I Paid a Stranger Fifteen Hundred Dollars to Be My Boyfriend for My Father's Birthday Weekend, and He Obeyed Every Order I Gave novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: The Dock

The dock was forty feet of grey boards, and the lake at the end of it was black and perfectly still.

It was eleven at night, and the whole farmhouse had gone to bed behind us.

I had walked down through the wet pasture in my sneakers and Ben's flannel.

He had walked half a step behind me with a quilt over his arm.

There was a wooden bench at the end of the dock, slick with dew.

He spread the quilt over it without being asked.

Then he stood there with his hands at his sides, waiting for me to tell him what came next.

"No orders," I said.

"None?"

"Not tonight. Not one."

He looked at me in the dark for a while.

"Then I don't know what to do with my hands."

"Neither do I."

"We could sit."

"We could."

We sat.

The bench was cold under the quilt, and he put his arm around me, and I leaned my whole weight into his side.

The stars were out.

Our breath went up white and mixed together over the water.

A fish jumped somewhere out in the dark, a small wet slap, and neither of us said anything.

I had been giving orders for three days, and my voice felt rubbed raw from it.

It was a relief to just be next to him and have nothing to say.

"Can I tell you something?" he said.

"You don't have to ask."

"I was going to ask first anyway."

"Then ask."

"I like it when you tell me what to do. I do. I've never liked anything more."

"I know that."

"But I like this too." He turned his head, and his mouth was against my hair. "I like not knowing what happens next."

I turned my face up.

His eyes were just glints in the dark, and his nose was cold against my cheek.

"Kiss me," I started to say.

I stopped.

I kissed him instead.

It was slow and unhurried, and his mouth was warm after the cold air, and his hand came up to cradle the back of my head.

Nobody had told him to do that.

He did it anyway, with great care.

I put my hands inside his jacket and spread them flat on his chest.

His heart was going hard.

"You're nervous," I said.

"I am."

"Why?"

"There's nobody here to tell me what to do."

I laughed into his mouth, and then I couldn't laugh anymore, because his hand had slid under the flannel and found my bare back.

It was warm and wide, and it went all the way up my spine and down again.

I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

I swung my leg over his lap and sat astride him on the bench, facing him, with the quilt dragging around my knees.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi."

His hands went to my hips and stayed there, light.

I felt him already hard under me through his jeans.

I rocked once against it, slowly, his breath clouding in the cold air between our faces.

"I want to see you," I said. "Is that an order?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"It's a want."

"Then I want to see you too."

I unbuttoned the flannel from the top down and pushed it off my shoulders, and the cold hit my skin, and I didn't mind.

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