The Promise

Chapter Thirteen Kid Friendly

I had butterflies at the same time I was experiencing pleasantly unpleasant (or unpleasantly pleasant) flashbacks as I parked in front of Benny’s house.

I sucked in a breath, grabbed my purse and computer, and exited my rental car.

When I did, as if she had a sixth sense, I saw Mrs. Zambino standing out on her stoop, high-heeled boots on, hair up, arms crossed on her chest that was covered in a sweater I was pretty certain I saw a celebrity wearing in last week’s issue of Us magazine.

She wore it better.

She was staring at me, a severe look on her face.

Well, there you go. Benny’s family was Switzerland, but Mrs. Zambino was pissed at me.

I ignored that, juggled my bags, waved enthusiastically, and called, “Hey there, Mrs. Zambino!”

Her body jerked in a peeved way, then she turned and stomped into her house.

I made a mental note I had work to do with Mrs. Zambino and turned toward Benny’s.

I was at the top of the stoop when the door opened.

Then I wasn’t at the top of the stoop, seeing as Benny’s arm flashed out, hooked me around the waist, and yanked me inside.

The door slammed shut about a second before I slammed against the wall of Ben’s foyer, pinned there by Benny.

“Couch or bed?” he asked, his eyes an inch from mine, and a throb pulsed between my legs.

“Wh-what?” I asked back, following, but not able to process what was happening quickly enough to make an appropriate response.

“Bed,” he rumbled, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Room to move. We’ll break in the couch when I’m focused.”

When he was focused?

What did that mean?

I had no chance to ask. My purse and computer bag were on the floor, my hand was in Benny’s, and he was dragging me toward the stairs.

When we hit the stairs, I still had no chance to talk, since I had to concentrate on where my feet were taking me so I didn’t slam face-first into a stair.

After that, I had to concentrate on not tripping down the hall.

Then I had to concentrate on staying upright when Ben whirled me to face him, my back to the foot of the bed, and he pulled my trench with blazer down my arms and tossed them aside.

Only then did I slam my hands on my hips as I glared into his eyes and snapped, “Well, hello, Benny Bianchi.”

His reply was to plant his hand on my chest and shove.

I let out a small scream and hit the bed on my back.

Benny hit me.

Then his mouth hit mine.

And then he was kissing me.

It finally filtered through my brain that this was hot, all of it. He was kissing me and I liked the way he tasted. So I wound my arms around him and kissed him back.

If I had time to think about it that day (which I didn’t), I would have thought the first time was about uncontrolled emotion, need, and the fact I hadn’t been laid in over seven years. I was getting laid by Benny Bianchi, all of this explaining why it went so fast, burned so bright, and felt so good.

But luckily, I didn’t have time to think about it. Because if I did, I would have started fretting about when it would go slower and I’d have plenty of time to sink right into my head like I had with Vinnie. Wondering if I was doing something right. Wondering if he liked something I was doing, if I was exciting him, or if he was just hard, ready, and going through the motions so he could get inside me and finish things.

If I’d had time to think about it, it would have embedded itself in my head so it would be all about if I was doing it right, out of practice, or never really had the skill in the first place, and if Benny liked what I was doing.

I didn’t have the time to think about it that day, and I really didn’t have the time to think of it in that moment.

This was because Benny was action man. I should have known, considering he rarely missed opportunities.

Me in his bed without stitches in me, he wasn’t missing this one.

It was about hands and mouths and noises. Touch and taste. The scent of his aftershave. The titillating sound of him pulling the zipper down at the back of my dress. His hands moving in to glide skin against skin along my sides. The taste of his neck. The feel of his hardness against my thigh, my belly, my hip. The silky caress of the lining of my dress as he yanked it over my head. His tongue at my nipple over my bra. The feel of his hair in my hands. The excitement of him tearing my panties down my legs.

And then it happened.

He spread my legs, rolled between, and put his mouth to me.

Already ignited through sensory exploration, the feel of him against me made me combust.

I dug my heels into the bed to drive myself further into his mouth, but did this for a nanosecond before he swung my legs over his shoulders.

It was then I dug my heels in his back. He growled against my sex and it didn’t hit me I was still wearing spiked heels. It also didn’t hit me that it was not a growl of pain but something else entirely.

He feasted on me, then his mouth closed around my clit, sucked hard, and he thrust two fingers inside.

“God,” I cried out, doing a full body arch, driving my hips deeper to Ben’s mouth.

I had been beyond excited, but the climax that slammed through me at what Benny was giving me was a surprise.

More of a surprise, Ben pushed it. He sucked, he finger-fucked me, and I dug my heels in his back, straining for more, moaning and whimpering.

He pulled his fingers out, dragged his tongue through my wetness, and I shuddered against him only to feel him pull away from me.

I opened my eyes, closed my legs, lifted my head, found him standing at the foot of the bed, and I whispered, “No.”

“Not leavin’ you, baby,” Ben whispered back before he tore off his tee and went for his jeans.

At seeing that, I moved.

I was up on my knees in the bed wearing nothing but lace-topped thigh highs, spike-heeled pumps, and my bra by the time Ben was naked. His dark, hot eyes roamed all over me, his lips rumbling, “Jesus,” and he moved back to me.

His arms closed around me, mine closed around him, and he fell forward, taking me back.

I wrapped my legs around him as he reached to his nightstand.

He gave me his mouth, even as he angled his hips away, kissing me, and please, God, rolling on a condom at the same time.

Suddenly, I felt the tip of his cock glide through my wetness, and just as suddenly, he was inside.

And again, I had Benny.

“Yes,” I breathed in his mouth.

“Fuck yes,” Ben groaned against mine and took my mouth again in a deep, wet kiss as he pounded inside me.

It lasted a while. It felt awesome for that while. Ben alternately kissed me or moved his mouth to play at my neck for that while. And if I could think of anything but all that Benny was making me feel, I wouldn’t have been able to say which I liked better (though, probably kissing).

But I knew he was ready and he wanted me there with him when his hand went between us, thumb to my clit, and he coaxed me right where he wanted me to be.

It didn’t take a lot of coaxing.

My limbs spasmed around him and my cry drove down his throat as he took me over the edge.

I held tight and enjoyed the ride as, a couple minutes later, Ben joined me.

He stayed deep and I felt his ragged breaths turn smooth against my neck as his hands, slow and gentle, roamed over me, shoving under me, anywhere he could get to me.

Finally, his lips trailed up my neck to my mouth where he brushed mine, he locked eyes with me, and finally, ending the festivities in a sweet, tender way I’d remember for the rest of my life, he skimmed the tip of my nose with his and I saw his eyes start smiling.

“Hello, Frankie.”

It was his turn to see my eyes smile when I replied, “Hello, Benny.”

“You wear thigh highs every day?” he asked, and my brows drew together at the strange question.

“Yes.”

“Lace tops?”

“Mostly.”

He looked to the pillow above my head and muttered, “Fuck me.”

This confused me.

“Is that bad?” I asked.

He looked back at me. “How many doctors and reps you got who are guys?”

“Um…” I mumbled as answer, which was all I had to do. He got me.

“Right,” he murmured.

“They can’t see them, Benny,” I pointed out.

“They can, Frankie.”

That was when my eyes went squinty. “They can’t.”

“Okay, maybe not, but they can sense them.”

Seriously?

“No they can’t!” I snapped.

“Your legs, your ass, you in a dress, they absolutely can. And if they can’t, then they’re hopin’ you’re in thigh highs, and trust me, you are inspiration for good visualization, even if a man doesn’t normally have that skill.”

Although that was a compliment, the thought of the people I worked with visualizing anything about me, I couldn’t go there. So I didn’t.

“Okay, they can. Then…so?” I gave in to move on.

This time his brows went up. “So?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Babe, you get what’s goin’ on here, yeah?”

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, so it sounded winded and a little unsure when I said, “Yeah.”

“This is you and me, and that means only you for me and only me for you. That means you’re mine and just fuckin’ me. That means, me bein’ full-blood Italian, not a big fan of you off meetin’ with guys who are thinkin’ about you in a bra, panties, thigh highs, and your heels.”

All uncertainty left me and, again, my eyes got squinty. “I can’t quit my job because men think with their dicks.”

“You can wear slacks,” he returned. “And nix the heels and buy some flats.” He paused before he finished, “Ugly ones.”

“I’m not wearin’ ugly shoes!” I said loudly.

“Okay, then buy some not-ugly flats.”

“I’m not wearin’ flats. Or slacks,” I declared.

He stared at me a moment before he repeated, “Fuck me.”

“Can we stop talking about this so you can feed me?” I asked, then added, “I’m hungry.”

His expression shifted from sex-satisfied with the addition of aggravated to sex-satisfied with the addition of warm affection before he asked, “What you want?”

I wanted one of Benny’s pies. What I didn’t want was him to have to go to the restaurant to make one.

Nevertheless, to make a choice, I needed more information. “What are my choices?”

“Barbeque chicken sandwiches or anything that delivers.”

“I take it your ma’s provisions ran out.”

His face gentled so his words wouldn’t sting when he replied, “Yeah, baby. Five months, that was gonna happen.”

His gentle face was awesome.

But his words still stung.

“I’m an idiot,” I blurted on a whisper.

Ben heaved a sigh, pulled out, and rolled to his back, moving me with him. When he had me on top, he lifted his hands and gathered my hair, holding it away from my face on either side of my head, and he looked into my eyes.

“Sucks, but apparently, fuckin’ you again didn’t sort all our shit.”

“Apparently not,” I muttered, my eyes drifting to his ear.

“Baby.”

My eyes drifted back.

“Let’s start with the easy shit. You want barbeque or you wanna order something?”

Starting with the easy shit was a good idea.

Still, I had to ask. “What kind of barbeque?”

“Jack Daniel’s ready-made.”

I felt my eyes get big.

“Oh my God, that shit is the bomb,” I breathed.

He grinned and murmured, “Barbeque it is.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Right, then get off me, baby. I gotta get rid of this condom and feed my girl.”

I rolled off and Ben rolled off with me.

I then watched his ass, something I’d never seen unhindered, as he sauntered to the bathroom.

After enjoying that show and allowing myself a moment to enjoy the memory of that show when he disappeared, I spied my suitcase against the wall and moved.

I found my panties on the floor, nabbed them, kicked off my shoes, pulled the undies up, and discarded my thigh highs. I had my suitcase open on the floor and was kneeling by it, digging through my limited business travel selection when I saw Benny’s bare feet and the hems of his faded jeans on the floor next to my case.

I looked up (and up and up) encountering denim-clad thighs, a package I’d unwrapped and knew intimately that the treat inside was thrilling, bare abs, chest, and shoulders—their lines, ridges, and flats covered in smooth olive skin—and finally his handsome face pointed down to me.

“You need somethin’ to wear?” he asked.

“I didn’t pack lounge-around-Ben’s-house gear,” I answered, and his lips quirked.

“Right. Next time, remedy that,” he ordered and moved to his dresser. He opened a drawer, pulled out a faded red tee, turned, and tossed it to me.

I yanked it on and it had barely fallen over my ass before he had my hand in his and was pulling us out the door.

We hit the kitchen and Ben got out the meat. He nuked it while I got plates and put out the buns. Ben opened himself a beer and grabbed a bottle of wine. I grabbed a glass for my wine (one, incidentally, that I was pretty certain he stole from the pizzeria). He poured, then he moved to the meat, divided it between the buns, put a slice of Swiss cheese on it, and nuked it again until the cheese was melted.

It smelled divine and looked better.

Best of all, the entirety of this took about five minutes.

“Livin’ room,” he stated as a command and went on doing it. “Grab my plate. Come back and get the drinks. I’ll get the other shit.”

I would find, sitting in the corner of his couch, plate in hand, wine on the coffee table in front of me, “the other shit” consisted of Ben bringing out a jar of dill pickle slices and seven bags of chips.

Seven.

Something new to learn about Benny Bianchi. He apparently seriously liked snack foods.

I stared at the chips and noted Doritos Cool Ranch, Doritos Nacho Cheese, Jays Mesquite BBQ, Jays Sour Cream and Onion, Cheetos Puffs, Fritos Honey BBQ, and a tube of Pringles Cheddar Cheese.

Feeling like sticking with the theme, I carefully rolled forward on my knees, balancing my plate in hand, and reached for Jays Mesquite.

“Catch up,” Benny said as I sat back.

I put my plate on my lap, unrolled the top of the open chip bag, and looked to him. “Sorry, honey?”

He didn’t repeat himself.

He asked, “You get a dog?”

My heart squeezed because with his question he told me that, even though he didn’t answer my voicemails, he’d listened to them.

I liked that.

“No,” I answered. “Had a problem with my apartment. Well…” I hesitated, “actually about seven thousand of them. Then I had a problem with how they didn’t seem to give a shit that I did when the shower didn’t drain, even after three days, and the garbage disposal didn’t dispose—it preserved, but not very well. After that went on awhile, I told them to go fuck themselves. One of our reps moved on to a job out of state and she was stuck in a lease. So I took over her lease.” I grinned at him, chip in hand halfway to my mouth. “Get this. My new pad is in Brownsburg.” I popped the chip in my mouth and chewed.

“No shit?” he asked, his brows up, his eyes smiling.

I shook my head. “No shit. Moved in two weeks ago. Vi and Cal are havin’ me over next week for dinner.”

“Then you know she’s expecting,” Benny noted, sandwich in hand, and after he said what he said, he bit in and half the meat hit his plate.

We needed forks.

And maybe knives.

Definitely napkins.

I shot him a happy smile at this news and answered him as I shifted out of the couch. “Yeah. She told me.” I put my plate on the coffee table, saying, “Gonna get forks and napkins.”

“No napkins, babe. Paper towel.”

Yeah. Right. He was a guy. Of course he wouldn’t buy napkins.

I came back, handed him his fork and knife and portion of paper towel, and had just settled back with plate in hand and chips at the ready when he asked, “Your old landlord give you shit for jumpin’ your lease?”

It was then I was seeing that I shouldn’t have started with that.

I put my plate on my lap and began carving into my sandwich.

“Frankie?”

I lifted a bite and put it in my mouth.

So good.

“Francesca.”

At my full name and the way he said it, I looked to him.

“They gave you shit,” he stated as a fact he now knew from the look on my face. Then his expression turned scary. “They still givin’ you shit?”

I chewed, swallowed, and mumbled, “Uh…no.”

“Cut their losses,” he guessed.

I looked back down at my plate.

He didn’t like my avoidance tactic and I knew this when he grinded out, “Frankie.”

I looked to him and said quickly, “I called Sal.”

His face went straight into a scowl and he demanded, “Tell me you did not.”

“Not to…uh, lean on them or anything. To see if one of his attorneys might put the fear of God into them. That, well…worked.”

“Putting the fear of God into them is leanin’ on them, Frankie,” Benny informed me.

I made no comment.

The scowl didn’t shift as Ben asked, “Have you lost your mind?”

That was a loaded question.

“Babe,” he clipped out when I didn’t answer immediately.

“They were jacking with my credit, Benny,” I said in my defense.

“So you got a mob lawyer to threaten them?”

I tipped my head to the side as my nonverbal “yes.”

“You do not get into Sal for markers,” Ben said low.

“Sal said it was a freebie.”

“That man keeps track of every-fuckin’-thing and you know it. You do not get into him for markers. You do not get into him for anything. And if I had my choice, you would not have one fuckin’ thing to do with him.”

“He’s family, Benny,” I reminded him quietly, because he was, in Ben’s case, actually blood.

“He’s a sociopath, Frankie,” he returned.

That probably couldn’t be argued.

Though he was a charming one.

I decided not to give that opinion to Benny.

I went back to my food, suggesting, “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about Sal.”

“Oh, we’ll be talkin’ about Sal,” Ben told me, and I looked back to him, chip in hand. “Just not now. He’s not top priority.”

Suddenly, I wanted to talk about Sal.

“Don’t look freaked,” Benny said, now gentle, and I focused on him to see his tone was written on his face. “We’re gonna eat. We’re gonna catch up. We’re gonna enjoy this. We can get into the heavy shit later.”

“I vote for next February,” I muttered to the chip bag.

“You’re still with me then, baby, I’d give you that,” Benny told me.

I looked back to him hopefully.

“But, just sayin’,” he went on, “that might not be healthy.”

And my hopes were dashed.

“Now, just eat, honey,” he urged. “And tell me if you like your new job. Tell me about your new place. And I’ll tell you how Chicago survived the earthquake that was Ma when Manny gave Sela the diamond she wanted from Tiffany’s and not Aunt Mary’s heirloom ring, which, even me, as a guy who knows fuck all about jewelry, knows is butt-ugly.”

I giggled at Benny.

Then I popped my chip into my mouth.

After that, I told him about my job, my new place, and listened to him talk about his family.

***

“I travel for work,” I declared.

It was after dinner and after the minimal cleanup, the most taxing part being hauling all the chips back to the kitchen. Ben and I were back on the couch but arranged very differently.

That would be, me on my back and Ben on me.

Once he got me in this position, I’d decided I’d live, breathe, sleep and eat in it, if I could.

“I get that, you livin’ in Brownsburg and bein’ here,” Ben said on a grin, his hands, as they’d been doing since he got me on my back, were roaming.

“What I’m sayin’ is, I’m usually out of town at least once every two weeks. I’m rackin’ up frequent flier miles.”

That ratcheted the grin up to a smile.

He got me.

I lost his smile when he dropped his head so his lips could hit my neck, where he murmured, “Sounds promising.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly, deciding I didn’t like my hands resting on his back over his tee.

I dipped them low, then up and got skin.

Better.

“What’s on for tomorrow?” he asked my neck.

“Two meetings,” I told his ear. “Then I was supposed to fly back. But my secretary already got me on a Sunday flight.”

“Excellent,” he muttered.

I stopped talking when his roaming hand roamed over my ass.

But my mind froze when he whispered against my skin, “What freaked you?”

I knew what he was asking and I was freaking right then because I didn’t have an answer.

He lifted his head and looked down at me. “What freaked you that day in the bathroom, baby?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

His head tipped to the side as his hand moved from my ass, up my side, and in to curl around my neck, where his thumb started stroking my jaw.

Once he had his soothing touch on me, he asked, “No clue?”

“Theresa came,” I said quietly.

His mouth went hard.

I tightened my arms around him. “Don’t blame her.”

“No way she should walk into my house like that, she knows I got a woman in it or not. That said, she knew I had a woman in it.”

“It’s not her fault,” I pushed.

“Okay, maybe not,” he gave in slightly. “But that’s not the point. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man, and my ma lets herself in, shouts up the stairs she’s climbin’, when I got my woman hot for me in my bed and the bedroom door is open? That shit’s whacked, starting at the lettin’ herself in part.”

It kind of was.

It was also not so kind of Theresa.

“She won’t do that again,” Ben declared.

“I bet not,” I muttered.

“What about her showin’ tripped you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it was just…just…” I searched for it and found something. The problem was, I wasn’t sure if it was the thing. “It was just that we were taking the next step, a big step. Theresa showed, reminding me what I’d lost and got back, and I freaked. As in, Frankie-style freaked, making a huge deal out of it and doin’ stupid shit that hurts people.”

His focus got weirdly acute and his voice got weirdly cautious when he asked, “When’s the last time you Frankie-style freaked like that?”

“I do it all the time,” I told him. “You know that.”

“No, babe. When’s the last time you Frankie-style freaked, doin’ it and hurting people?”

I shut my mouth and thought about it.

“When, Frankie?” he pushed.

I opened my mouth. “I…I guess I don’t know.”

“Was there ever a time?” he asked.

Was there?

I thought about that too.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Why’d you say that, then?”

Why did I?

Oh my God.

I stared into his eyes and whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” he whispered back.

“You’re the only family I ever had, Benny,” I said, still whispering. “The only good one. The only real one. I lost you once. All of you. I just…panicked. And it was panic, honey. I wasn’t freaking. I was freaking and I was freaked.”

“Saw that,” he told me. “Even fuckin’ felt it.”

“Oh God,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too, but not sorry about seein’ it or feelin’ it. Sorry that you wouldn’t even try to get a handle on it so I could see if I could get you through it.”

To that, I said nothing.

Benny did.

“That comes up again, Frankie, need you to plant it somewhere where it’ll grow, where you can get to it so you can find your way to gettin’ a handle on it, at least so I can see to you.”

“What if I can’t do that?” I asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know, cara. That’s why you gotta do what you gotta do to plant that deep.”

I decided to visualize, meditate, get crystals and talismans—whatever I had to do to plant that deep so I didn’t fuck us up again. Not to mention so I didn’t feel that panic again because it was not fun. And last, so I didn’t make Benny feel it.

His thumb gliding over my lips took me out of my thoughts, and I focused on him again just as he said gently, “You know, you’re not your ma.”

I closed my eyes.

“Babe, even before you hooked up with Vinnie, it was like you weren’t part of that family,” he continued. “Everyone said it.”

I opened my eyes.

“Enzo Junior’s the shit because the man is funny,” Ben told me. “He can hold his drink. He’s got a sixth sense when it comes to locating fine tail. And he’d drop everything if you needed him to have your back. But I know one of the things he’d drop is his woman, even if she was in the middle of her own shit, doin’ that so he could take his brother’s back. He’s a player. He’s in his late twenties and still says stupid shit when he sees a fat girl, which makes him a dick. And he’s the best of that crew you call family.”

“There’s Dino,” I told him.

“Dino’s an anomaly, proof that you weren’t switched at the hospital ’cause he shares your blood and he’s a good guy. But he’s a good guy because he got outta the mess you were bounced around in growin’ up. You’re you because of a miracle.”

His words made my breath catch as I stared into his eyes. “You think that?”

“Fuck yeah,” he replied. “Word is, Nat’s back with Davey, and she’s since hooked up with two other guys who are not Davey, he just doesn’t know about them yet. She’s also lost her job and found another since we last saw her, and the word about that is, she’s dancing.”

Oh fuck. That wasn’t good. That meant Nat, money, a lot of men, and not very many clothes.

Poor Davey.

“Cat has dropped off the face of the earth, which could mean anything,” Ben carried on. “Your ma, I don’t know and I don’t care. And in the time I was with you after you got out of the hospital, and our time earlier on this couch catchin’ up, you didn’t say a word about your dad and he lives fifteen fuckin’ minutes away. You fucked me over and sent me cookies. You make meetings on time and think about how to make an employee respect you. Your outfit today, babe…sexy, way too fuckin’ sexy…but admittedly, it was also don’t-fuck-with-me business. Sounds of it, you live in an upscale apartment building. You travel for your work in a way that they put you up in fancy hotels. Your future includes raises, promotions, the possibility of gettin’ a dog—but only the kind I want—and findin’ some way to do all that and circle back to a life with me. You are not them. You are nothin’ like them. You grew up fucked and you still grew up smart, strong, capable, funny, and loving. So yeah. Fuck yeah. That’s a miracle.”

That was all too much, too beautiful, I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t even believe it.

I certainly couldn’t comment on it.

But my voice was husky when I asked, “What kind of dog do you want?”

He gave me that play, but he did it with his eyes gentling, along with his voice, showing me he knew I needed to make it when he said, “Kid friendly.”

Kid friendly.

God, he was killing me.

“A pug?” I asked, and the gentle look vanished.

“No fuckin’ way.”

“They’re cute, sweet, snorty, and friendly.”

“Any dog that is even partially a permanent fixture in my life has to be at least five times bigger than a cat, and when I say that, I mean a big cat.”

“That’s the only rule?”

“That, and it has to be a Labrador, a golden retriever, a German shepherd, a boxer, or a bulldog.”

My heart thumped with joy in my chest as my lips said, “Oh my God, Benny, we need a bulldog named Churchill.”

I got the gentle look back and it came directly on the heels of the word “we,” but I couldn’t wallow in it because he stated, “We are not namin’ a bulldog Churchill. We get a bulldog, he’s named Gus.”

I screwed up my face. “That’s a boring name.”

He ignored that. “Lab, Charlie. Golden, Honey. Shepherd, Attila. Boxer, Bruno.”

Jeez, he had it all figured out.

“Those are all boring names, Benny,” I decreed, though Attila was kind of cool.

“You pick the dog, I pick the name,” he offered.

I shook my head. “No, you pick the dog, I pick the name.”

“Deal,” he said instantly.

Shit!

“No, wait, I wanna pick the dog!” I cried.

His lips turned up and he shook his head. “We had a deal.”

“We didn’t shake on it.”

Something changed in his face and I liked the change.

It also changed in his voice.

“Is that our gig? We make a deal, we shake on it?” he asked, his face getting closer to me.

“Yes,” I declared firmly.

His head veered at the last moment and his hand at my neck tightened as his face disappeared on the other side.

“We’ll shake on it later,” he said against my skin, then his mouth opened over it and I felt his tongue start gliding.

“Okay,” I agreed, suddenly breathless.

“Take your panties off, baby.”

“Okay,” I wheezed, totally breathless, shifting my hands to get my thumbs in the sides of my panties, thinking I was about to learn the meaning of what Ben said earlier about focus.

In short order, I found I was right.

I also found I liked Benny’s focus.

Definitely.

***

“Ben.”

“Yeah.”

“Ben.”

“Fuck yeah.”

I drove down on his cock and ground in, coming hard. Ben was sitting up while I rode him so my arms were tight around his shoulders.

I was finding with Ben, once I got there, he needed power. So he flipped me and gave me the power. His hips beat into mine, his face in my neck, one forearm in the bed, the other hand at my ass, tipping me up to take him deeper.

I slid both my hands to his ass and clenched in, holding on and coaxing at the same time.

He didn’t need my coaxing. It was Saturday night. He’d come home from the restaurant, woke me, felt energetic, and this was the culmination of a lot of hard work from Benny and me.

He drove deep and grunted his release against my neck, his hand at my ass clasping tight, fingers digging deep.

He didn’t give himself the chance to come down before he rolled us, still connected, so I was resting on top of him. Once there, he heaved a deep breath and kept his hand at my ass while he wrapped the other arm tight along my lower back.

I nuzzled my face in his neck and sighed.

Friday had been good. Ben took another night off work to be with me. So Benny, he took me out to dinner and a movie. Date night. Not Giuseppe’s, but it was still sweet.

That day, Saturday, we slept in. We lazed. We talked in whispers. We made love. Then Ben went to the restaurant and I camped out on his couch, watching TV, relaxing, trying to get to a place where I could accept the promise of a life that was what Benny seemed to be offering me.

Easy.

We’d agreed that my return would not be shared officially with the family (though it was certain Mrs. Zambino had been on her phone, so it was in no doubt this had happened unofficially) until I was ready.

I had a feeling Ben agreed to this to make certain my return took. But I didn’t ask. He wasn’t being cautious; he was all in. But I didn’t suspect my departure with Ben in close proximity of at least Theresa didn’t garner him some headaches. I could see him not wanting to court that again just in case I freaked, did something stupid, fucked up, and bailed.

“It gets too much, baby, you have my permission to give up on me.”

I said that against his neck. I didn’t think it before it came out. But what I’d been thinking before just made it come out.

When it did, Ben’s grip on me tightened momentarily before he rolled us again. He slid out while he did, but he ended full-out on top of me.

It was dark. When he came home and woke me to make love with me, he didn’t bother with a light.

Still, from moonlight and streetlight coming in through the windows, I could see the angles of his handsome face. I just couldn’t read them.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I answered in a whisper.

“Where’d that come from, Frankie?” he repeated.

I slid my arms around him and held tight, feeling a curl of fear in my belly.

“I don’t know, honey.”

“It came from somewhere,” he noted.

“I know.”

“How do we get to that place so we can dig that out?”

“I don’t know.”

He went silent and I did too, holding tight to him, looking into his shadowed face.

Finally, he spoke, deep, easy, quiet, and sweet.

But what he said was scary.

“Okay, cara, I’ll be givin’ you a bunch of ‘I don’t knows.’ But then, for you, for me, for us, I’ll get to a place where I can’t give you them anymore. I cannot dig blind. You gotta show me where to put the shovel. And that’s gotta come from you, Frankie.”

“I know.”

And I did know. I just didn’t know how to find that place, and I didn’t want to get to the place where Ben got sick of me not knowing.

“So locate where you want me to put that shovel, baby,” he urged. “And while you’re searchin, do it knowin’ I’m at your side. That means, you need to talk, I’m here. You need to freak, I’m still here. Bottom line, I’m here.”

On the heels of his words, I felt the fear evaporate. I slid my hand up his back and into his hair, asking, “How’d you learn to be so awesome?”

“I got my eyes to the prize, honey.”

I slid my hand to his cheek, lifted up, and put my mouth to his.

Ben slanted his head and took it.

The kiss was deep, sweet, and easy.

When it was done, Ben shifted to kiss my neck and rolled off the bed. He went to the bathroom and came back to me.

Naked, he tangled us together and murmured, “Sleep.”

I cuddled closer and closed my eyes.

“’Night, Benny.”

“’Night, Frankie.”

I snuggled deep and fell asleep.

***

“This sucks,” I declared, standing in Benny’s arms outside the security lines at O’Hare.

“Yep,” Ben agreed.

“I wish they still let non-fliers through security so I could look out the window on the plane and see you standing inside, watching me. You could put your hand to the glass and I could put mine to the window, and we could have one final moment that happens half an hour from now, and in between we can share a coffee.”

Ben’s lips tipped slightly up before he noted, “We’re not in a romantic movie.”

“That makes it better since it’s real,” I returned.

Ben ignored me and continued, “And I wouldn’t do that shit.”

My brows shot up. “Even for me?”

“It’s corny. I’m not corny.”

“It’s a moment.”

“I got one final moment with you, it won’t be with my hand on glass. It’ll be with my tongue in your mouth and my hand on your ass.”

I glared, even as I felt a spasm between my legs.

Ben grinned and dipped his head closer, muttering, “Bet now you’re wet.”

I glared harder because he was right.

Ben grinned bigger because he knew he was right, then he dipped his head even closer and took a Benny-style final moment—hand on my ass in O’Hare and everything.

I didn’t mind. I liked it. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it was way better than my idea.

He broke the kiss and ordered, “Call me when you get in.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to Man, schedule back-to-back nights so I can take a trip down.”

“Okay.”

“Check your schedule and sort a time when you dip into those frequent flier miles.”

My arms around his shoulders, I gave him a squeeze, smiling up at him and trying not to laugh since we’d been through this already.

Then I said, “Okay, Benny.”

His face changed. I liked the change just as I hated it because it told me how much he was going to miss me, mirroring my same feelings.

“Fuckin’ thrilled you healed the breach, Frankie.”

“Me too, Benny.”

His eyes warmed even further.

Then he bent his head, touched his mouth to mine, and said there, “Go, baby.”

I pressed my lips together, nodded, gave him another squeeze, and let him go.

Eight times through security, I looked back, waved, made faces, and blew kisses.

Every time I looked back, Ben was standing there, arms crossed on his chest, grinning at me.

The last time I looked back, I was through security and heading toward the concourse.

And Ben was still standing there, grinning at me.