Kristen Ashley - The Promise

“What this is, is me tellin’ you I know you’re not a slut. You weren’t then, you could never be. It isn’t in you, babe. Fuck, you were twenty-one when you gave it up the first time and you haven’t had a man since.”

“How do you know that?” I snapped.

“Babe, I was into you. I’m still into you. I never stopped bein’ into you. I paid attention.”

Even though I liked that, a whole lot, I was too mortified to allow that good feeling to penetrate so I just glared at him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he pushed.

I just kept glaring at him.

“I’m right,” he muttered.

“Take me home,” I demanded.

“Frankie—”

“Honestly,” I bit out. “Do you think we can get beyond this? You knowin’ your brother was the only one?”

“It didn’t even occur to me when I had my hand on your ass and my tongue in your mouth yesterday. And do not go where you’re goin’, Frankie, because Vinnie didn’t cross your mind either.”

I shut my mouth that I’d opened in order to retort in precisely the way Benny knew I would because Vinnie didn’t. He didn’t cross my mind. Not until Benny started talking about him.

That was all about Benny and what Benny was doing to me.

“All right then, how about this?” I threw out. “I’m not a big fan of blowjobs.”

“Then, no offense to my dead brother, he didn’t teach you right.”

I threw up my hands. “Do you not find this entire conversation bizarre?”

“Babe, seriously, I get you naked, I’ll get you to the point where you latch on and be so into what you’re doin’, you’ll come before I can pull you off and bury myself inside you.”

“Arrrrrr!” I screamed, mostly because, all of sudden, I had an overwhelming desire to give Benny a blowjob.

Crazy!

Just as suddenly, I was in his arms.

I jerked my body, but his arms went tight.

“Calm,” he growled.

I went still and glared up at him.

“You are not a slut.” He kept growling.

I kept glaring up at him.

“And I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about us if they see us together. They judge, they gotta answer to God for that, not me or you.”

I just kept glaring at him.

Benny withstood it for some time before he asked, “You have lunch?”

“Old lady Zambino treated her entire crew to Coney dogs from the concession stand in celebration of their resounding win.”

“Too bad. I was gonna haul our asses to Lincoln’s for a sub.”

At this offer, my shoulders went straight and I shared, “I’m still peckish.”

“A sub on top of a Coney dog is gonna fuck with your Giuseppe’s experience.”

“Nothing fucks with a Giuseppe’s experience.”

Benny grinned.

Then he asked, “You done freakin’ out?”

I absolutely was not.

This realization made me slump in his arms.

I aimed my eyes at his shoulder, saying, “All of this is weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and I looked back to him. “It’s weird. It’s awkward. It sucks. It reminds me I shoulda asked you out when I wanted to ask you out my senior year but didn’t because it was known wide you didn’t put out. But now we’re here. We’ll get past it. And at least it’s at a time when I’m sure I can convince you to put out and give you a whole lot better than I could have when I was seventeen.”

I blinked at him.

Then I asked breathily, “You wanted to ask me out when we were in high school?”

“Babe, you’re crazy-beautiful and got great tits, great legs, a great ass, and an unbelievable smile, and you had all a’ that back then too. So yeah. Fuck yeah. Every guy in high school wanted a piece of you.”

Oh my God.

I’d had three dates in high school.

Three!

And none of them good.

I felt my brows draw together. “Then why didn’t they ask me?”

“Because, Frankie, baby, you didn’t put out.”

It was then I felt my blood start to get hot.

“Was that the only prerequisite for a girl to get a date?”

“Pretty much. Outside of her needin’ to be hot. But you had that.”

“That’s disgusting,” I hissed.

“Frankie,” he said, and my name rumbled with the laughter that was shaking his body against mine. “That was eighteen years ago, in a time when I thought with my dick.”

My brows shot up. “You don’t anymore?”

“Okay, it was in a time when I thought with my dick ninety-nine percent of the time, rather than now, when I think with my dick only fifty percent of the time, or anytime I’m around you.”

“That’s disgusting too.”

“It was meant to be a compliment.”

“It failed.”

“Babe,” he said, his arms giving me a squeeze. “You are not shitting me that you don’t like the idea of me bein’ all about my dick and where I wanna put it when I’m with you.”

I was looking forward to a time when I could throw something at him without tearing open my wound when he pissed me off.

Like when he was right and he went about being right in a crude way that I found annoyingly arousing.

“I think I need a nap,” I declared.

His arms got super tight when he burst out laughing.

I watched, up close and personal, and hated myself for enjoying every second.

His laughter died down to chuckles, his hand at my side moved to stroke me there, and he again focused on me to ask, “Right. Now, are you done freakin’ out?”

I stopped being pissed. I stopped being anything.

But one thing.

And I shared with Benny what that was.

“This scares me, Ben.”

He dipped his head so his face was an inch from mine and replied, “I get that, honey.”

“I don’t know how to get over that,” I admitted.

“You wanna get over it?” he asked.

That was a loaded question I was not going to answer out loud so I kept my mouth shut.

“Okay, I’ll give you that play, cara,” Benny said when I did. “But, just sayin’, you makin’ your previous statement already gives me my answer.”

And, again, he was right.

“So,” he continued, “how ’bout this? Stick with me.”

I shook my head. “I’m moving to Indianapolis.”

At that, he shook his head. “Day to day, babe, not future. Not anything but the next day, fuck, the next minute, each minute into the next. Stick with me while we work it out. If it goes wrong, it does. If I can’t guide you through, I’ll eat that. But, I’ll warn you, I’ll be breakin’ my back to make sure neither of those happen.”

God, more goodness coming from Benny.

“There are a lot of obstacles,” I pointed out.

“Francesca, no one ever got a gold medal for sittin’ on their ass and doin’ nothin’. You work at somethin’, you work at it hard, you believe in it, you want it, you go after it, you get it—that’s when you get your prize.”

Now wisdom coming from Benny.

I couldn’t take it so I dropped my chin to rest my forehead against his chest.

The hand he was using to stroke my side curled around and his other hand slid up to wrap around the back of my neck as he asked into my hair, “You really need a nap?”

“Were you really gonna take me to Lincoln’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t need a nap.”

His hand at the back of my neck gave me a squeeze so I lifted my head.

When I did, Benny, who I was learning did not waste opportunities, dipped his and took my mouth. He got tongue action. It was more than a sweep this time. It was a deep drink.

I loved it. Every second. And I ended it with my arms wrapped around him.

“Stick with me?” he whispered, his lips still against mine.

“Yeah.”

I felt his mouth smile.

I closed my eyes.

Then I felt his mouth touch my forehead.

After that, he let me go, grabbed my hand, pulled me toward the door, and said, “Let’s go get subs.”

At six forty that night, I stood in Benny’s bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror.

My hair was bigger than its normal big, by a lot.

My makeup was deeper, smokier, hotter.

My dress was black with a silver shimmer. In the front, it covered me from throat to mid-thigh, including long sleeves.

But it was skintight. Everywhere.

And there was no back. None. From the small to my shoulder blades, all bare.

It was a dress that demanded a woman not wear underwear. A bra was an impossibility, but I’d bested the challenge of the panties, finding a sheer black thong that was only noticeable if the dress shifted in a particular way. So under the dress, I had on nothing but that thong.

But on the outside, I’d included chunky drop earrings that nearly brushed my shoulders and a thick rhinestone bracelet over the gathers formed by the material at one of my wrists. On the other hand, I had a ring at my middle finger, on which delicate, shimmering chains were attached that dangled up the back of my hand to another bracelet linked around my wrist.

And on my feet were silver sandals that had a platform, a four-and-a-half-inch heel that was thin as a pencil, a slim wraparound strap at my ankle, and two slender straps over my toes.

I needed a manicure and a pedicure.

Other than that, top to toe, I was all I could be for a first date.

The bummer was that I was also a little tired. The day, the conversation with Benny, the trip to Lincoln’s and back, and my efforts in the bathroom took it out of me.

But I was not going to miss that night.