The Promise
Page 86

“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 cl**ax.
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 br**sts. 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 f**kin’ 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 f**k 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 f**kin’ 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 h*ps as the spasm ran through me.