Manny was a guy so he didn’t expend a lot of effort to keep in touch, but Sela did, thus, I knew Man wasn’t pissed at me. No way Sela would keep in touch if Manny was angry at me. Since she did, I knew that Manny gave her an engagement ring on Valentine’s Day. I also knew she said yes. And direct from Theresa, I knew she (that “she” referring to Sela, as well as Theresa) was ecstatic. It was going to be a full mass, I was going to be invited, and Theresa was planning on wearing a hat to the wedding.

This seemed weird to me, the rift cracking right back open between Benny and me and his family ignoring the breach.

But it was working. I loved having them back, so I wasn’t asking, nor was I complaining.

What I was doing was pacing, doing it knowing I shouldn’t make the call. Ben was pissed. I shouldn’t push him. I should let him stay pissed until he found a good woman, claimed her, built a home and family, and finally came to realize I did him a favor.

I turned my mind swiftly from that train of thought. Even knowing I was right, I couldn’t go there. When he found her, I’d find it in me to let him back in when he allowed it. I’d find a way to like her, even though I’d hate it. I’d find a way to take him the limited way he could give himself to me.

I’d find a way.

Which meant I should leave things be.

I knew it.

Still, I stopped pacing, bent my head, and lifted my phone. My thumb flew over the screen fast in order that my brain wouldn’t catch up and stop me.

I saw his name.

One last touch and I’d made the call.

I should disconnect.

I didn’t.

I put the phone to my ear.

I listened to it ring and closed my eyes.

I kept them closed when I heard his deep, easy voice saying the only words I’d heard him say the last five months: “Ben’s voicemail, leave a message.”

I heard the beep, opened my eyes, and starting blathering.

“Ben? Frankie. Listen, I know it’s been a while since I’ve called, but I’m in Chicago. Staying at The Belvedere. Business. But, uh…business is done for the day and I’m about to go out to dinner.” I sucked in breath and kept rambling. “I thought, maybe…well, I don’t think you would, but I still thought I’d call…see if you wanted to meet for a drink. We can talk. I don’t know, maybe work things out. I know you’re at work but after. I’ll wait. I’ll be in the bar at the hotel. If you wanna drop by, drinks are on me.”

Drinks are on me?

Oh God, I shouldn’t have made the call.

It was time to wind it up.

“That’s, well…it.” I closed my eyes and stupidly whispered, “I hope you come, Benny.”

I hit the button to disconnect and wished I’d never connected. I also wished I could erase the message. I further wished I could rewind my life back to high school and put out so at least I’d have a week or two of dating Benny.

But I couldn’t do any of that so I did what I could do.

I went to dinner alone.

Then I went to the bar at the hotel and had a drink. One drink turned into two, then three. Closing in on midnight, plenty of time after the pizzeria shut down for Ben to get to me, I left the circling men who’d either tried to come onto me or who’d drank and tried to get up the courage to come onto me—easy target, lone woman in a hotel bar, drinking.

I went up to my room and kept my phone close.

An hour slid by before I gave up.

I put on my nightie, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized, slid into bed, and turned out the lights.

I rolled to my side and settled in.

When I felt the single tear hit the side of the bridge of my nose and slide down, falling off and salting my lip, I touched my tongue to it. Then I reached out, hugged the unused pillow to me, and closed my eyes. It took a while, a long while, longer than normal, but I guessed you eventually got used to your heart perpetually breaking.

So eventually I found sleep.

***

I jolted awake when I heard a loud knock on the door.

I lifted up to a forearm in the dark, blinked away residual sleep, and the knocking stopped.

I listened.

Nothing.

Did I dream it?

The answer came when the knocking resumed—three firm, loud pounds.

I twisted, switched on the bedside lamp, and threw off the covers. I got to my feet and moved quickly to the door.

I looked out the peephole and stopped breathing.

Ben, head bent, and from what I could tell, both hands up. He was leaning into them, resting on the door.

This killed me. The man could be hot just leaning.

As I watched, he pulled back, then I jumped back when three more pounds came at the door.

Without thinking, not knowing what time it was, not considering the fact I was wearing nothing but a lilac nightie that was made of near-sheer, stretchy material in the body, had cups made of delicate, rosy-pink lace, the same lace skimming the just-over-the-booty hem, I unlatched the door and threw it open.

Ben’s head jerked when I did and I remembered to breathe, only to suck in more and stop doing it again.

We stared at each other.

It was me who pulled it together first, and this was only enough to say, “Benny.”

That unlocked his frame and he pushed in, through me, forcing me back two steps. I took two more when he grabbed the door, threw it closed, and flipped the security latch closed.

Oh God, I wasn’t sure how to take that.

On a new kind of rocky ground with Benny, tentatively I greeted, “Hey.”

His eyes narrowed in a scary way when he asked, “Seriously?”

I pressed my lips together.

I unpressed them when his entire face went scary, this being when his eyes did a slow scan of me in my nightie.

“How did you know my room number?”

His eyes cut back to mine. “Brett Rizzoli is night shift maintenance. I called him. He got it for me.”

I was surprised Brett Rizzoli had a job, seeing as he spent his high school years, and a number after them, on a mission of scoring the best weed in order to smoke it.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Late,” Ben answered.

“Ben—”

He cut me off with, “Serious as fuck, Frankie…cookies?”

I snapped my mouth shut because I knew what he was talking about and my what-I’d-hoped-would-be-thoughtful gesture didn’t seem so thoughtful anymore. It seemed stupid, even callous.

“You’re pissed,” I noted inanely.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You didn’t come back to me,” he clipped.

I clenched my teeth.

“Waited, Francesca. You didn’t fuckin’ come back to me. Then you send me fuckin’ cookies?”

I felt my heart hammering in my chest as I stared at Benny.

Pissed off, small drops of wet in his hair, which told me it was raining or snowing, more wet on his leather jacket, tall, built…beautiful.

Benny.

Taking in all that was him, feeling his angry vibe filling the air and pressing into me, there was no thought. There was nothing.

There was only action.

And that action was me rushing the four feet that separated us and throwing myself in Benny’s arms.

The next action was to drive my fingers into his hair, tilt his head down, then me going up on my toes so I could slam his mouth on mine.

And the next was me touching my tongue to his lips.

The next actions were all Benny’s.

I was up, legs around his hips, his hands at my ass and his tongue in my mouth. He was walking and turning. Then we were down, Ben sitting on the end of the bed, me straddling him.

We did all this kissing, tongues sparring, heads shifting one way and then back, both of us drinking deep, hard, wet, desperate.

His hands went up my nightie and straight down into my panties.

God, they felt good there.

I whimpered into his mouth but didn’t break the connection as I moved my hands to his jacket and shoved it down his shoulders.

I lost his touch when he tore off his jacket. I vaguely heard it land on the floor with a soft flunf, and this was vague because most of my attention was centered on his hands back in my panties.

As much as I liked having them back, I wanted more.

I pulled his tee up at the back, breaking the kiss to demand, “Shirt off, baby.”

I no sooner had the words out when Ben’s hands went to the hem of the tee. He tore it up and it was gone.

I saw bare chest and shoulders, and it was an amazing chest and shoulders, then I saw nothing as Benny shoved his fingers into my hair, tilted my head down, and took my mouth with his.

Finding myself in the miraculous position of being wrapped around a shirtless Ben who was kissing me, I didn’t waste the opportunity. I rolled my hips into his hard crotch, running my hand down his chest, down his abs, liking what it encountered a whole lot, but I had a premier destination in mind. I twisted my hand, flattened it, and rubbed it hard over his jeans.

“Fuck,” he groaned in my mouth.

“Now,” I whispered into his.

His brows shot up over dark, heated eyes. “Now?”

I pressed my hand deep. “Now, baby.”

He said not another word. He shifted slightly to the side and I went for his belt. He had his wallet open while I undid the buttons on his jeans. I caught a glimpse of the fact that Benny Bianchi didn’t carry a condom with him, he carried a string of three, but I didn’t let that penetrate. I had a mission, and that mission was pressing my hand into his boxers and finally getting what I’d been craving for far too long.

It wasn’t difficult to find. It was big. It was hard. And it was all mine.

I pulled his cock free of his jeans and found it was also beautiful.

I stroked.

Ben growled.

His noise made my hips jerk and my eyes went to his.

“Hurry,” I begged.

“Gotta unlatch, baby,” he whispered.

I didn’t want to, but I unlatched.

Ben had the condom out already (thank God) and rolled it on while I watched, squirming in his lap.

He barely had it to the base before I shoved his hand away and grabbed on. I used the fingers of my other hand to shift my undies aside, then took the tip of his cock and rocked my hips against it, sliding it against me.

Ben’s hands came to my hips, fingers digging in, and he rumbled, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

I looked into his eyes. “I want it, Benny.”

He looked into my eyes. “Then take it, Frankie.”

I rammed down, filling myself with Benny.

Oh God.

Perfect.

When I took him, Ben’s hands dragged up, fingers digging deep into my flesh, pulling my nightie up my back.

But he didn’t take it off. This was because I was riding him and doing it fast, hard, driving down, grinding, and I had to hold on to stay steady. He shoved one hand up through my nightgown, cupped the back of my head, and pulled it down so he could have my mouth.

I gave it to him, letting Benny take my mouth in a brutal, devouring kiss while I took his cock.

I felt his other hand slide around, in, and down, then his thumb was at my clit.

He put on pressure and rolled.

Benny inside me, Benny all around me. Almost eight years without any goodness but what I could give myself, now finally having it and it being Benny. The instant his thumb rolled, my head shot back and I cried out, sharp and hard, as my orgasm powered through me.

Still coming, Ben pulled me off him, flipped me to my back, ripped my panties down my legs, hauled me up the bed, covered me, and drilled back inside.

“Yes,” I breathed, still climaxing.

Ben thrust, his hips tilted to the side, his hand gliding over my ass, down the back of my thigh to lift one knee high.

“Yes,” I repeated on a gasp, opening my eyes to see him up on a forearm, pounding in, staring down at me.

“Crazy-beautiful,” he whispered.

Oh God.

Benny.

I had one arm trapped under his body, so I curled the forearm around his lower back and held him as best as I could while I lifted my other hand and trailed it down the new, unfamiliar, but awesomely fabulous ridges and flats of his chest and abs.

I lifted my hips so he could get more, I could get more, and he thrust in, started grinding, and bit out, “Fuck yeah, Frankie.”

“What do you need?” I whispered.