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he strokes my back. “We’re safe for now. No way anyone can find us here. I made sure of it.”
    I allow him to comfort me, but I feel like it’s just as comforting to him to hold me like this. As I wrap my arms around his waist, I wonder when was the last time anyone tried to make him feel better.
    “My blood is on you and there’s soot in your hair,” he says. “Let’s take a shower.”
    I blink at his change in tone. “Together?”
    “Yes.” His pale gaze turns hot.
    I know where this will lead and I’m perfectly okay with that. Actually, I’m more than okay with it.
    Once we’re in the bathroom, I slip out of my clothes, careful not to make their condition any worse since I don’t have anything to change into.
    Benjamin watches me with hooded eyes. He’s already got the water running and his boxer briefs are long gone.
    My gaze can’t help but roll over his magnificent body. I didn’t know they made men like that, at least not outside of magazines and photo shopped images. He’s as ripped as a professional athlete—maybe a hockey player, but without the worry of dentures—while his face would be the envy of any model or movie star. He should be a movie star, but the gun sitting on the counter by the sink reminds me that he’s so far beyond that realm it’s not funny.
    “Do you need help?” he asks, pushing away from the counter to stand in front of me.
    I tip my head back to look at him. While I’m not short, I’m not tall either. Like the size of my boobs, hips and butt, I’m average. I guess I could be conceited enough to admit that I have a nice enough figure and I know how to dress for it. Even my granny always said I had a dancer’s body.
    Although I never was too sure if she meant exotic or ballerina.
    “How tall are you?”
    “Six three.”
    “Good to know.”
    He lifts me up on the counter, then bends over to check the bottom of my feet, something he neglected earlier when he was busy searching for the flash drive. “Why is that?”
    “Shopping trips?”
    “Feet are fine.” He moves between my legs. “Shall I remove your lingerie?”
    “I can do it.” I undo the clasp of my favorite bra and my breasts spill out. Ben pushes the straps over my shoulders, then lowers his head to run his tongue over the indentations on each side. “Oh gosh that feels good .”
    He cups my breasts, massaging them gently while brushing his thumbs over the tips of my nipples. “You’re not nude.”
    Heat spreads through me, starting at my core. My clit is pulsing, aching to be touched as I wriggle out of my underwear. He doesn’t stop his maddening caress, nor does he put his mouth on me. His large cock juts out, the head beading with moisture.
    “There are condoms behind the glass door. Get a couple.”
    He begins to kiss the side of my neck, and I struggle to concentrate on opening the medicine cabinet. I end up knocking everything off the first shelf in my haste until finally, I grab the familiar shapes and pull them out.
    Letting go of my breasts, he takes the condoms from me and sets all but one on the counter, then rips it open. I watch as he rolls it down the impressive length of his erection. His fingers touch my bare skin, the tips skimming my clit.
    I cry out, leaning forward and wanting more.
    He grabs his cock at the base and rubs the tip against me. I’m not surprised at all when the latex becomes wet from the slickness between my thighs. With his free hand, he pulls me to the edge of the counter and uses my own weight against me. Slowly, I slide onto him, impaling myself.
    In this position, my toes scrape the floor and the edge of the counter is biting into my butt, but I don’t care, because he’s moving inside of me.
    My head falls back and his hand slams against the countertop. I wrap my arms around his neck and roll my hips, trying to take in more of him, all of him.
    He stops moving altogether. “My pace, not yours.”
    “But I want more,” I protest and he covers my