“What do you need?” I whispered.
“Got it,” he grunted.
God.
My Benny.
I wrapped the leg he had mostly pinned to the bed with his weight around his thigh and moved my hips in tandem with his, letting my fingers drift over the definition of his abs, looking into his eyes, feeling the glory of Benny Bianchi repeatedly filling me.
He yanked up my leg, powered so deep, it felt like he touched my womb. My neck arched and I breathed, “That’s it, baby, fuck me.”
At that, he threw my leg around his back, his hand gliding up the front of my thigh, my side, in, it rubbed hard over the material covering my breast, the drag over my tightened nipple forcing a moan to glide out of my throat. Then his hand moved down and his thumb was again at my clit.
My head righted and I moaned, “That’s it, Benny.”
“It fuckin’ is. Get there, Frankie,” he growled.
Our hips moved, Ben pressed and rolled, then pressed deeper and rolled harder as his hips rammed into mine and my breath caught.
“Benny.”
“Close, cara, get there,” he groaned.
Too late.
I was there. Digging my fingers into his back, clutching him with my legs, my other hand shooting up to curl around the side of his neck and hold tight, my back arched off the bed and it again shot through me.
I felt Ben thrust deep through it, his thumb moving from my clit to clamp around the back of my thigh. I just had it together enough to open my eyes when he started bucking, his breaths coming rhythmic and harsh. When I did, I saw his head dipped down and felt his hand gripping my thigh tight, the harsh breaths turning into the hard grunts of his release.
His bucking slowed, gentled, until he slid in, released my thigh, lifted his head, caught my eyes, and lowered his body to mine.
“Well, uh…how’s that for healing the breach?”
That came from me. Right out of my mouth. I heard it and I couldn’t believe it.
Benny couldn’t either. I knew this when he blinked. Then he stared.
Then his head went back and he burst out laughing.
It was at this inopportune moment that all that I’d just done hit me in the way of the sane, rational person I wanted always to be (but rarely was) rather than the insane, crazy slut I’d just acted like, which seemed to happen a lot around Benny.
I knew Ben felt the tightness that came into my body because his head snapped back down, and when his eyes caught mine, there was zero humor in them.
“Oh no, cara, fuck no,” he growled. “You are not pullin’ away from me now and not just ’cause I got you pinned to the bed with my dick still hard inside you.”
“I threw myself at you again,” I whispered, sounding horrified, and my voice started rising when I finished, “This time literally.”
“Yeah, you did, thank fuck.”
It was me who blinked that time before I asked, “You’re not mad?”
His head jerked, his eyes narrowed, and his voice was disbelieving. “Babe, been wantin’ to be right here” —he ground his hips into mine and my legs tensed around him when he did— “for a long fuckin’ time. I’m here” —he pressed in between my legs again— “and I like it. Why the fuck would I be mad?”
I didn’t want to bring it up, but I couldn’t get around the fact that I had to bring it up, and the only way I could think in that moment to communicate it was to say softly, “Cookies.”
I knew Ben didn’t want me to bring it up either when the dark, scary look passed over his face.
“That was a fucked-up play, Frankie,” he said quietly.
He said it quietly.
He didn’t get mean. He didn’t get pissed. He didn’t get sarcastic.
He pointed it out and did it quietly.
God, my Benny.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” I told him.
“Well, just sayin’, the way not to do that was the play you made fifteen minutes ago. Though, for future reference, I got your ass to tap in my bed, in my kitchen you can make all the cookies you want.”
Even though I knew I was on rocky ground, I couldn’t help it. At his words, automatically, I screwed my eyes up and glared at him. “My ass to tap?”
The dark, scary look left and the light of humor came back when he said, “Yeah. You’re there for me to eat and fuck whenever I want, I’m not gonna be pissed you’re makin’ me cookies.”
My stomach dipped at the thought of Benny going down on me (much less fucking me again).
However, that was not what I shared.
“I can now officially report that women do not like it when men talk like that, Ben.”
He moved his face close and whispered, “Then why, when I said it, did your pussy clench tight around my dick?”
I was pretty sure it did that, and I was pretty sure because, along with the belly dip, I felt other more pleasant sensations elsewhere.
As much as I enjoyed bantering with Benny, enjoyed it even more in our current position—Benny heavy and warm on me after having sex with him for the first time, sex that included two orgasms—this was not the time to banter.
This was the time to freak out.
And being me, I commenced in doing that.
“Ben, I’m not sure what we just did was smart.”
His expression turned guarded and he asked, “Why?”
“Well, I’m pretty certain you didn’t miss this, considering the drama I perpetrated in your bathroom five months ago with you in attendance, but I’m kind of fucked up.”
“No, babe, I didn’t miss it,” he replied immediately but did it softly. “But you missed something. Something really fuckin’ important.”
I was fucked up so I had a strong idea that I missed a lot of things that were really fucking important.
At that moment, however, I needed to know which one he was referring to.
“What’d I miss?” I asked.
“The part about how I don’t want easy.”
My stomach clutched, my limbs clenched around him, and I stared up into his eyes.
“You walked away from me, shut me out and walked out of my house, and that was not cool,” he said quietly. “But I’m sensin’ you needed to do that, and my sense is right because you did it, knowin’ you’d fuck me and knowin’ you’d fuck you doin’ it.”
I pressed my lips together, partly because there was no response to that, but mostly because he told me I’d fucked him, not in the good way, and I hated that I’d hurt him.
But he was right. I did it knowing I was doing it. To him and to me.
“And, Frankie,” he went on, “you did that and you did other shit since, but you do not want to be my friend. You have not been phonin’ me and makin’ me cookies because you want me in your life like that. You’ve been phonin’ me and making me cookies because you want me in your life like this.”
He emphasized his last words by, again, pressing his hips into mine, as well as momentarily giving me more of his body weight.
“I do. I told you that,” I reminded him. “I also told you I’m not right for you.”
“Babe, how about you let me decide what’s right for me,” Benny stated.
At that, I blinked again.
Ben kept talking.
“Seein’ as you’re fucked up, I suppose you can take what just happened between us, what you just gave me, what you just threw at me, literally, and twist it or deny it or bury it so that you can walk away from it, even though it was unbelievably fuckin’ hot and proves not only that we both want this, we’re really fuckin’ good at it.”
He could say that again.
“I’m just gonna tell you now,” he continued. “I let you have that play five months ago because I was hopin’ you’d get your head straight and come back to me. I’m takin’ this” —he again gave me more of his weight before he took it away— “as you comin’ back to me. Now, what you gotta get is that I will not allow you to walk away from me again.”