The Promise

Chapter Fifteen Crazy

I was hustling out of the staff kitchen on my way to my office with my clean coffee cup because it was Friday and no one wanted to come back to the office on Monday seeing the dried remains of last week’s coffee in their mug.

Even though it was barely four o’clock, the place was nearly deserted. It was May, summer was coming on strong, and people were way past cabin fever. They wanted out and about and to make as much of the weekend as possible.

I was one of the last in the office, because even though I’d been there seven months, I wasn’t the kind of person to slow down. I had numbers to reach, but I never looked at numbers to reach as numbers to reach. I looked at them as numbers whose asses needed kicked. I was guiding my reps to kicking that ass, and even though Ben was right then at my apartment, having called ten minutes ago to tell me he’d arrived, I wanted to make sure it was all good at work before I left. I hadn’t seen him since I spent the week with him two weeks ago. He was down for a long weekend, leaving on Tuesday, and I was taking Monday off.

So I had to have my ducks in a row so I could be all about Ben and not have work encroach on that.

I’d already packed up so when I got to my office, I put down my mug, grabbed my purse and my computer bag, nabbed my keys and cell off my desk, and hightailed it out the door.

I was walking by Randy Bierman, the Director of Research and Development’s door and saw he was the only one left in the office. He was mostly turned in his chair to look outside, phone to his ear.

In all the time I’d been there, I still didn’t know what to make of Randy, seeing as most of the time he was kind of a dick. He treated his assistant like shit, was cranky nearly every day, and he was intensely secretive. Always behind closed doors. Rushing to his office the instant his cell phone rang. Shutting the blinds on the window wall to his office, like we all could read lips or had superhuman hearing.

The guy was research and development at a pharmaceutical company, so secretive was part of the job description. But on my first day, I’d signed a nondisclosure agreement that was twelve freaking pages long, and I was management, as was everyone on our floor. I had stock options. I liked getting my salary. I liked the zeroes at the end of that salary. I’d hardly screw that pooch, nor would anyone on that floor. Especially since, if we did, we’d be memorizing the inside of a courtroom and selling a kidney to afford our attorneys because Wyler would sue us until we were living in a box on the street.

Still, a girl had to make an effort and I worked with the guy.

So I stopped by his door and was about to knock, just to give him a wave as a nonverbal good-bye, when I heard him speak.

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s the last time, no more. You come at me again, you will force my hand, and how you force it, you will not like. Are you understanding me?”

He didn’t sound happy, and the words were definitely not happy, so I did not knock. I backed away and headed to the elevators, thinking maybe I should give up on Randy. Nothing Randy did gave any indication he was anything other than what he seemed to be.

A dick.

And it was my experience that dicks weren’t worth the time, even (and maybe especially) when you worked with them.

I gratefully left that behind and was in my car, happy to be heading home. A home that was a kickass apartment that had a courtyard with patio furniture I could finally use. A home in which a hot guy I was coming to love (okay, I was mostly there already) was waiting for me, and after two weeks of phone calls with him, we had three unadulterated days together.

These were my blissful thoughts when my phone rang.

I’d tossed my cell on my purse in the seat beside me, but my Bluetooth was in the vinyl around my stick shift.

I snatched it up, put it in my ear, and hit Go.

“You’ve reached Francesca Concetti,” I greeted.

“Frankie, amata.”

Sal.

“Hey, Sal.”

“You’re well?” he asked.

“Yep. You?”

“Things are good,” he answered.

“Gina?”

“Gina, not so good.”

I felt my neck get tight.

I knew I shouldn’t. Ben was right, Sal was probably a sociopath. But I still liked him.

I could easily blame him for Vinnie’s death, but he didn’t twist Vinnie’s arm to make Vinnie work for him. He didn’t say no to Vinnie joining his crew, but still, that was all on Vinnie.

And when Vinnie was working for Sal, before, and definitely after, Sal and his wife, Gina, were good to me. Take out the Mafia part and they would have been the parents I would have wanted to have.

I’d never say it to Vinnie Senior and Theresa, because they’d lose their minds and probably never speak to me again, but Sal and Gina were a lot like them.

Sal was a little more intense, rougher around sharp edges that were covered in a veneer of refinement that came with money and power. Gina was a little quieter than Theresa, but she found ways to do what she had to do as an Italian woman, mother, and grandmother, which consisted of meddling, getting her way, and controlling her family.

Sal did not like me and look after me just because Vinnie died and he felt that was his duty. He cared about me. Genuinely. The same with Gina.

Seeing as he was a crime boss and she was his spouse, the smart thing to do after Vinnie died would have been to extricate myself from their lives to the point it was just about Christmas cards, eventually losing their address and stopping even that.

But I was me. Frankie.

And apparently, even when I should, I didn’t bail.

This thought would have made me smile, but I didn’t smile because I was worried about Gina.

“Something’s wrong?” I asked cautiously.

“Yeah, amata, somethin’s wrong. She’s got a lotta love for her Frankie. She hears her girl has moved to Indy but comes home to Chicago frequently and she doesn’t get a call? She doesn’t get an offer to meet for coffee? Her girl doesn’t come over and sit at our table?”

Shit.

I drew in a deep breath and shared quietly, “Sal, honey, you probably know, but I’m seeing Benny Bianchi.”

“I know, cara, and good for you. Good for him. It’s about time that boy pulled his head outta his ass.”

I blinked at the road.

Sal kept going.

“Now he’s shoved it right back in. He finally got you where he’s been wantin’ you and where are you? In Indy. He’s in Chicago. Amata, what is that?”

“I had a job to take in Indy, Sal.”

“And he’s got a pizzeria that makes more money than Tiffany’s, Francesca.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, slowing for a stoplight.

I heard him expel an exasperated breath, then explain like I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, “It isn’t like you gotta work.”

Oh. That was what it meant.

“That’s not the kind of woman I am, Sal.”

“Benny got his head outta his ass…again…he’d have words with you and make you that kind of woman.”

I reminded myself he was a mob boss—a mob boss who loved me, but a mob boss who very likely did a variety of pretty scary things to people who pissed him off.

Therefore, I didn’t turn my full attitude on him when I said, “Love you, Sal. You know it. And no disrespect. But the fifties were a really long time ago.”

“I’ll give you that, Frankie, but you couldn’t get a job in Chicago?”

“This isn’t a job, Sal, it’s a career. And you don’t jack people around like that or you’ll find your career gets real short real fast,” I informed him as the light turned green and I hit the gas.

He was silent as I shifted to second, then into third and moved toward the next light, hoping it would stay green.

Finally, Sal spoke again.

“Benny and you, this mean not-so-good things for my Gina?”

I knew what he meant. He knew Ben detested him. Ben might not detest Gina, but Gina came with Sal so he had nothing to do with her by extension. Me with Benny—a Benny who might not demand that I keep his house while he’s out making pizzas, but still was a man who was all man, not to mention Italian American man—meant that he could very well, by extension, demand I had nothing to do with either of them.

Sal was asking for Gina.

But Sal loved me, so Sal was also asking for Sal.

I thought that was sweet and it was precisely why they hadn’t fallen off my Christmas list in eight years.

“We haven’t really worked that out yet,” I said to Sal.

“I see,” Sal murmured.

“Though, I will say, I’ll be at your table again, but I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that Benny won’t be with me. You know you and Gina mean the world to me, but Ben and I are working this out long-distance, and when we have time together, it’s been all about taking that time to be together. That means I lost track. But next time I’m up, I’ll make certain to take some time with you and Gina.”

I approached my turn and hit my turn signal as Sal replied, “That’d make Gina happy, amata.”

His voice said that would make Sal happy too.

Another five years on my Christmas list.

At least.

“Okay, Sal. Tell her I said ‘hey’ and I miss her.”

“Will do, Frankie. Addio, mia bella.”

“Ciao, Sal.”

I hit the button on my Bluetooth to disconnect and tried to decide if I should share that call with Benny.

I was driving through The Brendal by the time I decided I would, but maybe I’d do it Monday.

Or on the phone on Tuesday.

I was swinging into my spot next to Ben’s Explorer, again feeling happy at the same time perplexed as I saw my other guest spot taken up by a shiny blue Chrysler sedan with Illinois plates, when my cell rang again.

I was seconds away from Benny, however, so I decided the call could wait.

The caller obviously decided the same thing because my phone only rang twice before it stopped ringing.

I was out of my Z and fighting back the urge to skip (or run) to my front door when the door opened and Ben prowled out.

Tee, jeans, running shoes.

Top-to-toe yummy.

I decided on running but didn’t get that first stride in because the look on Ben’s hard face stopped me. If that didn’t do it, him lifting a hand palm toward me did.

I met him on the sidewalk at the end of the path to my door.

“Called you just as you hit your space,” he announced and immediately kept announcing, “Five minutes ago, you got company.”

I looked back at the car in my guest spot that I’d never seen before, then up at Benny and I heard it.

“Frankie!”

Loud. Jovial. Nothing ever got him down because he wouldn’t let it.

I knew that voice.

Enzo Concetti, Senior.

My father.

“Shit,” I whispered, not tearing my eyes from Benny.

“Your dad,” Ben confirmed what I already knew. “I wanted to slam the door in his face but couldn’t. Decided to call but you showed.”

“Fuck,” I got out before Dad descended.

Regardless of the fact I had a purse and computer bag, which would make any embrace awkward, he wrapped his arms around my waist, picked me up, and shook me.

“My baby girl!” he shouted.

I couldn’t move my hands so I just looked down at him and greeted, “Hey, Dad.”

“Heya, gorgeous.” He grinned up at me, then dropped me to my heels, let me go, turned, and clapped Ben hard on the shoulder, leaving his hand there and squeezing. “Girl, you scored yourself the good Bianchi.”

Ben’s face turned to granite.

As for me, my insides shriveled up.

Dad seemed not to notice Ben’s response, or the unbelievable inappropriateness of his words, and squeezed Ben’s shoulder, swaying it forward and back while saying, “No offense to the dead or that other one, uh…Manny.”

I watched as slowly, Ben looked down to the hand on his shoulder before he turned his eyes to me.

This forced me to jerk out of my horrified stupor and cry, sounding desperate and, therefore, loud, “Let’s take this inside.”

Dad, who gave Ben one more sway while I held my breath, hoping Benny wouldn’t blow before Dad let him go, said, “Excellent idea.”

Thankfully, Dad let Ben go, but regretfully, he did it in order to move toward my front door.

I caught Benny’s eyes, giving him a nonverbal, yet still screaming, I’m so sorry.

Ben reached out and took my computer bag, then with his free hand, grabbed my hand and started me up the path my father was already taking.

“How’d you find me, Dad?” I called to his back, shifting the handle of my purse to my shoulder.

He stopped, turned, and smiled at me.

In that glance, I saw what I’d known a lifetime: I got a lot of him—dark hair that was shiny and lustrous (even without product); light brown, almond-shaped eyes with lashes I never had to curl because they were naturally curly; good bone structure.

Dad was tall, though, and I wasn’t, not really. And I got Ma’s curves and her light skin.

Looking at him now, well past his prime, he looked better than most men in their prime could ever hope to look. Vital. Strong. Handsome.

“Was it a secret?” he asked on a big smile. Sharing it was all the same to him, if it was or wasn’t. He didn’t give a shit. If I didn’t want to see him, he was coming anyway.

I knew this because he did.

But actually, it was a secret. He was one of the many reasons I escaped Chicago. So it was not great news he found me in Brownsburg.

Before I could answer, he went on, turning back to the door, “Enzo Junior.”

At that moment, I decided that once I found a way to get rid of Dad, calmed Benny down, fed him, and had sex with him, I was heading straight out to the drugstore to buy a big, fat, red Sharpie. I would then go home and use it, crossing my brother’s name off my Christmas list.

“Babe,” Ben said low and with a weird hint, not of anger…of warning.

I didn’t like the idea of what amounted to a further warning, especially when the bad news had already picked me up and shook me not a minute before.

Still, I looked up from watching Dad disappear into my apartment to catch Ben’s eyes.

The instant I did, he said, “Not a lotta time, cara, but brace. He’s not alone, and you get in there, don’t figure you’re gonna be happy.”

What did that mean?

I had no chance to ask.

We were at the door.

Luckily, I braced. Further to that fortune, Ben tightened his hand in mine, and for once, he moved into my house before me.

This gave me a view to what was inside so I had a moment to process it, the kick it dealt to my stomach, and partially recover before I had to face it.

Standing among the calm, muted blue, green, and purple colors of my furniture, and the fêng shui hand I had at decorating that was uncluttered and reflected the subdued tones of my furniture in harmony with my personality (or what I wanted my personality to be, which was far from subdued), stood my father’s woman.

I didn’t remember her name because I’d only met her twice. Once when Dad stopped at my apartment in Chicago when she was with him. He’d dragged her up, but he was only there because, “Baby, your daddy’s seriously gotta pee.” He did his business while she and I made awkward conversation. Then he came out, gave me a kiss, and they took off to wherever Dad preferred to be without him even telling me her name.

The second time, Enzo was in town and we were all together—Nat, Davey, Cat, her husband, Art, Enzo, and the girl he was dating at the time (who he also broke up with during that trip, making the trip home less than enjoyable, freaking Enzo).

Of course, this dissolved into pandemonium when Cat said something that set off Nat. They started fighting, loud and foul-mouthed. Enzo tried to play peacemaker and got sucked in, so he got loud and foul-mouthed. Dad lost his mind because we were “embarrassing” him in front of his woman, and he kicked us all out, even me, and I wasn’t doing anything.

That had been at least a year ago. Maybe two.

But in the end, I’d long since learned not to remember their names. They came, they went. When I was younger, I would latch on, hoping one would have staying power and maybe give me what I didn’t know at the time I’d needed. Most of the time, they were pretty cool and a few of them were very loving, sometimes genuinely, sometimes doing it thinking they could get to Dad’s heart through his kids.

They never stuck, though, and after a little girl gets heartbroken repeatedly at losing woman after woman who drifted through her life, she learned.

I learned.

So I didn’t remember this one’s name.

Dad got older, but his women’s ages stayed the same. The problem was, he had age, experience, and although not much maturity, he had some. His women usually didn’t, at least the last part, so he got bored of them easily.

This one had lasted a lot longer than most.

And I was seeing she was probably going to last even longer (though this was not a guarantee) because she was obviously very pregnant.

My brother had two women who were imminently going to give him children, as well as lawsuits for child support.

And my father’s next child would be aunt or uncle to someone who was their same age.

Now.

Seriously.

What the fuck was up with that?

I didn’t realize I’d frozen just beyond my small foyer until I felt Ben’s hand give mine a squeeze.

When it did, I looked from the woman standing in my living room to my father.

“Tell me this is a fucking joke,” I demanded.

“Frankie,” Ben said softly beside me.

I felt him get close, but I didn’t tear my eyes away from my father.

“Francesca,” Dad clipped, the jovial, nothing-gets-him-down-because-he-wouldn’t-let-it look evaporating and anger replacing it.

I looked quickly to the woman, who I noted distractedly was very attractive, but she had also turned very pale. “No offense to you. You’re probably awesome. But…” I looked back to Dad. “Are you fucking serious?”

“We came down to share our good news with you personally, spread the joy, and this is what we get?” Dad asked back sharply.

I, again, quickly looked at the woman and repeated, “Again, no offense to you…” My eyes returned to my father. “But, just sayin’, next time, spread the joy over the phone.”

Dad planted his hands on his hips and returned, “I do not believe you’re actin’ this way.”

“You don’t?” I asked, leaning back and pulling my hand from Ben’s so I could throw both up. Then I lifted one and pressed a finger to my face. “Well, let me see…why would I react this way when you’ve gotten a woman pregnant?” I threw my hand out and finished sarcastically, “Oh, I know! You’re bringin’ a kid into this world, and you’re the kind of man who had another kid who got shot and you” —I leaned toward him, screaming— “did not even go see her in the hospital!”

I heard the door close behind me, meaning Ben closed it, but he got back to me quickly and I knew this when I felt his arm hook around my waist. He pulled me back a foot and then positioned in front of me, slightly to my side.

I was totally pissed way the hell off, but still, him doing that…

God.

Seriously.

Benny.

“You got shot?” the woman asked, her voice sounding dismayed, and I looked around Benny to her.

“Yeah, it was on the news,” I shared.

“I don’t watch the news,” she said quietly, her eyes going to Dad. “Did you know this, Enzo?”

“Yeah, he did, since my ma called him the night it happened,” Ben put in but didn’t allow further reaction to this news. Being the awesomeness of Benny, he immediately moved to end our brief scene. “Now, congratulations on your news. Wish the best for you,” he said to the woman, then turned to Dad and went on, “But this didn’t go too good and you got a long drive ahead of you, so I’m thinkin’ we should cut this here before it deteriorates.”

Ben’s rational suggestion was ignored while the woman stared at my dad and my dad, who read her stare, stated, “Sweetheart, that happened to Frankie around the time you told me you were havin’ my baby.”

“And I told you I was havin’ your baby and you seemed pretty excited, Enzo, but you didn’t take me on a six-month-long celebration cruise with no phones, Internet, or Morse code machines,” she snapped back, and I felt my body jerk and my eyes get big.

None of Dad’s women ever spoke to him like that.

Not a one.

Except maybe my ma.

“Chrissy, sweetheart, I didn’t want anything to—” Dad started.

“Do not utter another word, Enzo Concetti,” she hissed, leaning toward him. Then her eyes cut to me, and Ben crowded me, even as I pressed into the side of his back at the look in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked, then tossed a hand my way. “I mean, after the shooting.”

“Uh…yeah. It was ages ago.”

“Was it random?” she bit out.

“Um…no. I was kidnapped by a crime lord and taken to a lakeside community. I escaped and ran for my life through the forest with another lady. The crime lord caught up with us and shot me. Then Ben” —I made a lame gesture in the air beside me to indicate Benny— “and his cousin, Cal, the boyfriend of the lady I was with, shot him. Seein’ as Cal shot him in the head, he didn’t survive. Though, Ben shot him in the gut, where the guy shot me, and I can attest that, even if that was all he’d had, he wouldn’t have been doin’ very well for a while. Luckily, though, he’s dead, and I don’t say that because I’m a bad person. I say that because he was a crazy person and he shot me.”

When I was done rambling, her narrowed eyes slowly cut to my father.

“She was kidnapped and shot?” she asked.

“Chrissy—”

“Did you know about the kidnapping?” Chrissy demanded.

Dad didn’t say a word, but he looked uncomfortable.

Ben said a word, though, and it was, “Yep.”

Chrissy looked fit to be tied for a good long time. While I reached out a hand to catch Benny’s, trying to breathe in the air clogged by a pregnant woman’s fury, I fought back the desire to laugh. Hard.

Finally, she looked to me, and the further fury on her face made me press closer to Benny.

Then it faded clean away and she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

I stared at her wondering if that just happened.

Ben was not quite as dumbfounded.

I knew this when he stated, “You don’t have to be. You didn’t know. You aren’t blood.” Ben jerked his head Dad’s way. “But he should be.”

“I—” Dad began.

“Shut it,” Benny suddenly barked with such ferocity, my whole body jerked. “You do not get to do this. I didn’t know where Francesca would be at when I let you in, but now I know. So now I’m gonna tell you, this is the last time you perpetrate a scene like this with Frankie. You were not a good father. You are not a good man. You’re selfish and stupid, thinkin’ for however many years you been on this earth primarily with your dick. Your girl laid in a hospital bed after draggin’ her bleedin’ body through leaves, and that was after she ran for her life, and you got the fuckin’ balls to show at her house unannounced and drop a bomb on her, not even sayin’ word fuckin’ one about what she went through without the support of her goddamned family?”

Ben shook his head, his eyes pinning Dad to the spot across the room, and he kept going.

“No. Frankie will put up with that shit because she’s a good woman, a good daughter. She’s Frankie. But I’m her man and I’m tellin’ you right now, I won’t.”

Dad squared his shoulders and declared, “Maybe we should leave.”

“Good idea,” Ben shot back, shifting immediately, taking me with him so we were no longer barring the door.

It was then that Dad did what Dad did when anything threatened to drag him down.

He escaped the situation immediately.

And in this instance, that meant him not looking at a single soul—not even the woman carrying his child, standing right there, not the daughter he’d come to see—and walking right out the door.

“This was a very bad idea and I’m so sorry,” Chrissy said quietly, moving to follow him.

“Again, not your place to apologize,” Ben said.

She nodded to him and would have only given me an embarrassed glance and a chin dip to say good-bye, but I didn’t let her.

As she passed me, I grabbed her hand.

She stopped and looked at me.

“Am I havin’ a brother or sister?”

Hope flared in her eyes and I got further ticked at my father, because seeing it, I knew she wanted this to go a whole lot better than it did. I also knew giving her child family was important. So I knew if I ever got to know her, I’d probably like her.

“Sister,” she answered.

I smiled. It was small but I gave her that and whispered, “You probably need to go, but call Enzo Junior. Get my number. Keep in touch.”

Bright filled her eyes and she whispered back, “I thought this would be a happy surprise. I never would have come with Enzo if I’d known—”

I cut her off with my hand tightening around hers. “I’m sorry for you it wasn’t. But I do wish you the best bringin’ my little sister into the world.”

She nodded and squeezed my hand back, saying softly, “Thanks, Francesca. And I’ll call your brother. Get your number.”

“Good,” I replied. “Now make him be safe driving you two home,” I ordered, dipping my head to her belly.

She grinned at me, no bright in her eyes this time, nodded again, and hurried out the door.

The instant it closed, Ben stated, “Pure fuckin’ Frankie.”

I looked his way. “What?”

“Your best bet is to steer clear of that situation, which is right now not good with the forecast of gettin’ real fuckin’ messy, and you tell her to keep in touch.”

“She’s carrying my baby sister,” I returned.

“Yeah. Pure fuckin’ Frankie.”

It was then I processed the look on his face.

So I smiled.

Ben didn’t smile.

He ordered, “Come here, Francesca.”

Our happy reunion delayed by a crazy one, unusually, I immediately did what I was told.

***

“Frankie, tesorina, stop.”

I closed my eyes, slid Benny out of my mouth, and took my time looking up at him.

It was after the scene with Dad, time for the good reunion after the bad, and things hadn’t started great.

And that was all on me.

It might have been being wound up by Dad’s visit and his news. It could also be what he’d said about me scoring the good Bianchi.

But it was mostly about me thinking that it was high time I saw to something I hadn’t seen to since Benny and I got physical.

He frequently went down on me to spectacular results every single time.

Either due to unconsciously avoiding it or the fact that Ben guided things in bed (completely), I’d never returned the favor.

Now, I was.

And I was tense, in my head, knowing he knew from Vinnie that I wasn’t good at it, worried he was thinking the same thing, and trying too hard.

I opened my eyes and looked his way and there it was. I wasn’t good at it. Ben’s face did not look at all like the dark hunger I was used to seeing when we were naked.

“Come here, baby.”

I didn’t want to go there.

I wanted to grab my phone and run to the bathroom, lock myself in, and exist on pizza and Chinese deliveries through the window until I knew Benny was gone and he’d made the decision never to see me again.

“Frankie, come here,” Ben repeated.

I still didn’t move, because I was frozen with humiliation.

I’d been embarrassed a lot in my life.

Like when I was seven and my mother wore that black, slinky, wraparound dress to church that had so much cleavage, it almost showed nipple, and Father Patrick’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he came out to give mass. Not to mention, when he gave it, his face was tight and I knew he was displeased with my mother and the fact that all the men were paying more attention to her breasts than his sermon.

Also the many times my father would run into someone he didn’t get along with too well, and it wouldn’t matter where we were—at a Cubs’ game, at a Burger King—he couldn’t ignore it. He’d say something smartass and the guy would return it and it was never pretty. He’d even once goaded a man who was with his wife and kids and didn’t want to be drawn in. But Dad didn’t stand down until the man had no choice but to call him out.

That one ended bloody, for both men, and not only had Dad done that in front of his kids without thought, he’d pushed that man into doing the same in front of his.

But even with all that, and worse, I was never more embarrassed than I was right then.

This, of course, made me freeze, perpetuating my embarrassment, seeing as I was on all fours close to Benny’s cock, staring at him, unmoving.

“Fuck,” Ben muttered, did an ab curl, grabbed me under my arms, and hauled me up his body. He rolled and covered me.

“I think I need to go to the bathroom,” I whispered, staring into his eyes probably like a deer in a road stared at the light coming its way.

“No you don’t. You need to talk to me. What’s fuckin’ with your head?”

My gaze drifted to his ear.

His hand lifted to my jaw and he ordered, “Frankie, look at me.”

I looked at him.

“What’s in your head?” he asked.

“I’m not good at that,” I admitted.

“Why?” he asked, and I blinked at his absurd question.

If I knew why, I’d be a whole lot better at it.

“Why?” I repeated, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh…I think you need to give the reasons for that, Benny,” I pointed out the obvious, but even doing it, that didn’t mean at that moment I wanted him to give me the reasons for it.

He shook his head but said (scarily), “You want that, I will, honey. But for now, I wanna know how you go hot and give it your all, lose control at a kiss, but get tense when you’re goin’ down on me.”

“I know you know I’m not good at it,” I explained.

“Okay. Is there more?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Something moved over his face I didn’t get before he asked, “That shit with your dad eatin’ you?”

I nodded.

“Anything else?” he pushed.

My voice sounded as horrified as I felt when I reminded him, “He said I’d scored ‘the good Bianchi.’”

“Think it’s been proved conclusively that your dad’s an asshole, babe,” Benny replied.

“That comment was more asshole than your garden-variety asshole, Benny,” I noted.

“Think it’s been proved your dad’s more asshole than your garden-variety asshole, Frankie,” Ben returned.

“You looked pissed,” I told him.

“I wasn’t pissed at what he said. He said it and I saw your reaction, and that made me pissed. I also knew what was waitin’ for you inside. He followed me out so I didn’t have my shot at warnin’ you, which made me more pissed. Not to mention, the fuckwad had his hand on me.”

He did.

“I’m sorry, Benny,” I said quietly.

“Why the women in his life apologize for him is beyond me. He’s the asshole, not you.”

“He’s my dad.”

“He’s not. He’s the man whose seed made you. I got a good dad, babe. I know the difference.”

I stared at him, his profound words hitting me.

I was not my father. I did not behave like him. I did not live like him. He helped create me, but now…

Well, now, I was me.

And it was beginning to seep in that I’d been me a long time.

As in…always.

And that was huge.

As huge as it was, naked in bed with Ben after giving him a terrible blowjob that was so bad, Ben felt the need to halt the festivities and have a chat, I didn’t share this latest epiphany.

Instead, I said, “You’re lucky, Benny.”

“I know, Frankie,” Ben stated. “Now enough about him. Is that it?”

“I think so.”

“Work good?”

“Yeah.”

“Your sisters or brother phone you recently?” he went on.

I shook my head.

“Good. So now, do you have any fuckin’ clue how unbelievably hot it is to see you and that body of yours, with all that crazy-beautiful hair all over my gut and thighs, takin’ my cock with your mouth?”

My body jerked, even as I felt a spasm between my legs.

“No,” I whispered.

“Thought I was gonna come just you touchin’ the tip with your lips. You took all of me…fuck.”

With that, his expression changed to the one I was used to when we were naked, and I felt my legs shift restlessly.

“I—” I started, but his face dipped close and I cut myself off.

“Lick, baby,” he whispered, and I felt a surge replace the spasm between my legs. “Taste me. All of me. Take your time. Suck. Glide. Get me wet. Nothin’s off-limits. Look at me while you take me. Watch what you do to me. Or, you want, I’ll get you there with you sittin’ on my face while you go down on me. I got my mouth on you, you won’t think of anything but that and my cock.”

Oh God, I wanted that. And he was right. If his mouth was on me, I wouldn’t think of anything but what he was doing, doing it with him in my mouth.

I kept shifting.

“Or you can kneel in the bed next to me and give me your pussy. I’ll play with you while you suck me off.”

At that, I stopped shifting and started squirming because I wanted that too.

Immediately.

My hands started moving all over Benny.

“Or,” he kept going, “I’ll take my feet, you kneel in front of me, and I’ll do the work and fuck your face.”

And at that, I planted a foot in the bed and rolled him.

“You make a choice?” he asked when I was on top and he was on his back.

“Shut up, Benny.”

He grinned at me.

That grin was a dare.

And I was suddenly feeling like a daredevil.

I moved down his chest and found for the first time, with Benny not taking charge, I had the time to discover that I’d never had before.

And all the magnificence of him was laid out before me, so I took that time with my fingers, with my mouth, with my teeth and tongue. There was a lot of him, all of it solid silk that was unbelievably fascinating. The taste of him thrilling. The feel of his fingers in my hair, or reaching to cop a feel, titillating. The noises he made to the way I made his body shift with turned-on agitation taking me straight out of my head and making me all about what I was doing to Benny.

Making me all about giving him more.

So by the time I reached my destination, I was so ready, I actually wanted to grasp his cock, climb on, and ride it.

Instead, I positioned between his legs and took it in another part of me.

The minute I did, Ben growled.

My eyes shot from what I was doing to his face, his cock still in my mouth.

When they met his heated ones, he groaned, “Fuck, baby.”

Watching him, I slid up then took him as deep as I could.

His legs cocked, his head fell back, I got a view of muscular throat and all that was Benny, and a pulse thrummed between my legs.

I took him again and felt his legs tense beside me.

He liked it.

And suddenly, so did I.

That was when I licked. I stroked. I glided. I used lips, suction, and hand. I got so into it, half the time I was watching him, half the time I was all about sucking him off, going for the groan, seeing him dig his heels in the bed, and I was getting off on this so much that I was near desperate to shove my hand between my legs to take myself there.

I should have let Benny play with my pussy.

I’d have to remember to do that next time, as in, later that night.

This was my thought when I had Ben deep, and I moaned against his cock. Then his cock was gone.

I started to look to him in surprise, but he was already on his knees. Then he was hauling me around and pushing me down so I was facing the end of my bed on all fours.

Then he was driving inside me.

Oh yes. Take two of things we’d never done: doggie-style.

“Benny,” I breathed.

He didn’t say a word. Hands clutching my hips, he yanked me back as he pounded into me, and it was then I felt it.

Ben wasn’t guiding this. Ben wasn’t in control of this. Ben wasn’t enjoying himself as he brought me to climax.

Ben had lost control.

Ben was fucking me because he needed to fuck me.

And I’d made him do that.

Me.

Frankie.

And I’d never had that.

Not ever.

It was phenomenal.

I felt a rush of wet between my legs at the thought, the corresponding ripple that coursed through me, and my head shot back, but I fell down to my forearms in the bed.

My head didn’t fall, though, because Ben reached over me, fisted a hand in my hair, and pulled back, forcing my neck to arch, my back to arch, and my sex to drive into his.

That was so fucking hot, I cried out, coming instantly, doing it gasping, panting, and moaning.

“That’s right, Frankie,” he growled, slamming inside me.

“More,” I begged, still coming.

He gave me more, pounding. Then his hand released my hair, both went to my hips, and he slammed me back as he bucked inside me, grunting, then groaning through his climax.

His thrusts calmed and he started to glide, his fingers digging into my hips, beginning to roam lightly across the skin of my ass, and I shivered in front of him at the beauty of it.

After a long time, Ben pulled out but bent over me. I felt his front against my back and his arms round me. Then I was up, kneeling in front of him, one of Benny’s arms wrapped around my belly, the other one under my breasts. One hand angled up, cupping me, and his mouth came to my ear.

“My Frankie, she’s determined to do somethin’, she goes big,” he whispered there.

I was right.

He liked it.

A whole lot.

I dropped my head to his shoulder and folded my arms over his on my body.

“Kiss me, honey,” he ordered.

I turned my head and tipped it back, but I didn’t kiss Benny. He dropped his mouth to mine and he kissed me. He did it for a long time. And when he did it, he did it deep, wet, and sweet.

When he broke it, he lifted his lips to touch them to my nose, then shifted so he could bury his face in my neck and give me a squeeze with his arms.

He seemed fine to stay that way, silent and holding me, and I wasn’t complaining.

Finally, he spoke.

“Got me so hot, didn’t use a condom.”

And I was so hot, I hadn’t even thought of that until then.

“You seein’ someone else?” I teased.

“Fuck no,” he answered.

Immediate and firm.

Nice.

What wasn’t nice was that this brought me to a thought that I wasn’t allowed to have. Not after what I’d done, burning Benny, leaving him for months, and doing it practically in the middle of a session that would have consummated what he’d worked so hard to build between us.

Now, it was a thought I had to have because of this conversation.

And it was a question I had to ask.

But I asked it quietly. “You see someone when I was gone?”

I felt his nose slide up my neck, and in my ear he whispered, “Dry spell.”

My body froze solid.

Oh my God.

A dry spell? For Benny Bianchi? As far as I could tell (and I paid attention), the last dry spell he suffered was four years ago, and that was only when a friend of a friend reported to me he had mono. And that dry spell had lasted only three weeks.

“Longest ever,” he went on, still whispering.

I blinked.

Oh my God.

“Apparently,” he kept going, “when a man finds what he wants and loses it, it’s not easy to get back in the saddle, even if he never actually got in the saddle.”

Oh God.

Benny just said that. He just told me that. He just gave me that.

God.

“Ben,” I said softly, unable to say anything else, like expressing in a million flowery words just how huge that was and just how much it meant to me.

“We’ve moved on,” he replied on a gentle squeeze. “And it’s good where we’ve moved on to. So it’s done.”

Pure Benny. Shit happened, he got over it, and he moved on.

But the beauty for me was that, this time, I got to go with him.

So I went with him and turned from the heavy, joking, “Right, so, you got the clap?”

His voice held humor when he answered, “Nope.”

“Me either.”

“So we’re good?” It was his turn to ask, and I knew by the weight of it that the question concerned more than what we were currently discussing.

“I’m on the Pill, baby,” I told him.

“Noticed that, makin’ sure,” he replied on another squeeze. Then he asked, “You wanna clean up or you want me to do it?”

The idea of Benny doing it was intriguing, but I’d thoroughly explored something intriguing about Benny already and decided to partial out the goodness.

“I’ll do it.”

“Okay, honey.”

He kissed my neck and let me go.

I scrambled off the bed, nabbed his tee, and tugged it over my head on my way to the bathroom.

I took care of business and headed back to my room, finding Ben up against the headboard, still naked, legs slightly spread and cocked. Again, top-to-toe yummy, except this time yummier.

I entered the bed and directly climbed on Benny.

He didn’t delay in shoving his hands under his tee, sliding them over the small of my back before one went up my spine and one went down to cup my ass.

For my part, I put my hands on his chest and looked into his eyes.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He smiled and did it huge, white and blinding.

Then he asked, “Seriously?”

I was absolutely being serious. His patience, guidance, and ability to turn me on and spur me on when I was embarrassed and formulating plans to barricade myself in the bathroom after badly attempting head the first time, I felt, deserved heartfelt gratitude communicated seriously.

Therefore, my “Yes, seriously” came out clipped.

“Babe,” he said, still grinning, putting pressure on his hand between my shoulder blades, pulling me down to him. When he got me where he wanted me, he stated, “You do know you’re thankin’ me for you givin’ me really fuckin’ great head.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

He kept going.

“Makin’ me so hot, it was either come in your mouth or fuck you on your knees.”

Shit, I’d just come and he again had me squirming.

His hand left my ass so he could wrap both arms around me and bring me even closer, trapping my hands against his chest.

“So goddamned hot.” His deep, easy voice was a rumble. “So fuckin’ wet when I got in there, don’t know how I held it, waitin’ for you to come.”

I licked my lips.

His eyes watched, they flared, and they came back to mine.

“You got off on that.” It was a declaration.

“Yeah.”

“All of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Came undone when I got rough with your hair.”

I did more squirming and repeated, “Yeah.”

His eyes got hot, even as they went lazy, and they dropped to my mouth as he warned, “It’s been good, baby, in a way I thought it was great. Now I know just what great you got in you. So prepare.”

My thighs clamped on his hips as the spasm ran through me.

His arms tightened and I read what he wanted, tipping my chin and offering my mouth.

He took it again, taking his time, slow, wet, and deep. Then he broke our connection but kept me close.

“You intend to feed me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied, grinning, taking Ben’s hint that after-sex talk was over, and starting to make a move to get off him.

This move was unsuccessful since his arms kept tight hold and I looked back at him.

“You okay with me layin’ it out for your dad?”

I did the best shrug I could with Benny holding me. “You’re lookin’ out for me.”

He shook his head and repeated, “You okay with me layin’ it out for your dad?”

I was nearly as close as I could get, but I found my way to get closer to him and said quietly, “Yeah, Benny, ’cause you were lookin’ out for me. That was insane, totally messed up, but I wouldn’t have had it in me to show him the door. I needed you to do that for me. You did it for me. So yes, honey, I’m okay with you layin’ it out for my dad. And, better, I’m okay ’cause he’s not the kind of man who would court a scene like that again, so it’s likely I won’t have to endure another one.” I reached up and touched my lips to his, pulling back and finishing, “Because of you. So not only am I okay, I’ll say thank you, baby.”

He slid a hand out of his tee and lifted it to pull my hair away from one side of my face, his eyes watching his hand, then moving over my features.

“Benny?” I called when he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just let his eyes roam over me.

When I did, his gaze came to mine. “Crazy-beautiful,” he whispered and my heart lurched.

He meant me. Not just the way I looked, all of me.

“I’m crazy-beautiful ’cause I let you deal with my dad?” I asked quietly.

“You’re crazy-beautiful ’cause you’re the kind of woman who has a heart who holds on and won’t let her show him the door.” He grinned and finished, “Lettin’ me have all the fun.”

“You’re just crazy,” I told him, but it wasn’t sharp or sarcastic—it was soft, and even I had to admit, it sounded sweet.

“Oh yeah, I’m crazy,” he whispered, his eyes again roaming my face and I tensed, knowing what he meant with that too.

He was crazy for me.

“Benny,” I breathed, and he caught my gaze.

“You gotta feed your man, Frankie.”

I looked into his eyes and decided to let him have that play.

I did it for Benny.

And I did it for me because my cupboards were not bare. They were bursting. I had twelve different kinds of potato chips, and I had a feast planned to make for my man to show him how much I looked forward to him being with me.

When we got to the kitchen and I shared them (steaks, sautéed mushrooms, loaded baked potatoes, steamed asparagus, Pillsbury crescent rolls, and store-bought-but-still-awesome sugar cream pie for dessert), Ben liked my plans for dinner.

But he snacked on BBQ Fritos the whole time I was preparing it, which I told him I found annoying.

I didn’t.

I was in woman-falling-in-love zone.

So I was crazy too.