"Any time you've tried, you get twitchy."
"I do not."
He moved closer. He could feel the curves of her body pressed against his own, the way she fit against him perfectly. Just being this close to her sent his senses into overdrive. It took everything in his power not to kiss her right then and there.
"Do you want me?" he repeated. "Tell me. If you say no, I'll never touch you again."
He could tell she was trying to find a way out of this. She was shaking now, but her cheeks were flushed, her nipples hard. Even if she wouldn't say it out loud, her body wanted him.
"I don't want you." Her fingers flexed against his hand as she said the words.
"I don't believe you. Why are you lying?" Jack tilted her chin up, brushing his thumb across her lip. "Try that again."
She didn't have the strength to keep lying. He could feel the fight go out of her in that moment. Her eyes pooling with tears, she said, "I do want you."
Jack dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her—hard. She moaned in surprise, but then she wrapped her arms around him. His tongue delved into her sweet mouth. He kissed her like he was starved for touch, and he was—he was starved for this woman.
Even if this is temporary, it'll be enough. It has to be enough.
Gwen dug her nails into his shoulders as he kissed her harder. But then she pulled away, panting, her entire face and chest red now.
"Jack."
"Give me a chance," he rasped.
She just shook her head. "Just because I want you—it won't work. I won't do that to you."
"You won't be doing anything to me. Even if this is all I get, this one kiss? Fine."
She stared at him. "You're seriously telling me that you'd want a relationship with no sex?"
"Want? No. But for you? I'd manage." He touched her cheek. "And I'm not talking about a relationship, Gwen. I'm just talking about having fun. No commitment. If you want to end it, you can. It doesn't have to be messy."
"You're saying we should become friends with benefits."
He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Sure. Call it that."
"I've never done that before. I don't think I'm that kind of person. I'd probably get all emotional and overly attached."
"Then just don't fall in love with me. And I'll do the same."
"Not fall in love with me? I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment."
Jack reached down and squeezed her ass, pressing her pelvis against his semi-hard cock. "I want to bend you over this desk right now," he rumbled. "I want you every possible way a man can have a woman."
Gwen licked her lips, her lashes fluttering. "Let me think about it."
"Forty-eight hours. That's all the time you get." He wanted to kiss her again, but Gwen was starting to think again. He had a feeling pushing her too hard would end poorly for them both.
He forced himself to put space between them, even though his body screamed at the broken contact.
"Forty-eight hours? Okay," said Gwen, her voice husky. "I'll talk to you then."
"I'll be counting the hours."
Chapter Nine
It was three hours until midnight. Jack hated that he'd been watching the clock, waiting for Gwen's answer. He'd even restarted his stupid flip phone to make sure it was really working.
He scoffed at himself as he made himself a late dinner: frozen lasagna with a beer. Jack's house was barely a house: it was one room, with a little kitchen nook, a rickety dining table and two chairs, along with a bed in the corner. There was a small bathroom with a shower. Jack had built it himself, mostly because he hadn't been able to afford anything else at the time.
Now, apparently "tiny homes" like his were all the rage. He'd even had a few random tourists showing up on his doorstep for a tour in the last year, like his place was some damn museum. He'd shot one black look at them, and they'd scurried off to their rented Priuses.
His lasagna was cold in the middle, but he couldn't find the energy to care. Pathetic, Benson, he told himself.
If Gwen didn't want him, fine. He'd find another woman. There was plenty of fish in the sea, which as a fisherman, he could attest to personally.
Smile, Jack. You look so scary when you make that face.
Jack heard his mom's voice in his head. An old memory surfaced, of bringing home his school picture and his mom, Debra, hating it. How old had he been? Six? Seven? He couldn't remember.
He did remember that his mom had been high, and she'd taken one look at Jack's frowning, childish face in the photo and had started crying.
"Why do you look like this? Everyone will think you're unhappy." His mom sobbed, tears running down her face. She never bothered to get a tissue. She just let the tears, the snot, everything drip down her face and onto her shirt.
"I am smiling," protested Jack. And he was—kind of. Jack had been distracted by another student. The photographer had caught Jack in that moment, which resulted in the weird, lackluster smile on his face.
"You don't look good when you do that. It scares people. You're already so big for your age," said his mom.
She went to the kitchen. The counters were covered in clutter that included wine bottles, dirty cups, old magazines, prescription bottles, and dog food for the dog that had been hit by a car six months prior. Jack had never seen any surface in their apartment clean. When he'd gone to a friend's house and had seen the bare counters, he'd asked what had happened to all their stuff.
His mom knocked off two of the liquor bottles onto the floor. Although neither broke, she let out a wail like they had. She clutched one to her chest, the photos wrinkling in her grasp, as she cried hysterically.
Jack just stared at her. He was used to this. She'd get tired of crying eventually. More than likely, she'd drink and fall asleep on the kitchen floor or get high off the pills she had stashed around the house. Jack had stashed a blanket in one of the lower cabinets to drape over her when she fell asleep on the floor.
His little brother Danny, only four years old, hated when their mom cried. He went and snuggled next to her on the floor, but she eventually pushed him away because he was too warm. "Go play in the living room," she said tiredly.
"What are we having for dinner?" asked Jack.
"I'm going to bed," was all their mom said, leaving them to find their own meals.
Jack had had to grow up quickly. He'd been the one to watch out for Danny, to make sure he was fed, that he did his homework. Jack would forge their mom's signature on field trip forms when she was too drunk to hold a pen. Jack lent her money when she'd needed to buy booze. It had been easier than hearing her crying from the withdrawal.
Jack forced himself to shake off the memories. But despite his best efforts, they clung to him, wanting to pull him back to the past. He hadn't spoken to his mom in ages; he only talked to Danny once or twice a year. He'd distanced himself from his family because he'd gotten to a point where it was easier.
But the guilt still ate at him. Even now, he wondered if he'd just tried harder, he could've helped his mom. He'd left her, and his brother, to rot. He was the man of the family. It had been his responsibility to take care of them.