Page 82 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

L ater that night, Ben and I devour frozen pizzas in his kitchen.

Vegan margherita, which Ben let get extra crispy in the oven for me.

I like a crunchy charred crust. None of his brothers are home early enough to swipe a slice.

Seeing as how their professions have late hours, I’m not surprised we have most of the apartment to ourselves again.

We’re cuddled on the couch (not the pull-out mattress), and I lie longways against Ben’s firm chest, his arms weave around me while I untangle a knot in the stuffed lion’s mane.

He lists off all my name suggestions. “Cubby? The cub? Baby lion? Son of Ben?”

“What I lack in creativity I make up elsewhere,” I say a little defensively, forgetting how much I love my audience.

Because Ben immediately says, “You’re plenty creative, Fisher. SOB is pretty funny.”

I smooth the golden-yellow fur. “If you had an actual baby, would you name them something earthy like Clover or Aspen?”

“You trying to tell me something?” he teases.

I peer up at him, my face warm. “Unless the condom broke, I think we’re in the clear on the baby-making front, Cobalt boy.” I hold his gaze. “But I wouldn’t mind forgoing the condom next time. I’m on birth control.”

His smiling blue eyes sink down on me. “Yeah, I know, you mentioned being on the pill.”

So he did process that information a while back. “Just letting you know. I’ve also been tested recently, all negative, and I’m not sleeping with anyone else, so…”

“Same and same.”

“Cool.” I’m smiling off his sexy widening smile. “So you’re going to have a baby Thistle one day?”

He laughs, and I feel the rumble of his chest against me. “You want to name our kid Thistle?”

My heart double-beats. Our kid? Obviously, we’re messing with each other. This is playful banter, where we’re constructing a future that can’t even happen. “You have a better earthy name?”

“Why are we going earthy?”

“To appease your tree-loving soul, nature boy.” I rotate around, wanting to face him, but the most natural maneuver is to straddle Ben on the couch cushions. He rests his hands on my thighs. This time, I did remember to bring cotton pajama shorts, but his fingers slip up the hem.

His touch is magma. I heat all over. Our breaths sound shallow, and his muscles flex as I shift a little on his waist. The gray sweats and blue tee are typical Ben attire.

I hold on to his lion cub. “And?” I ask.

“And…” He clears out husky arousal from his throat. “I’d rather we pick a name that appeases your punk-rock-loving soul.”

“Baby Spike,” I joke.

“Whatever you want, Fisher.”

Now my heart flutters. It’s how he’s staring at me, like he would literally give me anything in the world if he could. “No, see there is a compromise here, Ben.” I hold out a finger. “ Stone. Earthy and rock-forward.”

“We better get cracking if we want to make our baby Stone.” He brushes his knuckle against my clit, and I clench my thighs around him.

“Fuck,” I curse. “ Ben .”

He grins. “Keep glaring at me like that, it’s only going to make me want to push inside you faster.”

I place the lion cub behind me and plant my hands on his chest. He hardens against me, and he brings his lips to mine. He kisses me once, twice, pulling me closer, but I break apart to pant out, “You want a blow job?”

That sounded sexier in my head, but whatever, I offered.

He sucks in a contemplative breath. “Do you enjoy giving them or is this just something you feel like you have to do?”

I shrug. “I want you to feel good too.”

“Trust me, I already do.” He’s slouched on the armrest of the couch, his reassuring hands gripping my hips. He even grinds me down on him, so his erection rubs against my pussy. Oh my…God. “And if I don’t come inside you here, then how are we going to make our baby?”

I can’t decide if this conversation is torture of the best kind or the worst. “Our fictional baby,” I say like a dumbass. You aren’t dumb, Harriet. I blow out such a heavy breath, my bangs billow. I’m about to launch myself off him, but Ben’s grip tightens on me.

He’s sitting up. “Hey.”

I scowl. “I don’t actually want to be pregnant.”

“I know?—”

“Because I have so many goals, soooo many, that would be epically derailed if I were to get knocked up tomorrow.”

“I know?—”

“And I don’t even know if I’m mom material. I have no relationship with my own mom, and maybe I’d be a really shitty one.”

“You’d be a great mom,” he says without any hesitation. “Do you want kids someday, when you’re older and a surgeon and settled in your career?”

I lift my shoulders. “Maybe. I mean…it’s not off the table. I have time to think about it more.” I can’t search his eyes fast enough. “Do you want kids someday in the future?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, slipping his hands through my hair while his eyes roam across mine, like he’s scavenging for the answers. Like he believes they’re within me. “I’d want them with the right person, and that person would be you.”

“Stop,” I deadpan, pushing off him.

He grasps me stronger, keeping me still and closer. “I’m not teasing.” His eyes say he’s being serious. “I mean it, Harriet.” I feel his warm hand against my cheek.

“If you were staying,” I add for him. “That’s what you really mean. If you were staying, there would be a future between us.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking even more torn up than I feel.

I glide my fingers down his chest, staring at our laps as confusion bites at me.

“Why are you leaving, Ben?” I nearly whisper, as if these are harmful questions that could pierce his body, his heart.

I’ve just never wanted to hurt him. I’m not Charlie, who prefers to bludgeon Ben with his words.

“Why go move to the wild? To a place you apparently can’t share with me because you’re afraid your family will find out… and then they’ll stop you?”

“It’s…” He grimaces at himself. “It’s so fucking hard to explain.”

“You could try.” I shrug. “I’m all ears, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He blinks a lot, like he’s disentangling jumbled, gnarled thoughts.

“Is it a calling?” I try to help. “Like, you feel compelled to go commune with nature alone?”

“I don’t know…” His breathing shortens. His heart pounds beneath my hand.

“Maybe not that.” He swallows hard, runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and the coldness when he lets go of me feels agonizing.

But I hold his neck instead, hoping he knows I’m here.

His eyes are reddened. “Maybe it’s more like a need, a necessity.

Like if I don’t do this…” He shakes his head, then intakes a sharper breath.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, not understanding why he’s getting so worked up over this. I do know I hate seeing him choked for oxygen. I hate how his pulse is a quickening hammer under my hand. “Take some breaths. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“Maybe I could…” He swallows again, trying to inhale deeper.

“Ben, let’s just drop it?—”

“I could stay into the holidays,” he says with a nod. “I want to stay. More than anything. I think I can.” He nods more assuredly. “I’ll be here.”

Now I’m processing rapidly. “Are you sure? We haven’t heard anything from the Honors House yet. You’d still have to stay with your brothers if you can’t complete the Kappa bet.”

“Maybe I can stay here longer too. It’s been better. Beckett has seemed okay.”

If I cling too tightly to this hope, will it just crumble in my hands? Still, I find myself clutching to this blissful feeling. “It’s the sex, isn’t it,” I tease. “It’s mind-altering. Too good to say goodbye to.”

“It’s not the sex, Fisher. It’s just you. It’s been you.” His smile emerges as soon as mine peeks, and he nods even stronger this time, his breathing deepening in a good way. “I’ll be here for longer. I’ll be here with you.”

My spirits catapult to the clouds. I pull him closer, but he’s already crashing his lips to mine, urging them apart. His sensual, devouring tongue draws me into him. His hand tightens in my hair with a dominant, needy grip. I ache to be smothered by his touch, by him.

The door clicks open so slowly, so softly, we almost don’t hear when one of his brothers enters the apartment.

“Beckett?” Ben calls out, craning his neck over his shoulder, and I wonder if he thinks it’s him because of the hushed entrance.

I have a direct view of Tom.

I’m still straddling Ben, about to spring off his lap until Tom’s despondent shuffle gives me extra pause. His head is hung, shaggy golden-brown hair hiding his eyes. My nemesis looks…defeated. And not by me , so I don’t like this at all.

“Everything okay?” Ben frowns. “Tom?”

He drops his keys on the kitchen counter, then meanders closer. “You will be happy to know, Harry…” Tom just barely lifts his bloodshot, wrecked gaze up to mine. “That my drummer just quit. And so did Warner.”

“Warner?” Ben says in confusion, like that’s inconceivable. The bassist started The Carraways with Tom seven years ago.

“That’s the whole band,” I say unhelpfully.

“Thank you so much for clarifying,” Tom says with a shrill noise. “Like I didn’t know my band just imploded.” He pushes his hair back, and my eyes bug into concerned saucers.

“Dude.” I leap off Ben’s lap. “Did he punch you?” I’m fucking pissed.

“ Tom .” Ben is on his feet in seconds. Tom’s eyelid is puffy, and the inside crease is already bruising.

He slings his head back with a frustrated, distraught sound. “He lost it at rehearsal and threw a mic at my face.” He glares at me. “Go ahead and laugh it up, Harry. Tell me I deserved it. I’m an asshole. I had this coming. Rub it in.”

“You didn’t deserve to get assaulted.” I head to the fridge. “Do you have any ice packs in here?”

“Freezer,” Ben tells me while he checks on his brother.

“The bruise to the face I can take,” Tom assures him. “My pride…” He blinks back emotion. “Goddamn Warner.”