Page 29 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Linny

“You cannot be serious.”

With the box of teacups in between us, Ben and I stand in his back garden—if it can be called that. It’s a fenced-in slab of concrete with IKEA patio furniture in one corner.

“I’m deeply serious.” He snatches one teacup out of the box, placing it in my reluctant hand. “Smash it.”

I look at him doubtfully. After we arrived at his flat, he brought out two pairs of safety goggles from god knows where and made us each put a pair on.

“Come on,” he urges. “This teacup is from TK Maxx. It’s not an actual antique. It probably cost three pounds at most.”

I now look at the teacup doubtfully. He’s right. I saw this exact mug in the store the other day. Without letting myself give it any more thought, I let the cup tip from my grasp and explode into shards on the concrete.

Ben grins wildly and hands me another. “Good. Now throw this one at the ground. Don’t just let it fall.”

I carefully take the cup from him. I raise it in the air and heave it at the ground.

It shatters powerfully. Oh god. That felt good.

I grab another before he has a chance to hand one to me and throw that on the ground too, smashing it with a gusto I didn’t know I had in me.

A joyful laugh escapes. This feels amazing .

I grab another teacup, smashing it with all the hatred I have for my eyes.

Then another, smashing it with my frustration with every dark bar with random steps, every dim restaurant with speed-walking hosts, and every goddamn shop with mood lighting.

And another, smashing it with the sharp hurt I experience every time I think about Atticus.

With every broken cup, a twig of anger is released.

Maybe I should be frequenting rage rooms. I didn’t know it would feel this good . Tears stream down my face, but I don’t wipe them away. They are fuel to my power in this moment.

Ben finally takes his turn, grabbing one from the box and throwing it hard at the ground.

The laugh he lets out is the most elated one I have ever heard from him.

He too has a lot of things to work out. I feel horrible about what I said to him today.

I know he cannot help what he feels for David.

I know he is trying so hard to get over it. To move on.

I know because I’m trying to do the same thing. To let go of everything in the past that is determined to hold me back.

I smash another cup, letting go of the color sage.

And another, letting go of my peripheral vision.

And another, letting go of everything else I have lost or will lose.

It will come back to me eventually, but to be free of it right now is the best feeling in the world.

We keep going through the box until there are two left.

My tears have dried by now, freeing me. We each take one teacup, looking at each other for a long moment before either of us lifts an arm to throw them.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick and throat tight. “I needed this. So much.”

His breath rattles out of his chest. “Me too. ”

With a nod, we each lift our arms. One, two, three —we smash the final two cups on the ground. With the final cup shattering, the last thread of my anger is released.

Ben and I lock eyes. Shit. That decides it.

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Thank fuck .”

I chuck off my safety goggles, rip the ones off Ben’s face, and capture his mouth. The instant relief that spreads over me is addictive. If I could live attached to him, I would.

Ben kisses me back with a similar gumption, dragging me away from the shattered ceramic lining his back garden.

His mouth opens on mine as he backs me into the wall of his flat.

Pressing me closer to the rough siding, his hands stroke down my body until they get to my flowing skirt.

He bunches it up so his hands reach my bare thighs, then he lifts me, holding me up against the wall.

My legs wrap around him tightly, and I loop my arms around his neck as well.

His tongue traces the inside of my mouth, pulling a moan from deep in my throat. The desperate want I have felt since, damn, since we met, bubbles to surface, threatening to consume me whole. I grind my body into his, feeling his hardness grow beneath me.

He pulls away, just enough to ask, “Linny, do you want to…?”

I understand the question without him having to finish it. “Ben, I do. I really do. I just…I don’t…”

He nods, thinking he’s comprehending what I’m saying. “We don’t have to. It’s okay.”

I shake my head rapidly. “No. No. I want to. I do. I just…I don’t do penetration.” It’s a firm rule I established after Atticus.

His eyebrows lift, surprised, but he says, “Okay. That’s fine.” He kisses me again, saying into my lips, “There are plenty of things I can do to you that do not involve penetration.”

I inch back, regarding him curiously. “You don’t want to know why?”

“Not unless you want to tell me.” His hands tighten on my thighs.

I brush his disheveled hair back from his forehead, running my fingers gently through the short, soft strands of black and silver. “Can I tell you some other time?”

“Aye. Of course.”

“Thank you.” Our mouths reconnect, my body writhing against his. My skirt is bunched around my hips, pushed back by Ben’s grip on me.

We keep moving in sync, so starved for each other that this alone may get me there. The belt of his pants brushes against my clit through the thin cotton of my underwear, and a scream gets caught in my throat. I press deeper into him, moving more intently, grinding hard. Fuck , I am so close.

“Lin,” Ben says breathlessly, body pushing up into mine. “If we keep doing this, I’m going to…”

“Me too,” I agree.

I grind against him more, needing him to move against me.

His hips buck upward to meet my demand. Then, the lightest brush catapults me over the edge.

I swear into his mouth as the pleasure races through me, my limbs tightening around him despite their desire to go limp.

He groans deeply as he too finds release.

Still held against the wall, I kiss him through swollen lips, consuming him like nectar.

When I can, I break the kiss, gathering air. “That was…” I start, not knowing how I want to finish. Amazing, a bad idea, a great idea, just what I needed, potentially a mistake, something I want to do over and over again for the rest of my life ?

“We’re not done.”

“We’re not, are we? Do you need a Gatorade or something?”

His eyes darken. “I just need to see how wet your pretty cunt is for me.”

My mouth waters. “Okay. That answers that question.”

“Hm?”

“I like when you say that word to me.”

He grins devilishly, picking me up off the wall and carrying me back into his flat. My breath hitches as he takes me all the way to his bathroom, setting me down on the sink. His mouth claims mine again, teeth sinking into my lower lip, tugging gently.

Though I’d be happy to stay like this, curiosity gets the better of me, so I draw away to ask breathlessly, “Why are we making out in the bathroom?”

“Oh, right.” He finally lets me go to pivot and turn on the shower.

Once the shower is on, he strips off his shirt.

“Your turn,” he says.

I remove my top first, tossing it to the side, then go for my skirt.

“Let me,” he requests.

He unzips the side, helping me lift my ass so he can remove it, letting the skirt slip to the ground.

My hands find the top button of his ruined trousers, unbuttoning them and yanking them down as much as I can from where I sit.

He helps get them off the rest of the way, along with his boxer briefs, so that he is standing completely naked before me.

As I remove my bra, I scan him up and down, fully enjoying what I see—lean muscles, strong thighs, solid chest.

His hands stroke down my hips, fingering the top band of my panties. “These are fucking sexy,” he mutters. “Do you always wear knickers like this?”

“They’re just cotton underwear with a lace trim.”

“It’s the swoopy design of the lace, maybe.”

Boldly, I say, “I think it’s that I’m wearing them.”

“Well, that was a given. You’d be fucking sexy in old days-of-the-week knickers with holes on the bum.

” He moves over the fabric and down to my center, feeling how positively soaked these fucking-sexy panties are.

A satisfied groan escapes him. “How am I supposed to get through a single day now that I know what kind of knickers you wear? How wet they are because of me?”

I gulp, desire pooling low in my belly. He tugs the underwear off me. My legs spread involuntarily as I finger my breasts, watching how he stares down at me—predatory and thoroughly satisfied.

“Absolutely drenched,” he comments.

“Absolutely.”

With his hands on my waist, he helps me hop down from the sink, then pulls me into the shower with him.

Under the stream of the water, he kisses me again, our slick bodies pressing against one another.

He slides a hand down my stomach, moving toward my want.

His fingers find my clit, stroking in succinct circles.

“Lin, when you say no penetration, do you mean any kind or just my cock?”

I swallow, finding it hard to form words with his fingers gliding over me. “Fingers are fine,” I manage to get out. “Sorry, I-I can’t…”

He caresses my face. “No, no, love. You don’t need to explain right now. I just wanted to make sure.” He kisses me hard on the mouth. “Tongue okay?”

“Tongue is great.”

He rotates us so that my back is to the stream of water and kneels before me.

His mouth meets my sex with large, open-mouth kisses, thumb re-finding my clit as his tongue delves into me.

My hand laces in his wet hair, grasping on and holding tight as the hand not focused on my clit locates my ass, taking a handful.

Into my skin, he murmurs, “You taste like sugar.” The vibration of his voice makes my hand slam into the shower wall, clenching pointlessly against it.