The Promise (The 'Burg Series)

by Kristen Ashley

  Ben dropped his head to look at his running shoes.

  He didn’t know how to take this news.

  On the one hand, Frankie had not mentioned the murder again and everything seemed status quo at her company.

  On the other hand, she’d told him she’d had a direct run-in with the dick she worked with, something with that guy that was not status quo. He’d instigated it; Frankie didn’t buy it. She was just doing her job when he’d perpetrated a surprise attack.

  However, when she told him this on the Sunday after Vi and Cal’s wedding, she did it acting cagey.

  He’d never known Frankie to be cagey. She let it all hang out. Even when she bailed on him, the only reason he didn’t have answers to why she did was because she didn’t know them herself.

  And because of that, he didn’t have a good feeling about Frankie’s cagey.

  “But you know it was a hit,” Ben stated.

  “It was a hit,” Sal confirmed.

  “You just don’t know why the hit was called,” Benny went on.

  “No, Benny, I don’t know why,” Sal again confirmed.

  Not good.

  “Would you like me to keep digging?” Sal asked into the silence, and Ben lifted his head but looked unseeing at the old calendar on his wall.

  “What’s your gut say?” Benny asked.

  “With Frankie?” Sal asked back, then answered, “I keep digging.”

  That was what Benny’s gut said.

  Fuck.

  “This another marker?” he asked.

  “Job undone, Benny,” Sal replied. “So no.”

  Ben drew breath in through his nose and moved to the door to the hall, giving a little for reasons he had no fucking clue. “I’ll get Frankie to send you some wedding photos.”

  “Gina would like that.”

  Whatever.

  “Gotta go,” Ben told him.

  “Addio, figlio.”

  “Later.”

  Ben ended the call and jogged up the stairs, wondering if he should shower first and then take Gus for a walk, or release Gus from the confinement of his kennel, take him for a walk, and then shower with Gus in his bathroom, gnawing on the rug.

  He had eyes to his feet and mind on his puppy—Frankie’s puppy, a puppy she should be going with him to take out for a walk—when he moved into his bedroom.

  This meant he jerked to a halt and his head snapped up when he heard Frankie say, “Happy birthday, Benny.”

  He stood still and stared at her in his bed, wearing a deep plum nightie that had a middle that was sheer material, so even if she was on a hip, her legs curled beside her, he could still see the thin, plum, lace ribbon of her panties that he hoped like fuck led back to a G-string.

  Her hair was a big mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her chest, just as he liked it.

  Her makeup was heavy but classy, just as he liked it.

  And even several feet away, he could smell hints of her perfume.

  All of it, all of her, reclining on his bed, smiling at him with that smile of hers, just like he liked it.

  “So,” she said and got up to her knees, something that made his cock start to get hard in a way that he knew would break a record. This was because he saw only a small triangle of plum covering her sex and the ribbons riding the swells of her hips through the sheer, not to mention a good view of her creamy thighs spread slightly. “You kicked my birthday’s ass so huge, I had to get creative…” She tipped her head to the side and her hair went with it before she continued, “And tell fibs.”

  She reached behind her, her arm came around, and she held in her hand a big plastic bottle of chocolate sauce.

  “I came prepared,” she finished, waving the bottle in the air beside her head.

  Taking her in, suddenly he had a feeling this was going to be the best birthday he’d ever had.

  Not to delay in getting to that part, he walked to the end of his bed, stopped to stand in front of her, and tossed his phone and the water beyond Frankie onto the bed.

  As he did this, Frankie put her free hand to his chest and whispered, “Sweaty.”

  Ben took the bottle out of her hand and tossed it so it landed with the other shit.

  She tipped her head back to catch his eyes and asked, “Not hungry?”

  “How long can you stay?” he asked back, and the playful light flickered in her eyes.

  “Until morning.”

  Disappointing.

  For him, and with that light flickering, for her.

  “How many nighties did you bring?” he went on.

  “Five.”

  Now that was something.

  “This one the best?” he kept going.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “You’ll have to rate them.”

  He’d do that.

  But first, he’d have to get better acquainted with this one.

  In order to accomplish that, he bent to her, but only to lift the sheer material, find the ribbon of her panties with the tips of his fingers, and trace it over her hip to the top of the cheek of her ass and down until he encountered the portion of ribbon that disappeared in her cleft.

  G-string.

  Jesus.

  Frankie.

  She slid her hands into the sides of his tee and up over his skin at the sides of his ribs, her head tipped back, her eyes on his, not playful anymore but something he liked a fuckuva lot better.

  He slid his middle finger under the string, dragged the pad down between the cheeks of her ass, and her lids lowered, her lips parted, and his dick jumped.

  “I like this, baby,” he murmured.

  “Does it say happy birthday?” she asked.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  “You gonna unwrap your present so you can play with it?”

  His finger encountered moist, showing she was ready, and he growled, “Fuck yeah.”

  Her hands slid back and down, diving into his workout pants and cupping his ass as she tipped forward so her mouth was brushing his. “Then play, honey.”

  Definitely.

  This birthday was going to be the fucking best.

  He bent deeper and slid the tip of his finger through her wetness and up, gliding it inside.

  Her fingers clenched into his ass and she breathed, “Benny.”

  He slid it deeper and asked, “What else you got planned, Frankie?”

  “Well,” she whispered, and he pushed in deeper, then pulled out and gave it back and again and again so her hands quit clenching his ass and dragged up his back. “I have the chocolate sauce.”

  “Saw that, honey.”

  “And Mrs. Zambino has the ingredients for the cake I’m gonna bake later.”

  He kept fucking her with his finger, looking into her eyes, feeling his dick begin to ache, watching her get excited, feeling it coat his finger as he said, “I’ll look forward to that.”

  “She also has all the stuff for the dinner I’m gonna make you later. A deux, just you and me. I called Theresa and she and Vinnie are happy to wait to celebrate with you on the weekend.”

  Just you and me.

  Yeah.

  She was kicking birthday ass.

  “Sounds good,” he rumbled, continuing to thrust into her wet with his finger.

  “And, of course, I bought you a present,” she went on huskily.

  He drove his finger in deep, got her gasp, and noted, “Thought my present was right here.”

  “I got you another one,” she breathed.

  He didn’t need another one. But for her, he’d take it.

  “What else, Frankie?”

  She slid one hand from his back, over his stomach, and down over his hard cock, her hips moving with his finger, ready to move on, and he knew it when she begged, “Need you to fuck me, Benny.”

  “What else you got planned, baby?”

  “What do you want, honey?”

  “You gonna sit on my face while you suck me off?”

  Her hips jerked and her li
ps whispered, “Yeah.”

  “You gonna ride me naked while you play with your tits and clit?”

  Her hand at his cock started rubbing as she repeated a breathy, “Yeah, Benny.”

  He slid his finger out, rubbed it hard over her clit, and watched her eyes roll back as a moan rolled up her throat.

  “You gonna let me do anything I want to you?”

  “Yes, Ben.”

  “Then turn around, stay on your knees, face to the mattress, ass in the air, and give me that pussy,” he ordered.

  She did as told instantly, knees to the edge of the bed, head down, ass up, the sight of all that was her, and the flawless skin of the cheeks of her ass in that G-string nearly making him come in his pants.

  He didn’t.

  He got the G-string down her thighs as he pulled his cock out, positioned, and drove it inside her.

  Her head shot back, her dark, shining hair flying all over the place. He reached out, caught it, and pulled hard.

  “Yes,” she said on a clipped cry.

  “What you want?” he asked, driving deep and doing it hard.

  “Fuck me, Benny.”

  “Hard?”

  “Yes.”

  He drove in, stayed, and ground deep.

  “My baby want it rough?” he pushed.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He tugged on her hair.

  Her pussy convulsed around his cock and her hips started moving in opposite tandem to his so she was slamming that sweet, tight, slick cunt onto his dick.

  Fucking ecstasy.

  He dropped her hair but bent further over her to curl his fingers around her shoulder, and even as she powered back, he drove her into him, using his other hand to slap her thigh, making her jump.

  “Faster, baby,” he ordered, his voice thick, his dick ready to explode.

  He fucked her hard as she fucked herself fast.

  “Faster,” he repeated on another slap to her thigh. Her head shot back, her body reared back, and he heard her cry out as he felt her come around his cock.

  He drove her with his hips and hands up the bed, coming onto it on his knees, kept taking her pussy, and not long after, hands clenching her hips, his head went back on a grunt as he thrust deep and shot himself deeper.

  He’d barely come down before he pulled out, flipped her to her back, and fell forward between her legs, settling some of his weight into her soft body, some of it on a forearm.

  Still breathing heavy, feeling her chest rise and fall with her own breaths, he lifted a hand and trailed his thumb over her lower lip before he lifted his eyes to hers and whispered, “Gonna have to step it up.”

  “Wh-what?” she stammered.

  “What I do for your birthday next year. Spent weeks planning, runnin’ around, doin’ shit, and in twenty minutes, you kicked its ass.”

  Her eyes warmed. She pressed her thighs tight to his sides and circled him with her arms, everything about her telling him that’s what she wanted to give him and everything about Benny liked it.

  “Love you, Ben,” she whispered.

  He liked that better.

  He dipped down, touched his mouth to hers, lifted up, and whispered back, “Love you too, cara.”

  “Happy birthday,” she said softly in a tone that meant it.

  “Thank you, baby,” he replied quietly in that same tone.

  Then he kissed her.

  After that, they both got dressed so they could release Gus from his kennel prison and take their puppy for a walk.

  * * * * *

  Ben walked into his kitchen to see Frankie in his tee at the counter with all sorts of shit that said “birthday cake” surrounding the bowl in front of her.

  Gus was at his food dish, face stuck in it. Even with his attention on his food, he sensed Benny walking in and his tail started wagging, even if his face didn’t come out of the bowl.

  They’d walked Gus, come back, he ate her on the couch, then fucked her there. They took a shower, then he’d thrown on some clothes and went over to Mrs. Zambino’s to get Frankie’s stuff while she fed Gus. He did this because he didn’t want her out of his house. He didn’t want her dressed in anything but one of her nighties or one of his tees, and it was his birthday so Frankie gave him what he wanted.

  Moving toward her, Benny decided he wanted something more so he took it, sliding a hand from her hip, around, down, and in. Under his tee, skin to skin, he glided it up her belly, her ribs, and cupped her breast.

  She leaned back and pressed her head to his jaw, saying, “Although the challenge has been thrown, and I think I can best it, not sure how your cake will taste if I make it, you playin’ with me.”

  “It’s shit, we got chocolate sauce,” he replied and heard her soft laugh.

  He loved that laugh. He loved her in his tee in his kitchen making his birthday cake. He loved her in his kitchen doing anything.

  He just loved Francesca Concetti.

  She turned her head and tipped it back until she caught his eyes, but hers weren’t filled with humor.

  They were filled with worry.

  What the fuck?

  “I know you were upset when I told you I couldn’t come. But you gave me a good surprise. I wanted to give you one too. It sucked to upset you, but—”

  That was the fuck. She was worried she’d upset him.

  He shut her up by dropping his head and brushing his lips against hers before he lifted away and whispered on a squeeze of her tit, “Baby, am I complaining?”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  “Love my people, love spending time with them, but you in that nightie waiting in my bed wet for me was the best surprise you could give me.”

  “Good,” she said softly, then went on, “I wanted to stay the weekend, but there’s a lunch meeting tomorrow I can’t miss. Though, I can drive up after work so I can be at the family celebration Saturday night.”

  He grinned at her. “I’ll take it.”

  She grinned back and turned to her bowl. Ben slid his hand from her tit, engaged his other one, and wrapped both arms around her belly under his tee.

  “How’d you get here from the airport?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Zambino picked me up,” she answered. “But I have an airport pickup arranged in the morning so you don’t have to get up ungodly early to take me.”

  “Cancel it.”

  She twisted her neck to look at him. “Ben, I have to leave here at 4:30.”

  “Cancel it, Frankie.”

  She held his eyes a beat, saw in them that there was no use prolonging the discussion, nodded, and looked back down to what she was doing.

  “Tomorrow, probably should haul my ass over there and see if Mrs. Zambino needs anything done on her house. Payback for her helpin’ you out.”

  “That’d be a cool thing to do,” she said, measuring flour.

  “Though, she probably doesn’t, seein’ as she doesn’t hesitate to haul her ass over here and ask me to fix shit when she does.”

  Again she twisted her neck and looked at him. “She does?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you do it?”

  His brows drew together at what he thought was an asinine question. “Of course.”

  Her face got soft and she whispered, “Pure Benny.”

  “Just bein’ a good neighbor,” he pointed out.

  “Just bein’ a good man,” she returned and her words and the look in her eyes that was part marvel, like she couldn’t quite believe he was real, part pride, and a lot of love made his arms give her an involuntary squeeze.

  “Like it when you look at me that way,” he murmured.

  “Get used to it,” she replied.

  Fuck.

  Frankie.

  “Love you, baby,” he whispered.

  “Love you back, Benny,” she said quietly.

  He wanted to let that moment last. He wanted more for her to be done with the cake so she could give him another nightie. But sh
e wasn’t done with the cake, she wanted to give him that, had gone out of her way to plan it, so he needed to let her give him that.

  So he took them out of the moment by asking, “What kinda cake you bakin’ me?”

  “Chocolate maraschino cherry,” she answered, and his chin jerked.

  His favorite, bar none.

  And no one had made it for him but his mother.

  “Ma give you that recipe?”

  “Yep.”

  That wasn’t a surprise, it was a shock. Theresa Bianchi was like her husband (and then some) when it came to her cooking. Her secret family recipes were hers. She made them for the restaurant, but she didn’t share how to make them with anyone, even family.

  So he muttered, “Holy fuck.”

  “I know,” she turned back to the counter. “She gave it right up, no begging, no bribery, no markers owed. Freaked me out.”

  Benny liked what this said.

  Years ago, Connie had asked for that same recipe and his ma hadn’t given it up. It disappointed Connie not to be able to give him what he liked on his birthday, direct from her, not getting it from his ma. But Connie was the kind of woman who didn’t put up a fight. She hid her disappointment and never asked again.

  Frankie asked for it, Ma handed it right over.

  “She loves you,” Ben noted quietly.

  He watched her profile smile. “Yeah.”

  “She loves you for me.”

  Her smile stayed in place, but her face again got soft. “Yeah.”

  He dipped his head, used his chin to move her mass of hair away from her neck, and kissed her there.

  Lifting his mouth to her ear, he said, “You makin’ chocolate maraschino cherry cake, I’ll want it to be good so I’ll play with you after it’s done.”

  She turned her head and caught his eyes, saying, “Deal.”

  He bent in, touched his mouth to hers, and copped a feel as he let her go.

  “Got the groceries put away?” he asked, scanning the floor for Gus, not finding him, thus moving to the door to look down the hall. And there he was, dragging one of Ben’s running shoes by the string across the foyer.

  “Yeah, you just relax. Today I do all the work.”

  That wasn’t strictly true, but she was only letting him do the work he liked to do.

  He moved down the hall and saved his shoe from Gus by tossing it on the dining room table which, again, was covered in shit, but more of it since he piled everything that had to be out of Gus’s way there, and everything that needed to be out of Gus’s way was everything.