherfucker,” I gasped out as my approaching orgasm ebbed and then faded. My balls ached. My everything ached, more accurately.

“Shhh,” Ben murmured, low and soothing. He had that mean glint in his eyes again. The glint he only got when we were in bed together, and he was enjoying making me squirm.

“Whyyyy?” I gasped out, twitching toward him when he wrapped his fingers around us together again and began to stroke once more. Slower this time, nice and easy. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it—and I knew it—and I ached and ached.

“You’re so pretty when you suffer, my little songbird,” Ben murmured, leaning down to kiss me. The hard bite of the kiss was in sharp contrast with the slow, steady glide of his hand—never tight enough—never enough.

My hips flexed, trying to force him to tighten, but he didn’t.

He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Fuck,” I whined, nipples hard and flushed puffy red. Ben plucked at them again—the right, then the left—twisting the rings just enough to make my blood sing.

“Beautiful,” he hummed against my lips, pulling back, his eyes black with lust. “So fucking beautiful.” The praise made me feel hot all over, like I’d been dropped in a vat of honey. “You’re so good for me. Allowing me to tease you like this. Whining for me. Making my cock hard enough to burst.”

My hips twitched again, and Ben’s hand went slack in response to punish me. He tutted disapprovingly against my lips, then moved again, dragging kisses across my cheek, down my throat, and then up behind my ear. His breath was hot when he spoke again, “You’re my good boy, aren’t you, Robin?”

“Fuck,” I whimpered.

“Say it,” Ben’s breath was hot against the shell of my ear. “Tell me what you are.”

“ I’m your good boy. ” My voice broke, thready and soft.

“And you’re beautiful, aren’t you?”

“I’m beautiful.” I ached and ached and ached.

Ben had so much power over me then, because of my unspoken feelings for him. Because of the way he was cradling me. Because of the pleasure he held, just out of reach. And yet…he was using that power to heal me, rather than hurt me.

And I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.

And I was scared, scared, scared.

“Do you see how hard you make me?” Ben hummed. I glanced down, groaning low when my gaze fluttered over the slick, fat head of his dick. In and out of his fist, slow and easy, he wrung our cocks together. “Do you feel how hard you make me?” Ben squeezed us tighter, and I shuddered, balls pulling tight.

“Y-yes,” I managed, because I knew if I didn’t reply fast enough he’d make me anyway.

“You’re a blessing, Robin,” Ben hummed, nipping at my ear and finally, blissfully, tightening his grip. I sobbed, hips threatening to twitch again, even though I knew better. Ben wanted me to lie back and take it, so I would. “You’re my blessing.”

Tight, slick, rub, rub, rubbing, Ben twisted our cocks together.

His dick was much larger than mine was. A fact that was seriously fucking hot, and made more obvious with us pressed length to length like this. Even his balls were bigger, hanging low as he rutted our hips together, the schlick, schlick sound his hand made making my blood sing. Every time our balls tapped it felt like nirvana.

“You’re going to come for me,” Ben informed me, like it was a fact. I nodded jerkily, because he was right. I totally was. My fingers dug crescents into his biceps—the same lovely biceps that had started all of this. “You’re going to come for me and you’re going to thank me afterward,” Ben hummed, nipping at my ear again.

“Y-yes,” I agreed, because he was right—I was.

“ Now .” Ben’s hand tightened at the same time that quiet rumble bounced around inside my head. He’d toyed with me for long enough I felt like I was drowning. And when I finally came, my dick spilled and spilled—and it felt like it went on for ages.

“Thank you,” I gasped out, wet ropes of cum slicking his big, hot hand as he squeezed, squeezed, squeezed us together. “Thank you,” I managed again.

“So pretty,” Ben drawled, smooth and soft. He’d twisted to watch my dick spill, and all I could see was the cowlick on the top of his head, the slope of his nose, and those lovely dark lashes. “So fucking pretty.”

Ben pressed my dick flat against my belly with his palm. His hand was bigger than it was, a fact that sent a thrill through my body and threatened to make me spurt again. He pressed harder, and I sobbed, my balls twitching.

Ignoring his own dick, Ben wiggled the tip of his finger inside my slit, rubbing, rubbing, as his breath came out in low, greedy pants.

“Christ,” he groaned, cock pointing right at me, heavy between his legs. “You’re perfect.” It was the second time he’d said that tonight, and it made me light up even brighter.

When he stopped staring at my recently tortured dick, Ben kissed me again. It was sweeter than before, less teeth this time. I was drowning in him, and I never wanted to find the surface again.

I wanted his dick inside me.

Wanted it so bad I could barely breathe.

“On your belly,” Ben murmured against my lips, voice husky and scratchy with arousal. “I want to see that pretty little hole.”

I was on my belly faster than I could blink. Ben laughed, this low, almost dangerous chuckle that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Elbows and knees, Robin,” he commanded, shuffling between my legs. His dick brushed my ass cheek, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

I wiggled onto my knees, feeling weirdly vulnerable with my ass up, and my hole winking at him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before. Hell, Ben was more intimately acquainted with my asshole than I was. He’d had every part of his body in there pretty much—except his dick.

A fact that we were about to rectify. Rectum-ify? God, that was awful. Why did I do that?

“Arch your back for me,” Ben hummed, voice crackly soft. I arched. What else was I supposed to do?

“ Fuck ,” Ben’s voice dropped even lower, somehow. His big hands came up to frame my ass cheeks, digging in the center way he liked, and spreading them wide so he could really stare. Exposed and vulnerable, my hole shuddered.

Ben made a sound in the back of his throat, and I only had a split second to react before he was spitting on my hole and working it in with one of those thick, lovely thumbs. “I’ve never wanted to wreck something as badly as I want to wreck this pretty little hole,” Ben promised. The sadistic murmur to his voice made my spent cock twitch.

“B-Ben,” I complained, shuddering when he spat on my hole again. Hot dry hands pinched my cheeks together so I’d feel the sticky slide of his spit cling between them.

God, that’s filthy.

“What?” he replied, tone flatter than before. Bossy Ben had made his epic return. “You don’t think this hole is pretty?” His thumb pressed harder, and I sobbed.

“I—” No matter what I said, I was going to put my foot in my mouth. “I guess it is.” There, that’s what Ben wanted to hear.

“Everything about you is pretty,” Ben stated, like it was a fact, at the same time his thumb sank inside to the first knuckle. He spat on my hole again, and I shuddered, feeling weirdly exposed and hot all over. I knew for a fact there was lube underneath the pillow. I also knew that he’d be grabbing it any second. Ben wasn’t the kinda guy to think spit was a substitute for real lube.

But he was also dirty as fuck, and ridiculously hot.

So the fact that posh, hot Doctor Mc Ben Ben was rubbing his spit inside my hole was just—Jesus fucking Christ.

It was filthier because it was him doing it.

Because I’d never expected him to do, or be anything like this. I guess maybe I should’ve—considering what kind of books he wrote. But…still.

I’d never been more happy to be surprised in all my life.

Ben’s hands left my ass, his thumb gently slipping free—and just like I’d anticipated, the quiet snick of the bottle of lube opening echoed through the room. It was dark in here, the lights off save for a small night light in the corner that Ben kept on in case the girls came in in the middle of the night.

The door was locked now, of course—but later, after we’d cleaned up and dressed, I knew he’d open it a crack. Always wanting to be available to the people he loved most.

It was one of the things I appreciated the most about him.

How emotionally available he was.

He didn’t play games with me. Didn’t toy with my feelings. Maybe he teased, but he respected my limits. Limits I hadn’t even known I had, and yet somehow Ben knew them before I did.

“Relax, baby,” Ben’s voice was sugary sweet. My hole twitched, and warm slick fingers pressed snug against it, simply rubbing, not even asking for entrance.

I tried to relax, I really did—but the harder I tried, the less relaxed I became.

“You’re doing so good, Robin,” Ben hummed, gentler than before, like he’d noticed my internal struggle. “So good,” he repeated, fingers rubbing around, then against, then around my hole again. “Are you gonna let me in?”

He could’ve pushed in anytime.

But instead, he was waiting for me.

For me to submit to him.

The second I realized that, it was like a switch flipped in my brain. I stopped fighting. My legs stopped shaking. I sank down from my elbows to my chest, face pressed to the mattress, and my fluttery pink hole went slack beneath his touch.

“That’s it,” Ben cooed approvingly. “That’s just what I wanted, sweetheart. So obedient, aren’t you? Such a good, good boy.” His fingers pressed in and it burned. Two at once—because he knew I liked it that way.

Slow and steady, Ben pushed deep, deep, deep. Till he could tap against my prostate with every thrust. Till my body was shaking for a new reason, and my hips were fucking back to meet him.

“I’m going to hold still,” Ben warned me, wrist angled so his fingers made stars explode behind my eyelids. “Because I want you to ride me.” Low and gravelly, Ben’s voice grew deeper. “I want to watch your ass bounce as you fuck yourself on my fingers.” And then, less mean than before, sweet all over again, he added, “Is that okay, baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” I hardly recognized my own voice.

When his fingers stopped moving, I did as I was told. Bouncing back and forth, seesawing on his hand, grinding hard into his knuckles to feel him as deep as he could go. He snuck a third finger in at one point and it burned so much worse than the other two.

And I loved it.

I loved it so fucking much.

“Pull your nipple rings,” Ben’s voice was breathy and hoarse. “Keep fucking yourself.”

A slick sound was coming from his hand—the other one—not the one I was grinding into. And I knew without having to look that he was getting off on watching this. He groaned, this low, animalistic little grunt.

When I reached up and tugged at my piercings, a broken gasp escaped me. It was probably the most pitiful sound I’d ever made.

“ Harder ,” Ben commanded. I didn’t know if he was talking about my hips or my nipples, so I simply responded with both. Grinding back into him, fucking myself as I pulled and pulled. “Fuck yes,” Ben’s voice went higher for a second, breathier, the slick sound of him stroking himself off picking up the pace. “Fuck.”

He was close.

I could hear it in his voice.

“Still baby, hold still—” Ben urged. For a second, I thought he was going to cum on me or something. But instead he did something infinitely better. He snuck his pinky in beside the other three fingers. And this time, when I sank back, I sobbed. “Fuck,” Ben repeated. “Fuck, you have no idea how good you look.”

It ached so good.

It was slow going, but I took him in to the knuckles again. I didn’t think I’d ever been stretched so wide in my life. It burned and burned—in the best possible way. There was no room for doubt in my mind. No room for insecurity in my heart. I was too full of Ben to be anything but satisfied.

“Fuck,” Ben repeated as I began to experimentally pull off, then sink down again. Greedy little swivels of my hips that made my dick swing. It wasn’t hard again, but it didn’t need to be. I enjoyed this far too much even without the promise of more wet orgasms.

Faster his hand worked, the bed shifting as Ben began to pound his fist in earnest. It was loud. Louder even than the squelch of his fingers inside me. I wanted him to pull them out. To stick his dick in where I needed it most.

And I knew he wanted it too.

But he was Ben , so our first time had to be perfectly planned to his satisfaction.

A fact that was overwhelmingly endearing, but frustrating all the same.

“I’m going to cum on your hole,” Ben informed me, still humping his fist. “I’m going to smear it into your tattoos.” Oh Jesus fuck. “And then, I’m going to scoop up what’s left, and make you clean up the mess you made me make.”

That was all the warning I got before Ben was painting my stretched hole with his cum. Hot pulses of pleasure splattered my flushed skin. I continued to fuck myself on his fingers, pulled hard enough on my nipples they felt like they might fall off—and sobbed.

It felt like I was cumming, but nothing came out of my dick.

Just this never-ending wave of pleasure that I never wanted to stop.

Ben, because he was Ben, kept all his promises.

But on top of painting my tattoos with his fingers and making me lick his fingers clean, he did something far filthier. He murmured praise against my skin, against my ribs, against my hair. He fluttered dozens of kisses along my body, my protruding ribs, the crows at my hip bones, and the bony tops of my knees.

He kissed my toes, and my shins, and my fingers, one by one.

And after he’d cleaned me up with a warm, fluffy towel, and bundled me in pajamas, he rose from bed, opened the door, and returned to bed, sleepy soft.

His arms were as octopus-y as usual as he curled around me, his nose pressed to my throat. “Have sweet dreams, Robin,” he said, like the giant teddy bear he was. Like he hadn’t just spent the last hour practically fisting me and making me dry orgasm.

One of Ben’s big hands slid over my chest, warm enough I could feel its heat even through the hoodie I’d borrowed. His breath came slow and easy, body succumbing to rest after a week of non-stop working. When he tweaked my nipple, hard, I whined—and he laughed.

Before immediately falling asleep.