Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Rey, I’m telling you, I saw him do it. With my own eyes,” Rose insists, a bit of wonder in her voice. She is sitting in what was the only available seat on the train. Her shift was longer, and she has bad feet—so Rey lets her sit while she stands. Rey’s gloved hand grips the subway pole, her feet unconsciously planted in just the right position to maintain her balance for the starts and stops and jostling she’ll have to endure every time the train doors open and close and more commuters leave or join them. It’s a long ride to Washington Heights, and with the shit day she’s had, she hopes a seat comes open soon.

And this—this is probably not the kind of conversation they should be having on a crowded train. Fortunately for them, the blessed thing about commuting on a New York City subway train at this hour is that everyone and their mother is either already involved in their own personal conversations, has headphones in to avoid interacting with humans unknown to them, or is so tired from their nine-to-five at whatever soul-sucking job they have, that they nod off or just blissfully zone out until their stop. So, even though they shouldn’t be having this conversation on a crowded subway train—they are totally having this conversation on a crowded subway train.

“Doesn’t seem feasible.” Rey takes a couple seconds to ponder the mechanics. “I just can’t see how—wait—were you drinking?”

“Wow, rude!” Rose says, looking completely affronted. “I mean, okay, yes, I was—”

Rey lets out a sigh and maybe rolls her eyes just a little. Rose is a notoriously unreliable drunken-night-out recaller. Everything always takes on some fantastical bent when she recounts her vodka cranberry-addled, sexual adventures.

Rose is definitely daring in a way Rey is most assuredly not in this respect. In the sex respect, that is. She has invited Rey to the occasional party, but Rey has never taken her up on the offer. Rey is more uh, old fashioned… traditional… conservative… whatever it’s called when you don’t get laid for eons because you’d rather find “nice” guys at coffee shops or the library, but you’re too tired and lazy to actually go hang out in coffee shops and the library.

“Don’t roll your eyes. I know what I saw, Rey, and I saw him—” Rose looks to her left and right then lowers her voice and says, “I saw him go three fingers deep.”

“I’ve met that dude at Poe’s before. He’s all big and burly. He has to have giant hands. I just can’t wrap my head around the logistics. She’d have to feel—full. Like uncomfortably full. Doesn’t sound fun at all.” She leans against the pole a bit and braces herself for the upcoming stop before continuing. “Honestly Rose, would that many even fit in a normal person?”

“She plays at these parties a lot. Maybe her vag is enormous or—”

Before Rose is able to finish her sentence there is a not-so-quiet snort that comes from her left. They both instantly look in the direction it came from.

Rey didn’t notice him before. His head was down and his coat collar up—another customary avoidance technique—but now the jig is up, and he has to feel their eyes on him, because he lifts his head and at least has the decency to look a little chastened. It’s the look one should have for inserting himself in a conversation that was none of his business.

Once she gets over his expression, she lets her eyes look over the rest—the long dark hair, the warm brown eyes, the prominent nose, the smattering of moles that somehow only enhance the rest of the package—and last but not least, the plushest set of lips she’s ever seen on a man. He’s… he’s fucking hot. Like unreasonably hot. Rey’s already feeling a little tingly just looking at him. Hot, but nosy, she reminds herself.

She looks at the rest of him and reasons he’s probably getting off the train soon. He doesn’t quite look like he’s headed anywhere near where they’re headed with how he’s dressed. He’s wearing a dark grey wool coat, leather gloves, and shoes that easily cost double Rey’s and Rose’s combined rent on their apartment. His coat is unbuttoned, and Rey would be lying if she said she didn’t notice how the buttons on his crisp black Oxford strain to contain his chest. Won’t someone think of the poor overworked buttons? Anyway, the ensemble and the superior air about him just screams rich bitch. They’ve probably got just a few more minutes before he gets off on one of the Upper West Side stops.

Rose pipes up first. “You got something to say, dude?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve got nothing to add to this completely inappropriate conversation,” he says with a smirk.

“Excuse you. No one invited you into it,” Rey argues, annoyance warring with her own version of contrition. He is kind of right. Conversations about fingerfucking are probably not the typical crowded C Train fare. But, fuck him and his stupid snort. “What did we say that was so amusing to you, sir?” She doesn’t know why she adds the “sir.” Maybe it’s because he definitely looks older than them, and she was trying to be a smart-ass. Maybe it’s because him sitting there with that smirk in his too-expensive coat and shoes just chafes her. Whatever the reason she has for saying it, his response isn’t at all what she expected.

She wanted to get one over on him. She wanted to embarrass him. Instead as soon as the word leaves her mouth, he gives her a look. A look that has her instinctually clenching her thighs. She doesn’t even think before she does it, she can’t help it really. It’s just that the look he gives her, well hell, it’s dirty. It’s a hard sort of hungry you don’t ever get from nice guys in coffee shops. Combine that with his face, and the way his broad shoulders fill out his stupid expensive coat, then toss in how long it’s been since Rey has been laid and well, it’s a lot—all at once. And her traitorous vagina isn’t being shy about acknowledging it.

There must be an expression on her face that betrays how turned on she feels right now, because suddenly, his eyes aren’t on hers anymore. They snap straight to her thighs and he sees. He sees her pressing them tight together and then… his eyes find hers again and he smiles. No teeth. There’s no mirth in it. Just something small, like it’s their little secret. He’s smiling because he knows. He knows that whatever he’s managed to do to her in less than a minute has her cunt clenching on nothing.

“Do you really want to know?” he asks, his eyes boring into her, and Rey can’t answer. Her tongue is suddenly too thick, too dry. She can’t even bring herself to swallow. Before Rey can muster up the brain power and the physical wherewithal to speak, to swallow, to even breathe, Rose chimes in. “Well, I want to know. Since you’re butting into our conversation, what the hell was so funny?”

“What was funny was your friend’s insistence that it wasn’t possible or—” he turns his head from Rose and looks back to Rey, first her eyes, then her thighs “—pleasurable. I can assure you, with the proper partner it is very much both. You just need to find someone who knows what they’re doing.”

He moves to stand, grabbing the pole right above where Rey has placed her hand to hold on, and pulls himself up. Her eyes instantly snap to his hand. She can see that whereas her fingers aren’t even able to touch around the pole, his round it easily. His long, thick fingers tense and flex around the pole, causing the leather of his gloves to stretch with his movements. She can somehow make out the sound of it over the din of the passengers, over the squeal of the train as it starts to slow. Three fingers. Three of those fingers. She can feel how wet she is right now.

The electronic voice cuts through the horny haze currently clouding her brain and announces the next stop as 86th Street.

“Ladies,” he says aloud before leaning in nearer to Rey’s ear. She hears the whoosh of the train door open behind her, the echoing sound of the full station filling the train car, before she can feel the ghost of his breath across her neck when he leans just his head in, making sure to keep his body a respectable distance away. “You need a teacher, Rey.” Then he leans in just a bit closer and he’s close, so close, and his smell is in her nose and his warmth is near her body and Rey can feel her heartbeat in her fucking toes. “I wish it could be me,” he whispers. Then lifts his head and walks off the train.

Feeling suddenly unsteady on her feet, Rey quickly takes his seat, pretending that she isn’t looking out the window searching for his tall figure weaving its way through the crowd.

“He asked if you would be interested in joining the circus with him. What do you think, Rey? Rey?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, whatever is fine.”

“Jesus Christ, Rey. You know I’m really starting to get a complex here. You used to listen to all my bullshit on the way home. Now, I just asked if you wanted to join the circus and you agreed. Get it together, girl.”

Rey has been off ever since the incident with Mr. Upper West Side, three weeks ago. She’s had issues concentrating at work and home, but most especially on the train. He hasn’t been on the C train once since then. She’s looked—in the morning on the way to work and at night on the way home. She can barely sleep some nights with all the thoughts racing through her head as she lays there in bed. “You need a teacher, Rey. I wish it could be me.” His voice, his hands, the look in his eye—all of it, has given her more than a couple restless nights. Those are the nights she lets her hands dip below the waistband of her sleep pants. The nights where she pushes her fingers in as deep as they can go, but no matter how slick she is, no matter how hard she tries, she knows there’s a place inside she isn’t quite able to reach. A place she knows his hands could.

“Rey, you disappear on me again?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise to pay attention to all your bullshit on the way home from here on out,” she says with a smile in Rose’s direction.

“Good! Anyway, Poe says he’s more than willing to blow your back out if it’ll help you stop fixating on train guy. Figures you might be obsessed because it’s been 84 years since you’ve been laid.”

“Seriously? You told Poe?” Rey bristles. “And I’m not obsessed.”

“I told Finn, who told Poe, so any beef on that front is with him, not me. Anyway, you think you’re interested? I’ve heard very good things about his skillset.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“You, my dear, are not good. But I’m not going to push it.”

Rose is right. She isn’t good. This guy, and what he said to her, had somehow managed to get stuck in her head in the worst way. She wants to find him again. She has no idea what she’d actually do if she found him again, she just knows that she desperately wants to.  

“Rey, wake up!”

Rey’s eyes flutter open just as Rose crashes onto her bed. She scrambles for her phone and looks at the time. It’s 3:22am. “Rose, seriously, what the fuck?”

“I found him.”

Rey reaches over and turns on the lamp on her nightstand. One look at Rose and it’s obvious she has not been to bed since whatever adventure she had tonight. She’s wearing an old t-shirt and her favorite Rainbow Brite pajama bottoms, but she still has every bit of makeup on that she wore out when she left a little after nine last night.

“The love of your life? The man with the biggest dick? Who are we talking about here?” Rey asks.

“No, Rey. I found your guy.”

Rey’s heartbeat instantly picks up. It’s been almost a month now. A month of thinking about his hands and his smell and his words. She sits straight up in the bed. “Where?”

“Tinder. He matched me earlier. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if it was him at first. I didn’t get the best look at him on the train.”

Rey did. Rey remembers everything.

“Let me see,” she says, hands out. “If you didn’t get the best look, how do you know it’s him?”

“Because,” Rose says while fumbling in her pajama pockets for her phone. “I went ahead and matched him just in case, and I was just about to clean my face and head to bed when I got a message.” Rose hands Rey the phone, and what she sees on the screen both thrills and terrifies her.

Kylo: Hello, Rose. How’s Rey?

Fuck. He remembers her.

“Holy shit.”

“I know. You must have made quite the impression. He seemed like the kind of douchebag who doesn’t remember anyone’s face, or name for that matter. Too self-important to expend the energy. Anyway, he definitely remembers us. Remembers you.”

“Holy shit.”

“You said that already. Soooo, what should I say? I know you’ve been abusing yourself in here damn near every night to this dude.”

“What? I don’t—”

“Hon, the walls are practically cardboard and that contraption you use must go a million vibes per minute, because that shit is not quiet.” She lays her hand on Rey’s. “I’ll get you a new one for Christmas. Something more stealthy. Anyway, what am I telling this guy?”

Rey didn’t really think she’d ever have to actually make this decision. He was just a guy on a train. A very hot guy on a train who she has thought about to make herself come, more than an insignificant number of times in the past month. But she didn’t kid herself about the odds of seeing him again. They were small. And now—now he’s asking about her.

“What do you think I should do?” she asks, as she hands the phone back to Rose.

“Are you kidding me? This dude got way under your skin.” Rose turns to fully face Rey and gets her serious face on. “So, here’s my read: he’s probably an asshole—”

Rey groans and leans back against her headboard.

“Jesus, let me finish. Okay, so I think he’s a dick, but judging by what he said to you, he strikes me as the kind of guy who takes pride in his dicking down abilities.”

This opinion cuts through the bit of despair Rey was just feeling at Rose’s he’s an asshole declaration. Rey leans back up, arms braced on her knees, and looks over at Rose.

“I think he’d definitely be the best lay you’ve ever had in your life, because, well, let’s be real, the guys you’ve been with haven’t exactly inspired rave reviews from you. This guy though, he’d probably be one of those you’re not getting out of this bed until you come at least three times types.”

“Fuck. Those types exist?” Rey’s only had a handful of sexual experiences that have made her come that didn’t involve her, evidently too loud, vibrator.

“Yeah. I mean you don’t come across them every day, but they’re out there. Anyway, this guy strikes me as one. There is the off chance he could also be all talk, but you won’t know unless you try. My advice is to vet him a little bit and if he seems above board, you go out and get those three fingers!”

“Oh god.”

“And I want to hear all the gory details. Maybe I want to be stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, too.”

“Oh god.”

“Whatever. So, am I messaging this guy? I could give him your cell if you’re actually interested. You can see what happens.” Rose nudges her shoulder against Rey’s and gives her an encouraging smile.

This sort of thing is not in Rey’s wheelhouse. After Rose’s assessment of Kylo’s potential prowess, there’s a new concern nagging in the back of her mind: what if she’s not good enough? Between school, and now work, she hasn’t ever had the time or patience for a long-term relationship, so her sexual experiences have been limited to the occasional dorm room romps and pick ups at bars. And Rose was right—none of them were ever particularly mind-blowing. Rey doesn’t think any of her prior experiences are going to prepare her for what she might be getting into with Kylo.

“I don’t know. Don’t say anything to him yet. Let me think about it a little.”

“Sure thing, babe. Just let me know.” And with that Rose stands and heads back in the direction of the bathroom. Rey can hear the groan and shuddering of the pipes that signals the start of the water running in the sink.

Rey lays back down and her mind is reeling and her heart is racing. What could be the harm, really, in just seeing if he’ll message her? She doesn’t have to meet him. But, just the thought of it—of seeing him again, of hearing his voice, is enough to make her skin prickle. She lays there and remembers. Remembers the hungry look on his face. Remember the way his breath felt against the exposed skin of her neck. Remembers the rumble in his voice when he said he wished he could be her teacher.  

She shucks off her blanket and makes the short walk to the bathroom. She meets Rose’s eyes in the mirror. “Give him my number.”

The first message comes just two days later. It’s Friday evening. She’s actually on the train. Alone this time. Rose is meeting up with Poe—to test his skillset, it would seem, and so Rey is sitting down reading an article about an actual coyote being spotted in Central Park, when she gets a message.

Kylo: Hello, Rey.

When Rose gave Kylo Rey’s number, he gave her his in return to pass along to Rey. She’s been both anticipating and dreading this message. Anticipating because she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him the past month. Dreading because she doesn’t do this sort of thing. Ever. What the hell is she even supposed to say?

Rey: Hello Kylo

Kylo: I’m very glad that I came across Rose’s profile.
Kylo: I had been thinking a lot about you.

Rey has been mentally preparing herself for the possibility of him contacting her for two days. She has a plan, of sorts. She’s going to play it cool. Let him initiate and lay out exactly what he’s looking to get from this. If he’s looking to get anything out of this—out of her.

Rey: Oh yeah?

Kylo: Definitely. Quite a bit.
Kylo: Have you been thinking about me too?

Her heart skips a beat. He couldn’t know. Couldn’t know what she’s been thinking about—what she’s been doing to herself while she’s been thinking about him.

Rey: Maybe. But we’re talking about you here

Kylo: Fair enough.
Kylo: Would you like to know what I’ve been thinking?
Kylo: About you.

She does. So badly. Wants to know if she’s affected him even half as much as he has her. If he’s thought about her at night, too. She finds herself hoping he has.

Rey: Sure

Kylo: It depends, really. 
Kylo: Sometimes I think about your pretty face. Especially your freckles.

Rey: My freckles?

Kylo: Yes. I wish I’d seen more of you. More skin.
Kylo: I wonder how far down those freckles go.
Kylo: Wonder if you have them on your cute little tits too. If your nipples are the same color as your perfect little freckles.

She crosses her legs as she looks around her. She loosens her scarf. Her face is hot—her entire body feels like it’s on fucking fire. They’re words on a screen, but her body clings to the potential promise in them.

Rey: What else?

Kylo: Sometimes I think about your thighs. How tight you were rubbing them together.
Kylo: How they would feel resting on my shoulders.
Kylo: Wonder if they would snap closed around my head when I made you come on my tongue.

Rey’s breathless as she conjures up the image of his dark head of hair in between her parted thighs. She is squirming in her seat. She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, desperately trying to get some kind of friction against her clit that’s now begging for something, anything, to ease the throbbing ache.

Kylo: Should I
Kylo: Keep going?

Please.

Rey: Yes
Rey: What else?

Kylo: I think about your mouth. How lovely your soft, pink little mouth would look stretched tight around me.
Kylo: And your voice. How when you called me sir in that accent of yours, my cock was instantly half hard.
Kylo: I came home that night and jerked off to the thought of filling your mouth.

Rey might be dying. On the train. Her breath is thready. Her heart races, and her goddamn cunt is spasming. On the C train. She’s going to die.

Kylo: I wonder if your panties were wet when you got home that night. If you pushed those tiny little fingers inside you and wished it was me.

She had. That night and so many nights after. She doesn’t even think before she’s typing out a reply. Before she gives him something, too.

Rey: Yes

Kylo: Yes, what?

Rey: I touched myself
Rey: I thought about you and made myself come

Kylo: Fuck
Kylo: Good
Kylo: How many, Rey?

Rey: Lots of times. Almost every night.

Kylo: God
Kylo: No, Rey. How many fingers? How many fingers did you fuck yourself with?

Rey: Just 2

Kylo: Only two
Kylo: Why? Tell me why

Rey: Because I wanted you
Rey: Because I only wanted you to put 3 in

Kylo: You want to hear the one thing I thought about the most?

Rey: Yes

She can barely type the word with the way her hands shake with unadulterated need.

Kylo: I have driven myself fucking crazy wondering if you found some other guy to try it with.
Kylo: So did you? Find a teacher? Someone who showed your tight little cunt exactly how to take those three fingers, Rey?

Rey: No

Kylo: I can do it for you. God, Rey.  I’ll take my time and make you feel so fucking good.
Kylo: I want to. Want to see how your beautiful freckled face looks when you come around my fingers.
Kylo: How your pretty mouth looks when you cry out

Rey: Please yes

Kylo: Are you on the train right now?

Rey: Yes

Kylo: Are you wet?
Kylo: Are you pressing your thighs together like that first night?
Kylo: Do you feel empty? Desperate for someone to fill you up?

Rey: Yes

Kylo: Yes, what?

Rey: Yes I’m wet.
Rey: Yes I want someone to fill me up.

Kylo: Me
Kylo: Do you want ME to fill you up?

Rey: Yes

Kylo: Then get off the train, Rey. 86th Street stop. I’m sending you a pin with my address. Give it to Rose, so she knows where you are. When you get here tell the man at the desk that you’re here to see Ben Solo.

Rey reads the text three times before it sinks in. This is really going to happen. Nervous excitement thrums through her body, and she thinks maybe after this—after she experiences what he has to offer—she can finally, finally get him out of her system.

***

Chapter Text

She was expecting him to live in some shiny fifty-story monstrosity, so when she walks up to the historic pre-war Art Deco building, she’s more than a little surprised. It looks relatively modest from the outside, but she knows with its location on Central Park, it’s anything but.

The doorman opens up for her without even a question. When she walks into the lobby, she’s struck by the design. It’s beautiful. There is a huge black marble desk, gold veins radiating throughout, with two gold relief panels on the front featuring some kind of bird—peacocks, maybe. The entire wall behind it is floor-to-ceiling marble, a lighter color than the desk. As she walks toward the man she now sees seated at the desk, she can see her reflection in the lacquered ceiling. He has a welcoming face and smiles broadly when she finally reaches him.

“Hello, I’m here to see Ben Solo,” she says, as she clenches her fists to stop their shaking.

“Certainly, ma’am, he is expecting you. Head through those doors, and keep slightly to the left. You’ll want to use the elevators on that side of the lobby to get to his residence.”

She makes her way through the doors and enters an even larger lobby where the elevators are located. The walls are covered in Art Deco murals of flowers, and there’s a beautiful chandelier located in between the two elevator banks. She makes her way to the left following the concierge’s directions.

She presses the up button, and the ping of the elevator reaching the ground floor only heightens her nervous excitement. She looks down at her phone—at the pin he dropped for his apartment—then enters the elevator and pushes the button for the 21st floor.

She gets to his floor and is making her way down his hallway, but before she even has the chance to knock, he’s opening the door. He’s probably just home from work (finance—Rey looked Ben Solo up on the walk to his apartment). He’s wearing black slacks and another Oxford, dark blue this time. The first couple of buttons are unbuttoned, and the sleeves are rolled up to a little below his elbows. He looks perfect.

Rey could be forgiven for the way her heart stutters in her chest when he looks at her. His eyes travel across the landscape of her face—first they meet her eyes, then move back up over her brow, down across her cheeks and nose and finally land on her mouth. His eyes are fixed on her slightly parted lips for her last few steps until she’s standing close enough to reach out and touch him if she wanted... if she dared. “Hmm, beautiful Rey,” he says softly, while opening the door wide and motioning for her to step in.

“Hi,” Rey says, a little breathless from the sight of him combined with the sound of his deep voice saying her name. Calling her beautiful. She’s replayed the moment on the train in her head more times than she can count, and she’s excited to hear that she’s remembered his voice exactly right. It wasn’t some byproduct of desire and longing—his voice really is as deep and rich as it sounded in her head all those nights.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Rey hands him her purse, and she can feel his eyes on her body as she unwraps her scarf and unbuttons her coat. She’s wearing pretty typical work attire—a utilitarian white blouse, a modest black skirt and a pair of flats that have seen much better days. She realizes that normally, in a situation like this, her brain would tell her she looks underdressed—cheap, but the way his eyes are taking her in, she feels anything but. He doesn’t seem to find her lacking in the slightest. There’s something about the reverent way he looks at her that helps put her a bit more at ease. She hands her coat and scarf over to him, and he carefully lays them over an armchair in the foyer.

“Much better,” he says as he appraises her, then turns and heads further into the apartment. Rey takes in the look of the place as she follows him through the foyer and into his kitchen. She expected sleek lines, all black everything and stainless steel, and it… isn’t. It’s rich woods and creams. It’s warm and feels less like a showy designer model she’d see in some real estate magazine, and more like an actual home. It’s just not what she expected. At all.

He pulls out a stool for her to sit on at the kitchen island and heads around to the other side and into the refrigerator. There’s a fruit and cheese board and two glasses of poured wine on the island.

“There’s water—if you prefer not to have the wine. Also, I wasn’t sure if you’ve had dinner. I can order in if you want something more substantial, if—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I couldn’t,” she interjects. Rey is reeling a bit from the mental whiplash she’s experiencing right now. The scenario playing out at the moment—a leisurely glass of wine and the offer of a frankly obscene variety of fruits and cheeses—isn’t remotely what she was anticipating on the walk over. She figured she’d be getting fucked against a wall right now. Maybe it’s more like she hoped she’d be getting fucked up against a wall right now.

“I just—” He stops speaking and shuts the refrigerator door before turning around to face her at the island. He has a small container of mixed olives that he opens and empties into the center of the board. Then he fixes her with a look. First her eyes, then her mouth. He doesn’t move his eyes from her mouth, doesn’t blink when he continues, “It just may be a while. I mean, I hope it’ll be a while. And I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The way he says a while sends a shiver up her spine—her thoughts of a quick fuck easily fading and being replaced by anticipation of something more involved. She wrings her hands in her lap in order to avoid pressing her thighs together to alleviate the ache—the ache that’s been there since the subway, the ache that’s only getting worse the more he looks at her like that. She can tell by the way his eyes never leave her for more than a second that he’s still observing her and maybe she wants to play it a little cool. Trying to go for interested but aloof, instead of criminally unlaid and desperate.

“So are you? Hungry? Would you like me to order something?”

“Oh. No. I had a late lunch. Plus, honestly, I don’t think I could eat if I tried.” She can’t even think of eating with the way her brain is just full of thoughts of him. Her stomach too twisted with nerves and desire to think about anything as mundane as food. She thinks about his text: I came home that night and jerked off to the thought of filling your mouth and that she finds is something that she would much rather do.

“Fair enough. Maybe after.”

It’s probably ridiculous the way her mind races at the thought of there even being an after. That’s not what these transactional sort of things are. For Rey, fucking strangers usually means the deed gets done, clothes get put on, numbers are exchanged—even though no one will call—and she’s on her way.

When he grabs his glass of wine and takes a sip, her mind starts to ruminate on what a while with Ben Solo could mean. She wonders if his bedroom is also decorated in warm colors, thinks about how big his bed has to be to contain him, thinks about how that means they’ll have plenty of space for her lesson—for his hands on her body—for him in her body. She looks at his hand holding the glass. Someone to show your tight little cunt exactly how to take those three fingers.

He clears his throat and pulls her out of her horny reverie. “So, this isn’t something I ever do, and there are things—a great many number of them, really—that I’d like to do with you, so, I suppose it’s prudent to ask if you’re clean.”

“Oh. Umm, yes. I—Well, I don’t really do this kind of thing either, and it’s been a long time. Not that you needed to know that—I’m sorry. I definitely am. Clean, I mean. And I have the implant. If we do… that—”

He interrupts her nervous rambling. “You can relax, Rey,” he says with a small smile. “Anything that happens or doesn’t happen here, is up to you. And I’m clean, too. Already sent a copy of my results to your phone.”

“Cool. I mean, good. That’s good.” Get it together, Rey. She’s going to have sex. Probably really good sex, and she has to stop overthinking things. Rey looks at him, and if the look in his eyes is any indication, she hasn’t turned him off with her nervous yammering.

After a few awkward seconds of quiet, she lifts the glass of wine to take a sip. It’s something to do to break up the silence that now fills the kitchen. When she brings the glass of wine to her lips, she can hear the gulp of his hard swallow as he watches her place her mouth at the rim. She feels an unusual sort of power, seeing his Adam’s apple bob and his eyes fixate and his large hand grip his glass tighter just because her lips touch the glass. It’s exhilarating. It’s arousing.

She doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at her the way he does. Like he wants to eat her up. She can feel herself getting wetter, and she crosses her legs as casually as possible, but her skin prickles with anticipation and there’s no hiding the way her nipples harden under her blouse. And he sees. Just like it seems he sees everything about her. His eyes travel downward, over her neck and collar bones and finally land on the peaks of her hardened nipples straining against the crisp white fabric.

“Rey.” It’s just her name, but the way he says it—like a plea and a warning all at once, makes her throat go dry. She wants him to touch her. Wants him to say her name just like that, but for another reason. Wants him to be just as desperate for it as she is. And with the way his eyes darken and his hands tremble slightly when he sets his glass down, she thinks he just may be.

“Show me?” he asks, as he slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. And she wants to. Very much. For the first time in her life she doesn’t start an encounter like this worrying if she’s enough, if her breasts are too small or her waist too narrow. She knows she is enough to him.

Suddenly possessed by that knowledge, Rey does something that, judging by his reaction, he wasn’t expecting. She stands and rounds the corner of the island, walking towards him and closing the space that’s been between them. The closer she gets, the further back he presses himself against the counter behind him. Without the kitchen island between them, she can see he’s already half-hard, and that realization is dizzying. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists in the pockets of his pants, and even though she can see the effort he’s expending to keep his hands to himself written on the way his corded forearms strain and relax, he still hasn’t let them leave those pockets since he put them in there.

He’s giving her space, she realizes. That just won’t do.

“I’ll show you, but then will you show me?”

“Show you?” he asks, dazed, eyes fixed on her fingers where they rest on her top button.

“What you said in your texts. That you could teach me. The fingers.”

His eyes snap up to hers then. “Christ, Rey. Yes. Yes, I’m going to show you exactly how much your body can take. Now let me see how hard those nipples are for me.”

Rey watches him as she slowly unbuttons the top button of her blouse. Her hands are surer in this than they’ve been in anything since he sent those text messages. She wants this to start and this, she knows, is just the beginning.

She’s on the third button down when the lace of her bra makes an appearance, and that is when his composure snaps. His hands fly out of his pockets and he grabs her waist and lifts her as if she weighs absolutely nothing. He sits her down roughly on the island. Her flats make soft thuds as they fly off her feet and land on the parquet floor.

His hands instantly make their way up to her neck and they’re so big, and she just wants him to handle her. “You have fucking wrecked me. Do you know that?” He sounds pained. “Fuck! You and your mouth and your freckles and your innocent fucking eyes. So many nights I was hard at just the thought of you. I downloaded that stupid app because I was going to try to fuck you out of my system. What an idiot I was. No one else would have been you, Rey.”

“I thought about you all the time, too. The things you said. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About your hands. About you.”

“Open those legs, Rey.” And she does—widening the space between them so he can fit his broad body in between them and stand flush against the edge of the island. He looks down at where her skirt has rucked up and, as if unsatisfied with the space he’s been given, Ben’s hands grip her thighs, and he opens them even wider. He leans forward and lays his forehead on her collarbone. His mouth hasn’t touched her yet, just his hands and now his head, and god does she want to know what those full lips feel like on her skin. She shakes with the need for it. She can feel his warm breath skating across the valley in between her breasts and she wants his lips and not his breath.

“I’m finally going to know,” he says into her chest. The words come out with a resigned sense of satisfaction.

“Know?”

“What your cunt tastes like. I’ve dreamt of it. You under me. Me with my head between those perfect fucking thighs until you beg me to stop. God. I can fucking smell how wet you are right now.”

If she thought his texts were enough to ruin her, hearing these words in his voice, so deep and dark—she thinks she could come just from the words he says and the feeling of his body in between her legs as they hang off the edge of the island. His mouth—his words are so dirty. No one has ever said things like this to her. It makes her stomach knot and her cunt throb in anticipation.

“Please,” she practically begs. “Please just touch me—show me—I want—”

Her words and her air are stolen from her when she feels the warm wet of his mouth as he sucks at her nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra. He nips the pebbled bud with his teeth, pulling a loud groan from her, and the sound of it must do something to him, because he lets out a grunt and his hands come up suddenly to her face. He looks determined. He looks possessed. His large hands cradle either side of her face and his thumbs softly brush her cheeks, and the way he’s touching her so gently makes no sense with how he’s looking at her so hard.

“Finish. What you were saying. What do you want, Rey? Tell me and I’ll give it to you. Want me to make you come? Is that what you want?”

“God, yes.” She fists at his shirt, hoping to bring him closer to her, to get his mouth on her body where it belongs.

“How? How would you like to come tonight?” And when he’s done asking the question, he finally puts his mouth on her bare skin. It’s a rush of relief—feeling his lips on her. A soft kiss to her jaw is followed by a rougher one to her neck, and then his mouth is everywhere. Kissing and licking and sucking along the slender column of her throat. And when his mouth slots over hers, his tongue delving in, tasting her, Rey knows she’s never been more ready for anything in her entire life than she is ready for him to fuck her. “However you want it, Rey, I’ll give it to you. Over and over. So tell me.”

“Your fingers.”

“Hmm. Yes.” He licks the hollow of her throat. “I can’t wait for you to watch how your tight little cunt swallows up my fingers. Fuck, I bet you’re already wet enough to take all three right here on this counter.”

“Yes. I want it. Show me.”

“I will. I promise. We don’t have to rush.” He slowly unbuttons the remaining buttons of her blouse and slips it off while nipping softly at her collarbone. He leans back then to look at her. “Or do we? You have someplace to be?” he asks, concern suddenly in his voice.

“No,” Rey shakes her head. “No rush.”

“Good,” he says, as he places a hand on each of her shoulders to slowly lay her back onto the counter. She gasps as her heated skin hits the cold granite. She didn’t think it was possible, but the cold surface on her back makes her nipples pull even tighter. It’s overwhelming, the variety of sensations she’s inundated with—the cold of the countertop, the warmth of his hands, the dryness in her mouth as she struggles to swallow, the wet spot he’s left on her bra from where he laved at her. It’s all so much. “I want very much to take my time with you, Rey.” He slips a hand under her and behind her back to unhook her bra. He removes it, and it joins her shirt on the counter beside them.

He runs his hands first up, then down her ribs, and the sight of his hands so easily covering the entire width of her makes the ache between her legs grow more urgent. When his thumbs start to circle the tight little buds of her nipples, she can’t help the way her breath hitches. Laying here half-clothed on this man’s counter, it’s the most aroused she’s ever been in her life. “God, Ben.”

“Fuck, I love hearing my name come out of your mouth like that—all needy and breathless.” He brings a hand up and his thumb slides across the surface of her bottom lip. “I’ve thought a lot about this mouth. So much.” He applies a bit of firm pressure and causes her lips to part slightly. “It’s beautiful, perfect, small. I bet it’d be a tight fit, but I could teach you how to take my cock here, too. If you wanted, of course.”

“I do. Want it. You said you wanted to fill my mouth. I—Yes—I want you to.”

“God, Rey. You keep saying things like that, and I’m going to come before I even get inside you.”

He leans over her then and pulls a hardened nipple into his mouth. He sucks and licks and flicks, and each new movement of his tongue feels like everything. He’s a vision. Her fingers fist his dark hair as he lavishes attention on her. It’s bliss. It’s as if every nerve ending in her body is tied directly to the nipple he’s mouthing. And when he moves to the other breast and his mouth opens and he pulls practically the entire thing into his mouth all while his fingers tug at the other nipple, still wet from his mouth—Rey knows. She’s been on edge and ready to come for the last hour, ever since that first message on the train, and so she knows she’s going to come from this. It’s absurd, really. But, there’s that coil that’s been tightening in her lower stomach and her toes start to curl and he leans down just far enough for his abs to brush against her cunt and—

“Oh, god. I think, god, Ben, I think—FUCK!” The word is long and loud as it leaves her mouth, and her entire body trembles with the force of her orgasm. She’s still reeling from the aftershocks when she hears him ask—

“Did you just come?”

His voice sounds far away while she slowly comes down—like he’s speaking to her through water. And as the ringing in her ears stops and her body stills, the meaning of his words starts to register.

“Answer me, Rey. Did you just fucking come?”

She suddenly feels embarrassed. Like she’s ruined something. She couldn’t help it. She’s never felt like this before in her life—pent up and so ready.

“I’m sorry.” Her hands quickly come up to cover her face in shame. “I didn’t realize. I don’t—I don’t do this kind of thing and it never feels like this, and I didn’t—”

“Rey!” He grabs her hands and peels them away from her face. “It’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. God. I can’t believe you came from me playing with these perfect little nipples.” He twists them between his thumb and forefinger, making her keen. “You’re so fucking sensitive. Christ, it’s so hot.”

“Oh.” His words calm her, and Rey is just relieved she hasn’t ruined the moment. “It is?”

“You really have no idea, do you? How much you are. How beautiful. How sweet.” He sounds incredulous when he says it. Like she should be clued in on something he sees as plainly obvious. His words, and the awestruck way he says them, make her heart lurch a little. It feels good to be seen this way. To feel wanted. She’s scared she could get used to it.

“Hmm, I wonder—” His hands slide down the length of her bare stomach and land at the waistband of her skirt. He unzips it quickly, and works it down off her hips. “Is your clit that sensitive, too?”

Just the question is enough to make her moan. She’s thought about his full, perfect mouth on her in that way damn near every night since they met on the train. She’s come to the idea of it, just as many times.

She can feel the cool air hit where her panties stick to her cunt with how wet she is. “You are so wet,” he says with wonder in his voice. He slides his thumb to the seam of her and presses to part her folds through her ruined panties. He’s so close to her clit and if he just pushed a little higher, a little harder— “Positively dripping. I—” He groans as starts to peel off her underwear. “I am going to suck you dry. I can’t wait to get my tongue inside you.”

When she’s finally laying there before him, completely nude, his movements become more urgent—wilder. He grabs behind her knees and quickly yanks her to the very edge. He then grabs her ankles and sets her feet on the edge of the counter, her legs bent and wide open, and Rey would normally feel embarrassed—awkward, being exposed, being laid open this way, but not with Ben. Not with the way his eyes roam over her. Not with the way he looks at her body like it’s hallowed ground. It grounds her, like his gaze has weight to it.

It suddenly becomes so, so quiet. No more hurried movements. No more pushing and pulling. All Rey can hear now is their breathing and the blood rushing in her ears.

He runs his fingers lightly from the hollow of her throat, through the valley of her breasts, down past the dip of her belly, all the way to the top of her mound, pulling goosebumps from her the entire way. His fingers trail up the inside of her thigh to her knee, and then he lays a soft kiss there. He moves to the other leg and does the same—soft fingers skate slowly up, up, up, and then he kisses her knee. When he lowers his head to kiss the soft flesh of her inner thigh, she can feel herself shaking.

“Are you cold?” he asks quietly.

“No.” Hot… cold… these things have no meaning anymore. Rey can’t feel anything that isn’t the sensation of his skin touching hers.

“You’re shaking.” He says it almost like a question.

“I—I’m just… ready.” She looks down at where he stands, fully clothed between her bare open legs and the sight of it does something to her inside. Something she doesn’t quite understand. But she likes it.

“I see.” His voice sounds impossibly deeper, raspy. “You’re ready for me to put my mouth here?” he asks as he uses a hand to cup her mound—and his hand is so big compared to how small she is. Her mind races with the possibilities.

“Yes,” she says, shakily.

His thumbs trace over her folds, just like they did her mouth earlier, and then he uses them to spread her completely open—the cool air biting against the warm core of her. “You want my tongue here?” He lowers his head and he looks directly at her with hooded eyes when the tip of his tongue swirls over her clit. And it’s the feeling of his mouth on her combined with the way his eyes seemingly look into her, that has her hands in his hair and her back bowing off the kitchen counter.

“Oh my god, Ben.”

He brings his hands up to grab her hips and hold her down. His grip is tight enough to bruise, and that feeling just makes Rey more heady—the bit of pain to temper the overwhelming pleasure. “Stay still.” He lifts his head, and he’s shiny with her already, and the look of him, hair disheveled and covered in her arousal, makes her groan. “I just knew—I knew your cunt would be just like you.” He runs his finger along the seam of her until he brings it up and finds her clit. He presses softly there, pulling a moan from her. “So beautiful, and soft, and fucking sweet.”

He leans back over her, and she finds out quickly he doesn’t need his hands to hold her open for him. His tongue is as wide and firm as the rest of him—easily parting her. He makes languorous swirls over her taut bud, alternating pressure and speed all while watching her, gripping her, keeping her still for everything he has to offer. He studies her, even in this, eyes on her, gauging her reactions, doing more of what she likes and none of what she doesn’t.

His tongue is sure and deft like it knows her already, and every time his tongue dips down to her entrance to taste more of her, his nose bumps her clit and sends her head spinning. It’s not long before Rey has that feeling again—that delicious pressure deep inside her, begging to be loosed. Her toes curl and her breath hitches and she’s almost there and he—stops.

“Ben, please. Don’t stop. Please.”  

“God,” he says as he stands. Running his hands over her body. “I want to—I want to make you come all over this counter. I want you to make a fucking mess of it. But, the next time you come, Rey, it’s going to be in my goddamn bed.”

He lifts her shoulders off the counter until she’s sitting, her head still swimming from being brought so close to the edge only for him to pull back. He wraps her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. “Hold on,” he says gruffly, and with that, she’s lifted off the counter.

She nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck, taking in the smell of him. It’s just like it was on the train—bergamot and something woody. She breathes it in. Heaping breathfuls. Holding them deep inside so she can remember it when this is all over.

She can feel where her wetness has seeped into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m going to ruin your clothes,” she says softly into his shoulder.

“Fuck my clothes, Rey.”

“I’m going to—” He stops when they make their way to the end of the hall, and he uses his foot to push open the door. “I’m going to make you feel so good you’ll never want to leave.”

She already doesn’t. She wants to stay here with him and let him wring out every bit of pleasure he can from her.

There is just the barest bit of waning sunlight that bleeds in through the windows. He sits her down on the bed and makes his way over to the nightstand to turn on a bedside lamp. When the light fills the space, she finally has the opportunity to take in where Ben Solo sleeps—where he fucks. His room feels a bit more like him than the rest of the place, done up in shades of soft blue and gray. It’s cool and masculine. And she was right about his bed. It’s big, like him.

“You have so many pillows.” The words come out unbidden.

She looks over her shoulder to where he stands at the lamp. He smiles at her—the sweet one that reaches his eyes. “I do.”

She feels a bit like an idiot. “Sorry. That was dumb.”

He walks back over to where she sits on the edge of the bed, and brushes his thumb along her jaw, lifting her face to his. “Stop worrying so much, Rey. You’re not doing anything wrong. Everything about you is… so right.”

She can feel her face flush at his words.

“I love that,” he says as his fingers roam over her collarbone where the blush is most apparent. “Even without you saying anything, your body tells me so much. About what you’re feeling. About what you like. Like it wants me to know it all.”

From where she’s perched on the edge of his bed, she can see he’s still hard. She wants to touch him. Wants to make him feel good, too. She reaches out her hands to his belt buckle, and he grabs her wrists to pull them off. “Not yet.”

“But, I want to see you too. To make you feel good. You can show me how you like it. Like you said.”

He brings her hands up and places a soft kiss on each wrist. “We’ll get there. I swear it. But if I take these pants off. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from just fucking you into this mattress, and I promised you something else tonight.”

“Right. Okay.” She remembers. His hands, his fingers inside her—that’s why she’s here.

“Lay back, Rey.” The soft linen of his comforter is a far cry from the cold granite of his kitchen island, but it doesn’t mean she’s any less sensitive to the sensations around her. Rey knows that being this keyed up, this responsive, is not a result of her body’s usual sensitivity. It’s a result of him. The way he looks at her, and talks to her and touches her—sometimes like she’s something precious, and other times rough—like he wants to break her. And she wants both of them. She wants all of it.

He lays down on his side next to her on the bed. His body is warm and big, and Rey can't wait to see more of it. “Open.” It’s all he needs to say, and she brings her legs up, opening them until she’s spread before him again. He leans his weight on one elbow while he hovers over her a bit. His hand slides between her open legs. “You know, the way you can fit three, Rey, is you make sure you’ve come. At least once. It makes you nice and wet, and soft. It relaxes your body so you’re looser—more ready.” This is finally her lesson, she thinks.

He runs two fingers through the wet crease of her—from her clit down to her entrance. He stops there. Doesn’t press in, and Rey squirms with the need to have something of him inside her. Her heartbeat ticks up, and her cunt bears down on nothing. And he must feel what her insides are doing, because his nostrils flare, and she feels him circle a finger around her entrance. And she wants him—needs him—to just push in.

“Fuck, I can feel how ready you are—clenching like that. You need something to fill you up, don’t you?”

“Yes. I feel empty. Please.”

She’s so wet that when he pushes in that first finger, there’s no resistance—just the slick slide of him straight to the knuckle.

“Yes, oh fuck. Yes,” Rey cries out. It isn’t a lot, it’s barely enough, but Rey can’t help the way she shakes at the feeling of it. She’s been desperate for something—anything—to fill the void his filthy words created inside her earlier.

He doesn’t give her more than just a few thrusts to acclimate to his finger before he pushes in a second. She can feel it’s tighter around two, but it doesn’t hurt or pinch, it feels amazing as he works her, opening them slightly now as he moves through her. And this—this is an altogether different feeling than his mouth on her. This makes other parts of her body awaken with pleasure. Parts deep inside her.

“Hmm, so small and tight. And warm. God, I can’t wait to get my cock in here.”

“God, yes. I want it inside me.”

“Fuck.” His thrusts pick up speed and his face gets serious—determined. The sound of his fingers moving through her wetness just ratchets up the frenetic feeling inside her. He brings his thumb down and presses her clit while he moves in and out, in and out—and she can feel the pressure mounting again. Her breath comes out in sharp pants and low moans and his mouth finds hers and swallows them with deep, probing kisses.

“You see how easy you take two, Rey. That’s because I’ve made you ready. You can take anything with as ready as you are right now.”

“I will. Take it. I can.”

“Oh, I know you will.” He leans back a bit, giving her space and she misses the warmth of his nearness. “It’s time, Rey. I want you to look. I want you to see how you take them so perfectly.”

She leans up on her elbows to get a better look at what he’s doing to her—how he’s touching her. “Fuck.” Her head lolls backward at the sight of it.

“Yes. It’s beautiful, isn’t it. The way you take them. Now look again.”

She brings her head back up and looks down, and the next time he pulls his fingers out, he readjusts them so there are two laying atop the third and he slowly pushes all three in, and she can feel herself clenching on them, feels how stretched tight she is around all of them as he moves his fingers.

“You see?”

“Yes,” she moans. She sees the way her cunt stretches to accommodate his fingers. She’s pulled so taut.

“You see what you can do—what you can take as long as someone takes their time with you. As long as someone takes care of you.”

“Yes. Yes.”

She was wrong before—on the train. When she said it wasn’t possible, when she said it couldn’t possibly feel good. So fucking wrong. The fullness is unlike anything she’s ever experienced. He pushes in and out of her while his thumb rubs soft circles on her clit, keeping her relaxed and loose for how his fingers fill her completely.

“Can’t wait to feel your insides flutter around them when you come,” he says. His voice is rough and agitated, and she can feel his erection rutting against her. And she wants to give him release, like he’s given her. Wants to feel the weight of his body on top of her. Wants to feel him inside her.

She scrambles for his shirt, fisting it and trying to pull his body over her.

“Rey.”

“Can we—I want you to fuck me, Ben. Now. Want you to feel me come around your cock, not your fucking fingers.”

“Rey,” he sounds pained when he says it. “I won’t last long in here.” He continues pushing his fingers into her, filling her. “It’s been a while, and I’m too worked up.”

“It’s okay. I’m close. So close. Ben, please. We can do it again. Fuck, yes,” she wails when his fingers curl and they hit something just right inside her. “We don’t have to rush, remember?”

He rubs against that spot inside, and she’s going to come, but she doesn’t want to. Not like this. “Ben! I said—I said to fuck me.”

His fingers pull out of her, and the wet sound they make is obscene. He brings them up to his mouth to clean her off them, before fixing her with a piercing stare. “Okay. Okay. Whatever you want, Rey.” He’s already unbuckling his belt when she pulls his body over hers and starts to unbutton his shirt, laying kisses on each bit of new skin she uncovers. When she gets his shirt off, she takes just a second to admire the sight of him. He is broad and hard, his moles are scattered across the expansive planes of his chest and she decides that later—if there really is a later—she wants to lick each one. But now, now, she just needs his cock inside her.

He pulls his pants down to his knees, but can’t get them completely off with the way she holds onto him so tightly with her thighs. Not letting him escape.

She can see the outline of his rigid cock in his boxer briefs, and her mouth dries. Fuck, his cock is as big as everything else about him. She’s grateful for how he’s worked her open. Where she would have been nervous about taking him all in before, now she’s giddy with the thought of it. Excited for how deep he’ll reach inside her.

She moves her hands down into the waistband of his underwear and pulls it down. His cock springs free, and it is thick, and long, and perfect. He grabs the base of it and squeezes tight when he moves to lean over her.

She’s taken to watching because of him. Because she wants to see it all. Because she wants to emblazon it on her memory for when this is done. So she watches him push just the head of his cock in, just a bit, before he pulls it out and runs it up the length of her. Before he brings it up and brushes it over her clit.

“Oh, Ben.”

He lowers himself then and pushes into her slowly. The stretch of him is perfect, just right, and her insides grip and pull him in.

“Fuck.” He lowers his head to the crook of her neck. “You feel so good inside, Rey. So good.”

He pulls out of her, and she can feel the slow drag of his cock along every bit inside her, before he pushes back in and sets his pace. His thrusts aren’t fast, they’re slow and deliberate, as if he wants to relish this.

“I’m sorry that I won’t last, it just feels too good. Warm and wet. Tight.”

“I’m close. You feel so good inside, Ben. So deep. I’m so full.”

His thrusts start to stutter, and he grabs her thighs and pushes them up and open, and when he presses back in then, he hits something inside her. The same place he hit with his fingers, and her eyes roll back and her back bows, and she scrambles from the overwhelming feeling of it. “Oh, right there. Right there, Ben. Don’t stop.”

He grips her thighs even tighter and begs her, “Touch yourself, Rey.” Her fingers find her clit, and she’s done this a million times before, but the way he moves inside her—the way she is so wet— the way her body jerks with every thrust—makes her fingers slide, and so it’s not as precise as it ought to be, when her fingers rub rough circles on her clit, but it’s enough.

“Please come, Rey. Come for me. Let me feel it, like you said.”

She can tell by the way his mouth parts, by the determined look on his face, that he’s just on the precipice of coming, and when he hits that spot inside her again and again and again, it tips her over the edge.

“Ben!” she screams.

Her vision whites, and her blood thrums in her ears, and her body seizes, and she shakes with the force of it. When the feeling ebbs, her limbs loosen and she feels weightless as he fucks into her with abandon. He groans into her shoulder, panting her name over and over, when she feels him come and come and come inside her.

He takes a second for him to catch his breath, his body curled over her, his head resting on her shoulder. He pulls out, and when he rolls onto his back, he instantly pulls her close to him. Makes a space for her body to lean into him, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist.

They’re both quiet for a bit while their heartbeats drop to something resembling a normal rhythm.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Mhmm. Better than,” she says as she nuzzles closer to him.

Her eyes aren’t open yet, but as soon as Rey wakes, she knows she’s not in her bed—it’s too soft, and the light bleeding in through her closed lids is too bright. They never get this kind of light in their walk-up.

Then she feels the dull ache—at her hips from his grip—at her cunt from his hands and his cock. She smiles at the memory of it. Ben spent the entire night showing Rey just what she was capable of handling. Just how good it could be.

She opens her eyes and reaches for him, but he’s not there. She sits up, looking for her clothes and not seeing them. She figures they’re still in the kitchen, but she doesn’t want to walk around naked in his apartment in broad daylight, so she opens his closet and slips on a black Joy Division t-shirt. She makes her way down the hall and can smell food cooking before she even gets to the kitchen.

He’s at the stove in sweats and a t-shirt. He looks different like this—younger, relaxed. She moves in closer and sees a plate of pancakes on the counter.

“Good morning,” she says, and his entire body jumps at her words.

“Shit. Sorry, I...” he starts, with a look at her over his shoulder. The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue, some indescribable look flitting across his features as his eyes take in her standing there in just his shirt. Rey can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger for a moment at where the bottom hem lays against her bare thighs. The look on his face raises goosebumps on her arms. He clears his throat, cutting the tension, before turning his attention back to the stove. “I’m not used to having people sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t exactly sneaking. You weren’t in your bed.”

“I know. Sorry about that. I guess what I mean is I’m not used to anyone else being here, period.”

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I can go.” Perhaps she’s overstayed her welcome. He delivered on all his promises last night. Gave her exactly what they agreed to. Rey’s eyes roam over the counters looking for her clothes. She knows her bag and coat are at the door.

“Rey. Stop.” He turns off the stove, and sets down the spatula before he turns fully toward her. “I wasn’t saying I don’t like it. You being here. I just—it’s different for me. I don’t let people into this space. For you, though... For you, I cannot help but make an exception.” He walks over to her and brings a hand up to brush her hair behind her ear. The possessive urgency of last night is gone. Replaced by something else. “You can stay, or you can go. Whatever this was for you, is fine. I can accept it. But, before you make your decision, I would like to politely point out that I made quite a lot of pancakes. Certainly more than one person could eat.” His eyes are warm when they look at her and she knows this is his version of an invitation to stay.

“Oh. Well, I could never forgive myself if any pancakes went to waste.

“I suppose that settles it then,” he says, as he hands her a fork. “Sit.” She walks over and pulls out a stool at the island—the same stool he pulled out for her last night. When Ben makes his way over with a plate, he gives her a smile that makes her breath catch. It’s small and shy, and so soft in the morning light. Different than any part of him he’s let her see so far. She can’t help feeling that not a lot of people ever get to see it.

As she takes a bite of her pancakes, Rey thinks she could really get used to that smile.