The Promise
Page 161
Ten minutes ago, she was crazy-beautiful.
Right then, right there, sitting across from him, carrying his baby, Benny knew without a doubt there was nothing in his life he could see or feel that would be more beautiful.
He would be wrong.
* * * * *
Ben slid his hand down Frankie’s side, in, and cupped her bare ass. He pulled her up so she could take his c**k deeper, and when she did, he felt her breath go heavy at his ear.
“Like that, baby?” he whispered in hers, thrusting slow, but firm and deep.
“Yes, Benny.”
“You want more, all you gotta do is tell me.”
She squeezed the leg she had wrapped around his thigh tighter, trailed her fingers up his spine, and glided her other hand through his hair as she took his c**k again and said on a soft breath, “I know, honey.”
Benny smelled his wife, felt her hair on his cheek, her wet pu**y clutch his cock, and listened to the noises she was making, even as he heard through the opened window the sounds of the surf pounding against the shore and his son and daughter shouting and giggling as they played in the sand with their grandparents.
And he had it again.
A moment in his life where he was in no doubt there would ever be another more beautiful.
This time, though, even as he experienced it and had no doubts about it, he still knew he would be proved wrong.
* * * * *
Ben walked into the huge-ass kitchen of the huge-ass house he’d bought for his family six years ago when Frankie popped out his second son and his third baby.
When he did, he stopped dead when he saw Frankie in her business suit and heels, standing with a pen in one hand, cell to her ear in the other, writing something on the calendar, saying into the phone, “Yeah. We can do that. We’re free.” She was silent a moment before she said, “Cool. What do you need us to bring?”
He heard her laugh and even a sound he liked hearing no matter how much he heard it, and he heard it a lot, didn’t take him out of his freeze.
“We can do that. Totally. See you then.” A pause before, “Yeah. You too. Later, Vi.”
She disconnected, looked to him, and smiled.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, cara,” he said quietly, her smile and greeting finally pulling him out of the freeze.
“Vi and Cal are havin’ a barbeque. We’re goin’ down. Two weeks.”
“She pregnant again?” he asked, and that got him another smile.
“No.”
He went to the coffeepot asking, “You pregnant again?”
“Not that I know of.”
He poured himself a cup, muttering, “Just checking.”
“I have a meeting so you have to pick Alessandra up from dance. And there are birthday cards on the counter.” She tipped her head that way. “The kids have signed them and they’re stamped and addressed. Could you sign them and get them in the mail today?”
He turned, leaned h*ps against the counter, and replied, “Got it covered,” before taking a sip of coffee.
Her eyes went to the ceiling. “Are they tearin’ shit up?”
“Probably.”
“They gotta get ready for school.”
“Seein’ as that happens every day and I take them there, I know that, Frankie.”
She tilted her head to the side. “You’re standin’ there enjoyin’ a cup of coffee, Benny.”
“It looks like I’m enjoyin’ a cup of coffee. What I’m really doin’ is a favor to the teachers, lettin’ our hellions get some of their energy out before I drop ’em at school. That means they’ll wreak havoc here and only ’cause mayhem there.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re doin’,” she muttered, her lips curving.
He watched her lips before he looked into her eyes and ordered, “Stop bustin’ my chops, give me a kiss, and go to work.”
Those eyes got squinty. “Stop bein’ bossy.”
He grinned at her.
Her eyes got squintier.
“Come here, baby,” he demanded quietly.
She rolled her eyes and came there.
He pulled her into his arms, put his mouth to hers, hers opened, and like always, Ben didn’t waste the opportunity. He drank deep.
When he lifted his head, she said softly, “Remember, we’re comin’ to the pizzeria for dinner.”
The best nights at work, when Frankie hauled their crew to the restaurant. They always started at a table. They always ended in the kitchen, his girl helping her daddy, his boys stealing balls of mozzarella and eating them in his office, Frankie gabbing to his kids.
“I remember.”
“Okay, honey.”
He lifted his head and touched his lips to her forehead.
She bent in and kissed his jaw.
“Dad!” they heard Joey shouting from upstairs. “Van is gettin’ into my stuff!”
“Donovan!” Benny shouted back, still holding his baby close. “Leave your brother’s stuff alone!”
That was when they heard from Van, “Joey’s got a big mouth!”
And that was when they heard from Joey, “It’s my stuff!”
And that was when he felt his wife kiss his jaw again before she whispered in his ear, “Good luck with that, baby.”
Benny looked down to catch her smiling.
She pulled out of his arms, grabbed her purse, computer bag, and travel mug, shouting toward the door, “Momma’s leavin’ and she’s doin’ it lovin’ her babies!”
“’Bye, Momma,” Alessandra, their oldest, shouted. “Love you!”
“’Bye, Mom!” Joey, their second, yelled.
“’Bye!” Van, their last, put his in, then bellowed, “Joey!”
She grinned at Benny and walked through the door to the garage.
It was then that Ben heard Gus bark, this always a warning that things were deteriorating.
But before he hauled his ass from the counter and walked through his huge-ass kitchen to sort out his sons, he looked toward the calendar.
Varied colors of ink. Different handwriting. Mostly Frankie’s. Some of Benny’s. Even some of Ales’s and Joey’s. All marked up. Hardly any white space at all. Alessandra’s dance. Joseph’s karate. Playdates for Donovan. Slumber parties for his girl. Sleepovers for his boys. Birthdays. Dinners with Man and Sela and their brood. His Ma and Pop. Chrissy and Eva. Cat and Art and their crew. And when they could expect people walking through their door to get their own meal made by Frankie.
All the shit that makes a good life scribbled in the blocks printed on glossy paper hanging on a wall.
Right then, right there, sitting across from him, carrying his baby, Benny knew without a doubt there was nothing in his life he could see or feel that would be more beautiful.
He would be wrong.
* * * * *
Ben slid his hand down Frankie’s side, in, and cupped her bare ass. He pulled her up so she could take his c**k deeper, and when she did, he felt her breath go heavy at his ear.
“Like that, baby?” he whispered in hers, thrusting slow, but firm and deep.
“Yes, Benny.”
“You want more, all you gotta do is tell me.”
She squeezed the leg she had wrapped around his thigh tighter, trailed her fingers up his spine, and glided her other hand through his hair as she took his c**k again and said on a soft breath, “I know, honey.”
Benny smelled his wife, felt her hair on his cheek, her wet pu**y clutch his cock, and listened to the noises she was making, even as he heard through the opened window the sounds of the surf pounding against the shore and his son and daughter shouting and giggling as they played in the sand with their grandparents.
And he had it again.
A moment in his life where he was in no doubt there would ever be another more beautiful.
This time, though, even as he experienced it and had no doubts about it, he still knew he would be proved wrong.
* * * * *
Ben walked into the huge-ass kitchen of the huge-ass house he’d bought for his family six years ago when Frankie popped out his second son and his third baby.
When he did, he stopped dead when he saw Frankie in her business suit and heels, standing with a pen in one hand, cell to her ear in the other, writing something on the calendar, saying into the phone, “Yeah. We can do that. We’re free.” She was silent a moment before she said, “Cool. What do you need us to bring?”
He heard her laugh and even a sound he liked hearing no matter how much he heard it, and he heard it a lot, didn’t take him out of his freeze.
“We can do that. Totally. See you then.” A pause before, “Yeah. You too. Later, Vi.”
She disconnected, looked to him, and smiled.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, cara,” he said quietly, her smile and greeting finally pulling him out of the freeze.
“Vi and Cal are havin’ a barbeque. We’re goin’ down. Two weeks.”
“She pregnant again?” he asked, and that got him another smile.
“No.”
He went to the coffeepot asking, “You pregnant again?”
“Not that I know of.”
He poured himself a cup, muttering, “Just checking.”
“I have a meeting so you have to pick Alessandra up from dance. And there are birthday cards on the counter.” She tipped her head that way. “The kids have signed them and they’re stamped and addressed. Could you sign them and get them in the mail today?”
He turned, leaned h*ps against the counter, and replied, “Got it covered,” before taking a sip of coffee.
Her eyes went to the ceiling. “Are they tearin’ shit up?”
“Probably.”
“They gotta get ready for school.”
“Seein’ as that happens every day and I take them there, I know that, Frankie.”
She tilted her head to the side. “You’re standin’ there enjoyin’ a cup of coffee, Benny.”
“It looks like I’m enjoyin’ a cup of coffee. What I’m really doin’ is a favor to the teachers, lettin’ our hellions get some of their energy out before I drop ’em at school. That means they’ll wreak havoc here and only ’cause mayhem there.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re doin’,” she muttered, her lips curving.
He watched her lips before he looked into her eyes and ordered, “Stop bustin’ my chops, give me a kiss, and go to work.”
Those eyes got squinty. “Stop bein’ bossy.”
He grinned at her.
Her eyes got squintier.
“Come here, baby,” he demanded quietly.
She rolled her eyes and came there.
He pulled her into his arms, put his mouth to hers, hers opened, and like always, Ben didn’t waste the opportunity. He drank deep.
When he lifted his head, she said softly, “Remember, we’re comin’ to the pizzeria for dinner.”
The best nights at work, when Frankie hauled their crew to the restaurant. They always started at a table. They always ended in the kitchen, his girl helping her daddy, his boys stealing balls of mozzarella and eating them in his office, Frankie gabbing to his kids.
“I remember.”
“Okay, honey.”
He lifted his head and touched his lips to her forehead.
She bent in and kissed his jaw.
“Dad!” they heard Joey shouting from upstairs. “Van is gettin’ into my stuff!”
“Donovan!” Benny shouted back, still holding his baby close. “Leave your brother’s stuff alone!”
That was when they heard from Van, “Joey’s got a big mouth!”
And that was when they heard from Joey, “It’s my stuff!”
And that was when he felt his wife kiss his jaw again before she whispered in his ear, “Good luck with that, baby.”
Benny looked down to catch her smiling.
She pulled out of his arms, grabbed her purse, computer bag, and travel mug, shouting toward the door, “Momma’s leavin’ and she’s doin’ it lovin’ her babies!”
“’Bye, Momma,” Alessandra, their oldest, shouted. “Love you!”
“’Bye, Mom!” Joey, their second, yelled.
“’Bye!” Van, their last, put his in, then bellowed, “Joey!”
She grinned at Benny and walked through the door to the garage.
It was then that Ben heard Gus bark, this always a warning that things were deteriorating.
But before he hauled his ass from the counter and walked through his huge-ass kitchen to sort out his sons, he looked toward the calendar.
Varied colors of ink. Different handwriting. Mostly Frankie’s. Some of Benny’s. Even some of Ales’s and Joey’s. All marked up. Hardly any white space at all. Alessandra’s dance. Joseph’s karate. Playdates for Donovan. Slumber parties for his girl. Sleepovers for his boys. Birthdays. Dinners with Man and Sela and their brood. His Ma and Pop. Chrissy and Eva. Cat and Art and their crew. And when they could expect people walking through their door to get their own meal made by Frankie.
All the shit that makes a good life scribbled in the blocks printed on glossy paper hanging on a wall.
