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“Thank you, Miss Hargreaves, we’ll be in touch.”
The sound of Mr. Hux’s voice travels from the hallway to the study where Ben sits, spinning a glass of the smokiest whiskey on the face of the earth against the mahogany tabletop.
“Thank you,” Miss Hargreaves replies rather coldly. “But that won’t be necessary.”
“Very well,” Hux says. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Miss.”
Ben hears the heavy doors fall shut and counts the seconds until Hux comes marching into the study.
Nine. Nine seconds of peace.
“It’s as if you don’t even want a wife, sir,” Hux mutters. “She’s the seventh one you scared off today!”
“I don’t want a wife, Hux,” Ben says, sipping his whiskey. “I want heirs.”
“I’m afraid a wife is a necessary evil if one wants children.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve agreed to let my mother arrange these… meat markets.”
Hux never loses his composure, but the pink patches of his cheeks often betray the irritation that’s bubbling underneath the surface. He came with the house, and Ben has no doubt that the last thing his Nan did was to leave her butler with several pages of instructions, and he’s certain that ensuring that he marries is right at the top of the list.
“What was wrong with that last one? Her lines are impeccable. Royal, even.”
Ben scoffs. It’s impossible not to have at least a few drops of royal blood, since all of their family trees, Ben’s included, interconnect in a somewhat disturbing manner.
“She wanted to be courted.”
Ben tastes bile at the back of his mouth. Any woman, or a man, for that matter, who still believes in romance and love… It’s as baffling to him as learning that they still believe in Santa Claus.
“It’s been three years,” Hux remarks.
Ben glares at the window, where raindrops hammer against the uneven glass. “I’m well aware.”
Three years ago, Ben was still in New York, working at Snoke’s firm, and this place was but a distant memory of his youth. Then, his Nan decided it was time to hit the ol’ wooden box, and to everyone’s surprise, she had more or less left her two children out of her will, leaving Naboo Castle, her Scottish estate, to Ben instead of to them.
Feelings ran hot for a year or two after that, but it’s all been sorted now; his uncle Luke got the yacht while his mother got the Malibu beachfront mansion, and they can even spend Christmas under the same roof again.
Not that anyone particularly enjoys spending any amount of time together, but they can at least make it through a family dinner without bloodshed.
And now, Ben’s mother is constantly reminding him of his duty to ensure that their line doesn’t end with him.
One could think she would’ve bothered to have more than one child if she worried so much about the Skywalkers going extinct, but no. One kid was all she could manage.
Well, if leaving said child’s upbringing in the hands of nannies and private tutors counts as managing.
Ben is determined not to repeat the mistakes of his mother, who, against her parents’ wishes, married a commoner for what some idiots call love. Thirty years of constant arguing, drinking, and barely concealed affairs followed, before his parents finally admitted defeat and finalised their divorce.
No. Love isn’t real. Sexual attraction, sure, perhaps even passion, but there’s no such thing as love. The concept of love is nothing but a comforting fairytale created to make life more bearable for those who are foolish enough to believe it exists.
Instead of wasting his time on dating, Ben plans to simply marry a sensible woman with sturdy hips and a decent pedigree, who knows how to conduct herself within the framework of aristocracy - she will hunt, host, ride, manage staff, and above all else, lead her own life and stay the fuck out of Ben’s.
It’s a solid plan, but as Hux was kind enough to remind him, it’s been three years since his hunt for a suitable woman started, and so far, he must’ve met at least fifty young ladies, but all of them have physically recoiled when they understood that he doesn’t intend to treat their marriage as anything other than a business arrangement.
Ben blames feminism.
Not even a century ago, women of the upper classes were happy to agree to arranged marriages, but now, the promise of a comfortable lifestyle is no longer enough, they want romance, too.
“If I may, sir,” Hux says. “But perhaps you should try being a tad nicer to them?”
“I am who I am, and if they can’t stand it for thirty minutes, how on Earth could they ever stand it for thirty years? That would be all, Hux, thank you.”
“Sir.”
Ben takes another swing of his whiskey and leans back in his chair, staring into the fire that crackles in the fireplace. On a rug older than some democracies, lies his Nan’s old wolfhound Fenrir, snoring loudly. Maybe there’s no such thing as love, but Ben must admit that he cares for the dog, and he supposes he could come to care for his children as well.
If they’re not assholes, of course, like most people.
A sudden knock on the door yanks Ben out of his head.
“Hux!” he shouts. “The door!”
Fenrir, the worst guard dog ever to exist, doesn’t even lift his head.
The sound of Hux’s voice follows the squeak of the doors opening. “Good evening.”
“Hello,” a female voice says.
“What can I do for you?”
“Um…” A few seconds of silence follow. “I’m here for the… position.”
Ben can’t place the woman’s dialect, but it’s rather… rough?
“What position?” Hux asks, and Ben can hear how a disapproving frown paints Hux’s face.
“As… As a wife, I suppose?”
“The event is over, I’m afraid.”
“I know I’m late, but I had to take the train, and then the bus, and then the ferry, but I missed the first one, and then I walked in the wrong direction, and then I had to stop at the pub down in the village to get directions, and then—”
“You’re still too late.”
Ben rises to his feet and heads for the hallway. “Does she need a ride back—” he falls quiet the second he sees her.
In the doorway stands someone who bears more similarities to a drenched rat, than a woman. Her teeth are almost rattling from how badly she’s shivering.
Ben has many faults, but he’s not entirely heartless.
“Do you want to come in and change your clothes?”
“Yes, please,” the young woman says. “I have some spare clothes in my backpack—”
She allows her backpack to slide down her arm. Her canvas backpack.
“Are they dry?” Ben suppresses a sigh.
Her eyes grow round as she peeks into her bag.
“Not really,” she whispers. “But I suppose they’re better than nothing.”
“Where are you staying tonight?” Ben asks.
“They said they have rooms at the pub…”
Ben shakes his head. “No. Those are infested with bedbugs.”
The woman rolls on her feet. “I don’t… I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Hux’s brows pinch together. “Sir, I must insist—”
“Hux,” Ben interrupts. “Ask Miss Tico to prepare a room. And ask her to find her a robe or something.”
“But sir—”
Ben glares at his butler, who falls blissfully quiet, before storming down the hall.
“Come in,” Ben says. “I’m Benjamin.”
She accepts his outstretched hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “I’m Rey. Rey Niima.”
The rain has clumped her lashes together, and her dark hair lies plastered against her head, but her smile lights up her face as if she’s illuminated from within.
“Where are you from, Miss Niima?”
“Jakku.”
Ah. That explains the dialect, and the calluses of her palm.
Her obvious lack of blue blood is a pity, because even in her current state, she’s a stunner.
“I heard we have guests?” Ben’s housekeeper, Miss Tico, comes rushing down the hall. “How lovely!”
Miss Tico is the antithesis of Hux, she pays little respect to the old traditions that Ben’s butler so desperately clings to, and Ben doesn’t mind her half as much as he minds most people.
“We do, this is Rey. She got caught in the poor weather and she needs somewhere to stay tonight. We’ll drive her to the ferry tomorrow. And perhaps she’d enjoy a hot shower?”
“I’d literally die for a shower,” the woman named Rey says, and Ben suddenly feels very, very old.
“Come with me,” Miss Tico says, “I’ll sort you out.”
The two women walk away from Ben, who for a second thinks he’s been left alone. He should’ve known better.
“She could be a criminal,” Hux wheezes from behind Ben’s back. “She’ll take your grandmama’s jewelry!”
“Have you left them outside the safe?”
“Of course not!”
“I think we’ll be okay, then.”
“The paintings!” Hux spits.
“I’m quite sure she won’t fit any paintings in that sorry excuse of a bag of hers.”
“You…” Hux squints at Ben. “You fancy her.”
Ben shrugs. “She’s attractive, yes, but hardly what I’m looking for.”
“She’s working-class trash.”
“I could tell,” Ben says. “She’ll be gone by lunch tomorrow, so try to keep it together until then, alright?”
“Your grandmama wouldn’t approve.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t. Good night, Hux.”
Ben grabs his bottle of whiskey from the desk in his study and brings it along to the library, where he pours another glass, before sinking into one of the sofas. Like so many nights before, he loses himself and all thoughts of potential wives and drenched young women in a thick volume discussing the final days of the Battle of Endor.
It always amazes him, that it was the small folk who tipped the scale and secured the victory against the Empire.
A cautionary tale for people like Ben, who has several tenants who live on, and off, Ben's land. It’s a delicate balance, if he pushes them too far, they’d leave, but if he’s too generous, his profits would plummet, and if so, he’d be forced to sell the estate that’s been in his family since the 16th century.
And he refuses to be the one who breaks the chain.
Hence his pressing need for heirs.
“Oh, there you are, Mr. Solo,” a voice says from the door.
Ben looks up, slightly startled if he’s being honest, because Hux and Miss Tico never bother him when he sits in the library unless he’s asked for their assistance. But it’s neither Hux nor Miss Tico who peeks around the door.
It’s the girl.
“Holy fuck, this house is massive. I’ve opened so many doors looking for you.”
A slight discomfort travels up Ben’s spine at the thought of this stranger poking through his home, but since he refuses to give Hux any points, he pushes those thoughts aside. “Come in.”
She takes a hesitant step into the room. “You have a lot of fires going,” she mumbles with a nod to the fireplace as the door falls shut behind her.
“The electricity bill alone would ruin me if I triedto heat this place in any other way.”
“I don’t think I was meant to leave the room.” She gestures at the emerald green velvet robe she’s wearing. The sleeves have been folded up, revealing the intricate silk fabric of the robe’s lining. “It’s beautiful, though.”
Ben assumes the robe must have belonged to his Nan, but he doesn’t recognize it. Then again, his Nan had a burning passion for fashion, leaving several dressing rooms full of clothes behind, and Miss Tico clearly was sensible enough to find this girl something unused, probably to ensure that Hux doesn’t suffer a stroke if he happened to see his old mistress’s clothes worn by someone so ‘unworthy’. Ben wouldn’t mind if he dropped dead, but he has an inkling that Miss Tico would.
“What can I do for you, Miss Niima?”
“Call me Rey.”
“Only if you call me Ben.”
She slowly walks further into the room, but her eyes wander as she takes in the many bookshelves full of books, the paintings on the walls, the height of the ceiling, as well as the length of the heavy curtains framing the windows.
“Should I call for some tea?” Ben asks.
“Could I have some of that instead?”
Ben follows her line of vision to the bottle of whiskey he left on the coffee table. “Certainly, Miss.”
He makes his way to a small cabinet and grabs another crystal tumbler. As he turns around again, he finds Rey standing in the middle of the room, looking utterly lost.
“Please, have a seat.”
She lowers herself onto the sofa, perching on the edge of her cushion like some kind of bird, ready to take flight. Ben hands her the glass, and she grasps it with both hands, bringing it to her lips as if it’s holding the last drops of water found in a desert. Her lids flutter shut as the liquid touches her tongue, and Ben forces himself to look away.
“Thank you,” she says as she lowers the tumbler. “I needed that.”
“You’re welcome. So, what can I do for you?”
She takes another sip, possibly to hide how a pink tint blooms across her cheeks, while tucking her still slightly damp hair behind her ear.
“Well… isn’t that obvious? I came for the event.”
It’s Ben’s turn to take a sip of his whiskey in a pitiful attempt to win some time. How is he supposed to tell that she’s not a suitable match without sounding like an absolute asshole in the process?
“Right,” Ben hums. “And… Are you familiar with the criteria?”
“I am.”
Her already upright back straightens even more.
“So, do you ride?”
Her blush deepens. “A moped.”
“Shoot?”
“I could learn.”
Ben almost smiles. “I’ve never heard of the Jakku Niima family…”
Her posture sags, and she fidgets with the ends of the belt of her robe. “I’m the only one,” she whispers.
Ben leans closer. “Sorry, I didn’t quite—”
“It’s a given name. They made it up.”
He frowns. “Who… Who made it up?”
“The social services, before they left me at the orphanage.”
Ben didn’t even know orphanages still existed. This girl isn’t from questionable lines, she doesn’t even have a pedigree. But she stares back at him with such defiance in her eyes that Ben decides to avoid pushing the matter any further.
“Where did you go to university?”
“University?” She barks a laugh. “I didn’t even finish secondary school.”
Ben’s face must betray his confusion, because she quickly adds: “That would be high school where you’re from.”
A high school dropout? Ben takes another swing of his whiskey while trying to force his face into conveying something other than disgust.
“Why?” he asks.
“I—” She pauses for a moment, as if she’s deciding how to phrase her words. “I couldn’t stay with the foster family they placed me with. So, I left.”
“And where did you go?”
She shrugs. “Out.”
The thoughts spin around Ben’s slightly intoxicated mind. “Out? You… became homeless at what, sixteen?”
Maybe he was a bit harsh when he judged her for dropping out of high school. Even he understands that no one would ever choose the streets unless they’re completely out of options.
“Fifteen.” She glares at him with a fury Ben’s not sure he’s deserved. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
Ben holds his hands up. “I’m not pitying anyone.”
Her eyes narrow. “And I’m not homeless anymore.”
“That’s great,” Ben says. “What do you do for a living?”
“I work for DoorDash,” she says, but with a strange undertone in her voice. “Or… I suppose I worked for DoorDash.”
“You’ve moved on?”
“I got fired yesterday. Some dude tried to grope me, so I whacked him, but he called my boss and threatened to press charges.”
Ben’s hand tightens into a fist as a vision of a faceless man reaching for Rey explodes in his head.
“Surely they can’t fire you on those grounds?” He objects. “What did your union say?”
A small, rather sad smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Ben… You don’t think I had proper employment, do you?”
“I—” Ben swallows whatever it was he was about to say along with another gulp of whiskey.
“And that’s sort of why I came. In a few weeks, I’ll run out of money, and I’ll be out on the streets again. I do realize I don’t fit the bill, but I— I’m tired, Ben. I’m sick of being poor.”
This evening sure has taken a turn Ben never could’ve expected.
“You’ll find another job…”
“Another shitty job where I’ll get paid just as shitty, yes.”
Ben clears his throat. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
One of her brows lifts into a perfect arch. “You sit here on your fancy couch, inside your fancy library, drinking your fancy whiskey, without having a clue how the rest of us live.”
Ben can feel his cheeks heating up.
“Maybe not, but the specifications were specific for a reason. And you, even though you seem to be a lovely young woman, simply don’t live up to them.”
This time, he might’ve earned the fury in her eyes.
“Well, I figured you were joking, because they’re rather obnoxious, aren’t they?”
Isn’t she being rather obnoxious? “Which ones?”
“Like the one where you say it’s preferable if your future wife has a helicopter license?”
Ben scoffs. “Well, it would be preferable, since I don’t have one.”
“Or the one where you want your wife to already be loaded.”
“If she has her own fortune, she won’t be dependent on mine.”
She takes a big sip of her whiskey and leans back on the sofa. “And how’s that worked out for you?”
“There have been several suitable candidates.”
A sly smile that makes her even prettier plays on her lips. “And why haven’t you found a wife yet, then?”
Ben shrugs. “They’ve all hoped for love.”
“So…” She’s full-on grinning now. “You want to find a woman to marry, but she can’t choose you for love, nor your money? Why would a woman ever agree to that?”
Ben opens his mouth to argue back, but sadly, he seems to be all out of arguments.
“As I see it,” she continues, “you must decide whether you prefer a rich woman hoping to be loved, or a poor one, who doesn’t give a fuck about your feelings.”
“And you’re saying you wouldn’t mind a loveless marriage?”
“Unlike your other female callers, some of us aren’t privileged enough to be able to think about love. If I had to choose between money and love, I’d choose money every time.”
“That’s rather bleak,” Ben hears himself say.
“Romance is a luxury the penniless can’t afford.” She sniffs. “And if you're prepared to provide for me as long as I give you a kid, I’ll give you one.”
“Four,” Ben says.
“Sorry, what?”
This is the part where even the more reasonable women he’s met with have backed out.
“I don’t want one kid, I want four.” For emphasis, he adds: “At least.”
To her credit, she looks surprised, but not revolted like the rest of the women have done.
“Why four?”
“I’m the last branch of our family tree, and if I only have one child, I won’t solve the problem, I’m just pushing it slightly into the future. And besides, anything can happen, the kid could get into a horse polo accident, or get hooked on drugs, or…” A shiver runs down Ben’s spine. “Maybe they’ll become one of those environmental hippies who’ll blow their entire trust fund on saving some endangered sea urchin from extinction.”
“So, basically, you want spares.”
There’s no reason to deny it, so Ben simply nods. “I do.”
She falls silent for a moment, sipping her whisky.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” Ben squints at her. “As in; ‘Fine, I’ll do four’?
“Yeah.” She shrugs, and when she continues, she’s almost whispering. “I’m sick of being alone, too.”
Rey’s robe falls slightly to the side as she curls her legs underneath her, revealing both the thick woolen socks she’s wearing on her feet and a sliver of her thigh, before she quickly adjusts the rebellious piece of fabric.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but—”
“You know what—” she begins, but she interrupts herself, with her fingers closing around the arm Ben’s leaning against the backrest of the sofa. “Are you always wearing these kinds of things?”
Confused, Ben stares down at her hand. “What things? The jacket?”
“Yeah, is it… tweed?”
His brows pinch together. “Clearly.”
“But it’s… a Saturday night? And you’re just at home? By yourself?”
“Well, what did you think I’d wear?” Ben chuckles. “Sweats?”
Her eyes move across the room again. “I suppose sweats wouldn’t fit the vibe of this place.”
Ben hums. “I do occasionally stay in my robe for quite some time in the mornings.”
A smile that could light up the deepest depths of the ocean spreads across her face. “How scandalous of you.”
“Nan would roll in her grave if she knew.” Ben grins at the memory of her scoldings. “She always said you never know who might stop by unannounced, it could very well be the Queen.”
“Did she ever? Stop by?”
Ben shakes his head. “Never unannounced.”
Rey’s jaw drops. “But she has been here? The Queen? The Corgi Queen?”
“Of course. She and Nan were good friends, and she stayed for a few nights more or less every summer.”
“That’s literally insane.” Her fingers squeeze into Ben’s arm. “Did she bring her Corgis?”
“She did.”
And not all of them were particularly well-behaved, if Ben’s memory isn’t failing him, but he’d never dream of talking ill of the late Queen, nor of her dog-wrangling abilities.
“That’s so strange,” Rey mumbles. “So strange…” She seems to lose herself in thought for a moment. “Maybe coming here was a bad idea.”
Ben doesn’t disagree with her, but he refrains from telling her, since she seems to have reached the correct conclusion more or less by herself.
“You were about to say something,” he says instead. “Before my questionable fashion choices distracted you.”
Her cheeks glow bright pink, and she finishes what’s left in her tumbler in one big gulp. “It was nothing.”
“Now you’re making me curious.”
Rey’s jaw clenches, and she folds and refolds her hands in her lap several times. “It was stupid.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Ben has a hunch he’ll regret that demand, but it seems as if he just can’t help himself.
“I just— I mean…”
“Yes?”
She inhales as if she’s about to dive into the deep end of a pool. “Aren’t you in a little bit of a hurry? Say that you do find this woman who ticks all of your boxes, then you’ll still need like six months to plan a wedding, and only then can you start trying for a kid? That baby is years into the future.”
Ben takes a dismissive sip of his whiskey. “Thank you for reminding me.”
“No, what I’m saying is… What if you do it the other way around?”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
She sighs as if she can’t believe how slow he’s being, while leaning forward to pour herself a refill of whiskey, only to chug it all down in a single go without a trace of a grimace on her face.
Ben’s not proud to say it, but the sight does do things to him.
“Just give me a month,” she blurts out. “And if I get pregnant, you marry me and make me Lady McFancy-Pants of Scotland. If not, I’ll just… disappear, and you can go back to trying to find a woman who’s already rich yet somehow wants to enter a loveless marriage simply for the fun of it.”
Ben chuckles as he shakes his head. “The process of IVF takes a tad longer than a month.”
She frowns, before an expression of sudden realization washes over her face. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’re gay.”
Ben almost chokes on his whiskey as it threatens to return to the outside through his nostrils.
“I’m not gay!” he exclaims once he’s forced the liquor down his throat.
“No?” Confusion paints her face again. “So… You’re too old to get it up?”
She asks the question with a sense of absolute conviction, one that she shares with young people everywhere; that life basically ends after the age of thirty-five.
Although, Ben struggles to be truly annoyed, because a small part of his brain has concluded that she’s asking him to fuck her.
He won’t, of course, but still, that is what she’s saying.
“I’m not that old,” he mutters. “On that note, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
That’s fifteen years younger than Ben, and the same part of his brain that’s become conscious of her plans, now feeds him with the information that if she fell pregnant now, she’d have their first at age twenty-six, and then she could have their second at twenty-eight, their third at thirty, and their fourth at thirty-two. Hell, she’d even have time to give him a fifth before she turned forty, and that’s a prospect that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“So…” She’s no longer looking confused, but almost… hurt? “You just don’t find me attractive enough to fuck?”
He should stop trying to drink while having this bizarre conversation, because this time, he’s forced to cough to keep the whiskey out of his lungs.
“No,” he mutters. “That’s not it. I just… I don’t want you or any other woman to feel taken advantage of.”
She clicks her tongue. “You’re asking to rent their womb.”
“Whoa!”
“But you are,” she insists. “It’s better to be blunt about it, don’t you think? And, besides, I don’t like needles.”
This is where Ben should thank her for a lovely evening and send them both to bed. To two very, very separate beds, in two different wings of the house. But his whiskey-marinated brain has left the reins to the weakest part of any man, and said weak part cares little about how she doesn’t tick a single box on his wishlist, and a lot about how the front of her robe has slipped apart ever so slightly.
“You’d rather do it the old-fashioned way?”
She shrugs. “Sure.”
Ben’s a bloody pervert for even considering it.
“No,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel used by some disgusting, old man.”
Her eyes flicker across his face, and by God, if her bottom lip doesn’t catch between her teeth. “You look decent to me.”
Ah, don’t all men dream of having a beautiful, young, woman tell him that she finds him “decent”? Acceptable, at least if the lights are turned off.
Ben runs a hand through his hair to make sure his ears aren’t poking through his curls.
“And I would be using you just as much,” she continues. “That’s sort of how business relationships work, no?”
“I suppose.”
“I’m green, by the way.” Her voice turns shrill as she awkwardly hoists a wrinkled, coffee-stained piece of paper out of the pocket of her robe. “I had the doctor check.”
Not all men would find themselves becoming all hot and bothered from being handed a health declaration clearing someone from any STDs, but Ben, who’s been told on several occasions that his need for control is a bit excessive, does.
“I thought you decided to come just yesterday?” Ben asks, simply to keep himself from jumping her.
“Well, that’s when I decided-decided… but I thought about it earlier than that.”
Ben stares at the paper sheet. It’s dated five days ago. “Clearly.”
“Sooo…” she pauses to clear her throat. “Are you? Green, I mean?”
Ben doesn’t mess around when it comes to his health, and he’s never stuck it anywhere without testing himself both before and after, no matter if condoms have been involved or not. And in Ben’s case, they’re almost always involved. Wearing one is an easy way to control the outcomes of his actions, but here he is now, sitting next to a woman who’s heavily suggesting he should skip it.
Go to bed, is what he should tell her, but instead, he says: “I’m green.”
Her fingers fall against her knee one after the other, like a miniature drum solo. “Well, then…”
She might not be of the right breeding, but she’s quick and witty, and he didn’t miss the way her ass looked in her jeans earlier, and he’s absolutely not missing the way the fabric of her robe hugs her petite, but absolutely delicious-looking, wrack.
“It’s hard—” Ben cuts himself off with a cough. “I mean, the job, it’s a hard one.”
“Being your wife?”
“Managing a place like this. There’s always repairs happening, staff issues, charity events—”
She smiles again, and Ben’s brain sizzles. “With all due respect, sir, but if you think that’s harder than trying to drive a moped fifteen miles in as many minutes, through a snow storm, you’re delusional.”
Ben knows little of the takeaway industry and only hums to acknowledge her statement. Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t, but what is true is that his mind has given up and all he’s left with is his goddamn reptile brain, and that one isn’t of much use at the moment, since all it does is to scream at him to stop being such a bloody wanker and just fuck her already.
“I think…” The golden glow from the flickering fire dances over her face. “I think you must decide if it’s more important to have children, or to have a perfect wife?”
“Well, having children, obviously,” Ben says without hesitation, because again, he’s no longer capable of thinking.
“So…?”
“I’m very grateful for the offer, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper—”
“Alright then.” She plops the glass onto the coffee table and rises to her feet. “I’m not gonna sit here and beg you to fuck me. Goodnight.”
Instinctively, Ben’s hand shoots out, fingers closing around her wrist. “You don’t.”
She stares down at his hand, then at his face. “Sorry?”
“You don’t have to beg. If you’re happy to… um—”
“Fuck?”
“Well, that too, but it’s not just that is it? You’re saying you’re willing to carry my child. What if you change your mind?”
“If I suddenly wake up in a four-poster bed on my thirtieth birthday and realize I miss the mice I currently share a flat with? Unlikely.”
Ben smiles. “I can assure you I can find you a mouse around here, if you want one. I have plenty of attics.”
Her eyes move back to his hand, and his gaze follows. To his great surprise, he notices that his thumb is rubbing circles against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. With the smallest tug of his hand, she falls back onto the couch, right next to Ben. He slips his fingers from her wrist, down her palm, and entwines them with hers, only to stretch over himself, reaching for her face with his free hand, where he skims her perfect jawline with his index finger.
“You asked me to be blunt,” he murmurs, almost brushing his lips against hers. “So I’ll be blunt. Do you truly want me to try to knock you up?”
She nods into his hand, and her already pink cheeks turn deep red. “I do.”
He kisses her then, pausing only for as long as he needs to readjust his position, allowing him to wrap her in his arms.
She smells like honey and vanilla, or possibly like heaven, and tastes of his favorite whiskey.
“Alright, then,” he mumbles against her lips. “I’ll try.”
Without pulling away, she smiles into the kiss. “Give me your worst.”
Ben nips at her bottom lip, earning a giggle, before deepening the kiss. Brave from the liquor and her eager fingers raking through his hair, he slides a hand under her robe, palming everything he can get hold of.
It’s been a long time since he touched a woman. The stress of finding a wife has dampened his sex drive as effectively as a wet cloth on a candle, but as of right now, he’s pleased to learn that everything seems to be in working order.
Using the weight of his body, Ben pushes her shoulders deeper into the backrest, before he kneels on the floor before her, where he quickly shrugs out of his jacket. Her eyes grow wide as his hands open her robe and find their way to her panties.
“What— What are you doing?” She asks, but she obediently lifts her hips to assist him in his endeavour as he slides her panties down her legs.
What an odd question. He’s doing what any man would do if he were presented with a half-naked woman willing to sleep with him.
“Eating you out?” Ben says between the kisses he sprinkles along the insides of her silky smooth thighs.
She stiffens, and naturally, Ben does too.
“It’s really not necessary.” All of her previous confidence seems to have washed away, and she fidgets nervously with the front of her robe, recovering her delicious-looking tits beneath layers of silk and velvet.
“Hey, we don’t have to do this.”
An angry furrow forms between her brows.
“We have to do it, to get you a kid. We don’t have to do whatever this is.”
Ben’s slightly too intoxicated and horny to fully understand what’s going on. “Foreplay? I just want to get you off?”
She’d cross her legs if Ben wasn’t sitting between them. “But why?”
Ben can’t help but snort. “Because I think it’s hot? To be polite? And also…” He really shouldn’t find his next sentence as arousing as he does, but it is what it is. “If you do want to get pregnant, an orgasm will soften your cervix, making it more… um, welcoming.”
“Are you shitting me?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not, but if you’re not into this, I can find another way…”
With a slight grunt, he shifts in preparation for trying to get off the floor.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers, pain shining from her eyes. “It won’t work.”
“What won’t work—” Ben’s brows pinch together as realization strikes him. “You can’t come?”
She squirms where she sits, as if she wishes she could crawl out of her skin. “I mean… if I’m by myself, with a toy… then maybe.”
“But not if you’re with someone?”
For whatever reason, Ben does not appreciate the fact that she has been with others before him, but he can hardly blame her for having a history.
“Never.” She stares at her hands, as if she fears he’ll be angry with her. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t get angry with her. He feels sorry for her, but there’s also a part of him that smells a challenge. Maybe the hot twenty-something dudebros she’s been fucking can’t get her off, but Ben’s quite confident that he can.
He’s a man of patience, after all. And of dedication.
“Would you find it… uncomfortable if I gave it a go?”
“Hardly, but it won’t lead to anything.” She sighs. “Other than you getting sick of me.”
Ben scoffs. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”
“That’s what they all say.” She looks utterly defeated.
His hands are still brushing the outside of her thighs, in a way she hopefully finds soothing. “Darling,” he murmurs. “Could we perhaps make another deal?”
She sighs again. “What?”
“You sit back and relax, and I'll give this a go. If I do get bored, I’ll just fuck you instead, alright?”
Her body relaxes, if only just slightly.
“And you won’t get mad at me? For being… broken?”
“You’re not,” Ben states firmly. “Now, close your eyes and let me have my fun.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
Ben pushes himself up onto his knees until he’s close enough to her face to catch her lips.
“You need to think less,” he orders with his forehead pressed against hers.
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispers.
“Close your eyes and let me try, okay? I promise I’ll stop if I get too frustrated. So unless I stop, I’m having the time of my life, alright? You don’t have to worry about me.”
She nods, but her mouth pulls into a tight line of scepticism.
Challenge accepted.
He starts over by kissing a line from the pit of her throat down her sternum, with a small detour to either one of her nipples, before continuing down her midriff and stomach, where he pauses to undo the belt to her robe.
“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” he hums before gently scraping his teeth along the ridge of her hipbone, earning the smallest of tilts of her pelvis in return.
Yes. He can work with this.
With a soft push of both of his hands, he spreads her legs open, and with a grip of her hips, he pulls her forward until she’s half-lying on the sofa with her cunt half an inch away from his face, and with her thighs resting on his shoulders.
“God,” she mutters, but she doesn’t object, and with the first flick of his tongue, she hisses a curse that sets every nerve in Ben’s body on fire.
He knows there are men who’d claim it’s submissive for a man to sink to his knees before a woman, but Ben thinks it’s the opposite. He’s the one in control, just like he prefers it, with Rey at his mercy. He’s the conductor of her every moan and unintentional twitch of her body, the one who decides if her breathing shall speed up, or if he should allow it to calm down for long enough to make her whimper with desperation for more.
He expects her to gasp for air when he adds a finger, and when she does, it makes his head swim, and if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied, he’d tell her how perfect she is.
“Bloody hell,” she wheezes.
A flood of warmth meets him as he adds a second finger, just like he predicted.
Does he smirk when she moans his name? Maybe, but not for long enough to distract her, and soon, her left thigh starts to quiver against his neck. For a moment or two, possibly even three, he’s considering stopping what he’s doing and fuck her instead, not out of boredom, far from it, but because he’d fucking kill someone to make her come with his dick and not his mouth and hands, but he ultimately thinks against it. She’s been through enough, she deserves to feel a climax build safely and steadily, without having to worry about him spoiling things before she’s reached her peak.
And besides, if her wish to be granted a few weeks with him in the hopes of getting pregnant was sincere (that thought alone would make Ben ruin his pants, if it wasn’t the fact that he’s slightly drunk), he’ll have plenty of time to make her come, and he sure plans to make the most of those weeks.
“Fuck,” she mutters, “fuckfuckfuck, I think I’m—”
Unfortunately, he’s stuck with one hand inside of her, while the other is stuck trapped under her ass to keep her where he wants her, and his mouth is too busy to object, which is why can’t stop her from covering her mouth the moment before she comes.
It’s an experience nonetheless. Every muscle in her body contracts, and for a moment, he wonders if it’s his fate to be strangled to death by her toned thighs.
He wouldn’t mind it one bit, if it were.
With the utmost determination to stretch that wave of hers for as long as possible, he keeps fucking her with his fingers while he laps at her for as long as she allows him, not pulling away until she almost shoves a foot in his face.
Ben sits back on his heels to wipe his face with the back of his hand. Rey looks back at him with something that’s equal parts confusion and amazement in her eyes.
“That… was sick,” she mumbles.
But before Ben has the chance to reply, she all but melts out of the sofa, and onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“You can’t fuck me on that coach, I’m sure it’s worth more than what I earn in a year.”
Ben doesn’t object, but he also doesn’t bother telling her that the rug she’s lying on is worth ten times as much as the goddamn sofa.
“Right,” he hums, staring down at her.
She’s still wearing the robe, although it’s only her arms that remain covered with fabric. The rest of the garment rests underneath her body, splayed to her sides like it’s some sort of fancy wrapping paper.
“Are you still sure about this?” he says while unbuttoning his shirt.
She pushes herself up on her elbows, and a wicked little grin tugs at her lips. “Remember how I said I wouldn’t beg you to fuck me?”
Ben fumbles with his belt and the zipper to his pants. “Yeah?”
“I lied.” Her knees rub together, and Ben’s mouth dries out. “Please, please, get over here and fuck me.”
He does not need to be told twice. With his pants and underwear shoved down to his ankles, Ben once again settles between her knees. His hand almost shakes as he guides himself in between her legs. With the slightest pressure of his hips, he sinks into her, if only just barely, but it’s enough to make her sink her nails into his back.
“You’re bloody massive,” she gasps.
Ben’s old enough to know he’s not that blessed, but then again, it all depends on what you compare it with, doesn’t it?
He kisses her neck. “You can handle it.”
And she certainly can, especially since those few words of encouragement seem to have traveled directly from her brain to her cunt, allowing him to sink in even further.
He kisses her deep and slow as he fully pushes into her, revealing in her uneven breaths and desperate hands.
“I have a rule for you,” Ben mumbles, knowing perfectly well he’s moments away from losing it.
“Wh— What?” Rey pants, and suddenly she looks worried again, as if she’s done something wrong.
Which she… kind of did, but not truly.
“Don’t cover your mouth. I wanna hear you come.”
She blushes even deeper, which is a physical marvel, considering how she’s currently being fucked right in front of a fireplace.
“But there are people here.”
“They’re at the other end of the house, two floors up.”
She looks slightly torn, but when Ben slams into her for emphasis, she nods.
“So you won’t do it again?” Ben murmurs with his lips against the shell of her ear.
“N-no…”
“Good girl.” The words slip out without his consent, but luckily, they seem to have been the right ones.
“This is insane,” she whimpers.
Oh, those stupid, restless boys who’ve made her feel like she’s anything less than extraordinary. She’s simply… fine-tuned, not faulty. A princess of pillows, if not in name.
“Do you think you could come again for me?”
Rey nods and shakes her head at the same time, twisting underneath him as if it’s all too much yet not nearly enough at the same time. “Maybe.”
“Let’s see…” Ben says. “How about I fuck you as hard as I fucking can?”
“Yes!” She sounds as if she’s on the verge of tears. “Please!”
So, he does. Her legs wrap around him, offering him an even better angle, and her fingers scratch at whatever piece of his skin they can reach. Sweat drips off of him, rolling down his arms, as he takes her with a primal fury he’s never known before.
“You have to…” she gasps. “Come inside of me…”
Ben is the luckiest man alive. And that’s final.
“I will,” he grunts back.
“Please, please, please,” she’s practically incoherent, and Ben can feel the pressure build inside of him.
“I’m gonna—”
“Yes!” she screams it into his shoulder, as her second climax rips through her body, and it’s enough to instantly pull him along with her.
They cling to each other as they fall into the nothingness, or the everythingness, and for a moment, they are the only two beings in existence.
Panting and sweating, Ben collapses next to Rey, right on the invaluable, handwoven carpet his Nana once bought on a visit to Iran. She’s still lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yes…” she whispers. “It’s just that… Everything's beautiful here.”
Her hand points at the beams that support the ceiling, and at the woodwork that’s gone into the boards that run between each beam.
Ben’s never thought of the ceiling before. It’s always just… been there. “I suppose.”
Rey turns her head to meet his gaze. “Does the deal still stand?”
“I can see how it could be beneficial for both of us.”
“So, I can stay for a little while?”
Ben finds her hand and squeezes it. “For a little while.”
The end