But I knew he was ready and he wanted me there with him when his hand went between us, thumb to my clit, and he coaxed me right where he wanted me to be.
It didn’t take a lot of coaxing.
My limbs spasmed around him and my cry drove down his throat as he took me over the edge.
I held tight and enjoyed the ride as, a couple minutes later, Ben joined me.
He stayed deep and I felt his ragged breaths turn smooth against my neck as his hands, slow and gentle, roamed over me, shoving under me, anywhere he could get to me.
Finally, his lips trailed up my neck to my mouth where he brushed mine, he locked eyes with me, and finally, ending the festivities in a sweet, tender way I’d remember for the rest of my life, he skimmed the tip of my nose with his and I saw his eyes start smiling.
“Hello, Frankie.”
It was his turn to see my eyes smile when I replied, “Hello, Benny.”
“You wear thigh highs every day?” he asked, and my brows drew together at the strange question.
“Yes.”
“Lace tops?”
“Mostly.”
He looked to the pillow above my head and muttered, “Fuck me.”
This confused me.
“Is that bad?” I asked.
He looked back at me. “How many doctors and reps you got who are guys?”
“Um…” I mumbled as answer, which was all I had to do. He got me.
“Right,” he murmured.
“They can’t see them, Benny,” I pointed out.
“They can, Frankie.”
That was when my eyes went squinty. “They can’t.”
“Okay, maybe not, but they can sense them.”
Seriously?
“No they can’t!” I snapped.
“Your legs, your ass, you in a dress, they absolutely can. And if they can’t, then they’re hopin’ you’re in thigh highs, and trust me, you are inspiration for good visualization, even if a man doesn’t normally have that skill.”
Although that was a compliment, the thought of the people I worked with visualizing anything about me, I couldn’t go there. So I didn’t.
“Okay, they can. Then…so?” I gave in to move on.
This time his brows went up. “So?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Babe, you get what’s goin’ on here, yeah?”
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, so it sounded winded and a little unsure when I said, “Yeah.”
“This is you and me, and that means only you for me and only me for you. That means you’re mine and just fuckin’ me. That means, me bein’ full-blood Italian, not a big fan of you off meetin’ with guys who are thinkin’ about you in a bra, panties, thigh highs, and your heels.”
All uncertainty left me and, again, my eyes got squinty. “I can’t quit my job because men think with their dicks.”
“You can wear slacks,” he returned. “And nix the heels and buy some flats.” He paused before he finished, “Ugly ones.”
“I’m not wearin’ ugly shoes!” I said loudly.
“Okay, then buy some not-ugly flats.”
“I’m not wearin’ flats. Or slacks,” I declared.
He stared at me a moment before he repeated, “Fuck me.”
“Can we stop talking about this so you can feed me?” I asked, then added, “I’m hungry.”
His expression shifted from sex-satisfied with the addition of aggravated to sex-satisfied with the addition of warm affection before he asked, “What you want?”
I wanted one of Benny’s pies. What I didn’t want was him to have to go to the restaurant to make one.
Nevertheless, to make a choice, I needed more information. “What are my choices?”
“Barbeque chicken sandwiches or anything that delivers.”
“I take it your ma’s provisions ran out.”
His face gentled so his words wouldn’t sting when he replied, “Yeah, baby. Five months, that was gonna happen.”
His gentle face was awesome.
But his words still stung.
“I’m an idiot,” I blurted on a whisper.
Ben heaved a sigh, pulled out, and rolled to his back, moving me with him. When he had me on top, he lifted his hands and gathered my hair, holding it away from my face on either side of my head, and he looked into my eyes.
“Sucks, but apparently, fuckin’ you again didn’t sort all our shit.”
“Apparently not,” I muttered, my eyes drifting to his ear.
“Baby.”
My eyes drifted back.
“Let’s start with the easy shit. You want barbeque or you wanna order something?”
Starting with the easy shit was a good idea.
Still, I had to ask. “What kind of barbeque?”
“Jack Daniel’s ready-made.”