22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

H er four forty alarm was like muzak you hear when the bank puts you on hold. She barely stopped herself from throwing her phone clear across the trailer.

It was too early.

Her body wasn't ready to get up and start moving.

Neither was her brain.

After Bennett left her bereft of pleasure last night, she decided to take matters into her own hands—literally. So, for the first time ever, Justine touched herself with the intent of giving herself an orgasm.

And she did.

After a very long time of working circles around her clit and feeling her labia swell beneath her fingertips. She probably could have gotten off a lot sooner, but shame kept creeping up and prohibiting her from reaching the pinnacle. Her wrist was sore and her fingers wrinkly like she'd sat too long in the bath, but by twelve forty-three she managed to achieve her first-ever, self-administered orgasm. And it was wonderful.

Of course, once she cracked the code on how to make it happen, she needed to test her findings and see if she could do it again—only faster.

And she did.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Sated, smiling and with the threat of carpal tunnel, she fell asleep sometime around two in the morning. So her four forty alarm was about as welcome as a toenail in an omelet.

Five more minutes.

Just five.

That was all she needed to rally for the day.

She closed her eyes and drifted back into dreamland. Back to the dream that the alarm so aggressively and obnoxiously interrupted.

The dream where she and Bennett shared the deep soaker tub on the second-floor sundeck of her tiny house. He massaged her feet as she sipped wine and stared up at the endless stars above.

They were just getting to the good part of the bath, with her straddling him and water sloshing all about, when a harsh pounding echoed.

"What's that?" she asked him.

But he vanished like a puff of smoke. Then the tub disappeared, as did the deck, and the bubbles, the wine, and the stars until she was back in her bed, wide awake, confused and really angry.

Climbing out of bed in nothing but a tank top—but not realizing she was naked on the bottom until she reached the door—she scrambled back to the bedroom and tugged on her pajama shorts.

"Justine?" came Bennett's voice from outside. "You awake?"

Oh no!

Tabarnak!

She flung open the door to find him standing there looking fresh from a good night's sleep, and sexy as all get out in his running gear. His eyes widened and his mouth parted when he scoped out the fact that she absolutely was not ready to go.

"Did your alarm not go off?" he asked.

"No. It did," she said sheepishly. "I … I just needed five more minutes and five minutes turned into forty-five."

"Oh."

She shook her head. "You go. I'm fine taking a day off. I had a terrible sleep anyway."

Frowning, he ducked his head and stepped inside the trailer, crowding her so she was forced to back up into the kitchen. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I'm happy to skip today as well. It's all good." The glint in his eyes was primal, and he stalked toward her again, closing her in against the stove. "Why'd you have a terrible sleep? Was it because of what we spoke about?" Real concern shimmered back at her, along with something else. Something feral. Something wild.

Her pulse picked up tempo and her mouth—and pussy—flooded.

She swallowed. "Uh … no."

God, she was a terrible liar.

He tipped his head to the side, waiting for her to respond.

She cleared her throat. "I, um … I was, um … I was sexually frustrated when you left last night, and so I, uh … I took matters into my own hands."

The slow smile that curled his mouth reminded her of both the Grinch when he got an idea. A wonderful, awful idea. And the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. Either way, not a clean or respectable thought paraded through the man's head as his hands enclosed on her hips, his thumbs drawing erotic circles. "Tell me about it," he said, his voice pure sex and rasp.

Her body was on fire. And wherever he touched her, flames danced. Her clit throbbed between her legs and she had to curl her toes on the laminate floor to stop herself from bucking her hips forward to grind against him.

What was coming over her?

She'd never been this salacious or sexually driven.

He'd opened up a beast, and now that beast had a taste and refused to sit quietly in the corner and wait her turn. She cut in line, raised her voice, and demanded her orgasms.

And Justine had no real desire to quiet her down.

Biting her lip, she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. "I … I just used my fingers."

"Which fingers?"

"T-these two." She held up her middle and index finger on her right hand. And oh god, they were still a little wrinkly. Well, of course they would be.

He grabbed her by the wrist, brought her hand to his face and closed his mouth around those two fingers, never breaking eye contact with her as he did it.

Her jaw went slack, and she gaped at him.

"How many times did you get off?" he asked, removing her fingers from his mouth and lacing them with his.

"Um … four."

His brows hiked up his forehead. "Four! Wow. No wonder your fingers are still wrinkly."

More fire filled her face.

"We need to get you a toy. Doctors need their hands. Can't have you risking carpal tunnel."

It was too early in the morning to argue with him that she still wasn't sure she was returning to medicine. She was also far too turned on and eager to jump his bones than to get into a spat that could result in her not getting off, and him leaving her hanging—again.

"Or … you could help me," she suggested, surging forward and backing him up toward her bedroom, undressing him as they went.

They collapsed onto the bed and she straddled him, just like she had in her dream. She peeled her tank top over her head and rolled to the side to shimmy out of her shorts while Bennett undressed the rest of himself as well. Then she climbed back on him.

He was all sexy grins. "I like this take-charge side of you," he gritted out, his hands finding her hip bones.

Using his chest for leverage, she planted her hands between his pecs and lifted up just enough that he could reach between them and notch himself at her center. They didn't even need foreplay; she was that turned on.

The stretch as he filled her nearly pushed her over the edge into her first orgasm. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth went dry, and her clit pulsed with a heartbeat of its own.

"Show me again how you did it last night," he said, taking her hand from his chest and guiding it between her legs. "I want to see how you took charge of your own pleasure."

"Because you denied me," she said breathily as she began to draw luscious counterclockwise circles around her swollen clit while lifting up and down on his cock at the same time.

"I'll never deny you again," he replied, honesty in his gaze. "I thought you needed time alone."

Biting her lip, she lifted and fell, again and again, taking him to the hilt, then back to the tip. Who needed running? She was getting a quad burn just from this.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, lifting up to snag her nipple in his mouth, which caused his abdominal muscles to contract in a way that just caused her pussy to flutter even more.

She crooned as he sucked harder, her fingers working overtime on her clit.

It was more challenging for her to continue bobbing up and down, but truthfully, she didn't care. There was enough friction, and the stretch of him alone was divine.

He moved his mouth to the other nipple, and she sucked in a sharp breath when he scissored his teeth. Their eyes locked for a moment, which made her fingers pause between her legs.

A glint in his eyes caused those butterflies in her belly to zoom around, then she found herself held in his powerful arms and flipped over onto her back. He sat back on his heels, his cock, shiny from just being inside her with the swollen plum-hued crown winking at her from the nest of close-cropped, wiry hair between his legs.

"I want to watch you," he said, his voice hoarse with arousal. "Touch yourself without me inside you."

Her body hummed with need, so she didn't even hesitate to put her fingers back there and work her clit. She hadn't needed to slide her fingers inside her pussy last night. Clit stimulation got her to the point of no return, no problem. But knowing his cock was right there and capable of filling her up properly inundated her with an aching emptiness in her core. She licked her lips and stared at his cock as she worked her clit, around and around and around.

"I want to watch you," she whispered. "It's only fair."

That pleased-with-himself Grinch smile was back as he took his length in his big palm and languidly worked it from root to tip. The third time he reached the crown, a shiny bead of pearlescent precum emerged on the tip. She could practically taste it and licked her lips.

His eyes turned avid and wild.

"You want a taste?" he rasped.

She nodded, still working her fingers between her legs.

He inched up the bed until he was next to her head and guided his cock toward her waiting mouth. She flicked her tongue out and swept the precum off the swollen head, wiping any remaining drops from her lips. She kissed the tip, then sucked it.

He growled.

She did it again.

His nostrils flared.

The man was in pure hunter-mode. And she was prey.

His gaze flicked back down to where she still worked her slick clit. She was close after watching him stroke himself and wedge his cock into her mouth. But as much fun as this was, she needed him inside her. She needed him to fill that hollow ache that made her core clench and her insides quake with longing.

"You look so beautiful, bringing yourself pleasure like that," he said, shuffling back down to the foot of the bed. "But I think you need to come now."

She nodded and choked on a surprising sob. "Please."

"Do you want me to fill you up?"

She nodded again, this time more desperately. "So, so much."

His lips twisted for a moment, then, instead of covering her, he sunk down to his belly, slid two fingers into her pussy and pressed up hard. She instantly felt like she needed to pee.

"No. I need to pee if you do that," she said, trying to shimmy away. He gripped her by the back of one thigh to keep her in place, then he relaxed his pressure a little, but not by much. She still felt the urge to pee, just not as severely. The pleasure though, was unreal. He gently pushed her fingers away and latched onto her clit with his lips, alternating between sucking and flicking, all the while continuing to press up on that magic little spot.

She'd never had a man touch her G-spot before.

"Let's see if we can make you squirt," he murmured, glancing up at her. "Ever had a finger in your ass?"

Her bottom lip dropped open. "Uhhh."

"Wanna try?"

"Uhhhh …"

"Relax and breathe, Justine. If you want to stop, just say so. We don't need a safe word or anything."

"I think squirting is a myth," she said, unable to think of anything else to say besides: You want to stick your finger WHERE?

"It absolutely is not," he muffled, still sucking her clit like it was an Everlasting Gobstopper. "Finger? Ass?"

"Ummm."

While keeping those two fingers inside her on the magic button and his lips enclosed around her clit, he swept fingers from his other hand up through her folds, gathering her arousal. Then he pressed gently at her anus.

She was a doctor. She used the word "anus." Not "rosette." Not "back door." Not "secret place."

Anus. Because that was what it was. A-N-U-S.

She'd even had her own fingers in several anuses over the years all during med school, as an intern, and a resident. It wasn't a big deal when she wore scrubs and the patient needed a prostate exam or something.

But this was very different.

Very, very different.

She knew the anus and rectum were erogenous zones. Again, this was all stuff they covered in med school. She'd just never had a partner who wanted to venture to that part of her body, and she'd never been curious about it.

A-N-U-S.

Now the song by Gwen Stefani popped into her head. "This shit is anus. A-N-U-S. " Oh no, that sounded bad. Shit and anus. What was wrong with her?

Ugh! She was so deep in her own head.

She always went deep into her head when she was having sex. It was probably one of the reasons why she hadn't had an orgasm until she was thirty-one, or pleasured herself until this week.

She needed to get out of her head and into her body. Let her libido take over.

So …

"Yes," she breathed. "Let's try."

"Relax," he hummed. "Push out as I push in."

She swallowed, but did as he instructed.

It hurt just a smidge when he first pushed in, but then he slid in with ease and boy was that a weird sensation.

Not bad-weird. Just weird -weird.

"You okay?" he asked, still in a mad lip-lock with her clit and pressing gently on her G-spot.

"Yeah." Her words sounded a million miles away.

Then he started to move that finger. The one in her ass.

"Holy … holy …" Her eyes flashed open and her upper body sprung up and forward in the bed. " Tabarnak!"

Bennett's body jostled with mirth and she could feel him laughing, his mouth still on her.

"Good?" he asked, totally rhetorically.

"Ummm …" She slid down to her back as her thighs trembled.

He moved his finger again, this time in the opposite direction of his fingers inside her pussy.

Why she called it a "pussy" and not a "vagina," but insisted on calling it an "anus" and not a "backdoor" or "rosette," she wasn't sure. She also wasn't going to give it too much thought while he was currently taking her to a new height of pleasure she'd never scaled to before.

Get. Out. Of. Your. Head!

Right.

The sliding, the slippery friction, and that incessant pressure on her G-spot was driving her wild. Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow, sending her hair splaying around her face. He sucked harder on her clit, like he was trying to remove it from her body.

Then, just when she thought she was going to black out, or lose her mind and need to be committed to a psych ward for mass hysteria, he switched from sucking to flicking with his tongue.

And she exploded.

She erupted.

She went volcanic like she'd never gone volcanic before. If squirting was actually a thing, there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to do it tonight. Right now. With Bennett.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure spread through her. From her center—where he pressed, fidgeted and flicked—and down to her toes that curled, her fingers that gripped the bedsheets for dear life, and her forehead—which scrunched like she was thinking way too damn hard to solve the case of the missing orgasms. But they weren't missing anymore. After thirty-one years, she finally found them. And now, at thirty-five, she'd unearthed even more decadent pleasure.

She was an orgasm archeologist for her own sexuality.

Did that even make any sense?

She was too hopped up on dopamine and oxytocin to care.

As the intense need to pee and the full-body bliss began to recede, her muscles relaxed. That's when she realized that she'd inadvertently rendered Bennett temporarily deaf because she'd clamped her thighs so tightly around his head, holding him in place.

She opened her eyes and gasped, releasing him from her thigh-vice. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry."

He gently slid his fingers free, using the sheet to wipe some of her arousal from his scruff, then he climbed up the bed and hovered over her. "Oh, don't apologize for that. It was hot." Without missing a beat, he notched himself at the apex of her thighs and slid home. The stretch was less extreme than before, but her body still hummed from a moment ago, while also craving more at the same time.

Lazily, he slid in and out of her. "So? Finger in your ass?"

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nipped his damp, bristly chin. "Yes, please."

"Again?"

She was an addict now. An addict of all things "Bennett." Of all things "sex with Bennett." Of all things "orgasms" in any way, shape, or form.

She had to make up for lost time, and Bennett McEvoy seemed like the lover to help her achieve that.

"Yes," she sighed, arching her back so his pelvic bone hit her clit just perfectly.

"All right, let's log roll. One … two … three." Then he hooked his leg under hers, threaded his arm beneath her, and with the finesse of a dancer or figure skater or something, he rolled them across the bed until she was back on top of him, straddling him like when they started. "What a perfect sex sandwich," he said. "And we didn't even come apart. We started in this position, and we're going to finish in it." He dipped two fingers between them to gather more of her arousal before snaking that hand behind her and running the slippery fingers between her cheeks. "Same as before. Relax. Breathe and push out."

She did as she was told and he slid in with more ease than the first time.

"Now ride me like a good girl," he ordered. "While I finger-fuck that perfect ass of yours."

Why were these filthy words turning her on so much? Why was she already close to another orgasm and wanting him to say even dirtier things? If he pushed her head to make her suck him off, she'd probably hop to her knees with glee. If he brought up taking her in the ass fully, she would probably say "yes." She was mad with need. Mad with desire. The all-consuming craving that wracked her entire body left her trembling as she rode him back and forth. More fresh orgasms brewed inside her, but they threatened to be wild. They threatened to incapacitate her, and her body quivered in anticipation.

"Fuck, you take my cock so well, Justine. Lift up and look down for a sec. Just pause and see where we're connected. Where I disappear inside of you." She did as she was told and he rewarded her with a soft-spoken, "Good girl." That just sent her heart flying.

Oh. God. Was that ever hot. Seeing him split her labia like that … the way her body opened for him. Claimed and consumed him, just as he claimed and consumed her. He fit so perfectly. Like she was made for him. But the sight, his thick, vein-roped cock disappearing into her body like that …

While she hovered there, he slid his finger in her anus, back and forth a little, and she could feel him touching his cock with his fingers inside her body between the thin membrane that separated the two channels.

It was erotic.

It was dirty.

And it absolutely wrecked her.

She collapsed into a throbbing, pulsating, quaking mess on his chest as the orgasm took on a life of its own. It ricocheted through her body like a pinball in a machine. No pattern. No set course. It didn't blossom from her center into her extremities like the last one. This one hit her in every place at a different time. She couldn't predict it. And she didn't want to.

Rather, she just lay on top of him, twitching like someone just hit her with the defibrillator when she wasn't going into cardiac arrest.

She was spent.

Boneless and unable to even open her eyes when the climax finally waned. The thundering pulse in her ears receded and she could hear, then felt him coming as well. The grunts and deep, masculine moans as he spilled himself deep inside her.

She might have been able to rally a third mini-orgasm, since the feel of his cock pulsing was enough to make her erogenous zones start firing again. But she didn't have the energy to muster another one. Her eyes were happily closed. She was happy lying on top of him. Naked.

She was happy.

And now that she knew what true happiness felt like, she would do whatever she needed to do to keep that feeling forever.