“Frankie?” he prompted in my ear.
I turned my head and drew in his scent before I brushed my lips against his neck and whispered, “I’m feelin’ good, baby.”
Ben ran his nose along my jaw as he dipped his hand under the hem of my nightie and I felt the warmth of it, skin against skin, at the hollow of my back.
His eyes caught mine. “Got an idea about how I can make the next few minutes real fuckin’ great, honey.”
I hoped it took longer than a few minutes, though I didn’t share this.
I said, “Let’s see what they can bring.”
I saw his eyes smile.
Then mine were closed because his head slanted and he was kissing me.
It was like being back against the wall in my apartment, all hands, mouths, tongue, and need, except I was lying on Benny’s bed pressed tight to him, which was a whole lot better.
But as he took from my mouth, he also pushed his hips into mine. I felt something even better and I wanted it even more.
So I slid my hands down his tee, under, up, and in, taking his warmth and strength in through my fingers.
It felt good, good enough to push my hips against his and he liked that. He liked it a whole lot. I knew it when he growled into my mouth, pushed his hips into mine, and rolled me so I was on my back and he was on me.
And even better.
“Please, fuck, tell me you can take that,” he rumbled against my lips.
“Oh yeah,” I breathed against his.
That was all he needed. His mouth took mine and this kiss wasn’t a replay of the one against the wall. It was deeper, hotter, searing.
God, Benny could kiss.
He would prove he could do other things too when his hand slid up my side, in, and he palmed my breast.
My clit pulsed, my back arched, and I broke the kiss to whisper, “Benny.”
He didn’t reply. He curled his fingers into the cup of the nightgown and pulled it down, then he palmed my naked breast and the difference was a nuance, but that nuance was astounding.
“Benny.” My whisper this time was sharper.
My stomach dropped when Ben slid partially off me, and I opened my eyes to watch his head bend just as his fingers closed around my nipple, rolled, then pulled.
A mew slid up my throat as I felt wet gather between my legs, those legs tangling as best I could get them with Benny’s, and his gaze cut back to my face.
At the look on his, his eyes saturated with hungry heat, I held my breath.
He again rolled, then pulled my nipple and my breath came out of me in a soft gust.
He did it again, my eyes went hooded and my hips surged up.
He did it again and I started panting.
“Jesus, baby, am I gonna make you come just teasin’ your tit?” he murmured, his voice mildly disbelieving, mildly awed, and totally turned on.
I tried to open my eyes but was not very successful.
Luckily, I was more successful in pulling my hands out of his shirt, then sliding them up his back and into his hair. I put pressure on and learned Ben didn’t need words.
I knew it when his mouth touched mine, where he said, “All right, Frankie, anything you need.”
Oh, I needed it all right, and Benny was as good as his word because he immediately trailed his mouth down my neck, my chest, it closed over my nipple, and he drew it in.
Deep.
A moan slid out of my throat, my fingers tightened against his scalp, and he drew deeper. Then he rolled my nipple with his tongue, before he muttered against it, “Fuck yeah,” then down went the other cup of my nightgown and Benny moved to it.
I was arching into him, winding my leg around his thigh, clutching my fingers in his thick hair, my stomach muscles tightening with anticipatory glee as his hand drifted over it, his destination one I wanted him to get to, and fast, when we both froze solid as we heard Theresa shouting from downstairs, “Benny! Frankie! You here?”
I didn’t move a muscle, but Ben did. Lifting his head and twisting his neck, he aimed his gaze at the door. I didn’t have a full view of his face, not even close, but what I saw of it was the heat of desire battling with the heat of fury.
“Ben! Francesca! Are you here?” Theresa shouted from closer. She had to be on the stairs.
That was when Ben moved.
Yanking up the cups of my nightgown while grinding out, “You gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me,” he looked to me and clipped, “Do not move.” After that, he rolled from the bed, found his feet, and prowled out the door, slamming it behind him.
I lay in the bed, still frozen, staring at the closed door.
I heard Ben bite out, “Jesus, Ma, seriously?” and it bolted through me. Vicious. Hateful. Destructive.
Panic. Desperation.
Sheer terror.
It was irrational. I knew it. But even knowing it, I was powerless to beat it.
It forced me to roll off the bed, run to the closet, and pull out one of the four suitcases I had at Benny’s.
I then ran to the bathroom. Hearing the murmurs but not listening, I opened the suitcase on the floor and took everything that was mine that I could see. I dumped it in, not even looking if it made it where it was supposed to go.
I opened the drawer Benny gave me and emptied it.
I then dashed to the shower and threw open the door, stepping in. I accidentally grabbed Ben’s shampoo and instantly thrust it back in the recessed shelf, as if touching it burned me.
I snatched up my shampoo, my conditioner, then turned and went completely still when the bathroom I’d been using for over a week came into my consciousness with a clarity that was frightening.
His house was old. Old enough I knew that bathroom as new.
I also knew that Ben was not the kind of man who hired people to put in his bathroom.
He did it.
And he did it with a variety of things on his mind.
Big shower cubicle, big enough for two, all glass except the tiled walls. They were a white matte that was very attractive but not with a bent to personal taste. They were the kind of tile a number of people would like having.
Resale.
Resale in preparation for trading up, going bigger, building a home for your growing family.
My breath went ragged.
Separate tub, big, deep, oval, with just this side of an extravagant faucet with a handheld shower attachment sitting on top.
The kind of tub a woman who liked to take baths could fill with bubbles and sink into to melt away the cares of the day.
Ben didn’t take baths. No way. I didn’t know this as fact from experience, just as I knew it as fact.
Double basin. Two medicine cabinets. Room between the sinks so you’d never get crowded. Full, well-made cabinets underneath. Plenty of space for makeup, toiletries, first aid supplies, ibuprofen—whatever you needed, but far more space than a man would need.
Shelves built into the wall so you could display nice towels, if you wanted. Or put bathroom-style knickknacks, if that was your thing.
It wasn’t Benny’s thing. Towels that could use replacing were shoved in with only a passing try at folding them. Nothing else.
He’d put in that bathroom for the woman he would find to put into that house.
And he’d put in that bathroom with a mind to the buyers who would eventually take that house off his hands when the rest of the bedrooms were filled with babies.
Benny Bianchi didn’t do minute by minute.
Benny Bianchi had it all planned.
I came unstuck and, in a panic, moved out of the shower when I heard Benny say in the bedroom, “Had a word. Ma’s…Frankie?”
I said nothing. I dumped the bottles in the suitcase and they made a thud.
“Babe, she’s gone and she won’t…”
The words were closer and I knew why. I also knew why he trailed off.