Ben half-carried her up the stairs.

Louise could feel her heart racing, knocking painfully against her ribcage. She'd never wanted someone so much before. Never been so desperate to have her hands everywhere, to have his hands everywhere. They collided with the bed, a whirl of tangled clothing.

She flopped back on the bed, tugging at his shirt in a silent demand. Ben grinned, tugging it over his head. Louise propped herself up slightly. She ran her hands over his chest, a musical instrument that she was leaning by instinct, memorizing the grooves and hard planes with her fingers. Ben closed his eyes.

She hesitated. "Is this okay?"

"More than okay."

"You can touch me, too," she whispered.

He held her gaze, his hands moving under her shirt, trailing pinpricks of stars along her skin. She wasn't sure that she was breathing. Wasn't sure that either of them were. The moment was a fragile, glimmering soap bubble.

Louise pulled her top off.

There was a moment — just a moment — where Ben kept his eyes on her face. As if out of habit. As if he was used to stopping himself from looking. Then Louise laced their hands, pressing a kiss to his wrist, and his eyes flicked down. Paused.

"Louise..."

"What?" she asked.

Ben shook his head. "If you don't want to do this, tell me now. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

A rush of something warm filled her. Louise stretched up, recapturing his mouth; he tasted of hospital coffee and peppermint toothpaste, and something like vanilla. Ben made a sound at the back of his mouth — it could have been a groan — and then his weight pressed against her, pinning her to the bed.

"God, I'm desperate for you," Ben murmured. "I've wanted you for so long."

His hands ran up her body. Gripped her hips. Louise arched her head back, and Ben pressed a trail of blazing kisses down her neck, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin.

"Me, too," she managed.

His words reverberated through her. "When I saw Sebastian speaking with you— at Vienna's birthday— I hated him." A kiss on her shoulder. "I had no idea why, but I wanted to hit him." A kiss above her breast.

"You were jealous?" The words were a gasp.

"Extremely."

Ben's green eyes were so dark they looked black. His hair was wild, and something about seeing him this undone — this hungry — had a pulse thundering through her. Louise shrugged out of her trackies, and then Ben's went too; she wrapped her bare legs around her waist, pulling him closer.

She knotted her hands in his hair. "I've wanted you ever since I saw you in the kitchen that day. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

He groaned. "Fuck. Say that again."

"Absolutely not," Louise said.

Ben pressed a kiss to her neck. "Have I ever told you it's sexy when you mouth off?"

"Oh, I'm not doing it for your benefit."

Louise had no idea how she managed to sound so careless. None. Ben's hands tightened on her hips. "Like that," he murmured, and his voice was muffled against her skin. "Exactly like that. Keep talking, Bentley."

"Ah, but then I can't use my mouth for other things."

The words came out unsteady this time. She could feel Ben smile against her skin.

"Such as?" he asked.

His mouth dipped lower. Lower. His breath raised goosebumps on her thighs, and hot blood pumped through her, trying to outrace her thoughts. Louise's eyes fluttered closed. "Well, I was thinking—"

The door flew open.

Hugh stepped into the room. He was wearing his glow-in-the-dark pajamas, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. His dark curls — so like Ben's, Louise thought — stood up in all directions. The young boy paused in the doorway. Stared.

"What-t-t are you doing?"

Louise scrambled backwards. Ben rolled over, pulling the covers up to his waist. His face was very calm; it was only his ears that gave him away, burning red at the tips. Louise cast him a desperate look.

"I was..." Louise swallowed. "We were just... um..."

"I hurt my neck today," Ben said. "Auntie Louise was just making sure the cut is healing okay."

Moonlight illuminated half his face, sharpening the stubble at his jaw. He seemed to be looking everywhere at once: the fluttering curtain, the discarded t-shirts, the chair they'd knocked over in their haste to get to the bed... everywhere but at Louise, who was sitting beside him in a sheer black bra.

"What's up?" Louise asked.

Hugh was still looking between them suspiciously. "I had a n-n-nightmare."

Louise looked down at herself — lacy black underwear, her thighs still red and throbbing where Ben had gripped them moments earlier — and let out a string of silent curse words, most of which rhymed with "ducking duck."

She hugged a pillow to her chest. "Do you want Uncle Ben to tuck you in?"

"Uncle Ben," Ben said, "is very tired."

His voice was tight. Pointed. Louise glanced down at the sheets — the slightly raised sheets — and finally understood.

"Oh." Louise swallowed. "Right." She slid out of bed, scrambling around desperately for a housecoat. "I'll go, then."

It took forty minutes to get Hugh to sleep.

Hugh needed a bedtime story. Then his imaginary friend Wally needed a bedtime story. Both needed tea with milk and honey, a cuddle, and reassurance that there were no monsters under the bed, in the closet, or lurking beneath the window.

By the time Louise returned to the bedroom, Ben was reading a book.

The lamp was switched on, casting the contents of the nightstand in a soft yellow halo: a half-burnt candle, an Apple watch, a stray pen... Ben was fully dressed again, his black t-shirt slightly rumpled. He looked up as she entered, bookmarking his page before holding out a glass of water.

Louise took it. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said.

There was a pause. Louise took a sip, gathering her thoughts. As it turned out, she reflected, her thoughts didn't want to be gathered.

"Can you go first?" she asked.

Ben crossed his arms. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know."

"Yeah," he said. "Me neither."

Seconds ticked by. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, Louise thought; she felt more as if they were sitting in a darkened cinema, waiting for the film begin. She set the water on the nightstand.

"Did you mean what you said before?" she asked. "About Vienna's birthday?"

Ben's smile was wry. "Why? Did you think I was lying?" When she didn't answer, he ran a hand over his face. "Yes, I meant it; I've wanted you since then. Of course I have. Just look at you, Bentley." He shook his head. "Who wouldn't want you?"

Her throat felt dry. "I want you, too."

As if that hadn't been obvious enough an hour ago, Louise thought, when she'd been on the verge of telling Ben all the things she wanted to do to him with her mouth. The thought brought heat to her face. She wiggled her bare feet on the carpet, and Ben cleared his throat.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

She sighed. "That's not your line."

"Pardon?"

"You're the responsible one." Louise crossed her arms. "You're meant to say that this was a mistake, and that emotions were high, and that you regret everything. You're supposed to tell me to think of the kids. And you should remind me that — when we inevitably sleep together, argue, and fall out — it'll ruin their lives."

Ben rubbed at his jaw. "I've had enough of being the responsible one, I think."

He was studying her thoughtfully, but there was something dark in his gaze. Something that made Louise's stomach tighten. She took a step back.

"We can't," she said.

"I know." Ben dropped his hand. "Bentley?"

"Yes?"

His gaze was almost plaintive. "Can you be the responsible one tonight?"

"I don't want to be," Louise said.

But she'd have to be. That much was clear from Ben's hungry, roaming gaze, the way he tensed as she shifted, as if he was aware of her every movement. As if he couldn't help himself. Louise turned for the door.

"There's a cot downstairs," she said. "I'll get it."

"No, I'll go." Ben pushed back the sheets. "You can have this room."

"Thanks."

Louise climbed into the bed. The sheets were still warm from his body heat, smelling vaguely of soap and pine. Ben paused at the door. When he spoke, his voice was low.

"For the record," Ben said, "you make it very hard to be responsible, Bentley."

He slipped out the door.

Louise flopped back against the pillows. The warmth was seeping out of the bedsheets, replaced by the January chill. Her toes went numb. And for the first time in weeks, Louise had trouble sleeping again.