He feasted on me, then his mouth closed around my clit, sucked hard, and he thrust two fingers inside.

“God,” I cried out, doing a full body arch, driving my hips deeper to Ben’s mouth.

I had been beyond excited, but the climax that slammed through me at what Benny was giving me was a surprise.

More of a surprise, Ben pushed it. He sucked, he finger-fucked me, and I dug my heels in his back, straining for more, moaning and whimpering.

He pulled his fingers out, dragged his tongue through my wetness, and I shuddered against him only to feel him pull away from me.

I opened my eyes, closed my legs, lifted my head, found him standing at the foot of the bed, and I whispered, “No.”

“Not leavin’ you, baby,” Ben whispered back before he tore off his tee and went for his jeans.

At seeing that, I moved.

I was up on my knees in the bed wearing nothing but lace-topped thigh highs, spike-heeled pumps, and my bra by the time Ben was naked. His dark, hot eyes roamed all over me, his lips rumbling, “Jesus,” and he moved back to me.

His arms closed around me, mine closed around him, and he fell forward, taking me back.

I wrapped my legs around him as he reached to his nightstand.

He gave me his mouth, even as he angled his hips away, kissing me, and please, God, rolling on a condom at the same time.

Suddenly, I felt the tip of his cock glide through my wetness, and just as suddenly, he was inside.

And again, I had Benny.

“Yes,” I breathed in his mouth.

“Fuck yes,” Ben groaned against mine and took my mouth again in a deep, wet kiss as he pounded inside me.

It lasted a while. It felt awesome for that while. Ben alternately kissed me or moved his mouth to play at my neck for that while. And if I could think of anything but all that Benny was making me feel, I wouldn’t have been able to say which I liked better (though, probably kissing).

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.”

I felt my eyes get big.

“Oh my God, that shit is the bomb,” I breathed.

He grinned and murmured, “Barbeque it is.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Right, then get off me, baby. I gotta get rid of this condom and feed my girl.”

I rolled off and Ben rolled off with me.

I then watched his ass, something I’d never seen unhindered, as he sauntered to the bathroom.

After enjoying that show and allowing myself a moment to enjoy the memory of that show when he disappeared, I spied my suitcase against the wall and moved.

I found my panties on the floor, nabbed them, kicked off my shoes, pulled the undies up, and discarded my thigh highs. I had my suitcase open on the floor and was kneeling by it, digging through my limited business travel selection when I saw Benny’s bare feet and the hems of his faded jeans on the floor next to my case.

I looked up (and up and up) encountering denim-clad thighs, a package I’d unwrapped and knew intimately that the treat inside was thrilling, bare abs, chest, and shoulders—their lines, ridges, and flats covered in smooth olive skin—and finally his handsome face pointed down to me.

“You need somethin’ to wear?” he asked.

“I didn’t pack lounge-around-Ben’s-house gear,” I answered, and his lips quirked.

“Right. Next time, remedy that,” he ordered and moved to his dresser. He opened a drawer, pulled out a faded red tee, turned, and tossed it to me.

I yanked it on and it had barely fallen over my ass before he had my hand in his and was pulling us out the door.

We hit the kitchen and Ben got out the meat. He nuked it while I got plates and put out the buns. Ben opened himself a beer and grabbed a bottle of wine. I grabbed a glass for my wine (one, incidentally, that I was pretty certain he stole from the pizzeria). He poured, then he moved to the meat, divided it between the buns, put a slice of Swiss cheese on it, and nuked it again until the cheese was melted.

It smelled divine and looked better.

Best of all, the entirety of this took about five minutes.

“Livin’ room,” he stated as a command and went on doing it. “Grab my plate. Come back and get the drinks. I’ll get the other shit.”

I would find, sitting in the corner of his couch, plate in hand, wine on the coffee table in front of me, “the other shit” consisted of Ben bringing out a jar of dill pickle slices and seven bags of chips.

Seven.

Something new to learn about Benny Bianchi. He apparently seriously liked snack foods.

I stared at the chips and noted Doritos Cool Ranch, Doritos Nacho Cheese, Jays Mesquite BBQ, Jays Sour Cream and Onion, Cheetos Puffs, Fritos Honey BBQ, and a tube of Pringles Cheddar Cheese.

Feeling like sticking with the theme, I carefully rolled forward on my knees, balancing my plate in hand, and reached for Jays Mesquite.

“Catch up,” Benny said as I sat back.

I put my plate on my lap, unrolled the top of the open chip bag, and looked to him. “Sorry, honey?”

He didn’t repeat himself.

He asked, “You get a dog?”

My heart squeezed because with his question he told me that, even though he didn’t answer my voicemails, he’d listened to them.