# Chapter 24: The Book Truck, The Truth, and The Taste of Forbidden
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing today? I hope you're ready for another deep dive into the beautifully chaotic world of "Just for the Plot," because Chapter 24 is an absolute rollercoaster of nerves, desire, and life-changing decisions. So grab your favorite drink, get comfy, and let's walk through this chapter together — trust me, you're going to want to hear every single detail of what happens when Bennett Brinkman shows up at Bower's door with a very different agenda than she expected.
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Let's set the scene, shall we? Bower is pacing Adalade's living room like a caged animal, her mind spiraling into every worst-case scenario imaginable. The text from Bennett said he needed to talk to her about something "important." And by "important," Bower's anxiety-riddled brain has already jumped off a cliff, landed in a pit of snakes, and somehow crawled out holding a flaming torch labeled *"he told his sister."*
"I know he did," she says, tears welling in her eyes. "And now he's letting me down gently, telling me that she never wants to see me ever again."
Adalade, bless her soul, is folding cashmere sweaters like a woman who has absolutely zero time for this level of dramatic nonsense. And honestly, can you blame her? Bower's brain has somehow gone from *"he told his sister"* to *"she's coming here to punch me in the face"* in record time.
"Dear God in heaven, girl," Adalade practically snorts. "If you weren't so damn good at your job, I'd have fired you over this nonsense. You're a smart woman; start acting like one."
But Bower is convinced. This is the only conclusion, the only explanation. She's thought it through, okay? Every other possibility has been systematically eliminated from her overactive imagination.
Except, of course, for the possibility that Adalade suggests — maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed their "special book reading time" so much that he wants another crack at it.
Now, I need to pause here and give you a moment to appreciate the dynamic between these two. Bower told Adalade everything about what happened — the dry-humping, the fingers, the whole debacle — because at this point, Adalade is the only person she can talk to. And of course, Adalade responded in true Adalade fashion by sharing a story about her own youthful "dabbling in a good diddle" — her words, not mine — which made Bower's story seem like child's play in comparison.
"Do you think he'd text about that?" Bower asks, still resisting the idea. "We barely spoke about the dry-humping. I doubt he'd talk about the... the... the diddle."
"The diddle," Adalade repeats, utterly unfazed.
Bower capitulates, but she's quick to point out that they haven't talked about it since it happened. Well, okay, that's a lie. They chatted this morning. But it was mostly one-sided. Bennett was going on about something, and Bower mentioned the donut she ate, which made him mad she didn't share it, so he said she owed him one. And instead of handling it like an emotionally mature adult, she left a donut at his doorstep, bolted, and texted him from the car on her way to Adalade's.
"You're exhausting," Adalade says, picking up her iced tea like she needs a beverage to survive this conversation.
"I know. I hate myself for it." Bower collapses onto the couch next to her, leaning her head back. "Why did I dry-hump him? None of this would have ever happened if I had just gotten off him the minute I had my cupcake, but noooooo, I had to let my horny flag fly and grind down on his penis like it was my own fuck pillow."
And then Adalade, in her infinite wisdom, drops another gem: "Just be happy it was his lap and not his face. I heard that's a new trend — humping faces."
Where does she even hear these things? Apparently from Mark, her driver, who apparently shares far too much information with his employer about the "sit-on-my-face" trend that he tested with his girlfriend and found to be well-received but "quite a commitment."
"Since you're not in the business of committing to a handsome professional baseball player with a knee-melting smile," Adalade concludes, "it's best it was his lap."
Bower is speechless. And honestly? Same.
But before she leaves, Bower asks Adalade one more time: what does she really think Bennett wants?
"I don't know," Adalade says with a knowing smirk, "but given the upward trend of your interactions, I'd guess that he might want to ask you to sit on his face. I'd be open to it."
"Adalade. With all due respect, you have not been helpful."
"Just wait. I bet I'm right."
"There is no way you're going to be right about that."
Oh, Adalade. You wonderful, perceptive, chaos-causing queen. If only Bower knew...
---
Back at her apartment, Bower is a nervous wreck. She hates Bennett's late schedule — the man gets home so late after his games, and while she's grateful they're on the West Coast so games start earlier, the process of him leaving the stadium is still far too long for her frayed nerves. She checks the clock again, and again, and again. Her nerves are completely fried because she's been through every scenario in her head, and she knows for a fact that whatever Adalade suggested is not true.
No. This has to be about Gabby. It's the only logical explanation.
*Knock. Knock.*
Once again, she's going to throw up.
Bower reminds herself of the mantra: *Whatever you do, Bower, do not fall for any funny business. He's your friend's brother, he's your friend's brother, he's your—*
She opens the door and—
*Fuck, why is he so hot?*
I mean, really. Can you blame her? Bennett is standing there in gray joggers and a black T-shirt, no hat, his hair still wet from the shower and styled every which way, smelling like fresh soap — an intoxicating aroma that has her nipples pebbling to attention before she can even think about stopping them.
"Why does it look like you've seen a ghost?" he asks, stepping into her apartment.
"What? Me?" Bower laughs nervously, as if she's trying to hide a murder weapon in her pocket. "There's, uh, there's no ghost here."
"Bower?"
"Huh?"
"Why are you being weird?"
"Wow." She crosses her arms. "Care to tell me why you've decided to be so rude?"
Bennett's brow creases in genuine confusion. And honestly — yeah, girl, what *are* you doing?
"That's neither here nor there," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "What's important is that it doesn't happen again."
"What doesn't happen again? Sorry, not following."
"You know, the thing."
"What thing?"
Bower circles her hand in the air, as if that somehow communicates what she's too mortified to say. "The... thing."
"Bower." He scratches the top of his head, looking adorably befuddled. "What are you referring to?"
He's going to make her say it, isn't he? Of course he is. He's an immature little punk, that's what he is.
"You know... the diddling."
"The diddling?"
And then it hits him. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, slow and devastating.
"Beautiful, I wasn't even talking about that. But if you want to, I'd be more than happy to oblige."
"No, no." Bower waves her hands frantically. "Not necessary to talk about it, honestly. I haven't thought about it at all."
"Yeah, I can tell." His smile only grows wider, more infuriatingly smug.
"It really is just one of those things that happened, and then poof, oops, out of the memory, not logged away or anything. Just poof and it's gone."
"Because of how bad it was or how insignificant it was to you?"
"What? No, that was phenome— wait, umm... yeahhh." She drags the word out like a guilty child. "Actually, it was pretty insignificant, so if you could not tell your sister, that would be great."
Bennett purses his lips for a moment. And then, in a move that should be illegal, he closes the distance between them and pins her against the wall.
And the devil be damned, Bower's body heats up within seconds. *Freaking seconds.* Her hands go clammy. The back of her neck warms. Her mouth goes dry. And as he lowers his head, closer and closer, her entire insides start to thrum with want. With need. With so much yearning that she knows she shouldn't take from this man, but she wants to anyway.
"Insignificant," he whispers, his lips grazing her ear. "My fingers were fucking drenched, Bower. That doesn't seem insignificant to me."
Her stomach quivers. The spot between her legs throbs. Her skin prickles with electricity.
"Um, yeah... I don't know what to say to that."
Because she doesn't. His proximity is frying her brain. All rational thought has completely left the building, and she's barely holding back from throwing herself at him.
"Tell me you were lying," he murmurs. "That it was significant."
"No," she says, even as his hand finds her hip and her body cries out for him to slip it down her pants again.
"Why not?" His lips caress her ear, sending chills down her arms and legs.
"Because if I do"—she takes a shaky deep breath—"I fear it will happen again, and it can't happen again."
"Mm." His rumble vibrates through her. "And why is that again?"
"You know why."
"But you want to?"
"Doesn't matter what I want."
"Sure as fuck does to me." He pulls back just enough to force her to look into his beautiful blue eyes, his hand lifting to pinch her chin gently between thumb and forefinger. "But that's not why I came here."
The brief distance allows her brain to start functioning again. "Oh, not to, uh, not to chat about that? Because your text made it seem like that's what you wanted to chat about, like you told your sister or—"
And then his anger rolls in, sudden and intense, surprising her completely.
"Let's get one thing fucking straight." His voice is hard, unwavering. "Whatever the hell goes on between you and me doesn't apply to my sister. She's not a part of this. She doesn't make decisions for either of us. And if I want to read a book and then fuck you with my fingers, then that's what I'm going to fucking do, and she's not going to hear a word about it. Understood?"
*Oh my God.* Bower thinks she might have just orgasmed. The power. The strength in his words. The conviction. The protection. God, why does he have to be so hot, so attractive, so everything she thinks her body and her mind want? And why is he off-limits? Although... is he really? She hasn't told him to stop. She hasn't truly ended anything that he's started. No, she's indulged. Every single time.
"I said, understood?" he repeats, pulling her back to the present.
"Umm, ye-yes," she stutters.
"Good." His anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and he puts a few inches between them, taking her hand in his. "I spoke with Gretchen."
Bower clears her throat, feeling fuzzy and like she just got whiplash. "Okay."
"And the book club is taking off. She wants to sign on with a local bookstore that can help distribute the books."
"That sounds—"
"And I want it to be you."
Her brow creases. "But I don't have a bookstore."
"Your book truck," he says, looking at her like she's the confused one.
"Bennett, that's just a dream. It's not actually real."
"But you can make it real. This is the chance, the opportunity you need to push you in that direction."
Bower shakes her head, doubt creeping in. "I don't know about that. I'm not ready. There's so much that goes into it and—" His fingers press gently against her lips, silencing her.
"There's always going to be reasons not to try, Bower, but you can't let those cloud your vision. You know what you want, you've done the research, and you can make this happen. I know you can."
"I don't know. It all seems too quick and I'm not sure I really want to do this—"
"That's a fucking lie, and you know it." His gaze is intense, unwavering. "You've dreamed of this book truck for a while. You have the money for it, the capability, and the plans. You just need to take the leap and execute. Trust me." He looks her dead in the eyes. "I wouldn't push you to do it if I didn't think you could."
Bower bites her bottom lip and looks away. Could she? Could she actually put this together? She has the logo designed. The name. She has the truck, even. She just has to make the leap.
"I can see you thinking about it," he says softly, moving closer again. "Bower, I know you can do this. I fucking know you can. Gretchen wants it done in a week, but I know that's too soon. I'm going to hold her off, because I want your grand opening to coincide with the book club."
"That's a lot of pressure, Bennett."
"The kind of pressure that's worth it." His thumbs slip under her shirt, and her head falls back against the wall involuntarily. "This is what you've wanted for so long, so don't be scared now that there's an opportunity." He swipes his thumbs across her hips. "And I'll be here to help you."
"You're going on a long away trip tomorrow." Just the thought of him being gone for ten days makes her feel sick. And that's what should scare her the most, because have she really grown so attached to him that she can't fathom ten days without him?
This is bad. So freaking bad. And yet, as his hands play with her and he moves in closer, she doesn't stop him. She lets it happen. Because she knows, deep down inside, even though she knows her friend would not approve... she wants him.
Bower squeezes her eyes shut from that realization.
She wants Bennett.
She wants his hands on her. His mouth. His tongue. She wants to feel him, every hard, muscular inch. She wants him near her, on her... in her. She wants to know what it's like to be worshipped by him, not just in small pieces. She wants all of him. She wants to be controlled and possessed.
And the craving for it has grown each and every day, along with the fear.
"Just because I won't physically be here doesn't mean that I still won't be able to help," he says, his voice a low rasp.
"Help in what capacity?"
"Any capacity you want." His thumbs hook on the waistband of her shorts and tug them an inch lower.
Bower sucks in a sharp breath, her mind starting to go fuzzy again. It always does when he's this close. "I don't know, Bennett."
"What don't you know?"
"I don't know anything at this point." Her hand presses against his chest. "And when you're this close, it's hard to think. It's hard to even compute what you're saying."
"Do you want me to back away?"
Yes. No. But also yes. But fuck... ugh, no.
"I'm taking your silence as an answer," he murmurs, tugging her shorts down another inch until they're barely covering her.
Her mouth waters at the thought of what he can do. The ache inside of her grows so intensely that her legs feel wobbly and her core twitches, waiting for his touch.
"I'm so confused," she says, finally finding her voice.
"Confused about me?"
She shakes her head, then nods. "I shouldn't want this, want you. I know I shouldn't. And yet..."
He wets his lips, his eyes going feral. "But you do."
Maintaining eye contact, Bower does the one thing she probably shouldn't. She nods.
The smallest of smirks peeks past his lips before he whispers, "Good."
And then he drops to his knees.
He pulls her shorts down, along with her underwear, exposing her right in front of his face. He helps her out of her clothes, deposits them to the side, and then lifts her leg over his shoulder.
He looks up at her for a moment, hunger in his pupils. And he pauses. Waits for her to tell him no.
But for the life of her, she can't.
She knows she should, but she can't.
She's so desperate for him to make her feel alive again that she doesn't say one fucking word.
And he runs with it.
He brings his mouth right up against her, kissing her gently. Immediately, she grows wet, her arousal spiking with just one simple touch. His hand smooths over the back of her thigh and up to her ass, where he grips it tightly, right before he parts her and his tongue slowly drags through her slick heat.
"Fuck," she whispers, her hand falling to the top of his head.
He must enjoy the encouragement, because he pushes her leg open more and moves his tongue in even deeper, applying more pressure, hitting her in just the right spot for the sweetest torture ever.
It's heaven. Feeling him between her legs, the scruff of his jaw over her sensitive skin, mixed with the warmth of his mouth and the soft yet firm press of his tongue. It's a dream. Something that hasn't been done to her in so long that she actually wants to cry because she's missed this. She misses having a man lap at her like she's his favorite dessert. She misses being desired like this, like he can't get enough. And she misses the feeling of being taken in the middle of the day, without a thought or a care about the time, what's happening around them, or who could possibly disturb them.
This is hot. Raw. Sexy. And she doesn't think she'll ever be able to stop him. Because she doesn't want to.
"Yes," she moans, her body shaking from holding herself up on one leg.
His hand continues to squeeze her ass as his other hand travels up her thigh and then slowly inserts two fingers inside of her, curving them up toward that sweet spot.
"Fuck," she squeaks as her body convulses from the feel of his fingertips playing with a spot that has never been touched before. "Oh fuck, Bennett."
Her body clenches as he laps at her, over and over, his pace picking up, his fingers swiping in perfect rhythm — a maddening feeling of euphoria that builds and builds in the pit of her stomach. Consuming and billowing into something bigger than she ever expected. A feeling so overwhelming that her body grows slick with need, sweat dots her upper lip, and her thighs start to tremble.
"Oh God, oh fuck," she moans, her fingers digging into his hair.
His tongue grows firm, zeroing in on her most sensitive spot, flicking over and over again, heightening her arousal until every muscle in her body turns to mush. The only feeling that exists pools between her legs at a rapid rate, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her everything.
"Right there, Bennett," she moans. "Please don't stop. Fuck, don't stop."
He increases the intensity — faster, harder, matching each stroke of his tongue with his fingers — until a flash of light bursts behind her eyelids and she tips over the edge, her orgasm ripping through her and tearing her into what feels like a million pieces.
"Oh my God!" she yells as her body convulses, riding out the wave of pleasure on his tongue until there is nothing left inside of her.
After a few seconds of catching her breath — because honestly, what just happened? — Bennett stands and gently places a kiss on her forehead.
"Think about the book truck," he says, bringing this full circle as Bower still tries to figure out how he just rocked her world within minutes.
And then he takes off. Just like that. Leaving her breathless and satisfied in her apartment.
Bower lowers herself to the ground, pressing her hands to her face.
*Bennett Brinkman just tongue-fucked me. I just came over his stunning face. How did that happen? And why the hell was it SO good?*
She's been with a few men. She loves sex. But that? He hasn't even properly kissed her, and yet three times now, his only focus has been on giving her pleasure. He knew what he was doing, all right. And good God, she so wants that again.
God, she's so fucked.
Because all she can think about is how desperately she wants to return the favor.
---
And there you have it, my dear listeners — Chapter 24 in all its breathtaking, heart-pounding glory. What a whirlwind! Bower's anxiety melted into desire, Bennett's unexpected confidence in her dreams, the way he pushed her toward her goals while simultaneously pushing her against the wall — this chapter had it all. The emotional whiplash is real, and I'm honestly still catching my breath.
# Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
This chapter was an absolute triumph of tension and payoff. Bower's internal monologue had me laughing out loud one moment and clutching my chest the next. Bennett's fierce declaration that his sister has no place in whatever is happening between them was HOT with a capital H — the protectiveness, the conviction, the way he refuses to let her spiral into guilt. And Adalade? An absolute icon. Her unfiltered commentary about "the diddle" and sit-on-my-face trends had me cackling. But beyond the steaminess — and yes, there's plenty of steaminess — the deeper beauty of this chapter lies in Bennett's faith in Bower. He sees her dreams, he believes in her capabilities, and he's willing to fight to make them happen. That push to pursue her book truck dream, right before he leaves for ten days, adds a beautiful layer of emotional depth beneath all the fireworks.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
# Next Chapter Prediction
Well, now — Bennett just left Bower in a puddle on her apartment floor, ten days of away games stretching out ahead of them. I'm predicting that distance will only make their hearts grow fonder, and Bower will throw herself into planning her book truck launch with a new fire — probably texting Bennett late at night, fighting her feelings, and definitely overthinking every single message. But here's what I'm really worried about: Gabby. The invisible elephant in the room. Bennett said his sister isn't part of this, but we all know that's easier said than done. I suspect we're about to see Bower stepping up, making big moves, and possibly actually creating that book truck — and I cannot wait to see what happens when Gretchen's book club collides with Bower's new reality, and when Bennett finally comes home.
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