Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Three days. Seventy-two hours of staring at the same four walls of his apartment, replaying the sound of her moans in his head like a looped track he couldn't mute. Ben had tried to work. He'd opened his laptop, pulled up the Sunday service footage, and gotten as far as the first chorus before his mind drifted back to the way her hips had bucked against his. He closed the laptop and paced instead.
His apartment was small, one bedroom with a kitchen that opened into the living room, the kind of place a tech guy lived in when he didn't want to spend money on furniture. A worn grey couch. A coffee table with a coaster ring and his forgotten mug. The blinds were half drawn against the late afternoon sun, throwing orange stripes across the floorboards.
He was standing at the kitchen counter, spooning cold pasta from a Tupperware container, when the knock came.
He froze.
Nobody knocked. The neighbors had their own keys to each other's places and used them without ceremony. The mailman didn't come this late. The knock came again, three quick raps, insistent.
He set the container down and crossed the living room, peering through the peephole. His breath caught.
Maddie stood on the other side of the door.
She was dressed down in a way he'd never seen her. Faded jeans with a small rip in the left knee. A simple maroon sweater, soft-looking, hanging off one shoulder. Her hair was down, no waves, no product, just loose and slightly tangled like she'd been out in the wind. No makeup. She looked smaller without it, younger, somehow.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, then pushed her hair back from her face and knocked again.
He opened the door.
For a long moment neither of them spoke. The orange light from the blinds caught the curve of her cheek, and she was looking at him with that same hungry focus from the booth, muted and softer but unmistakably there.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
She glanced past him into the apartment, then back at his face. "Can I come in?"
His hand tightened on the doorframe. Every sensible part of his brain was screaming at him to ask how she found his address, to point out that this was exactly the kind of thing that got people fired, that she had everything to lose. He said none of it.
"Sure."
He stepped aside.
She walked past him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest. The scent hit him again: that floral shampoo, that same warm undertone. His jaw tightened. She looked around the apartment, taking in the bare walls, the single coffee mug, the laptop on the counter.
"This is nice," she said. "Quiet."
"It's not much."
"It's yours." She turned to face him. The distance between them was a few feet, and she closed it by half. "I've been thinking about you."
His throat was dry. "Maddie."
"I know. I know what you're going to say." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers were trembling, barely. Just at the tips. He noticed because he'd spent three days cataloging every detail of her body, and he knew exactly how steady those hands usually were. "I told myself I wasn't going to come here. I told myself it was a mistake, that I needed to forget it, that we could just go back to how it was."
"But you came anyway."
"I did." She looked up at him, her hazel eyes catching the fading light. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about your hands on me."
The words landed low in his gut. He crossed his arms, a weak defense against the pull of her.
"This is insane," he said. "You know that. If anyone finds out, your career, your reputation."
"I don't care."
"You said that before."
"And I meant it." She stepped closer still, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body. Her hand came up and rested flat on his chest, the same gesture from the booth, her palm pressed over his heart. It was beating too fast. She would feel it. She already knew. "I've spent my whole life doing what I'm supposed to do. Singing on time. Smiling at the right people. Wearing the right clothes. Three days ago, for the first time in years, I actually felt alive." Her voice dropped. "You did that. You."
Ben's hands moved on their own. They caught her hips, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her against him. She let out a small, shaky breath, her head tilting up, her lips parted.
"Tell me to leave," she whispered, her eyes dark. "Tell me to walk out that door right now, and I will."
"What if I don't want you to?"
A smile flickered across her mouth. Raw, wicked, nothing like stage Maddie. "Then stop talking."
He kissed her.
It was rougher than the first time, less careful. She made a noise against his mouth, a hungry little whimper, and her hands twisted into the hem of his shirt. He walked her backward until her spine hit the edge of the kitchen counter. She gasped, and he used the opening to slide his tongue against hers, tasting mint tea again, something warm and familiar.
Her fingers worked the button of his jeans while his hand slipped under her sweater, finding bare skin. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her skin was warm, smooth, and he palmed her breast, thumb brushing her nipple. She arched into his hand with a quiet moan, breaking the kiss to press her forehead against his.
"Bedroom," she said. "Where's your bedroom?"
He lifted her.
She yelped, then laughed, a real laugh, surprised and delighted, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her the dozen steps to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The room was dim, the blinds drawn fully, and the bed was unmade. He didn't care.
He set her down on the edge of the mattress and stood over her, drinking her in. She was flushed, her hair mussed, her sweater riding up to show a strip of pale stomach.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he said.
"Show me."
He unbuttoned her jeans and dragged them down her legs, along with her panties, a dark green pair, practical and lacy at once. She lifted her hips to help him, and then she was naked from the waist down, her thighs parted, the soft dark hair between them already glistening. He pulled the sweater over her head, and she sat bare before him, breasts full and pink-tipped, her eyes fixed on his.
He stripped off his own shirt and jeans, his cock already hard, and she reached for him, fingers wrapping around the shaft with a possessive grip. She stroked him slowly, thumb sweeping across the head, and his breath stuttered.
"So good," she murmured. "I keep thinking about how good you felt inside me."
He pushed her back onto the mattress.
She went willingly, sprawled out on his bedsheets, her hair fanning across his pillow. He came down over her, kissing her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. She gasped when he took her nipple in his mouth, her hand burying in his hair.
He worked his way down her body, mouth trailing over her ribs, her belly, her hipbone. She was trembling by the time he reached the junction of her thighs.
"Ben." Her voice was strained. "Please."
He settled between her legs, spread her open with his thumbs, and licked her.
She cried out, her hips bucking. She was already slick, swollen, and he tasted her with a groan, flat and slow, then focused on her clit. Her hand twisted in his hair, her thighs tightening around his head.
"Fuck, yes, don't stop."
He didn't. He worked her relentlessly, two fingers slipping inside her while his mouth stayed on her clit. She was close fast, her breath coming in sharp, wild pants.
"I'm gonna come. Please, I'm gonna come."
He hummed against her, and she shattered. Her body arched off the bed, a long, wracking cry tearing from her throat as she pulsed around his fingers. He kept licking through it until she shoved his head away, oversensitive and laughing breathlessly.
"God. Fuck. Get up here."
He crawled up her body, and she reached between them, guiding his cock to her entrance. She was sodden, and he slid in with one smooth thrust, seating himself all the way. They both groaned together.
"Three days," she breathed. "Three days I thought about this."
He started to move, slow and deep, grinding against her clit with every stroke. Her hands locked on his shoulders, her eyes wide and dark in the dim room.
"Look at me," she said. "I want to see your face when you come."
He thrust harder, faster, and she took it, her legs locking around his waist, her heels digging into his ass. The bed creaked under them, a steady rhythm filling the small room.
"Yes, just like that, don't stop."
His own release coiled in his gut, and she felt it, her inner walls fluttering around him.
"Inside me," she whispered. "Do it."
He buried himself to the hilt and came, shockwaves rippling through his body as he spilled deep inside her. She clung to him, her own orgasm crashing over her a second time, her body clenching and milking him.
They lay still afterward, tangled and slick with sweat. Her hand rested on his chest, tracing idly over his heartbeat. The room had gone dark, the last of the light gone from the blinds.
He broke the silence first.
"How did you find my address?"
She smiled against his shoulder. "I asked around the production team. Told them I needed to drop off a backup drive."
"You lied."
"I'm good at it." She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, hair falling across her face. "Does that bother you?"
He was quiet a moment. Then he pulled her back down, wrapping an arm around her, and pressed his mouth to her hair.
"Not even a little."