Heart of Stone (Camp Bexley) by K.K. Allen

Author:K.K. Allen [Allen, K.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

BROOKLYN

I wake up feeling restless from lack of sleep. The van mattress was heavenly, but my racing thoughts did me no favors.

He didn’t even touch me.

The man who got me off in the middle of a Wolf concert and at a public beach—and then ate me out under my desk at work—chose to not even cop a feel when we were alone in his van?

I’m blown away. Flabbergasted. Embarrassed. And suspiciously disappointed. He’s always throwing me for a loop and making me feel one way when I’m bound and determined to feel another.

When I hear Benson stir beside me, I dare a glance in his direction just as his eyes open to meet mine. “Morning, beautiful.”

My heart flutters. Not just at the endearment, but at the fact that Benson Bexley just might be the most gorgeous specimen in the morning light.

His hard jaw looks more relaxed somehow. His normally styled hair looks longer as the front falls into one eye. There are light freckles on the tops of his cheeks and nose that I never noticed before, and the pure white gleam of his teeth as he smiles back at me is as sexy as it is devilish.

“Morning,” I mumble back, too afraid of my morning breath to open my mouth. “I’m going to run to the bathroom and try to find some coffee.”

He squints like he’s still struggling to open his eyes all the way. “I can make you some.”

I smile. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a few.”

His arms pop out from beneath the comforter in a long stretch, exposing his muscular chest. “Okay. Did you sleep okay?”

Shrugging, I avert my eyes so that he can’t see the disappointment his question triggered. “I think so. You?”

His hands fall onto the mattress, attracting my attention to the unmistakable bulge imprinted beneath the sheets. Oh my. “You might want to take care of that while I’m gone,” I tease.

He looks down then lifts his brows to meet my eyes. “Or you could do the honors. He’s a little unpredictable in the morning, but he seems to prefer your mouth to my fist.”

A flush rushes over my body. “I’m sure he does.” My tone is dry because I can’t get over the contradiction of his teasing compared to his silent rejection. “But I’m afraid you’re on your own this time, Bexley.”

I flip the covers off and climb down from the bed, fully aware that his eyes are tracking my every move. I grab a change of clothes and my toiletry bag then head to the bathrooms. I’m surprised to find them fairly busy already at seven in the morning. Women are showering, stripping down and pulling on swimsuits, freshening up in front of the mirror, their happy chatter echoing off the walls.

I take my time, just in case Benson truly does have to take care of his—problem—before heading back to our site where he is standing in front of a large bush. It doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s doing.

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