Chapter Text
When Ben turned ten years old, he’d received two crisp hundred dollar bills tucked inside a birthday card. It was more money than he’d ever seen before, and he’d been sure that it was a mistake. But then a strong, sturdy hand had squeezed his shoulder and he’d looked up to find his uncle Luke smiling down at him. He’d recognized Ben’s hesitation right away.
“You deserve it, kid,” he’d said. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Now, twenty-five years later, applying that same logic to this aberration of an evening appears to be the only way Ben is going to survive. Because if he thinks too much about this, if he starts to truly question his unexpected luck, he’ll probably freeze, or say the wrong thing, or trip over his own shoes, and he likes Rey too much to fuck this up.
Turning on the confidence had been easy. Always stay three steps ahead—maintain eye contact, know the drink order, move in close, gently tuck away that stray lock of hair.
It’s a tried and true, foolproof method, and if Ben wasn’t so fucking picky, it would’ve gotten him laid more times than he can count. But he is, so it hasn’t.
All of his attempts seem to go the same way. The conversation is full of surface-level topics like jobs, family, traveling, and hobbies. The drinks are too expensive, and the dinner always tastes the way the evening feels—lackluster and bland. When they inevitably invite him home, he makes a halfhearted excuse not to go. An early workout, a (nonexistent) hungry dog, an unsettled stomach that he blames on the restaurant.
If his friends knew, they’d give him shit about it, so he doesn’t tell them. He lets them think what they want to think—that he constantly strikes out, that he’s absolutely hopeless when it comes to actually getting a woman in bed. It’s easier than telling them the truth, which is that he can’t bear the thought of having sex with someone he isn’t remotely interested in.
Sometimes, he wishes that he could. Most of his friends can enjoy casual sex with perfect strangers, and there are moments when he’s envious. There’s only so much satisfaction to be gained from jerking off in the shower.
And it’s not like he hasn’t tried—he really has. But it always ends the same way—he wakes up in a bed that’s not his own, next to a woman he won’t call, with a sinking pit in his stomach and an overwhelming desire to get out before she wakes. He’s supposed to wake up and want to fuck her again, to curl around her and slip inside easily because she’s still wet from the night before. He’s supposed to want to make her scrambled eggs and coffee, and kiss her slow and deep before telling her that he’ll text her later. He’s supposed to want to text her later.
But he never wants to, so he never does.
For a minute there, after attempt number three—the time he’d been caught trying to sneak out of a girl’s apartment in the middle of the night—he’d started to feel rather hopeless. Like maybe truly good sex just wasn’t in the cards for him, like maybe he’d just have to accept that his lot in life was only having meaningless, mediocre encounters.
And then, one Wednesday morning in September, everything changed. The sun broke through the gloomy haze surrounding the office windows, beaming from the cubicle next to him, bright enough to make him squint. Hey, I’m Rey, the sun said, and he’d almost laughed, because the sun wasn’t the sun at all. It was a girl, and her name was Rey. Of course it was. Of course a girl in a daisy print dress with a smile that could light up even the darkest room could only be called Rey. The name was created specifically for her; no other one could possibly do her justice.
He’d been instantly wonderstruck, and, in true Ben Solo fashion, had frozen completely, panicked and alarmed all at once at how someone could possibly be that beautiful under fluorescent lights at eight in the morning. He’d done what he always did in situations like that—when he was truly nervous, or caught off guard. He’d turned his back and pretended it wasn’t happening. Headphones on, volume up.
All the suave, self-assured energy he’d learned to harness so well was nowhere to be seen. She’d unknowingly cut him down to size, shattering that false exterior without even trying. She’d simply appeared and he’d been frighteningly exposed, instantly unable to be anything but his true self, and his true self was clearly not smooth or confident. Not when it came to her.
Because of that—that alarming and sudden vulnerability—it was easier to let her hate him. If she hated him, that meant that she was arguing with him. It meant that she was giving him dirty looks in meetings when she thought he wasn’t looking. It meant that he didn’t have to risk trying to get her to like him instead, because he couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if he failed. If he became no one to her, someone she didn’t want to know, or think about.
No. He’d rather she hate. At least then, she would have a reason to look at him. Even if it was with disdain, or irritation, or exhaustion. For Ben, that was enough.
And to be fair, he does actually like bickering with her. Her opinions, albeit typically the opposite of his own, are unique and interesting. The way she sees the world is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before—carefully guarded, yet laced with devastating levels of empathy. She wants to fix everything, to be kind and giving to everyone.
He doesn’t know much about her past, but he can always tell when something hits too close to home. In those moments, when she has to look away from him to hide the tears building in her eyes, it doesn’t feel worth it. The ruse. In those moments, he wants to tell her that she’s thoughtful and intelligent and compassionate in all the ways he isn’t. That even if they never agree on anything, part of him wishes that he could see things the way she does.
Or that he could have a heart as big and open as hers.
But if he did that, it might ruin everything. It might crush the house of cards they’ve built around each other, centered around disagreements and debates that tire their friends and enrage their teammates. And then Ben would have nothing left of Rey, the sunshine girl that somehow manages to make his heart flutter even when she’s tearing into him with a scowl that could kill.
So he plays along. He gives as good as he gets, and he levels her with his own death stare, one that he’s carefully cultivated over thirty-five years. He doesn’t hold back, especially when he knows he’s right, because Rey likes a challenge, and the fire in her eyes when he counters her points with sharp precision is like a drug. He can’t possibly get enough.
It’s part of his routine, as common and everyday as brushing his teeth, going toe-to-toe with her. Which is why when she accuses him of having zero game, he surprises himself—and everyone at the table—when he doesn’t fight it. And then the words show me come out of his mouth, and he’s stunned at his sudden bravery. Even more surprising is that she actually agrees.
Now he’s here, sitting next to her at the bar with his body angled toward hers, and he’s trying his absolute best to pretend that she’s a random girl that he’s attempting to hit on, but it’s nearly impossible. He wants to continue the charade, if only so she’ll let down her guard a little by pretending that he isn’t her sworn enemy. He wants to continue the charade because finally being on the receiving end of her smile makes something in his chest erupt.
One look at that entrancing dimple and he decides that he needs to tell her the truth. Maybe not now, because he doesn’t want to scare her off, but soon. If there’s even a shred of possibility that it might lead to more of those smiles aimed his way, it’s definitely worth the risk.
Their conversation flows. He turns on the charm. She makes him laugh.
But then she tells him that she’s never heard him do that before, and it breaks his heart. It splits him wide open, and any reservations he had about honesty are washed away in a sea of tequila and whiskey. He can’t hold onto it anymore, this painful truth. He can’t let it hurt her any more than it already has. So he gives it to her the only way he knows how—open and direct.
Of course he’s never hated her. Not for one goddamn second.
He grovels a little, because she deserves that much. He acknowledges that he can be a complete asshole, and that he was a nervous idiot when they first met. With each of his admissions, she softens. With each truth that leaves his lips, she leans a centimeter closer.
They take a shot together and he asks for her forgiveness, for a chance to start over, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But she gives it to him anyway.
She is light personified, and he wants to spend an eternity basking in her warmth.
When she asks him to slip back into character, to show her how he’d round out the night if she were still just a stranger, it’s purely an excuse to tell her more truths. But these are dangerous ones. Ones that he’s kept under lock and key. Ones that have her breathing a little harder, and have his jeans feeling a little tighter. He tells her that he wants to fuck her, because he does.
God, he does.
It’s been months since he’s wanted someone the way he wants Rey. Years.
A lifetime, maybe.
He wants her in his bed, and he tells her as much, but he also has to clarify that he’s still acting. Because the last thing he wants to do is ruin things now, when they’ve gotten so far. When she’s actually let him in for the first time. So he gives her an out.
And then, like something out of a dream, she doesn’t take it.
Which is how they ended up here, in the backseat of an Uber with Ben’s hand on her thigh. They’d left their friends behind, Ben offering only a wave as Rey practically dragged him out of the bar by his sweater. The group text they’re both in with everyone at the booth is going absolutely nuts, but both of their phones are stowed away, silenced and ignored.
Ben can’t even contemplate looking at his phone when he could be looking at Rey.
“This is insane,” she says, quiet enough that he wonders if she’s saying it more to herself.
His heart starts to thump roughly, and he gulps at the hesitation in her voice. “Rey, we don’t have to do—”
“No,” she says instantly, shaking her head and turning her body toward his. “I want to. I just—we were arguing about Google vs. Microsoft this morning. I wanted to accidentally spill my coffee on your shirt like, six hours ago.”
He laughs, his free hand moving to rub at his brow. “I’m sorry, but I will never concede that Google is better than Microsoft. Excel will always be superior.”
“You really show your age when you argue on behalf of Excel, you know.”
“Age has nothing to do with it,” Ben retorts. “It's a better, more advanced software. Period.”
“Whatever you say, old man,” she grumbles, but there’s no heat in her voice, and when he lets his hand fall from his face, her dimple is still there.
She’s close enough that her arm is rubbing against his, and the longer they hold each other’s gaze, the more it seems like she’s just as terrified and exhilarated as he is. Waves of tension and anticipation vibrate between them, thick enough to touch. Ben can feel them drift under his skin, into his heart and heating his blood.
He wants her. Every single part of her. He meant what he said at the bar—there isn’t one single inch of her that he doesn’t want to worship.
His hand leaves her leg and the whimper she gives at the loss makes him smile. When he lifts his arm to wrap around her shoulder, pulling her into his side, it’s careful. Cautious and slow. He wants to keep giving her opportunities to stop this. Even if the look in her eyes is pure hunger, he has to make sure that she knows that he’s at her mercy, tonight and every night after.
Pale blue moonlight carves shadows on her face, and Ben can’t help himself.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, a hand reaching up to cradle her cheek.
She gives him a wordless nod, paired with those open, beautiful eyes, and he is overwhelmed.
He leans forward and presses his lips to hers softly, testing the waters, mostly for his own sake. The first taste of her in his mouth has his eyes falling shut, his vision swimming in circles, and his dick twitching in his pants. Beer and tequila stain her lips and he picks it up with his own. Rey’s hand finds its way to his neck, her fingertips brushing against the nape, and Ben sighs, the sound echoing into her mouth.
If this keeps going—the second she opens for him, he knows he won’t be able to stop himself from pulling her into his lap. The music is loud, and the driver is definitely not paying attention to them in the slightest, but there’s no way Rey straddling him in the backseat would go over well. Getting kicked out of the car would only prolong the time before he can get her into his bed, and that’s the absolute last thing he wants.
So he breaks away, pressing his forehead against hers. They’re both breathing heavily, eyelids fluttering, and the tiny smile on Rey’s lips is a mirror of his own.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admits quietly.
Rey rolls her eyes, but her smile only grows. “You’re an idiot, Ben Solo.”
He barks out a laugh. “Is that right?”
She nods. “We could’ve been doing that this whole time. But instead, you spent the last three months acting like you hate me.” Her tone turns a little sad toward the end, and her thumb caresses the skin at the back of his neck as she sighs. “And letting me hate you right back.”
“I’m sorry,” he manages, because saying anything else feels wrong. He is sorry down to his bones. He’s so sorry that it hurts. “I’m sorry that I ever made you think I hated you. It wasn’t my intention.” He shakes his head, eyes searching hers. “I would take it all back, if I could.”
Rey’s eyes are shining in the low light of the car. She bites her lip and asks, “What would you do this time around, if you got to start over?”
Ben smiles, and it feels easier, lighter. She’s forgiven him again, in her own way.
“I would take the time,” he says. “From the very first day. From the very first second you walked into the office. I would help you with whatever you needed, make sure you were comfortable and feeling good about the job. And at the bar,” he brushes a piece of hair out of her face, “At the bar, I would offer to buy you a beer to celebrate a great first day. I would ask you about your life before, about where you were from. I would get to know you, the right way.”
A happy little sigh falls from Rey’s mouth. “And then?”
The Uber driver is still gloriously distracted by the electronica music vibrating through his speakers, so Ben leans forward and presses a soft, barely-there kiss to the apple of her cheek. His mouth hovers near her skin, centimeters from her face. “I’d hope and pray that you wanted to get to know me, too. And if, for some miraculous reason, you did, I’d let you. I’d tell you anything you wanted to know. We’d have standing lunch dates. I’d teach you Excel functions that would make your life easier, so you won’t have to stress about deadlines.”
Rey rolls her eyes and pinches his hip. He laughs, reeling back, but keeps her firm in his hold. Her head leans slightly onto his bicep, and the fondness in her expression as she blinks up at him has his breath catching in his throat.
“At some point, if I could gather the courage, I’d ask you to dinner,” he manages, despite the shakiness in his voice. “I’d pick you up at your place and tell you how gorgeous you look, and I’d take you somewhere nice. We’d eat and talk and I’d try to flirt with you, despite being a nervous wreck. But maybe, if luck was on my side, you’d find me endearing, and you’d flirt back.”
She swallows, nodding slowly. Her voice is equally as shaky when she asks, “And then?”
Ben breathes in through his nostrils, and then lets it out, deep and slow. He cradles her face, hoping his touch conveys how precious she feels in his hands.
“And then, if you let me, I’d take you home. Pour you a glass of wine. I wouldn’t rush, because every second with you is a second to be savored.” He leans closer, lips at her ear. Words spoken only for her, nearly a whisper. “I’d pull you into my lap and kiss you the way I’d wanted to since the second I saw you. I’d carry you to my bed, take my time undressing you. I’d put my mouth on you. Make you come on my tongue and my fingers.” His hand drifts down to her waist, pulling her further into him. “And then I’d fuck you. Nice and slow, until you come all over my cock. I bet you’d be tight,” he breathes. “I bet you’d grip me—make me come inside you so hard that I couldn’t see straight. If you let me.”
Rey’s eyes slide shut, her mouth falling slightly ajar. “I would let you,” she rasps. “I would.”
Ben’s heart clenches in his chest, and he leans forward and kisses her again.
It’s probably a good thing that the car slows to a stop before he can kiss her the way he wants to, Uber rating be damned. The driver is unfazed, wholly unaware of the debaucherous conversation happening in his backseat. He bids them goodnight and drives away once they’ve climbed out of the car, and then Ben and Rey are finally, wonderfully alone.
He reaches out a hand and she takes it, instantly lacing their fingers together. They walk up the stairs to his apartment, a climb he’s made thousands of times, but tonight, each step feels brand new. Each step seems to undo all of the journeys he’s made to his front door alone, all of the nights he’s spent on his couch with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Now, with Rey by his side, it feels like he’s coming home, a place he actually wants to be, for the first time.
Even under the blue-tinted lights that illuminate the corridor, she’s beautiful. Effortless and entrancing in the way she moves, in the knowing smile that curves on her lips.
They’re steps away from his door, but he can’t help himself. Not when she looks like something out of his wildest dreams, like everything he’s ever wanted wrapped in a cream-colored dress. He moves in on her. Rey blinks up at him as she steps backward until she’s pressed against the shingled wall of the hallway, and Ben reaches up to hold her cheek, a thumb tracing over her parted lips. He bends down and kisses her, the softness and hesitation of his kiss in the Uber long gone. His mouth devours hers, licking at the seam of her lips until she lets him in, and when their tongues slide against each other for the first time, Rey moans.
The sound ignites something within him, and he reaches down to squeeze her ass, relishing in the little squeak she makes as he scoops her up. Her legs wrap around his hips, her arms loop around his neck, and they’re flush against each other, panting heavy and hot.
With her back against the wall for leverage, Ben moves to her neck, running his lips and tongue over every exposed inch. Rey gasps and rolls her hips, and when she rubs against his dick, rock hard under his jeans, the moan she lets out almost brings him to his knees.
“Ben,” she sighs, head tilted back. “Ben, I need—”
“I know what you need,” he says as he bites gently at her jaw.
“You need my mouth.” He sweeps his tongue where his teeth once were, soothing the skin he’s nipped.
“And my hands.” He squeezes her ass again, rubbing circles with his thumbs into the material of her dress.
“And my cock.” He rolls his hips into hers again, and this time, they both let out a moan.
He manages to pry his mouth from her neck so he can watch where he’s going as he walks them to his door, fumbling around for the keys in his pocket.
Rey’s mouth is at his neck now, pressing warm, wet kisses into his skin and making it hard to even see the lock where he’s supposed to insert his key. By some miracle, he manages to do it, and gets them both inside before slamming the door behind him.
“Before you ask,” Rey says, lifting her head up. “I don’t want any wine.”
She runs her fingers through his hair, and Ben’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling of her nails scraping against his scalp. He swallows thickly and nods, tightening his hold on her.
“Okay.”
“And you don’t have to savor every moment like it might be the last, either,” she adds softly, fingers threading through his thick locks. “Because it won’t.”
“Fuck,” Ben breathes, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.
It shouldn’t be possible, but somehow, at her words, he’s even harder.
This girl is going to kill him. He’s absolutely sure of it, and he couldn’t care less.
The apartment is dark, and his bedroom is all the way down the hall, and Ben can’t fathom spending one more second with his mouth anywhere but between her legs. The kitchen table is the closest surface—he rids it of a fruit bowl and a pile of unopened mail with one sweep of his arm, and then he lays her down gently on the dark wood. Rey spreads her legs wider, her arms still encircling his neck. He finds her mouth again, kissing her fiercely until her chest is heaving. Her dress has ridden up, and at the sight of the black thong hugging her hips, he shudders. The only thing he can possibly do now is kneel. He thinks he might die if he doesn’t.
Rey’s back arches as his knees find their place on the floor. He presses kisses to the inside of her thighs and runs his tongue along the edge of the silky material, and he can almost taste her. It’s intoxicating and heady and when he pulls the damp garment to the side to lick a broad stripe from the bottom to the top of her center, his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.
She’s soaking wet. His tongue is drenched with her.
He explores, selfishly licking more for himself at first, until he finds her clit. The flat of his tongue presses against it and she moans. When he’s finally able to tear his eyes from her perfect, pink pussy, he looks up at her face, and it’s everything. Her mouth is wide open, eyes screwed shut, head pressed back onto the table. Her hands have found purchase in his hair while her legs hang limply over his shoulders, trembling in time with each stroke of his tongue.
“God, you taste incredible,” he wheezes against the junction between her thigh and her center, and then refocuses, singularly focused on consuming every last bit of her.
The tip of his tongue circles her clit, slow and intentional, until she’s gasping. Her hips start to roll, pressing herself further into his mouth, and he can barely breathe, but he doesn’t care. He’d gladly die, just like this, with his face buried between her legs.
“Fuck, Ben—” she cries, gripping his hair tighter. “Fuck, that feels so good.”
Ben hums against her as he brings his index finger to her sopping hole, barely dipping inside her with shallow, lazy circles. She cries out when he pushes it all the way in, the passage made easy by her arousal. With his free hand, he reaches down and rubs the palm of his hand against his cock. It’s aching now, rock hard and desperate to be inside her.
He eats her cunt like he was born to do it. Like he’s been engineered specifically to put his mouth right here and lick her until she’s screaming.
“I’m gonna come,” she moans, nearly off the table completely with how far her back has arched.
Redoubling his efforts, he sinks another finger inside of her and curls them, reaching for the spot inside that he knows will push her over the edge. His starts alternating between sucking and flicking at her clit, and he shows her no mercy as he tears her apart, fucking her with his hand and his mouth until she’s crying out his name and slamming her thighs against his ears.
When she loosens her grip on his hair and his head, Ben comes up for air and finds her breathing heavily, eyes still closed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down and slotting it over her own, and she accepts blindly, opening for him and sucking her taste off of his tongue. Ben sighs into her mouth, reaching down to grip under her armpits and lift her up, back into his arms so he can carry her to his bed.
On the way, their kisses are slow and sensual. He spreads her out over his comforter once they make it to his room, and he can’t help it—he has to see her. A lamp illuminates the space, tearing away the shadows on her cheeks and bringing back the glint in her hazel eyes as she slowly opens one, then the other.
She’s squinting, but smiling, and he’s utterly lost at the sight of her.
Rey stands then, reaching for the hem of her dress to pull it over her head. With it gone, she’s left in only her underwear, and Ben’s eyes drift to her exposed breasts. He thanks his lucky stars that she decided to forgo a bra this evening, because her dusky pink nipples are making his head swim—he almost short-circuits at the sight of them, all hard and wanting. She pulls her underwear off unceremoniously, keeping her eyes on his, and then sits back down.
Slowly, she lays back and spreads her legs, and Ben nearly comes in his pants.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Rey,” he tells her, voice cracked with emotion and arousal.
“Come here,” she whispers.
Ben pulls his sweater and jeans off as quickly as he possibly can without tripping over himself, and then he hovers over her, leaning against his elbows. Rey pulls him down fully, and he settles into the cradle of her legs like it’s the only place he was ever meant to be.
“I’m on the pill,” she tells him, and Ben blinks at her, swallowing hard.
When he doesn’t say anything, she reaches up and pushes a strand of hair out of his face.
“I want to feel you. All of you.”
His eyes slide shut and he rolls his hips into her, his underwear the only thing keeping him from sliding inside, right then and there. With the side of her foot, she pushes at the elastic band, urging his briefs away. He doesn’t make her work for it—he needs to be inside her or he might actually collapse—he pushes them down his hips, leaving no more barriers between them.
Her throat bobs, eyes trained on his length, red and leaking for her. They flicker up to his, and there’s a flash of nervousness, and he gets it—he knows that he’s bigger than average, that it can be intimidating. But there’s anticipation in her eyes, too, and the look goes straight to his cock. He smiles and leans down, pressing his lips softly to hers.
Rey smiles into the kiss, and then surprises him when she presses against his chest with her palms until he’s on his back. She climbs over him without hesitation and slides her wet heat up and down his cock, nails digging into his chest. Ben’s head falls back onto the mattress, and his hands find purchase on her hips, rocking her over him again and again.
“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.
He feels her gripping him, and when he looks down to see her hand encircling his cock, it’s a heady sight. He makes her hand look tiny, and it does something to him, watching her pump his cock with her slender fingers. Rey hovers over his cock until the tip is notched at her center, and then she’s sinking down, inch after incredible inch.
Ben’s vision starts to blur—the room is fading out of view, leaving everything in a haze except for her. She’s in full color, high definition. He wants to burn this image into his brain—the way her mouth falls open when she’s fully seated on him, the way her eyes roll back and her nostrils flare.
“Oh god,” she moans, head falling back.
Ben lifts his hips, pressing further into her. Rey cries out, biting her bottom lip, and her hands reach for his chest, resting against his pecs as she starts to ride him.
It’s unreal, the way she feels around his cock. She’s wet and tight and pure bliss—he is completely gone, lost in the way she swivels her hips when she lifts up and sinks down on him again and again. Somehow, he has the wherewithal to reach up and pluck one of her nipples, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. She rewards him with a gasp, and a clench that makes him shiver all over.
“Shit,” he rasps. “Fuck, Rey. You feel so fucking good.”
Rey nods vigorously. She’s bouncing on his cock like she was made to do it, and Ben can barely see straight as the hand kneading her breast sinks lower to the bundle of nerves at her center. He swipes his thumb over it and Rey gasps.
“Yes, Ben, please,” she begs, and he obliges.
There’s no universe in which he wouldn’t give her every single fucking thing that she wants.
He plays with her clit as she rides him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her face screwed up in pleasure. Ben tries to memorize her, to memorize the way she looks and feels, how the light hits her face and she leans back, how the sweat glistens at her hairline.
“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, and she nods, letting her eyes fall open to find his.
“You like bouncing on my cock like this?”
“Fuck,” Rey bites out, nodding. “Oh—”
He sits up then, pressing their chests flush, and starts to take over, using an arm wrapped around her back to move her up and down, grinding his pelvis into the place where she needs him the most.
“You take me so well, sweetheart,” he wheezes. “Like you were made for me.”
Rey’s head falls back again, and Ben leans in, covering her throat with wet, open-mouthed kisses. She sighs his name, hands gripping his shoulders, and he can feel it, how close she is. He can feel every clench of her pussy around his cock, and he swallows hard, forcing himself to hold out until she comes. He reaches down to her clit again, pressing his thumb against the nub, and she starts to tremble, taking in air with shuddered, broken gasps.
“Oh, Ben—” she cries. “Ben, Ben, Ben.”
“Come on, baby,” he urges, bouncing her relentlessly. “Come all over my cock.”
Whether it’s his words, his hands, or his throbbing cock that sends her over, he will never know. Nor does it matter, because she’s coming, squeezing him like her body needs to take him with her, and, well. He doesn’t need much encouragement on that front.
“That’s my girl. That’s it.” he groans. “Gonna fill you up.”
She’s screaming his name now, and it feels perfect and right.
“You want me to? Want me to fill up this sweet little pussy with my come?”
Somehow, she manages a nod, and it’s more than enough for him. His orgasm builds from the base of his spine and then ignites. He nearly blacks out as he lets go, spilling deep inside and gasping against her neck. Rey holds him through it, the pulsing aftershocks of her orgasm milking him for every last drop. Ben can barely see, or think, or breathe.
When he finally manages to catch his breath and regain some semblance of lucidity, he lifts his head up and finds her with a sated, tired smile on her lips. She leans her head down to kiss him, all slow and soft and sweet, and Ben melts into her. Holding her tight against him, he lays them down, pulling out of her once he’s gone soft. She rests her head against his chest, still heaving slightly, and scrapes light, gentle patterns over his stomach.
It doesn’t surprise him, that she fits perfectly here, too. In his arms, in his bed—like she belongs here just as much as she belongs with him balls deep inside of her, learning her body from the inside out. And while it doesn’t surprise him, it does scare him.
Because for all he knows, she doesn’t want to belong with him anywhere.
But then, she tilts her head up and looks at him, a grin spreading from ear to ear, and his heart feels like it’s stuttering, forgetting entirely how to beat.
“Can we do that again when we wake up?” she asks, wrapping an arm fully around his torso.
Ben smiles, his heart on fire as all of his crooked teeth go on display, and nods.
“We can do that every single fucking day of the week, sweetheart,” he says, and then blinks, realizing that he’s probably overreaching—because that’s what he does. He reaches too much. Feels too much. “If you want,” he adds in, correcting himself.
But she just smiles wider—somehow—and the sound of her giggle almost brings him to tears. She looks straight into his eyes, forest green and yellow gold sparkling in the lowlight.
“I want,” she whispers.
He squeezes her tighter and presses a kiss to her temple, vowing silently to give her that. Whatever she wants, whenever she wants. For as long as she’ll have him.
They fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms, and Ben dreams about warm days that never end.
He dreams about kissing a girl in a daisy-print dress, holding her hand and following her wherever she goes.
He dreams that he looks up at the sun, but it doesn’t hurt anymore, to open his eyes.