The rain comes down in horizontal sheets outside of LaGuardia’s Terminal B.
Ben Solo drags his nondescript, black suitcase to the dimly lit curb to hail a cab, struggling slightly with its bulky weight in the semi-darkness. He’s almost certain that the bag is heavier than when he left Seattle. How had he avoided the overweight baggage fee with this thing?
The girl next to him is struggling, too, but unlike him she does it beautifully. Her dark hair is done up into a bun that the wind has made a horrible mess of, a few strands falling around her face to frame her expressive hazel eyes. Even in the ugly light of the airport drop-off and pick-up, she is pretty. When her eyes meet his, he looks at the ground, embarrassed to have been caught staring at her.
He throws his hand out to hail a yellow cab and is stunned when he catches one almost immediately. In this weather, he’d expected to be soaked through by the time he managed to flag one down.
“Where to?” says the taxi driver.
He looks at the girl. She is wearing a white sleeveless dress and nothing else. There are goosebumps rising on her tanned, freckled arms and she shivers slightly against the wind. The rain is soaking her dress, making it cling to her hips, her waist, and her small breasts.
“Where to?” Ben asks her, swallowing against the dryness in his throat.
Her lips part in surprise. “Oh, no. That’s okay, you go on.”
Ben smiles a little. “I insist.”
She blinks, confused by his consideration. “I…” She looks for a moment as though she is going to protest. “Okay. Thank you.”
He opens the rear door on the passenger side for her, and cracks the trunk, putting her luggage inside. It is considerably lighter than his own, making the task easy. When he turns back, she is still standing on the curb, now soaked clean through. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her brow furrowed as if she is trying to place him. She looks for a moment as though she might say something, but then apparently thinks better of it.
She slips wordlessly into the taxi.
“Travel safe,” he tells her, closing the door.
Ben’s suite in the London New York overlooks Central Park from the south, but at night the park appears only as a black open space amidst the surrounding buildings. It is one of the only remaining pieces of nature in a city of steel and concrete, a testament to the city planner’s incredible foresight. But he doesn’t have time to appreciate the view. His phone lights up, vibrating angrily against the beautiful hotel desk.
“Hux,” he answers wearily.
“I’ve called you ten times. Are you ready for tomorrow?” the First Order’s executive officer asks. Ben can almost see the scowl on the other man’s face.
Ben heaves the heavy suitcase onto the luggage rack, the phone pressed into his ear. “I’m ready, okay. I’ve told you a thousand times.”
“Review your notes. The presentation has to go flawlessly.”
“I got it,” says Ben. “I’m prepared.”
“Snoke is going to be there, so the numbers have to be perfect.”
“I know,” Ben says heavily, unzipping the suitcase, wondering why Hux doesn’t bother one of the accountants instead. Mitaka or someone. “We’ve gone over them Hux. You’ve gone over them yourself, fifty times. Accounting went over them. The CFO signed off on them, for fuck’s sake.”
“The client is counting on us.”
“Right, the client,” Ben deadpans. “What was his name again?”
“Mr. Lewis is one of the First Order’s most prominent….” Hux falters. There is a terrible silence on the other end of the phone. “Do you think this is a joke?”
“No,” Ben says, throwing a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh. He puts the phone on speaker, throwing it down against the king bed’s white sheets.
Hux launches into a monologue, and Ben listens disinterestedly as he opens the suitcase. It takes him half a breath to realize that it doesn’t belong to him, even though it is identical to his own luggage. He is certain that the bag is his. He is paid sickening amounts of money for his attention to detail. His career depends on it. He knows that this is his bag.
Except it isn’t his bag. Nothing in this suitcase could be mistaken for his and, with rising dread, he realizes why it felt so heavy at the airport. His hands drift over clothes that were clearly made for a woman: nice, probably tailored, but not expensive. Instead of his designer suits, there are pencil skirts and smooth blouses. Instead of his company computer, which contains all of the spreadsheets detailing Mr. Lewis’s alleged tax evasions, there are hair products. A pair of black, murderous high heels are tucked neatly where his copy of the CPLR should be.
“Shit,” breathes Ben.
“Are you even listening to me?!” Hux yells from inside the phone.
“I need to call you back,” he says, and then hangs up.
There is no personal tag on the bag. Apparently, like Ben, its owner was foolish enough to travel without one. But the LaGuardia sticker is still wrapped around the handle, and Ben curses himself for his stupidity. He should have checked the name before he left the airport.
There’s no address and no phone number. Just the very unhelpful barcode slashed across the sticker along with the flight information. Rey was flying from Seattle to New York. The same flight he was on. The same terminal, the same luggage conveyor. The same goddamn suitcase.
A voice that strongly resembles his mother’s hisses at him in his mind that what he is about to do is entirely improper. He should not, under any circumstances, rifle through a woman’s personal belongings.
But the thing is…he needs his own suitcase back very, very badly.
He goes through the suitcase the same way a doctor operates on a patient. Methodically, carefully, hoping the entire time that he will stumble across a wallet or an ID or anything that might tell him how to contact her. Her clothes are folded perfectly. They are not designer, but they are of good quality and he can tell that she takes care of them well. He places them neatly on the bed exactly as they were in the suitcase, matching skirts and blouses and blazers all together. The heels come out next. Only one pair. Maybe, like him, she is traveling on business and only needed to pack for a few days. There are another pair of casual grey sneakers, a few pairs of jeans, and a couple warm sweaters.
There are two makeup bags, which he does not open, and an assortment of hair products and toiletries in a clear plastic bag. A razor. A soapbox with a logo of a dove on it.
His hand skims over three bras: one black, one white, one red. He moves them to the side efficiently. There is a stack of neatly folded underwear in the upper left hand corner of the bag, and when he lifts them aside his heart stops.
There, tucked quietly into a corner of her suitcase, are two items that he has not expected to find.
The first is a vibrator. It is not particularly intimidating; he suspects that barely five inches of its smooth silicone length is even insertable. But he stares at it curiously, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest at the thought of this total stranger touching herself with it. It is dark purple, not flashy or assuming. A convenient, necessary kind of instrument.
TSA compliant, he thinks suddenly, choking back a strangled laugh.
The second item is a copy of his book.
He stays up into the early hours of the morning, praying that Rey Kenobi will not be a good person. A good person would call American Airlines to report the mistaken luggage switch. A good person would return the suitcase to LaGuardia without peeking inside. And by the time the bag is back in his hands, he will have lost the company a multi-million dollar client.
Rey Kenobi is not a good person. He receives a call at precisely 2:37 a.m. from a 212 area code.
“Hello?” he says.
“Hi.” Rey Kenobi’s voice is soft, feminine, and vaguely familiar. “Ben Solo?”
“I think I…may have your luggage.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you. I’m so glad you called.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should? It’s pretty late.”
“No! No, really. I’m so relieved to have found it.”
“I take it there is something important in here?” she asks. “I’m sorry, I found your business card in the bag. I had to look…to find your number.”
“I completely understand,” Ben says into the darkness of the hotel room, pressing his fingers into his eyes. Suddenly he’s immensely tired, his entire body relaxing in relief. “And yes, there is something very important.”
There’s a quiet moment in which he knows she is wondering if he had also searched through her belongings. He doesn’t offer that information voluntarily, and she doesn’t ask him. But he knows, in that moment, that both of them are thinking of the vibrator. His cock hardens and he bites at the inside of his cheek…this woman is a total stranger, a voice on the other end of the cell phone. She could be anyone.
“So do you need it back?” she asks abruptly.
“Wh…yeah. Yeah. I can come to you…?” he offers.
“No,” she says. “No, I’d rather…could I bring it to you?”
“Sure,” he says, hardly blaming her for not wanting a stranger knowing where she’s staying. Or maybe she lives here, and Seattle was merely a travel destination. “I’m at the London, just off the south side of Central Park. I’ll pay for your cab here. I just need it for an early afternoon client meeting, so you can bring it here anytime tomorrow morning.”
“I have work in the morning,” she tells him. “I have to be in my office at seven.”
Ben sits up, surprised. “That’s four hours from now.”
“I know,” she says matter-of-factly.
“But didn’t you…just get off the Seattle-New York flight?”
“Look, why don’t I just bring it to you now?” she asks. “Tomorrow morning will be impossible for me, so…”
“It’s past two in the morning,” he protests. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s fine. Pay-it-forward, you know?”
He smiles faintly, thinking of the girl in the white dress in Terminal B. “It’s funny you should say that.”
“No reason. Just…random acts of kindness pay off, I guess.”
“I live in Queens,” she tells him. “I’ll take a taxi in. Should take less than an hour at this time of night. Text me the address of the hotel?”
“Good. See you in a few.”
Rey is determined not to be mortified at the thought of Ben Solo, General Counsel to First Order Industries, going through her personal belongings. She makes pleasant conversation with her driver in an attempt to fight the nervousness pounding in her chest.
She knows she shouldn’t care that he’d probably found the vibrator stowed in the bottom of her suitcase. She’s going to walk into the London, drop off his bag, and take hers. She will barely have to talk to him. She will never have to see him again.
But it’s just such a personal thing for someone to find.
And there are other things in that bag. Less dramatic, but just as intimate. Ben Solo, whoever he is, now knows what products she uses in her hair. He knows what she wears underneath the professional exterior she presents to Resistance Tech. He knows what kind of foundation she uses to disguise the freckles on her face, he knows the brand of her soap, he knows that she packs in outfits instead of sorting by each item of clothing.
And then there’s her copy of Kylo Ren’s Force Bond, which is practically falling apart at the spine. There are personal notes scribbled in the margins: her thoughts, her fears, her ideas. Everything the book made her feel the first time she read it, and the second time, and the hundredth.
She knows things about Ben Solo, too. Things she shouldn’t know about a total stranger. She knows that he is a lawyer. He has a Yale law hoodie tucked among those black designer suits. Always black. Not blue, not brown. Simple, neat, elegant. She knows that he works as General Counsel to First Order Industries, the name ringing a bell in the back of her mind. She knows that he shaves with a traditional straight razor instead of the three or five-blade razors she usually sees at department stores. He keeps a journal or a notebook, filled with simple cursive script…she had closed that as soon as she’d opened it and realized that the dates in each of the corners marked personal events, not a business calendar.
She looks him up on Facebook, but can’t find him. His LinkedIn profile doesn’t have a photo, but the description on the First Order’s website tells Rey that he is thirty-four, highly successful at what he does, and sharp as a tack. She assumes that he’s rich.
But when Rey’s taxi pulls in to the London, she realizes that she’s wrong. Ben Solo is not rich.
He’s filthy rich.
As soon as she steps into the lobby, she is struck immediately by the feeling that she does not belong here. It is grand and elegant, yet simple and understated. She is immediately conscious of the fact that she is still wearing the same white dress that had gotten crumpled during her flight and rained on at the airport. Her hair is a mess. Her shoes are not dry yet.
She steps self-consciously up to reception, a high marble table where two concierge stand, composed and well-dressed.
“Can I help you?” the man closest to her asks.
“Yes…I’m…I’m trying to find Ben Solo?”
Rey recognizes him the moment he steps off the elevator with her luggage in tow. It’s the guy from Terminal B. Tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and deep eyes. He’s dressed in simple jeans and a black sweater, both designer. Both fit him perfectly, she notes.
Nerves flutter to life in her stomach. She’d expected some young hot-shot CEO. Clean cut and Calvin Klein handsome. A promiscuous playboy in a flashy suit with little substance. Not the unassumingly handsome man who’d put her in a taxi only a few hours ago, with messy hair and intelligence that pours out of his eyes.
“Hey,” he says, a smile lighting up his face. He has strong, masculine features, but the smile softens them a bit. “Terminal B!”
“Yeah,” she says, shaking her head at the strange coincidence. “Talk about pay-it-forward.”
“And here I thought that I was going to make your life more convenient, not less,” he says guiltily.
“No worries,” she replies. “Really. It was just a mix-up.”
“Regardless. It means a lot that you brought it to me tonight. You may have just saved my career.”
He’s talking to her as though she’s merely a stranger who has done him a simple but important favor.
“Well,” she says, hesitating. She feels that same pull to him that she had felt back at LaGuardia. She can’t place him, but at the same time she feels as though she’s met him before. “I should go.”
“Where?” he asks.
“It’s almost four in the morning,” he tells her, and she realizes that he’s not prying. He’s checking to make sure that she’s safe. His concern touches her. “Are you going home?”
“No. I’d just have to turn around and come back,” she says. “I’ll probably just…go to a 24-hour coffee shop until my work building opens. There’s one a couple blocks away.”
“Oh. Good.” She sees his fingers tap a rhythm against his palm, a nervous tic, and then he clenches his hand into a fist. “Well. Good night, then.”
“I think technically it’s morning,” she says, tilting her head.
She smiles gently, and then turns to leave.
“Rey,” he says suddenly, intently.
“The hotel has a coffee shop. It opens at 4 a.m.…And it’s good coffee. Not, you know, diner coffee,” he stumbles a bit on the words, clearly nervous. She likes that he’s nervous. “Would you…would you like…”
“Yes,” she says, deciding before he even asks the question.
Once he has a coffee between his two large hands, Ben is much more at ease. Rey finds that the conversation comes easy with him. He tells her briefly about his job, about his parents, about how his mother wanted him to go to law school. About how he was supposed to follow Senator Organa-Solo into politics, but instead went to work for the kind of corporation that she’d been fighting against for her entire political career.
She tells him about growing up in Jakku. About her string of foster parents, about how she only really found a home when Maz adopted her as a teenager. About how she loved the old woman as if they’d been related by blood, but desperately wanted out of Jakku. She avoids the topic of Finn as she skims over her time at college. MIT.
“And what do you do now?” he asks curiously. He leans back in his chair. Unlike most dates she’s been on, Ben seems more content to listen than to talk, and she finds herself burning with curiosity about all the gaps he’s left in his story. Not that this is a date, she thinks suddenly.
“I work for Resistance Technologies,” she tells him. “We design and engineer tech for space exploration. I was lucky. They hired me right out of college.”
“How old are you, Rey?”
He nods. “You seem older.”
There’s a quiet pause.
“So,” he says. “I guess that explains your taste in reading.”
She looks up in surprise. “What?”
“You’re reading Force Bond. It’s not exactly mainstream science fiction.”
Excitement quivers through her, because this is the first time she’s ever met anyone who has read Kylo Ren’s work. But also a faint sense of embarrassment. Because if he’d seen the book stashed in the bottom of her suitcase, he’d also seen…
“Have you read it?” she asks, trying not to blush and reminding herself that she has nothing to be ashamed of.
“Yes,” he says quietly.
“Did you like it?”
“I…” He hesitates. “Have you finished it?”
“Yeah. I’ve read it…a few times, actually.”
“Sometimes I like it. Sometimes…” He trails off vaguely. “Sometimes I hate it.”
“I love it,” she says simply. “The darkness, the intensity, the feeling of the unknown. I love every word of it. Except the ending.”
“What’s wrong with the ending?”
“Well, there’s supposed to be more of it,” she complains. “He was supposed to write the sequel, but it was never released.”
“Maybe it’s better left to the imagination.”
Rey frowns. “It was unresolved. And I like knowing things,” she tells him.
“I can tell.”
“And then,” Rey tells him, laughing as she recounts a story about one of Resistance Tech’s early tests of the BB unit’s artificial intelligence. “The droid used its flame emitter to give him a thumbs-up!”
Ben is laughing, too, and she likes the way he laughs. Sparingly, as though he doesn’t do it enough. As though it surprises him.
“Are you sure he wasn’t flipping him off?”
Rey chokes on her coffee, sputtering around the laugh, and when she recovers, Ben is looking at her like he’s never met anyone quite like her.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks her. It is still dark out, but there is a faint tinge of grey hovering over the sidewalk outside.
The question is heavy with promise. Rey realizes that she could lie, and it would alleviate any of the tension that has been building between them since he put her in a cab at LaGuardia. If she had a boyfriend, the hotel room upstairs would be just a hotel room, and they could be strangers who briefly met and parted without incident.
She shakes her head. “I…there was someone. We dated for a long time. But it’s over now.”
“How long?” he asks. Rey likes the way he asks it. There is a faint jealousy, but also an acceptance.
“We dated for four years, all through college,” she says simply. “He asked me to marry him when we graduated. I said no. And we both decided…it would be better if we didn’t see each other anymore. But we’re still friends. We have to be. We work together.”
It’s more than she’s ever told anyone about her relationship with Finn. But she doesn’t tell Ben anything about how it had crushed her when she realized that she didn’t love the sweet, kind boy she’d thought she would one day marry. She doesn’t tell him how quickly Finn had moved on from her, and how much that had hurt even though it shouldn’t have. She doesn’t tell him how in the past two years, she’s gone on more first dates than she can count, or how Finn is still the only man she’s ever slept with.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she questions in return. For some reason, nerves flutter in her stomach. She prays that he doesn’t.
“I was seeing someone until about six months ago. I liked her and she liked me, but it wasn’t serious,” he says. “We parted amicably. There’s been no one since then. I’ve been…overwhelmed with work, I suppose.”
Rey takes a sip of her coffee, and tells herself that it is the hot liquid that is warming her, instead of the knowledge that the man in front of her is entirely unspoken for.
They have to pass the elevators on their way to the lobby, both of them towing their correct suitcases behind them. They’d double and triple checked to be sure.
Rey isn’t sure where her boldness comes from, but she stops in front of the elevator and presses the button. It lights up in a circle around the silver arrow pointing up.
Ben has continued several steps towards the lobby. His eyes look from her to the elevator, as though he’s not sure if he’s interpreting her action correctly.
“I…I can walk you to the lobby?” he offers. His voice is hoarse, but deep and even. It makes her nerves sing.
She shakes her head. “What floor are you on?”
Ben steps out into the hallway of the twenty-second floor. When the elevator door closes behind her, he pulls her body against his and kisses her as though every second they’d spent in silence on the elevator had been an eternity.
Rey has never had a one night stand before. She’s on the pill, but she doesn’t have a condom, and she doesn’t know what the protocol is for asking a total stranger if they are going to pass any diseases on to her. But she feels like she should ask. Somewhere between the hotel room door and his bed, she’s going to have to ask.
“Have you…” she whispers, her voice ragged as his teeth bite down against the soft skin above her clavicle. She can feel every line of his broad chest, the dips and ridges of his muscles tensing under her hands. His black sweater was discarded somewhere near the door along with her white dress. “Have you been tested?”
The question doesn’t phase him at all. “Yes. Three months ago. Completely clean. I haven’t been with anyone since.” He laughs softly against her throat, as if he can’t believe they’re discussing this with such detached practicality. “But I wouldn’t have brought you up to my room if I didn’t have a condom, Rey.”
His hands are so distracting. She can feel his hardness pressing against her abdomen through his jeans.
“You?” he asks.
“I was. A long time ago, after Finn and I….since then I haven’t…”
She blushes at the admission that it has been so long since she’s been with anyone. She wonders if he’ll doubt the truth of her words. She wouldn’t blame him. She is, after all, standing in a hotel room with a total stranger. But then he kisses her again.
“It’s okay if you want to stop,” he says gently. “If you’d rather wait until you’re…in a relationship or…”
She shakes her head. “No, I…” She trails off, uncertain of how to tell him that she has felt more in the past ten minutes kissing him in the abandoned hallway of the London New York than she has in years. “I want this.”
“Please don’t,” Rey says faintly when Ben tears her lace underwear down her thighs and kneels between her legs. He looks up at her, his dark hair falling into those intense brown eyes. His mouth is hovering near the apex of her thighs, and she knows what he intends to do.
“You don’t want me to?” he murmurs, confusion drawing his dark brows together. There is an unfulfilled longing in his voice that sends a pulse of heat into her core. His fingers stroke the inside of her left thigh and she sighs, tilting her head back into the soft white sheets.
“It’s not that. It’s fine if you want to,” she says, trying to explain how she simply can’t orgasm that way. “I just can’t really…I haven’t ever…And even if you tried, it would take longer than we have. You’d just be…wasting your time.”
His gaze is suddenly dark. Almost angry. “He never did this for you?”
Rey blinks, stunned at the sudden change in his demeanor. “He did. He wanted to,” she says, not wanting to say Finn’s name in the same bed with this man. “I let him. But I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t really like it.”
“What didn’t you like about it?” he questions her. Rey has never had a one-night stand before, but she’s pretty sure she’s ruining it. She knows there probably shouldn’t be so much talking, especially about her prior experiences. This should be a simple, quick fuck before they both go back to their lives. But Ben is still hovering between her thighs, waiting for an answer.
She thinks back to when Finn had done this with her. It had felt more like an obligation, something he wanted from her. Something she should want. But she had never enjoyed it. There were good things, of course. His tongue running through her folds was nice, arousing. But when she had tried to move, he’d always put his hands on her hips, stilling her so that he could do his work. She’d felt so open with her legs parted and his head between her thighs, and yet so closed off from him all at once.
“I didn’t like feeling trapped,” she admits, unsure if there is a word to describe how she’d felt. Ben shuts his eyes.
“Rey, there’s something I would like to try with you,” he says softly. “If you would like to.”
His words make her shiver in anticipation. She nods silently.
“But before we do, I want to make something very clear to you. In the next hour, if neither of us come, and we both still enjoy ourselves, then I would not consider that a waste of time.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her voice small.
He moves so that she is sitting astride him, a little higher up than she is used to. Her knees are pressed into the mattress, her thighs on either side of his chest. He observes her above him, admiring her. As if he can’t help himself, his hand reaches up so that his thumb can briefly brush her clit, moving in slow circles. She whimpers at the soft contact, and then it is gone, his hand moving down her thigh. She wishes he would forget about the stupid attempt to make her come with his mouth and just touch her.
But there is a determined glint in his eyes. “Come here, sweetheart.”
He helps her move forward so that her knees are just above his shoulders, his strong arms resting on the backs of her slender calves, his hands gripping her hips. She hovers above him nervously, looking down at him. He takes her hands.
“You can put them here,” he says gently, showing her how she can curve her back and press her hands into the pillow. “Or the headboard, if that’s better for you.” He grins a demon’s smile. “Or my hair, if you like that.”
Her walls flutter around the empty ache inside of her.
“Do whatever feels good to you, Rey,” he tells her, and then he leans up to lick a long line from her entrance to her clit. She gasps at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh, and finds that she needs to put her hands down on the bed for balance. This was the part she’d always liked, the slow build of pleasure. But it had never been anything more than that, the pleasure dissolving when nothing further happened.
Ben’s tongue darts between her folds, exploring, tasting her. She’s afraid to move, afraid to do anything that might reveal her inexperience with this position. But when his hands move up her hips and past her waist to touch her small breasts, his fingers twisting and pulling at her hard nipples, she cries out and rolls her hips against his face.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, one of her hands moving down to lace her fingers through the thick curls of his hair, keeping his tongue and mouth and nose pressed against her center. She hears him moan, feeling it vibrate through her. “Ah. Oh god, please,” she says, gasping out her pleasure. “Please don’t stop.”
It is an entirely different feeling with him below her. She is in control, rocking against his face, his tongue working her slowly and deliberately, and then moving over her clit in light, quick strokes. Her thighs close around his ears, and she wonders for a moment if this might not feel good to him, but she brushes that concern aside. He’d asked her for this, he wanted this, and his groans reverberating against her core tell her as much. His tongue presses against her entrance, pushing inside of her to taste her there, and Rey sobs with how good it feels.
“Ben,” she cries, tugging at his hair to draw his attention back to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he is neglecting. He obliges, but this time when he focuses on her clit, it is not with gentle, quick strokes. He devours her, drinking up her essence. Instead of holding her still against him, he works with the motion of her hips, chasing after her when she withdraws, and pulling her closer when she returns to him. And the entire time he’s laving at her clit, he’s touching her everywhere else. She throws her head back, shutting her eyes against the dual sensation of his fingers circling her nipples and his tongue moving back and forth over her swollen folds.
“Ben. Ben, I…”
She looks down. His eyes are open, watching her with a patient, drowsy expression that tells her he could do this until the sun rises. He could lie here with his head buried between her thighs for hours. She wants to kiss him, but that would interrupt the tension that he has built inside of her. She knows what her orgasm feels like. She knows that if she lets him, he will take her there.
“I’m close,” she says, and the grey light coming through the window turns his dark eyes to pale brown.
When she comes, it feels like a quiet, inevitable thing. It breaks her apart slowly. She wishes they had days and days, but they have hours. Minutes. She says his name again and again as he continues his tongue’s firm, gentle strokes against her, until she is whimpering and much too sensitive, until she has to stop him by lifting herself away and tightening her fingers in his hair to keep him from moving. She moves back down his body, pressing herself against him, her lips trailing kisses everywhere she can reach, her core still aching and empty.
She sees the outline of his erection through his jeans and reaches out to touch him.
“Fuck, Rey,” he says quietly, his lips still wet with her arousal.
His cock is long and thick and when he thrusts inside of her, Rey feels as though she is being stretched to her breaking point. He takes her in long, deep strokes, hitting a place that she can’t reach with her own fingers. The vibrator inside of her bag can’t satisfy her the way this does. She opens her thighs wider, wrapping her legs around his waist. He covers her with his body, heavy and broad and she loves the solid weight of him. She deliberately clenches around him, and his hips lose their rhythm. She doesn’t care. She wants him like this: hair messy, cock pounding into her erratically, out of control with how much he wants her.
When he comes inside of her, her name on his lips, she forgets for a single moment that he is from Seattle.