Page 51 of Better than Famous

"I need you." My teeth grazed his lower lip. "Take me hard, Ben. Now."

He shifted his grip to adjust our angle, then entered me with a single, powerful thrust. The sheer force knocked the air straight from my lungs. A sharp cry tore from my throat, my head falling back against the wet enclosure. He brought a pure, overwhelming fullness. A heavy, relentless rhythm began. He drove into me with focused intensity, the entire universe narrowed down to our point of connection. No space remained for the press or lingering doubts. There was only the slide of wet skin, the rush of the water, and the man claiming me with every stroke.

Matching his pace, my nails dug into his shoulders. I wasn’t a passive passenger on this ride. I ground against him to chase the tension coiling tight in my belly.

"Ben." The pleasure built so fast it bordered on a panic attack in reverse.

He buried his face in the curve of my neck. Hot breath ghosted over my soaked skin. "Let go. I’ve got you, Sutton."

He said my name like an invocation. Not Princess, not Superstar, not Baby.

Sutton.

He named me. He saw the woman who burned toast, dug in the dirt, and fought for her life. The sound of my own name on his lips anchored me to reality better than the wall at my back.

"Jesus." I pressed a kiss into his wet hair. "Oh yes, Ben."

The coil tightened, growing hotter and sharper until it became unbearable. Arching my back, I cried out as the release shattered through me. A wave of pure, white-hot light obliterated everything else. A violent shudder wracked his frame, signaling his own control breaking. He poured himself into me with a guttural groan vibrating straight through my chest.

We stayed pinned against the tile for a long time. The water eventually turned cold as it ran over our bodies, while my legs remained locked around his waist. My heart thudded against his chest, and his matching rhythm slowly decelerated against my own. He didn’t let go. He held me until my breathing evened out and the steam dissipated. The harsh reality of the small bathroom returned, but it wasn’t a crash landing. It was soft and wonderful. Utterly safe.

I rested my chin on his slick shoulder. "You know, for a guy who insists he lives a boring, solitary life, your amenities are incredibly high-end."

A low laugh rumbled through his chest. "Five-star rating?"

I pressed a kiss to the damp skin of his neck. "Easily. I think I could get used to this."

"The freezing water or the cramped shower?"

"The company."

Ben turned his head, catching my lips in a slow, lingering kiss that chased away the chill of the shower. "Yeah? I’m not finding it too bad either."

He reached up and shut off the faucet, letting the sudden quiet of the cottage rush back in. Setting me down on the bath mat, he grabbed a white towel from the rack and wrapped the cotton around my shoulders. His hands lingered on my bare arms.

"In fact, I recommend we keep getting used to it." He pressed a kiss to my damp forehead.

Moving to the bedroom, we collapsed onto the mattress. The cool air chilled my bare skin, but Ben pulled the sheet up over us to create a warm cocoon. Curling into his side, my head rested on his chest while my arm draped across his waist. His skin cooled, smelling of soap and the faint, lingering scent of us. A heavy arm wrapped around my shoulders. His large hand rubbed slow, soothing circles onto my bare back.

The steady, strong beat of his heart thumped under my ear. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It was the most reassuring sound in the world.

My mind drifted unbidden to the phone call with Mindy. “You might be experiencing Stockholm Syndrome,” she had said with deep concern. “Is he holding you there?”

A bubble of laughter rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. If this was a hostage situation, I never wanted a rescue. I had never been freer in my entire life. I wasn’t trapped here. I was hidden, cherished, and safe.

"You okay?" The low cadence of Ben’s voice vibrated through his chest.

Snuggling closer, I sighed. "I’ve never been better.”

I let my eyes slide shut as the darkness of the room washed over me. His lips brushed the top of my head, and his hold tightened. As I drifted toward sleep, the rhythm of his heartbeat and the quiet island lulled me under. The fear of Nash, the threat of the conservatorship, and the looming media storm were all incredibly distant. All just a nightmare I had finally woken up from. We had time. We had each other. The rest could wait.

Chapter Twenty-Two

BEN

The first gray light of dawn filtered through the slats of the storm shutters, casting a striped, prison-bar pattern across the duvet that covered us. I woke up before the alarm, my internal clock wired for shift work and early risings. But for the first time in ages, I didn’t immediately roll out of bed to start the coffee or check the weather radar. Instead, I lay perfectly still, my body heavy and sated as I listened to the soft, rhythmic breathing of the woman sleeping beside me.

Sutton was curled into my side, her head resting on my shoulder, one arm thrown carelessly across my chest as if she had been sleeping there for years. Her hair was a halo of blonde tangles splayed across the pillow. Her face, stripped of makeup and guardrails, was impossibly peaceful. In sleep, she wasn’t a global icon, a brand, or a woman running for her life. She looked like she belonged here. Like she belonged with me.