April hadn’t had an orgasm in eighteen months—eighteen mind-boggling months—then there had to be one helluva reason. Something more than just a string of subpar lovers. Hell, even a premature ejaculator knew how to work his fingers. A grin tugged the edge of his mouth.
Or at the very least, she did.
He couldn’t see her spending eighteen months in the equivalent of sexual purgatory without trying to tend to her own needs. Ben felt a smile tug at his lips. Not little Miss I-can-do-it-myself, he thought. That would be completely out of character. Her mother might have been a bona fide—quite frankly disturbed—bitch, but April could thank her for that my-way-or-the-highway attitude, if nothing else.
Thwarting her control freak of a mother had made April one of the most self-sufficient, stubborn and determined women he’d ever known. That trait, coupled with her inherent goodness—and the goodness she could detect in even the most undeserving people—her wicked sense of humor, a sure sense of herself and an innate sexuality that oozed from every pore, made her one of the most interesting, compelling women he’d ever been around.
Simply put, she charmed him. She always had.
And knowing her the way he did, he was damned certain that she’d only considered asking for his help as a last-ditch effort to put an arc back into her evidently flatlined libido. He’d be willing to bet his left nut that she’d tried everything else, and when those options had failed, she’d decided to come to him.
Call him an opportunistic bastard, but he was glad.
And where others had failed, Ben thought with a slow smile, he would not.
The Vagina Whisperer rumor notwithstanding, he knew how to please a woman. As with anything, the desire to perform combined with the old “practice makes perfect” adage could turn even the most mediocre man or woman into a competent partner, but in Ben’s opinion good lovers were born, not made.
Being a good lover involved more than knowing how to find a G-spot or administer the perfect kiss. A good lover had the inherent ability to seduce the mind, understood that planning a seduction went well beyond the traditional candles, wine and roses. Attention to detail, investing time, learning to listen, essentially picking up on her signals until a man knew her well enough to morph into her fantasy.
Most men had a tendency to rush the attraction, to hit the high spots for a mediocre payoff, when maybe just a few more days of patient consideration—priming, if you will—could result in a coupling so combustible the sheets all but set fire.
That was the kind of sex he specialized in.
He didn’t waste his time with “dumbed down” sex. When he did it, he did it right. Clearly, April had been getting the dumbed-down variety for so long that her poor, confused libido had finally said “screw it” and gone into voluntary hibernation. That, or it had merely rebelled, waiting for the right guy to come along. Whatever the reason, she needed him, and simply knowing that made several organs swell, both north and south of his zipper.
Without warning, her plump, pouty mouth materialized too readily in his mind’s eye and he felt a flame of heat lick his groin. God, he couldn’t wait to kiss her again. Couldn’t wait to push his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth, taste the addictive combination of hot spice and sweet innocence and something else, something far more wonderful and bittersweet than either of the previously mentioned two—the flavor of being wanted.
Truly wanted.
Ben was accustomed to being desired, to being the object of a woman’s lust. A come-hither smile, a bed-me look. Frankly, he got them all the time. He’d been blessed with decent good looks and a hefty dose of sex appeal. He couldn’t deny it and wasn’t above capitalizing on it when the urge struck. Which was often. He was a man, after all, and there was nothing politically correct about baser needs, the drive to procreate. He liked sex and didn’t intend to apologize for it. But there was a huge difference between being desired and being wanted.
Desired—which was admittedly nice—was commonplace. But wanted was rare.
Wanted implied a familiarity, a longing despite flaws and imperfections. Wanted meant I’ll take you warts and all. Ben swallowed. Wanted was just a hair shy of love, and the only time he’d ever felt that sort of connection—that sort of unconditional yearning—was with April.
She’d wanted him.
To know that she merely desired him now was a bit depressing, but when it came to her, he’d settle for whatever he could get. A bark of dry laughter erupted from his throat.
He’d willingly—gladly—be her whore.
Guess that didn’t make him much different from his father after all, Ben thought as his lips twisted with bitter humor at the unwelcome insight.
Speaking of which, that raised another question. Did she know that her dad and his had become roommates? He’d wrongly assumed that had been the reason for her visit, and yet other than one awkward moment when she’d asked about his father, nothing else had been said about them. He’d sensed some tension, but if she’d known about their respective sires making the move to cohabit, she would have said something. Odd, then, that she hadn’t.
He stilled. Surely to God she knew Marcus was gay, Ben thought, struck by the notion. He paused, mulling it over. Yeah, he scoffed. She had to know. How could she not know? Her parents had divorced years ago. He snorted. But considering who Marcus was married to, that argument wouldn’t necessarily hold water.
April’s unfortunate father could have cited any number of reasons for his belated departure from Morgana’s evil side. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d ever known another woman he disliked more. She was a cold, heartless, manipulative harpy and—
His mental tirade abruptly stopped and a slow dawning smile slid across his face.
—and she’d undoubtedly shit when she found out about April, Ben realized, unable to suppress the burst of vindictive glee that expanded in his chest.
And she’d definitely find out. Unless things had changed vastly over the years—and he highly suspected that they hadn’t—April had never been able to make a move that her mother hadn’t known about first. Ben chuckled again, rocked back in his chair once more and savored the idea of her chilly, furious face. Petty? Yes. But after the hell that selfish, vengeful bitch put him through, he didn’t care.
What was it she’d said again when she’d warned him away? Oh, yeah. “I’ve already lost a husband to your cracked-up white-trash father. I’ll be damned before I’ll lose my daughter to his filthy son.”
A regular little ray of sunshine she’d been, Ben thought, his insides churning with old unabsorbed hatred. Let her try to warn him away this time, dammit. He was ready for her.
“I DID IT.”
Frankie whooped excitedly, forcing April to momentarily pull the cell away from her ear. “Oh, thank God!” she said. “I’m so proud of you. One giant step for you, one small step for womankind. Way to buck that double standard, babe.”
April smiled and carefully negotiated traffic. Ah, yes, the sexual double standard. Frankie’s biggest pet peeve—though she had many—which made her a fantastic advocate for Chicks In Charge and a huge success as the movement’s Carnal Contessa. Anything that smacked of a double standard or sexual repression made Frankie’s blood boil. Of her three best friends,
