The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(79)

I lifted my h*ps 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.

“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 h*ps 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, f**k 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 f**kin’ is. Get there, Frankie,” he growled.

Our h*ps moved, Ben pressed and rolled, then pressed deeper and rolled harder as his h*ps 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 cl*t 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, f**k 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 f**k.”

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 h*ps into mine and my legs tensed around him when he did— “for a long f**kin’ time. I’m here” —he pressed in between my legs again— “and I like it. Why the f**k 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 f**ked-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 f**k 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 f**king 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 pu**y 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 ha**ng s*x 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.