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.
Chapter Sixteen
What a Miracle She Was
I grabbed my workout bag from the bench in the locker room of the company gym and hit the Go button on my phone.
I walked out of the locker room and then out of the gym, listening to it ring.
I got voicemail while I was waiting for the elevator.
“You got me. Now tell me why you want me,” my sister Cat’s voicemail greeting I knew all too well said in my ear.
When I got the beep, I spoke.
“I want you ’cause I’ve called you a gazillion times in the last month, and I called you seven gazillion times before that, and I have not heard from you, Cat. Things are happening with this family and Enzo told me he can’t get a hold of you either. Seein’ as somethin’ went down and Dad isn’t talking to me, and I’m not talkin’ to him, I don’t know if you’ve heard from him. There’s stuff you need to know, but you’re not returning my calls, so now I’m worried.” The elevator doors whooshed open and I finished with, “Call your big sister, Cat, please.”
I disconnected, got in the elevator, and hit the button, thinking my sister Cat took middle child syndrome to extremes.
Sure, she had a case for this, even if she brought it up every single time she got her feelings hurt, which was often. Her case being Dad had a favorite: Enzo. Ma also had a favorite: Nat. I was the oldest, so I was about responsibility, spending my time looking after my younger siblings, and not thinking about all the ways I could feel injured that Ma and Dad didn’t dote on me.
Then again, all our grandparents thought I was the shit, likely because they were good, loving people who had no idea where they went wrong with Enzo and Ninette and looked to me as salvation that they eventually had some small hand in creating something that went right.
This was not, of course, the way I felt my whole life. This was what occurred to me since being with Benny and him pointing out I was a Concetti by name, but I was Frankie because I was just me.
That said, my grandfather was the ultimate Concetti. He was awesome. He adored me and it sucked he moved all the way to Arizona (a choice that took him far away from my mother, who was not his favorite person) and that we’d lost Nana Concetti, because she was awesome too.
In the Concetti-offspring-having-it-together scale, Cat was right behind me. She worked for a construction company and had for a long time, meeting her husband, Art, there. Art had even managed to hold down the same job for more than a decade, a feat when it came to anyone involved with a Concetti.
Art was very hot and he was also very hotheaded. With Cat also being the last, this meant they fought like crazy. It didn’t help that they were both just shy of being not-so-healthy big drinkers. The booze came out, Cat and/or Art could get talkative and funny, or irritable and mean, and they took both to extremes. In the end, it actually wasn’t pleasant experiencing either one, because even if they were being talkative and funny, they didn’t shut up so you could get a word in edgewise and that always got annoying.
Cat, like every member of my family, was prone to drama, and it was not unheard of that she could get hurt and hold a silent grudge for ages.
But this was extreme.
And I did not lie on the phone—I was worried.
Both of Enzo Junior’s women had had his children, a boy and a girl, and although this usually was joyous news, it was not going well for my brother. From Enzo’s point of view, they’d both tried to trap him with their pregnancies, and honestly, it sounded like one of them did. The other one I’d met and liked and she’d adored Enzo. I felt for her at the time because she thought she was in it for the long haul, this being because Enzo gave her that impression.
So one was pissed she didn’t get what she wanted, ended up with a kid, and was intent on making him pay. The other one was bitter, and bitter was way worse.
Enzo was fucked.
Though, he’d texted pictures and the babies were adorable.
The elevator doors opened. I headed out and nearly stopped dead when I felt the vibe—a vibe that was buzzing in an unhappy
way across the entire floor. I slowly walked into the space, seeing people in huddles, a few directors behind closed doors in an office, nearly all faces shocked.
Something was wrong.
I hit my assistant, Tandy’s desk. When I stopped there, she jumped and looked up at me.
“Frankie,” she greeted.
“What’s up?” I asked quietly.
“Paul Gartner was murdered.”
I stared at her, stunned, even though I had no clue who Paul Gartner was.
So I asked, “Paul Gartner?”
“Dr. Gartner. Scientist. Research and development. He was lead on Tenrix,” she told me.
Tenrix was a new product to treat high blood pressure we were gearing up to launch. Just the week before, Randy had chaired a team meeting, telling us all about it.
Randy had been excited in a way that, for a guy who was not often in a good mood and all other times was a dick, made the meeting weird.
It was weirder because it didn’t seem genuine. After ages of testing, the different phases of trials, the millions and millions of dollars sunk into that, all of which could be flushed down the toilet at any stage if a product didn’t work, excitement that something new, cutting edge, and reportedly very successful in combating high blood pressure didn’t need to be faked.
I had to admit, I didn’t get a good feeling about the meeting, but I hadn’t been at the company during any other product launch so I figured maybe that was always Randy’s way when he had to be in a good mood about something.
That said, all the other directors and managers at the team meeting were giving each other looks after it, which didn’t make me feel better. At the time, I put it down to the fact that, with the way people avoided him, the consensus of the team matched my opinion that Randy was a dick.
But the death of the man behind that new product after that weird prelaunch meeting didn’t sit real great with me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The police are investigating. They came in and talked with Mr. Barrow and Mr. Berger. Mr. Berger kinda scares me, but he came out of the meeting with the police and did the rounds with the vice presidents and directors, looking like someone told him his dog just got run over.”
As he would.
This was not only because I suspected Travis Berger was a decent guy. It also was because, when he got to where he was right now on the company food chain, he’d gone all out, talking our president and CEO, Clancy Barrow, into aggressively headhunting and claiming the top biomedical scientists in the industry. Wyler had paid a fortune in signing bonuses, stock options, and salaries in order to ascertain products currently in testing and new products to be developed would be the best they could be.
The Promise Page 32
