Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

21

Ruby

“Right,” Bennett agrees, then laughs. “No, you’re right.”

A hand runs through his hair. It falls from the leather cord in tiny little strands until he pulls it back up. I can’t help but watch his biceps shift as he does.

“Well, scoot over then.”

And I do. But it’s not as simple as scooting.

Bennett’s eyes lock on to me as I run my palms over the sheets, gripping the edges, pulling myself backward as I slide up the bed. He watches my legs as I push against the sheets. He stares as my back hits the headboard.

I pull one knee up to my chest, and with an almost imperceptible twitch of his eyes downward, I wonder if my sleep shorts are too short. I wonder if my panties are showing through the leg holes. I really hope they’re my cute lacy ones but I can’t remember.

No, I really hope he didn’t see them at all.

That’s what a sane person would hope, right?

I meet one knee with the next and finally dip my legs underneath the covers.

Bennett walks to the other side of the bed. The floor creaks beneath him. It’s not even a rickety hotel; he’s just such a large guy that the world bends around him. The bed squeaks as he lowers onto it. The cool air follows him under the covers. Goose bumps skitter across my skin. Then, he clicks off the lamp, and we lie there in the dark.

It’s silent as we pretend to fall asleep. Well, I do. I don’t know if he’s pretending. But all I hear is the whir of the air-conditioning as I stare at the ceiling.

He shifts in place. His leg hits mine.

Fire. Pure fire.

“Sorry,” I apologize even though it wasn’t my fault.

“No, it was me. Sorry.”

More silence.

I can feel him beside me, the rising and falling of his chest as he breathes. I can’t remember the last time I took a breath at all.

“Do you still wear sheep pajamas?” I ask at the same time he says, “Remember that time we built a pillow fort?”

We both clear our throats and laugh.

“This isn’t weird,” I say out loud.

“Definitely not,” he agrees. “And, no, I don’t wear sheep pajamas.”

“Bummer.”

“I wear dragon ones.”

“You’re so cool.”

He chuckles. “And you? Pink sheep?”

“Clowns.”

Bennett bursts out laughing. “Clowns?”

“I have to scare away the monsters under the bed.”

“Good call. Clowns are definitely scarier.”

“I know. And honestly, if I’d known how cold it was, I might have worn pants.”

“Those shorts are short.”

My face heats, and all I can think to say is, “So, you noticed.”

He clears his throat. “I notice things.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. That’s why you’re cold, Rubes.”

I don’t know what makes me say it—the cold making my heart race to keep me warm, the memory of his gaze after he saw me with Michael, or maybe it’s the fact that he got an anchor tattoo for me just two hours ago—but I answer, “And what would you have me wear?”

Bennett chokes on a low laugh, followed by a low hum and another rumbling chuckle.

My body tenses at the sound. I haven’t heard a jumble of noises sound so sensual in a while.

I hear him swallow. “We should just go to bed. It’s late.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I am so embarrassed. I don’t know what I was trying to do, but this, making our shared bed awkward, wasn’t it. I think I just wanted more innocent flirting after the fun of tonight, but I should have known not to push our limits.

“Night, Rubes.”

“Night, Bennett.”

He rolls over.

It only takes a couple more seconds before he murmurs, “Do you ever think about prom night?”

My pulse stops. Absolutely careens to a halt, leaving tire tracks on the road of my heart.

“Prom night?” I ask, as if I have zero idea what he’s talking about. “Like … ten years ago?”

“Was it that long ago?” Disbelief.

I agree. Prom night still feels like yesterday. The way his hands roamed over my skin, down to my ribs, over my tattoo still resting beneath my underwear. The heavy breaths and rushed movements of our bodies together. A permanent mark of him that will forever be stamped into me.

“I was shaking,” I recall. “At prom.”

“I remember. Why?”

“Nervous.”

“About the tattoo?” he asks.

I laugh nervously. “Yeah. The tattoo.”

Then, Bennett turns over and stares at me. Even in the dark, I can still see the curiosity in his gaze. Maybe it’s because I see him every night in my dreams, every line of his face, every small scar etched on the outside. Every little twitch of his mouth that I wish were pressed against mine.

“Have you gotten any other tattoos?” he asks.

Something tells me we’re not actually talking about tattoos, which is why I obviously ask, “Have you?”

Sensing what I’m getting at, he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“I tell you everything,” he hoarsely whispers.

“Everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, remind me.”

He clears his throat. “Well, since high school, there’s been Juliet. And Lily. And …” He gives a sardonic laugh. “You sure you want to hear this?”

“I do. I’ll go next if you want.”

“Well, you’ve told me about … Sam. And Jacob,” he recites slowly, as if expecting more. But there isn’t anyone.

Sam. My first college hookup. The first person who ever touched me, outside of Bennett. What he lacked in knowledge, he made up for in enthusiasm. But then again, I was just as inexperienced and just as excited.

Then, there was Jacob with definitely more notches in his belt and who was far more daring. But even though he had a tongue that could spell the whole alphabet and make me finish before he got halfway through, I remember wondering if this was what I’d missed experiencing with Bennett. His fingers weren’t Bennett’s fingers, and his hair didn’t smell like strawberries. I felt too guilty about my thoughts, so we broke up shortly after.

But despite all that, I’ve never crossed that final line. I couldn’t.

Under the covers, I reach out at the same time I feel the back of Bennett’s fingers ghosting over my arm, a trail left in their wake as they rise to my shoulder. My breathing hitches in my chest.

“Have you … are you still …” I feel so ridiculous even asking. And I don’t know why it would even matter. “Because I’ve never …” I swallow, and I can’t believe I’m even admitting this, but, “I’ve still never …”

And in the darkness, I hear Bennett exhale a low borderline growl.

“Me neither,” he responds.

“You haven’t?”

“No.” He laughs, and his voice feels so boyish in the moment. “I don’t know why. Couldn’t bring myself to do it, I guess.”

Bennett’s hand runs along my arm again, up to my collarbone, then into the dip below.

And just like with prom night, I’m suddenly shaking. Shaking like a sad little leaf.

His hand retracts when he feels it, as if allowing me space. But I follow the absence, rolling onto my side to face him.

“Rubes …” The raspy way he says my nickname is now so … different. “You’re shaking.”

“Okay,” I admit.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

And in some unspoken exchange, Bennett reaches for me again. His hand lands on my waist, gripping my hip, dragging me even closer. My body is flush with his, and I can feel how quickly his heart is beating. And it only seems fitting that it’s beating just as fast as my own.

His lips touch my forehead first, then the space beside my eye, down to my cheek, the corner of my mouth …

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Then, they press against my lips.

And it is bliss.

We kiss slow at first. Calm. Gentle. Like Bennett is taking me in, absorbing the feel of me for the first time since we were fifteen. Since our first kiss in Honeywood. But this one already feels different. We’re both more practiced. We both know how to move our mouths and sink our tongues. Even though I’ve kissed a few guys over the years, it was nothing like this. It wasn’t the ebb and flow of two people who knew each other in every way but this.

His hand starts to roam up from my hip to my side, along my ribs, resting just below the curve of my breast. The same spot it was in after prom. Like he’s waiting. But for what, I don’t know.

I let my own hands journey. He feels so different from back then. Now, he’s hard everywhere—on his arms, shoulders, chest, stomach. He’s made of hills and valleys I’ve never explored before.

I pause just above his waistline, my heart pounding against my chest like a warning.

Can we go back after this?

His thumb runs a path along the U above my ribs and below my breast. A barely there line, but he doesn’t seem to care. Bennett exhales against my mouth, leaning into a long, unmoving kiss. And then he pulls back.

Our mouths are just inches away, little exhalations in the darkness. Hints of minty toothpaste.

I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am.

Where do we go after this? Can we still be best friends?

I lean in and place a small kiss against his exposed neck.

I can, the kiss says.

That one little kiss is what causes his thumb to finally rise, trailing under my bra and over the peak of my breast. His thumb rubs over my hardened nipple. A moan escapes my mouth.

His lips collide with mine again, and suddenly, it’s frenzied, but so am I. Inhales and exhales that are no longer sweet but needy.

His fingers move along my bra to the back where he unhooks it with two fingers. I feel it fall down my shoulders, caught under the loose sleeves of my shirt. His hand finds my breast again, kneading it in his palm. I can feel my face heating.

“Bennett.”

He halts in place. “Sorry, too much?”

“No, just … I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“They’re … small.” And I feel so ridiculous even admitting it, but what if he expected more? What if I’m just a letdown? So, the words flow out in a garbled mess of, “I wear a push-up bra. Which I know is so ridiculous because I’m twenty-seven, but …”

“I love them,” he growls against my lips. He palms the one breast again, the roughness of him making my nipples harder, sending zips of nerves down to my stomach. “They’re a perfect handful.”

With another swipe of his thumb, I let out the smallest of whining exhales.

“So perfect,” he repeats, tugging up the hem of my shirt and dipping his head under the covers to capture my nipple between his lips. He flicks his tongue. “So, so perfect.”

I lift a leg to wrap around his hip, and he presses against me. And he’s so hard. I’ve known since forever that Bennett isn’t lacking in size, but feeling him grind into me makes me almost light-headed.

With every ounce of courage I have in me, I reach out between us and palm the length of him.

Bennett lets out a heady sigh, biting my nipple and taking it between his lips again, licking and sucking and groaning as I glide my hand up and down his cock.

He places a single kiss on my breast before crawling up to lean his forehead against mine.

“Want to know a secret?” he whispers. I push my palm down the outline of his cock, and he grunts against me. “Christ, Ruby.”

“Yes, I want to hear a secret.”

He chuckles as I keep stroking. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” he admits. “And I should have kissed you again immediately after our first one.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His hand slides down between my legs, pushing my sleep shorts and panties to the side. He traces a long line along my slit.

“Because I was very, very stupid.”

A single finger dips inside me. My back arches as a second finger joins the first, curling and pumping. I’ve never felt so nervous, so wild, so filled with energy in my life.

“Bennett,” I whisper against his lips because it feels right and because I like that he grinds against my palm even harder when I say it.

“God, I need you,” he insists in a rumbling tone, pulling away and ripping the covers off of us.

The cool air hits my sleep shorts, and I can tell just how wet I’ve gotten.

He’s pulling the hem of my shirt over my head, then sliding my bra straps down my shoulders as he kisses across my chest.

“These pretty freckles,” he murmurs so quietly that I’m not sure I’m even meant to hear it.

He tosses my bra and shirt to the floor, kissing over to my stomach and licking a small line down the center. I suck in a breath.

“Not shaking now, are you, Rubes?” he says, and he’s right.

I’m so relaxed, falling into him as he kisses his way down my torso, hooking his thumbs into both my sleep shorts and underwear and tugging them down. And then his lips meet my hip bone, right where my only tattoo is normally hidden by layers of fabric.

“Hello, old friend,” he says to the strawberry.

And I’m smiling. I’m smiling so big that it hurts. At his words, his touch, his familiarity that only he can achieve … everything.

His warm breath hits between my bare legs. His palms part my knees, and my instinct is to tug them back together, to hide from my best friend. But I don’t. Because there’s no hiding from Bennett tonight.

He must sense my hesitation because he pauses.

“Talk to me, Ruby. You all right?”

“Mmhmm,” is all I can get out.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s better than okay.”

“Perfect,” he says. Then, his head disappears between my legs, and a single kiss lands on the inside of my thigh. “My sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and the sound of it has my heart skyrocketing into my throat. The care behind it. The way he cherishes the words with his tongue. He kisses up, up, up, until his smooth tongue finally laps over my wet center.

A breath catches in my throat, the start of a word that never finishes.

“My sweet girl tastes just as sweet,” he says, and then his tongue rolls over me again. It’s warm and wonderful and unreal.

And when I chance a look, I’m amazed by the sight—the come-to-life vision of so many fantasies. The broad shoulders of my best friend. The tattooed arm curled up onto my stomach. And that pink string tied just below a hand holding me down.

I watch as he feasts, licking and sucking and moaning. It’s lewd but somehow also beautiful and intoxicating—how my best friend devours me. Nerves spark through me with every lashing of his tongue. My chest heats when he slides two fingers inside once more. I buck against him.

Have sex with me, Bennett,I think.

No, I moan it.

The words echo in the room, but they don’t feel like my own. His licking slows and gently turns to soft kisses against my thigh.

He places his chin on my pubic bone, as if we were just sitting here, hanging out. Just two pals.

And then he laughs and kisses my tattoo again.

“I …” A choked-out chuckle. “Ruby …”

My face heats. “Sorry, it just came out. If you don’t want to—”

“Please,” he says. Then, he starts to crawl over me, large arms caging me against the bed, his hair wild around us both, eyebrows turned in, like the words physically pain him to say. “Please say that again.”

I reach out to run my hand over his cheek, against his jaw. The light stubble tickles my palm, and he turns his head to kiss the center of it.

“Would you want to …” My confidence is a little lost now—lost in the sudden softness of his demeanor and the heaviness of his stare.

And Bennett, being Bennett, he just knows. He closes his eyes and nuzzles against my hand.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers against my palm.

Say it, say it, say it.

Have courage, Ruby.

“Please have sex with me, Bennett.”

Our eyes meet, and he nods.

“Anything you want, Ruby. Anything at all.”