#cssspg

[cannedsoupsucks]

This goes beyond desire... this is carnality at it's finest

watch your step (7)

Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount: 14.6K Warnings: gore. alcohol/drug abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. drunk smut. insecurities. frankie being a dick. benny being a king. Summary: Ben takes her out. A/N: wow this has been the longest time i've taken between chapters. truly sorry. i just have been all over the place and this is one i definitely wanted to get right. many thanks to @frannyzooey again and again for her editing/advice/support. i'd be a mess without her aid. the song i specifically feature in this chapter is Bob Moses's "Tearing Me Up". I got the inspo from this scene in Netflix's White Lines.

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Two weeks. Two fucking weeks and she thought she was losing her mind.

Frankie had completely avoided her. He’d left her half-naked on her bedroom floor. Still shuddering from the stretch of him. Still recovering from the heaviness of his body. His heat. She felt a distinct emptiness from his loss. Ripples in his wake.

She stared at the stain on her carpet. It was rust-red - nearly brown. She’d been unable to get it out and she’d finally brought in the big guns.

Will cocked his head before crouching to the floor. He rubbed at his jaw - beard rasping across his palm. “Did your legs open up or something?”

Something like that.

Her skin flushed at the memory. She’d never confess it and she highly doubted Frankie had told the guys anything. They treated her the same. There were no shared furtive glances or deliberate innuendo.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry I took so long to ask you. I just - I don’t know, I must have forgotten about it.”

She had absolutely not forgotten about it. She studied that stain like it was a piece of art she could not process. She thought it a reminder that she wanted to keep. She wanted to know that what happened between Frankie and her had in fact happened.

Saying that she had forgotten about it seemed like a flimsy excuse. It was quite blatant against the cream weave of the carpet. A dark smudge. A mistake. After Frankie continued to avoid her, she had finally needed it erased. It gradually became a punch to the gut every time she saw it. She’d tried her best to clean it herself, but it only smudged - only spread its edges outward into pale pink.

Will frowned at her. “How are they healing?”

That was so Will. He could care less about the fact that she had pretty much ruined her carpet on purpose. She bent down and lifted one of her leggings to show him. The cuts were there, but faint. They no longer hurt.

He reached out and traced the lines scattered over her skin. His touch was warm and gentle. It was almost unbearable.

“They look better,” he said in a soft voice. She nodded and then shoved the fabric back down. She stepped away from him and climbed onto her bed where Tom slept soundly.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, hoping it would break the tension that had now swelled in the air. There was always a thick tension: cobwebs of electricity binding them together. She had watched him kill and, still, she felt goosebumps of pleasure split her skin whenever he pinned her with one of those tenderly amused expressions.

He cleared his throat before lifting the bottle of bluish liquid that he’d come in with. He shook it a couple times before pouring it over the stain.

“What’s that?”

“Baking soda, dish soap and hydrogen peroxide,” he answered without looking up. He was focused - zeroing in on the carpet with his lower lip stuck between his teeth. He whipped out a brush device from his back pocket and began to scrub the liquid into the stain.

She tried to avoid gawking at him, but it was no use. His wheat-blond hair was tugged into a knot revealing the jut of his cheekbone. Her eyes roved over the muscles bunching in his back. His white t-shirt did nothing to hide all that definition. She could imagine being spread out beneath him - her nails biting in his shoulders before sliding down to clutch at the solid flesh around his ribs. She still recalled what he’d told her - what he’d promised her. She had yet to act on it. She already felt guilty enough that she fucked Frankie. That had been a mistake. It had been the heat of the moment. It had been a few minutes of insanity.

She glanced at Tom who was now peeking at her with one tiny black eye.

“Don’t judge,” she mouthed and his blush-pink tongue darted out.

Truthfully - she didn’t want to hook up with Will because she was terrified that he’d leave her like Frankie did. She wondered if she had played this all wrong. They were men who had sex served to them on a weekly basis. She was just this forbidden fruit they couldn’t touch and so of course they flirted with her. Perhaps once he’d fuck her, he’d be over it. She’d be something he had expunged from his system.

Frankie had bruised her ego. He’d rammed it into the dirt and thoroughly crushed it with his boot for good measure.

She’d slept in after they’d had sex. She’d practically drugged herself with melatonin because her skin was still vibrating - her legs and cunt ached and sleep would not come to her. When she’d finally awoken mid-afternoon - there had been a pale purple box on her nightstand. She knew what it was just by the damn color scheme.

Plan-B.

Emergency contraception.

Wonderful. She was mortified. She was completely ashamed.

Frankie had no doubt snuck into her room and left it there. She’d promptly burst into tears, which she would never fucking admit to anyone. She’d turned onto her stomach and shoved her face into her pillow and crumpled like a tissue. She hadn’t cried over a guy screwing her over in years and it had been one of Sioban’s golden rules: never let them see you cry.

That along with don’t mix benzos with alcohol unless you’re lying on a flat surface.

While she had sobbed in front of the men numerous times already, she had decided that those really didn’t count. Those were reasonable breakdowns. Those were about life and death and existential crises.

Frankie discovering that he had absolutely annihilated her self-esteem was unthinkable. That applied to all of them. She’d die if they knew.

“Finished,” he announced, standing up. “That mixture can sit there for a couple hours and then we can wash it.”

She smiled at him.

Tom barked excitedly - wiggling in her arms as he desperately tried to reach the man standing by her bed. A grin split Will’s pink lips and it was truly heartbreaking. He was so good looking it made her teeth hurt.

“Better pick him up before he freaks. You’re like the animal whisperer.”

Will swept Tom into his arms - scratching his neck and ears. “I like animals. They’re loyal.”

“You have obviously never had a cat.”

“I could make a cat loyal,” he shrugged. “It just takes a bit of patience.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Animals are very dependable. It’s why I use pigs for half of my disposals.”

She sat up - allowing that to sink in. She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d mentioned a pig farm off-hand once. Benny had, too. She didn’t know why he still managed to surprise her when he had only ever been upfront about who he was. Will was a killer and yet she could so easily forget that fact as he cleaned her carpet on his hands and knees - as he cuddled a small, yipping puppy.

His gaze was fixed on her. His expression unreadable. His eyes were that shade of a storm-tossed sea. Light at the surface, but churning dark and foggy beneath the ripple of pale foam. His lips twitched. Her skin grew hot.

He reminded her of Gabriel or Apollo. This man with all his golden handsomeness. His features could appear so cruel before something made him laugh and they became a completely different shade of beauty.

Fuck - she was so into him that it was borderline-disturbing. She didn’t want to fuck it up. She didn't want to take hold of that string between them and have his end rip away.

“Funny,” he muttered as he stepped closer.

“What’s funny?” He took the hand not holding Tom and palmed her cheek. With his thumb - he slowly stroked over the place between her brows.

“You used to get these lines here if I ever mentioned something about my work. You’d scrunch your face up.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” he husked and then dragged his hand just a little lower to grasp the hinge of her jaw. He took his thumb again and rubbed it over her lower lip. She was melting - going to liquid right in the deep of her core.

He was warm. He was so warm all over. She wanted to press her face into his broad chest. She wanted him to kiss her. He leaned forward just enough before he paused. There it was - he was waiting for her to close the gap. He had put the decision in her hands.

“That after tonight - if you still want me to - I’ll fuck you.”

She did want to. She wanted it too much and therein lied the problem.

There was the possibility that he’d never look at her like this again. If she gave in - if he fucked her then the myth of her could crumple - could break apart and she’d no longer be this prize to be won. She didn’t want to lose him.

She sat back on her heels and disappointment twisted his gorgeous face. Tom struggled in his grip as he tried for the bed and Will let him go. She needed to puncture the tension.

“So,” she said. “Can I make you dinner as payment?”

***

In the last two weeks, she had gone out of her way to cook the boys delicious meals. Not for them, but for her. She was so anxious over Frankie that she wanted to fill her days prepping and chopping and only thinking about measurements and fresh produce. She lacked for nothing. She’d write a list and they’d supply whatever she wanted.

Pope had even started to come try the things she made. Of course, he’d bring it back into his office, but he still seemed to enjoy her food. He’d lean nonchalantly against the counter as he tasted it. The corner of his mouth quirking at the flavor as he chewed.

“Good?” she’d asked.

“Good.” And then he’d grab a plate and disappear into the hallway.

Kimchi fried chicken. Saffron-spiced bouillabaisse. Beef bourguignon. Salted caramel pots de crème. Flakey buttery dinner rolls. Dan Dan noodles. Strawberry and cream layer cake. Cornmeal waffles with banana bourbon syrup. A homemade hamburger helper that Benny took into his room and refused to share.

She’d had a lot of time on her hands.

She walked over to the fridge with Tom at her heels. He’d become very attached to her - often curling up right at her feet as she cooked. Will leaned over the island - dropping his elbows against the wood butcher block to observe her.

“Can I help?”

She spun around tossing a chunk of parmesan on the counter. “Not really,” she said. “You can grab me a box of pasta out of the cabinet.”

“Which one?”

She felt a twinge of delight at that. Will had always called pasta spaghetti, regardless of type, and she’d gone into an entire lecture about the variety and which went with sauce.

There’s tons! Bucatini, penne, fusilli, farfalle, rigatoni, tagliatelle, ziti, orecchiette -

Okay, okay I get it.

“Spaghetti or linguine,” she replied. “Whichever one you want.”

He tossed her the box and she placed it next to the cheese along with the pepper mill.

“That’s all you need?”

“It’s cacio e pepe! It’s ridiculously easy.” She put a pot of salted water on the burner and then grabbed a pan so she could start toasting the ground pepper.

They slipped into an easy silence. She could feel Will’s eyes on her - raking over her hands as she stirred the starchy pasta water, pecorino, and black pepper with the noodles. They did this a lot and it had become routine. She’d never had company this often. She had always been alone - incredibly isolated as she burrowed into that old house with her mother. She had only ever cooked for herself. Her mother had subsisted on saltines - chewing them to a gloopy pale mush and washing them down with a slosh of vodka. In the penthouse’s gorgeous kitchen, that life seemed far away. It seemed coated in a thick film of dust and one that she had no intention of cleaning off. She didn’t want to go back there.

As she passed Will a bowl of pasta, she leaned forward, pressing her chest across the island to watch him eat it up close. He took a bite and his face dissolved into pleasure.

“So good,” he hummed as he stuffed another forkful into his mouth. She grinned, spinning around to lick the salty buttery sauce off the wooden spoon. Benny would be here any minute and probably starving. He had to be fed every hour or he went all gremlin.

“So I overheard you guys talking about retribution,” she remarked casually. She had been sufficiently kept at arm's length when it came to whatever politics the boys were dealing with. She knew that Frankie had made a move that Santi had not blessed. She knew that he’d acted out on her behalf, which felt strange. He’d gone out of his way to avenge her and then treated her like she wasn’t even there. The day after their tryst, she’d heard Santi yelling at him in his office followed by Frankie’s low retorts.

“Are you going after Baron?”

“Yes,” Will said carefully. “But we are playing it safe right now. The situation is delicate.”

She chewed thoughtfully and then made a comment that she sort of meant as a joke and sort of didn’t. “What if he wins? Would he chop me up? Blow torch my face like in Hostel?”

Will abruptly dropped his fork and it clattered in his bowl. “What the hell? No! Who have you been talking to?”

“Frankie said he’s psychotic.”

“A lot of people say I’m psychotic.”

“Yeah, but - they don’t know you.”

“I torture people, Faire,” he said bluntly. “That’s what I do - what I’m good at.” He picked up his fork again.“And I’ve used a blow torch.”

She absorbed that revelation. It didn’t bother her like it should have. She had begun to see Will as he was in the penthouse. She saw him taking care of her when she’d cut herself. She saw him when he wedged himself between her knees and took her face in his hands and kissed her. All of Will’s previous actions had become flushed with a blurred filter. She couldn’t touch them

- taste them. She didn’t see Ironhead. She saw Will.

It could be a form of Stockholm syndrome. It could simply be that she could not remain in a state of permanent fear and anxiety because her mind would surely break under the pressure.

They had been kind to her and they had given her a reason for it. She didn’t have the emotional capacity to be terrified of the men when she had Santi’s brother after her.

She bit her lip. “All jokes aside - do you think he’d really make it hurt? Like would it not be quick?”

The second the words left her mouth, there was a subtle shift in Will’s features. His eyes darkened - his lips thinning to a hard line as his jaw clenched. He leaned toward her.

“I wouldn’t let him touch you,” he stated in a serious voice. “That won’t happen.”

He declared it like it was law - like it was an absolute truth. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t promise her anything. She’d told that to Frankie. No one could promise her safety. No one was a hundred percent in full control of her life or her death.

He should know that, but she found herself unable to say it.

***

Frankie was spiraling, Benny thought.

He’d been acting strangely ever since he went full Liam Neeson down at The Wharf. He’d gone out nearly every night - slithering through the clubs - the casinos - their many bars. He was brooding. He was pissed. His skin on tight as if hooks were pierced into his back and stretching him to his breaking point.

“I’m worried,” Santi told him. He was sitting across from Ben in his office. The cityscape rose and fell at his back. The dying sun illuminated the skyscrapers and the bridge over the bay. There was a dull orange in the light. Autumn was coming. “He hasn’t been like this since the wreck.”

Since the wreck…

It was a mass of memory that collided into Ben when Santi brought that up. He was so good at burying it and with one word, it felt as if a meteor had crashed into him - knocking him off his axis. He cracked his neck - breathing deep in an effort to not let it unnerve him.

“Have you talked to him?”

“He’s giving me nothing,” Santi replied. “When I asked about the Wharf, he shut down. He felt justified in it.”

“He was pissed.”

“He was pissed because he’s got a hard on for Charles’s daughter.”

Benny squinted at him as if it was obvious. “We all do, man. She’s gorgeous.”

Santi rolled his eyes. “Regardless - he can’t let this crush start fucking him over. We can’t afford to have Frankie go off on one of his emotional blackout benders.”

“Say that five times fast.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ben.”

“Okay - okay,” Ben threw his hands up. “I know. He’s been weird. He’s been fucking a bunch of chicks while he’s been out. I walked in on him in the billiard room at Mayfair and I had to bleach my eyeballs”

“He’s seen you do worse.”

Ben glowered at him. He had a point. Still, it was strange. The last few weeks, Frankie had been with a number of women - all of them different. Fish choosing not to fuck the same girl wasn’t exactly unusual, but the quantity definitely was.

Santi massaged his temples. “Do you think he’s drinking?”

“No,” Ben said - fairly confident. “I think this is something else.”

Like he’s trying to get her out of his system. He’s trying to forget about her.

Frankie was Ben’s brother in so many ways. He read him and read him with a sharp eye. Like Ben - Frankie was probably trying to erase her via distraction. He couldn’t drink, but he definitely could fuck. Maybe - he was worried about how he’d lost his head. Raged. Maybe - he thought that the girl brought out a more feral side to him. Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d acted so violently and without a solid plan.

Fish had just done it.

“We have to go out tonight,” Santi finally said after a few minutes. He steepled his fingers - rocked in his leather chair.

Ben blew out a breath. He wasn’t in the mood. “Where?”

“Saints.”

***

There was tension in the group. She had put together that much. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure if it was because Frankie had acted out and killed two people seemingly on a whim. She wasn’t sure if it was about her or Baron. It was probably everything.

She had - admittedly - been so distracted by Frankie ignoring her that she had yet to ask Pope about the rest of her father’s story. A part of her simply didn’t want to know. It hurt her too much to realize that her father had apparently nursed a paternal sort of relationship with Pope. It wasn’t fair. Here she was being punished for her father’s decisions. Here she was being stalked by Pope’s psychotic brother.

She was just a fucking girl. Boring. Unstable. Depressed.

She pressed her hips against the counter as she reheated the pasta for Ben. She could focus on this. She could run through the ingredients and the steps: salt the water, toast the crushed peppercorns, boil the pasta, add the starchy water to the pan, the pecorino, mix.

If she busied her mind the rest fell away. She sometimes even forgot that she had three bottles of white wine in the fridge.

“What’s cookin, good lookin?”

Ben sauntered inside wearing a pair of gray sweats and a ratty t-shirt. A backwards baseball cap sat on his head.

“Cacio e pepe,” She turned toward him and stabbed her wooden spoon at him viciously. “And never say that again.”

He cocked his head to the side. “But you look hot when you’re pissed.”

She glowered at him and he laughed. “Sorry - sorry - I won’t.”

He slid behind her, dropping his chin over her shoulder to stare down at the pan. He smelled like sweat and cotton. Musky. He’d probably spent a couple hours in the gym. “You’re gonna make me fat.”

She could feel his very flat stomach against her spine. “I’m trying my best.”

They spent the next hour ribbing each other as usual. Benny scarfed down her food while asking about her day. He even cleaned the dishes - bodily picking her up and setting her down on the counter when she tried to do it herself.

Will and Pope entered the kitchen by eight o’clock. Pope looked as he always did: darkly handsome and aloof in his pristine gray suit. Will was dressed in a far more casual outfit: black jeans and a white shirt and boots. The smoky essence of their cologne mingled in the air. The clinical smell of the basil soap Benny had used on the pans.

“Are you wearing that, Ben?” Pope asked - perplexed.

“Nah,” He settled next to her against the counter. He didn’t make a move for the stairs. He just stared down at her bare knee with an odd sort of focus.

Her gaze darted between the men. The vibe of it all felt unsettled - almost nervous. Frankie wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen him at all today though lately that wasn’t unusual.

Will stood over by the sink, crossing his arms. “Where’s -”

Frankie strolled into the room with a girl under his arm. Every head in the room turned to look at him.

The sight of it stunned her. She had never seen him with a woman. She hadn’t heard him with one like she had with Ben and Will. This smacked her across the face.

His face was pale - his stubble overgrown. She quickly glanced down as Ben clasped his hand over her knee - his thumb stroking the skin around it.

The girl giggled and it pierced her - thrust through her guts. Frankie’s date appeared elated to be there.

“Hi,” she said and the boys didn’t respond. An awkward silence sat bloated and inescapable between them. The girl glanced at Frankie, unsure.

Ben’s hand was a firm pressure on her knee. He squeezed it and when she finally looked up, she realized that Frankie was staring at her. His big umber eyes bore into her own and she swallowed.

This was the first time he’d actually held her gaze in weeks. The last time had been right at the beginning of their fuck. His expression was unsteady as he watched her take him to the hilt - as she whimpered and begged him.

His eyes roved over her face - his nostrils flaring - his jaw rolling. His arm heavy on his date's shoulders as she turned her body to seal herself against his chest.

It was too much for her. It was far too much.

She jumped down from the counter - brushing past Will and Pope to go upstairs.

“Have fun,” she shouted in the most cheerful tone she could muster. She felt tears at the back of her throat and she desperately tried to will them away.

***

Ben saw it almost immediately. The second Fish walked in with whoever that was, her expression shuttered - curled in on itself like she was about to cry. Something had happened between them. He had put that much together. Frankie had gone from following her around to completely avoiding her.

What the fuck was he playing at? Frankie didn’t bring girls to the house unless it was after a night out. This made it look like some sort of date.

It’s why all of them had been too shocked to respond to the chick.

This was a deliberate move. He wanted to hurt her or fuck with her.

Had he said something? Had she?

He doubted it. She didn’t seem to take things too close to heart seeing as they’d kidnapped her and now they were on speaking terms - cuddling terms, even. Frankie wouldn’t have given a shit if she had called him every name in the book and then burned his room down.

This was deeper. This was bad.

Had they hooked up? Kissed? Fucked?

It was likely. Maybe - Frankie was now trying to shut her down in the most ridiculous, roundabout way? That was Fish. Always doing the most irreparable damage to try and find a solution.

“Ben,” Santi cleared his throat. “Go get dressed.”

Ben glanced at the stairs where the girl had fled. He felt a tightness in his chest as if he had violent heartburn.

He was pissed. Whatever had happened between them didn’t mean that she deserved Frankie treating her like that. She’d been through enough. She was barely holding it together as it was.

He had a very strong desire to speak to her or at least make sure she was okay.

“I’m going to stay here,” he replied -tone brooking no room for argument. His gaze flew to Frankie who had - if it was possible - gone even more stone-faced. He could see his fingers curling into a fist - his dark eyes focusing on the place she’d just vacated.

Benny analyzed people. He was quite good at it, which was entirely why Santi trusted him to work their clubs - lube up their connections for lack of a better term.

Ben would never be able to get it out of Frankie, but Faire? He could.

He was going to figure out what was going on and he’d need to get the girl in a better headspace. He would settle this and settle it tonight.

***

She rushed into her room, slightly hating herself for it. She needed to get out of that kitchen. She needed to just be alone. There was a sensation like glass - ugly and serrated - twisting through her stomach.

I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.

She curved her fingers into her palm so hard that her nails bit through the skin. This was so fucked. She should have never slept with him because now it was ruined. Now - she could barely tolerate seeing him with another woman. She knew what he felt like inside of her. She recalled in perfect detail how thick he was - how heavy his body was on top of hers - the ferocity with which he claimed her on her bedroom floor. He’d kissed her like he wanted to eat her from foot to cunt to head.

She sighed - pressing her fists into her eyelids until black spots sprang and burst across her vision.

After twenty minutes or so, she heard the boy’s steps in the foyer below. The distinct click of heels on marble. Bitch.

She heard the front door open and shut.

Thank God.

She released a heavy breath. She could crawl into bed and sleep or watch shitty television and hopefully not hear when they came -

“We’re going out,” Benny announced from the doorway.

She jerked - hand flying to her chest.

He was dressed in dark grey pants and a navy shirt along with a black bomber jacket. He held up an enormous bottle of CasaMigos - the liquid sloshing as he shook it. “We’re pre-gaming and we’re gonna go to my club.”

She gaped at him.

He grinned - obviously pleased that he’d surprised her.

“Are you drunk? We can’t leave.”

“I’m not drunk and we can leave. I’ve got business, anyway. It’s an excuse.”

“Ben…”

“Yes?” He was already strolling over to her closet - no doubt ready to sift through the numerous dresses that Pope’s personal shoppers had purchased for her.

They couldn’t go out. There was a price on her head. A big one.

But - it’d be fun.

She wanted to go out with him. She did. Benny was the most persuasive. It was his gift. However, she’d also nearly been killed only a few weeks back. Her prison had gradually become her safe haven. It was a comfort and one she was now terrified to leave. “Is that a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Baron?”

Ben waved his hand dismissively. “The club we’re going to is my club. Baron wouldn’t show up there and his lackeys certainly wouldn’t.”

“Someone could tell him.”

“Someone could, but he still isn’t going to do shit,” he assured her. “I have about a hundred people including security working for me there.”

“What about Tom?”

“We’ll leave him with the guards. Gerry loves that little dude.”

She chewed on her lip. She was still nervous, but there was also the bubbling ache of jealousy over Frankie. Sitting at home would make her fiend with anxiety and probably drink the whole damn bar and then she’d burst into tears outside his room or something equally pathetic. She wanted to forget. She wanted to have a good time for once. She didn’t think she’d had a real, true night out since even before her mother had died. She’d lost most of her friends since graduating college due to her own self-imposed isolation.

She needed to forget.

She had no desire to focus on the fact that she had been fucked and totally cast aside. Frankie could barely look at her and it hurt. She was shocked that it hurt so fiercely - that her chest and lungs got stiff whenever he avoided her gaze. Was she hideous? Had it been terrible? Did she not do a good job? She had just laid there. She’d been so consumed - so off kilter because it had felt so sweet. She had just taken what he had given her.

“What about the guys?” she implored. “Pope gets hives every time I walk near the front door.”

Ben shrugged. He turned toward her and held out a silvery minidress that sparkled beneath her buttery bedroom lighting. “They’ll probably be mad and I’ll probably get chewed out, but I’m willing to risk it so that you can have a good time for once.” He sidled up to her - his eyes round and expression playful. “Let’s go get fucked up and dance.”

She couldn’t help the smile that burst behind her lips. He was just too fucking fun. He was a killer and he had drugged her and kissed her and fucked too many chicks for her to count and still he could tug the glee from her. He was so talented at making her not think. Benny’s eyes fell to her mouth and he nudged his knuckles across her cheek.

“C’mon, Faire. Let's go be bad.”

***

The hem of her minidress rode up her thigh the second she slid into the backseat. She tried pulling it down, but it was no use. The strappy shoes had a thick heel, at least.

Benny got in next to her and offered her one of the red solo cups he was holding. She took a sip: Tequila. Soda. Splash of grapefruit.

“Did I get it right?”

“Mmhmm,” she grinned behind the rim.

“Nice,” He spread out next to her - thighs falling open as he threw his arm over the back of her seat. She didn’t mind. Ben took up space, but it was never in a way that felt domineering or rude. “By the way - you look hot as fuck.”

“You told me that already,” she pointed out. “In my room and in the elevator.”

“Well - it’s true.”

She snorted and immediately tried to muffle it behind her hand. She felt giddy. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her - at least for a few hours. Ben’s nonstop compliments were also doing wonders to her ego.

She relaxed into her seat as she looked out the window. She hadn’t seen the world from this level in ages. She digested the thick, rolling mass of the city as the SUV cruised through the streets. They were headed toward the marina - a once very shitty part of town that was now extremely expensive. The lights blurred and fuzzed - melting into streaks of brightness across numerous industrial-type buildings. This was the art’s district - famed for its pop-up art installations and murals and strange sculptures. A concert hall. The latest farm-to-table restaurant where you’d find menu items like beet pancakes or fish roe bucatini or freeze-dried liver with truffles.

She used to run around down here during college. It had weirdly been the best couple years of her life. She’d been away from her mother. She could spend her day going to class and then the library and then party until her feet ached. She’d been out of her fucking mind, but that had been the beauty of it. She’d been a good student in highschool and it was like she could let it all go once she’d left home for the short period that she was able. Of course, she’d also spent her entire junior year doing non-stop molly until the comedowns got so bad that she couldn’t sit with herself for more than ten minutes at a time. There was no joy in spending each Sunday rocking back and forth in your tiny dorm room bed either crying or vomiting.

She’d had zero self control, which was proving to be a facet of her personality. She was getting older and very much not wiser.

She glanced at Benny who was intently reading his phone. He’d slicked back his dark blonde hair and a strand hung over his eyes. He really did have ridiculously nice hair. Thick and the color of honey. The screen illuminated the sharp line of his nose and the jut of his lower lip.

“Do you have an instagram?” she asked.

Benny shot her an indignant look. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why are you always reading your phone?”

“Wikipedia pages,” he drawled as if she was an idiot for not knowing.

“Pardon?”

“I go down Wiki rabbit holes and read about weird shit,” he clarified before handing her his phone. She scrolled up to see the title of the article.

“Why are you reading about codpieces?”

“I was originally on 14th century armor,” His tone defensive. “Sometimes the links just take you for a ride.”

“You’re so strange.”

“You love it.”

“A little.”

“A lot.”

“Is Will this weird?”

“He tortures and dismembers people for a living.”

“Point taken.”

Benny chuckled before sliding closer to her. He smelled remarkable: smoke and musk and mint. His expensive cologne was pressed with spice.

“So what about you, Ms. Faire? Are you a little weirdo?”

Yes,” she replied without missing a beat.

“Go on.”

She took another sip of her drink. The red plastic crinkled between her fingers. She’d have to pace herself. “I don’t know - I was just one of those kids who grew up thinking something was wrong with me. I couldn’t figure it out. I was very in my own head. Fantasized a lot about being anywhere but where I was.”

“So that makes you weird?”

“I don’t know. I think kids could smell it off me. I was just different and I tended to keep to myself.”

“I can see that.”

“I also used to stroll around our garden talking to fairies while wearing a wig.”

He blinked at her. “Yep,” he finally replied. “There it is.”

***

It was still warm outside as she stepped out of the car. The wind swept off the bay and ruffled her hair. It smelled briney - clear and crisp with that fertile tang of the sea. Lichen. Seaweed. Damp moss soaked rocks.

She studied the rows of ugly warehouses. There was no indication that this was a club aside from the extremely long line that spilled from its enormous door. She saw the fine print along the side of the front door. It’d be almost impossible to see unless you searched for it. A place that didn’t need to promote itself due to its exclusivity.

She did a double-take.

“Wait,” She grabbed him by the wrist as he led her to the bouncer. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “St. George’s is your club?”

“Yeah,” he said as if it wasn’t a huge deal.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

“Is it really that impressive?” He continued to drag her to the door. “Damn - should have told you sooner.”

“It’s impossible to get into! I think I’ve tried maybe ten times.”

“Who didn’t let you in?” His words aghast. “I”ll fire them.”

“Oh shut up.”

***

The first room into the club blew her away. The entire space was a blend of extravagant reds, velvet and dark-wood interiors. Like The Chapel - the vaulted ceiling was covered in art. Opulent paintings of St. George fighting a sinister dragon and the lush beautiful princess at his side. There must have been red gems inlaid into the surface because they sparked and spat like flames. There was a faux historical gloss to the place which was then contrasted by high-shine, modern furniture. Lacquered tables and chairs. Geometric, futuristic chandeliers that hung heavy.

She wanted to stop. She wanted to take it all in. She wanted to stare at the ceiling for hours, but Ben was hauling her after him and she could barely keep up with his long legs.

The next room was narrow, almost a great corridor. The ceiling was made up like the night sky. Violet-blue with scattered pendant lighting that blinked and twinkled. It made the space seem bigger than it was - taller. The true beauty were the trees that lined the path. Olive trees in granite podiums - their branches tangled and knotted as they formed a canopy over them.

“Holy shit,” she gasped as Benny led her further into the club. There were many rooms. Rooms leading into rooms, which made it like an experience. Some areas were oppressive and womb-like - others open and breathable.

“Here we are,” he called over his shoulder as they reached what had to be the main area of the club. Her mouth fell open.

The ceiling was a prism of neon multi-colored lights: cerise, violet, coral, mint, cornflower blue, and burgundy. Blown glass like handful-sized bubbles covered the lights so that they shimmered and bounced in a ripple. There were even neon flowers that hung between the bubbles, bathing the dance floor in a wash of various shades.

A giant screen stood at the far rear of the space. It played what looked like music videos as image after image revolved on a loop. Slicked up dancers. The bright berry lips of a pop star. A boy band from the nineties in white jackets and pants. There was an enormous bar - obsidian and shiny. Booths of various colors dotted the edges and when she looked closely she noticed that some of them had curtains. It was very modern with a geometric flare. It even had tinges of Art Deco. Highly stylized. A wonderland, really.

“Do you like it?” Ben asked - his mouth ghosting her ear.

“I’m speechless.”

“C’mon,” he said. “I’ve gotta network and then we can get a table.”

***

She knew that this was dangerous. Forbidden. Will would rage. Pope might kill her. She didn’t care - not a lick because Benny’s hand was firm around her own. He didn’t meander through the room but slice through it. He was sharp - quick with every note he had:

That’s Drago St. Claire - he owes Santi like a hundred k.

See that chick back there - yeah her - that’s Sylvie - she’s my eyes and ears in this place. We’ve known each other since I was thirteen.

Oh fuck me - I have to talk to this guy. Do you mind? He fucked up a job down in Santo Domingo and if I don’t do it then it’s gonna be Will and we know how that goes.

She was stunned. She had known that Benny ran Pope’s clubs. She had understood that he had responsibilities and that he was most likely good at what he did.

But - this?

Benny was an orchestrator. He dripped through the room - bloomed like the swell of the sun. The crowds oriented around him - many seemingly knowing who he was and treated him with a subtle reverence. He gave orders out of one corner of his mouth while schmoozing out of the other. He knew the most insignificant details about the people who worked for him:

How’s Mary’s ballet class?

Did you fix that pipe that blew in your basement? I can send a guy over.

Really? He dumped you? Well - fuck that guy. You can put all your drinks on my tab tonight.

He kept her pressed to his back - his grip fierce on her wrist at all times. No one seemed to notice her - no one really paid attention and perhaps everyone thought she was just one of his girls - one of the several he had because the boys did have several. She briefly wondered if any of those women would be here.

She hoped not - she enjoyed being like this with him.

She watched him - admired him. He really was gorgeous - that smug, golden shine gilding his features. His prominent cheekbones and sharp jaw and big white teeth. His height, too. She felt safe with him - huddled in his shadow as he guided her with a solid, heavy arm.

You okay? You want another drink? I promise we can relax after I do the rounds.

It had become gradually apparent to her that Benny looked out for her. He was her friend more so than any of the others. Sure there was Will, but that connection was like a livewire. She could barely interact with him without feeling a shock that sparked her blood. Making eye contact with him was like clamping down on a power generator. Santi was cordial. Frankie was…? Well - she wouldn’t go there. Not tonight when this was all meant to be a tool to forget about him.

There were no catches with Benny. There was nothing, but him asking her if she wanted to get out of that glass prison and cut loose.

Maybe - it was a bad idea. Maybe - it was incredibly foolish.

But her gaze was pinned to him and it was like seeing Ben in every new light imaginable. Every stand-out cut of footage that had been their film. Every dramatic fucking angle.

The music continued to pulse beneath her feet - it buzzed hot under her skin. She wasn’t drunk, but the tequila had lifted the cold, black stone that had settled in her gut the last few weeks. She twisted her hips - bobbed her head. It made the air churn with a sweet kind of sensuality. It made her hum with sensation.

Benny gifted her a disarming grin as he spoke to one of the security guards near the end of the bar. His gaze trailed over her - flickered across her chest and the span of her waist as she swayed subtly with the music.

She flushed deep. It throbbed over her bones. It turned her inside out. Molten fucking heat.

“What?” she mouthed and his grin spread wider.

She was about to punch him in the shoulder - smack him for taunting her with that expression when his smile completely disappeared. His face went completely flat.

“Ben!”

The throaty voice burst through the thump of the music. A body shoved past her before pouncing on him.

Marissa.

She was in a backless, silky red top and black leather pants. He returned the hug half-heartedly, but his gaze stayed firmly on her. That familiar pain in her chest began to rise. She felt a tiny bit ill.

Should she go? Should she leave them?

“Hey,” Benny said before quickly stepping away from Marissa. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I searched for you at Saints!” she exclaimed - wrapping her arms around his shoulders - sealing herself to his chest. “The boys said you stayed home, but Gwen texted me that you were here. Can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” She gripped his face to tug him down to her mouth and he staggered backward.

Ben - who was usually so smooth and elegant - seemed utterly caught off guard. He stared at her helplessly as he tried to dodge the brunette’s outstretched hands.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Marissa snapped.

She wanted to be anywhere, but here. She felt awkward standing behind them - shifting on her too-high heels and her short dress. Marissa was gorgeous - effortless in her leather and silk. Ben had complimented her - had told her how good she looked, but still - she felt like she might bust out of her own skin.

Benny’s jaw tightened and then he gestured to her over Marissa’s head. “I’m actually here with someone.” His voice wasn’t rude, but it did lack warmth.

Marissa twisted around and finally noticed her.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “Hi.”

She sounded both pissed and stunned. Her narrowed gaze trailed over her from her feet to her chest to her hair. Her expression was hard as if she was doing her damndest not to sneer or bare her teeth. Marissa was itching to do something to her. She could feel it.

The bitch probably win if she was being honest. She really needed to build up her strength again.

“Hi,” she returned. She really didn’t know what else to say.

“Funny,” Marissa lifted her glass to her lips while crossing her other arm over her stomach. “I thought you were Frankie’s.”

For a second - she thought Marissa somehow knew that she had been with Frankie. But then she recalled that morning in the kitchen when she had first arrived. Marissa had stood there - staring at her blankly while Frankie shoved her behind him.

“I get around,” she drawled flatly and Benny’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline.

“Seems like it,” Marissa replied. Her tone clipped with barely-veiled resentment.

Marissa chewed her lip before finally whirling back around - decidedly ignoring her existence.

“You wanna come see me later?”

Ben made a non-commital grunt, casting her an irritated glance. He slid around Marissa to get to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll see you,” He yelled over the music before dragging her away.

He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “Sorry about that. She’s kind of needy.”

Kind of. The bitch wanted to skin her.

She didn’t respond, choosing to take a heavy sip of her drink as he guided her to the booths. The burn was delicious and she was just the right amount of buzzed. Marissa could fuck all the way off.

***

Ben always got the best table in the house. The bottle service girl had left a giant silver bowl filled with ice and various alcohols and chasers: Tequila Reposado, Bourbon, Vodka, Champagne. Tonic. Grapefruit Juice. Cranberry.

He poured her a drink - his eyes drifting over her unreadable expression. She was strangely quiet and Ben guessed that it was about Marissa.

Fuck. He had not meant for that to happen. He hadn’t seen her in a week or so - totally blowing off her texts. He poured himself a bourbon and scooted closer to her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Benny narrowed his eyes before taking her chin between his fingers to pull her face close to his. “You’re pissed.”

“I’m not.”

She was. He could see that reserved look she tried so carefully to uphold begin to leach from her face, making way for something heated.

“You are,” he accused. He drew back from her. “Marissa?”

There it was. A very bright spark of anger flashed behind her pupils. A twitch. The alcohol was no doubt sliding through her veins and making her a little less guarded.

His eyebrows lifted and then he chuckled low and gritty. She scowled before trying to slide out of the booth. “I can leave-“

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. He practically pulled her into his lap. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He lowered his voice and his breath was hot and damp across her brow. “I’m having the most fun I’ve had in a long ass time.” He circled his thumb over her forearm affectionately. “Now - why do you think I’d ever ditch you for Marissa?”

She bit her lip and he had to stop himself from touching it.

“Because you guys fuck?” she offered lamely.

“I fuck a lot of people.”

“Ugh,” she huffed as she ripped her arm from him and snatched her drink. She swallowed half of it and wrinkled her nose.

He sighed - tapping his fingers against the tabletop.

“I fuck a lot of people, but I do not usually take any of them on dates,” he explained. She paused, opening her mouth and then shutting it again. He laughed. “You don’t need to be jealous, Faire. Isn’t it obvious that I want to spend all my fucking time with you?”

Her eyes widened and it was a sight. She really was beautiful tonight. He hadn’t been just buttering her up. She looked genuinely happy and it did wonders for her coloring.

His attraction to her pulverized his ego. Ben had gotten any girl he wanted. Any. Girl. It was a joke at this point. The boys had constantly teased him about it.

Ben got women hung up on him. While the other men fucked women and immediately kicked them out the door, Ben was too playful. He’d let them hang around him - chill in his bed until he’d inevitably forget they were there. They’d get the wrong idea, of course. Mistake Benny’s flirtatious and easy nature for true affection. He was approachable, the others were not.

She tilted her head and arched one perfect eyebrow. “Why do you like me?”

“You’re hot.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“That’s a great attribute! We love hot people in The Cardinals.”

“I hate you.”

He grinned and then placed his hand on hers - twining their fingers together. She let him. “Alright,” he said. “For real. It’s because I think you’re fucking hilarious when you don’t even mean to be. Just deadpan humor. You talk to me like it’s easy - like I don’t owe you something or you owe me. You’re a culinary goddess and I’d eat your food forever.” She simpered at that - the corner of her lip twitching upward as she brought her glass up for a sip. “And you one-hundred percent touch yourself to the thought of me.”

She choked on her drink - spitting tequila across the table before she slapped him hard across the chest. “You’re such a little dick.”

He gasped - attempting faux outrage. “What are you talking about? I have a huge cock.”

She giggled. “Uhuh.”

“You’ve seen it!”

“Okay - okay - it was pretty nice.”

“Pretty nice,” he snorted, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Pretty nice, she says!”

She prodded him in the bicep. “And I do not touch myself to the thought of you!”

“Of course,” he said - incredibly amused. “How could I ever accuse you of such a thing?”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking in air. The sight of it made his cock throb. Her eyes glistened beneath the flash of colored lights. He wanted to know what had happened between her and Frankie without outright asking her. He was pretty sure he knew, but he’d have to be tricky about it.

He took a healthy gulp of his drink - letting the alcohol warm him. He shrugged out of his jacket, baring his arms. Her eyes danced over his exposed tattoos; the black tree with its shadowy branches, the skull, the dragon. All of them scrawled and slithering along his biceps and forearms.

“You know,” he said slowly until her gaze flitted back to his face. “You know who has the biggest dick?”

Her brow furrowed.

“Fish.”

There it was. She started, her lips parting and her eyes widening before she lowered her eyes to his thigh.

A wrinkle creased her forehead and he knew he’d hit the mark. The red and blue lights clashed and streaked her face. He could literally sense her skin beginning to burn - to flush. He studied her intently and decided to just say it.

“You guys slept together,” he surmised. He didn’t want to use fuck. He felt like it was too crude - that it might upset her.

She turned toward the table and dropped her face into her hands. “Yes.”

“Hey,” he soothed - stroking her back. “It’s fine. Honestly - good for you. He’s got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed into the cup of her palms. It was muffled, but it stank of bitterness.

“Alright - what’d he do?”

She didn’t answer. Fuck - he’d kill him.

He set his drink down and wrapped his arms around her waist. He hauled her into his side, burying his nose into her hair. “C’mon, tell me.”

She blew out a breath. “He didn’t do anything. He just - he just fucked me and left and now hasn’t spoken to me since.”

And was blatantly fucking other women to forget about her.

“It’s not you,” he told her before frowning. “Well - I mean - it IS about you, but it’s not your fault. He probably just flipped out about taking advantage of you.”

“He didn’t.”

“Babe -,” He raised his hand - lifting a finger with each point: “You were technically our captive. You’re way younger than him. You’ve been traumatized on multiple occasions since you’ve been in our care.”

All shit he regretted, but what could he do about it? That’s why he took her out. She needed to breathe.

She gripped his shirt - knuckles pressed into his stomach. “You don’t care?”

“That you fucked Frankie?” He traced his fingers up her arm before moving down - a gentle, soothing pace. “No - I’m jealous that he got to, but not upset that you did it.”

She nodded. The side of her face was firmly sealed to his chest. His heart was thumping - pounding - clattering against his rib cage. He burned for her. He knew it was cliche and sappy, but it was the truth. He burned for her in so many ways - in too many ways to count. She was gorgeous, but she was sweet and if he couldn’t have her, he’d understand.

He’d hate it, but he’d understand.

She lifted her face to meet his.

“Tonight isn’t about him,” she declared.

Benny offered her a soft smile. “It’s okay if it is.

She sat up straighter - clasped him around the neck. Her mouth was a breath from his own. “I like you, Ben. I think about you all the time.” Her eyes darted to the dance floor before they returned to him. He kept his hands on her lower back - his fingers catching on the sequins.

She leaned forward - just enough that his nostrils flared.

“I thought we came here to dance?” she murmured.

Ben grinned.

***

It was everything that she had needed. Bob Moses’s “Tearing Me Up” spilled from the speakers - thumped against the walls. The sensual, brooding beat of it swirling within her.

I don't know what you want from me

So careless in your company

I will follow what you say is true

There'll be no getting over you

“I love this song,” she shouted at him as he yanked her against him.

“Oh yeah?” he laughed as he pressed his chest against her own. His shirt was soft as it slipped through her fingers - his body hard - unyielding. “I’ll have to make a note.”

So we're now playing by your rules

If you're a joker then I'm a fool

I guess there's no catching up to you

She twirled and he moved with her. His enormous hands held firm to her waist and it was all so much. The music pounding between them like the flush of a pounding heart.

If you don't want my affection

Don't lie, you're tearing me up

Cause you've got all my attention

I won't lie, you're tearing me up

She was hungry for this. She clung to Ben as all of her insecurities fluttered into nothing. She felt ripped down the middle - burning inside and out and all of it felt good. Frankie had left her wanting. He had fucked her and left a hole in his wake and Benny knew. He knew and he didn’t judge her for it. He held her closer.

“You having fun?” His mouth at her ear - his hand on the nape of her neck.

“Too much fun,” she replied as he lifted her up and spun her. She felt eyes on her - thousands of them as the lights spiraled and circled and warmed the tops of their heads. Ben was a prince here - a king - Baby-Faced Benjamin and everyone probably wondered who this girl was in his arms. He laughed into her cheek and she tugged at his hair.

Was Marissa watching? She hoped.

She was drunk off the music as she plastered herself to Ben. Their sweat intermingled - his mouth smeared against her temple.

I'm trying to tell your intention

When you lie, you're tearing me up

If you don't want my affection

You won't mind, you're tearing me up

She had come to a realization about Benny as she watched him work. He had this particular expression - a superiority in his sharp-toothed smile. It was a mask - a boyish, wicked veneer for Ben Miller. He’d seduce you with that caramel voice - deep and thick as molasses. You’d stick to it - unable to free yourself as it wrapped tenderly around you and then when you’d least expect it, he’d make his move. He’d kill you or hurt you or demand something you’d have to give.

However - when he interacted with her there was nothing, but startling sincerity in his grin. He was animated. He was charming. He was so warm and lovely that it honestly snatched her breath.

They danced and danced and danced.

And then somewhere along the way the sexual tang to their movements escalated. His hands on her squeezed and stroked. Her grip on him was forceful and desperate.

Her back was sealed to his front as he held onto her hips. She could feel the blunt pressure of his cock against her ass. The line of his jaw swept against her brow as he spoke in her ear with a gravely: “You’re so fucking hot - I want you - I want you - I’ve wanted you”

Between the tremble of the music, the pressure of the hot air and the vibration of the floor she fell into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her clean off her feet and her hands flew to his face. It was all so sudden as he lunged forward and captured her mouth in a kiss that blinded her.

He drew back momentarily as he dropped her to her feet. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and then her jaw before he dragged it over her lip and then he licked into her mouth. The beat of the song thrummed and shook through their bodies. It echoed through their kiss.

He was forcing her backward and she went. She stumbled on her heels and he caught her easily. His mouth wouldn’t leave her. It was as if he was glued to her and could’t tear himself away even if he wanted to.

The kiss blended into something else. Furious. Frantic. She knew where it would go and she didn’t want to stop. She tasted the sweet blush of whiskey on his tongue. He cradled her face - held her firmly as he plunged his tongue into her parted mouth. She wanted it again and again - sloppy loose - spinning out.

Her shoulders hit a wall. He crowded her - his arms braced on either side of her head. She could see nothing, but him. His lips were swollen from kissing - he looked disarmed - rocked. She wondered if she looked the same.

The dance floor behind him was just a trembling mass of figures. It blurred and rolled together as a unit. No one paid attention. No one could see and if they did she didn’t care. He regarded her for several seconds as if he wasn’t quite sure where to start.

Finally he sealed himself to her, his hand sliding down her body before she felt it teasing between her thighs. He swept his fingers along the soft plush skin before slipping them against her clothed cunt. She gasped and he removed his hand.

He nosed at her temple. “It’s up to you, baby. We can stop now.”

She shook her head and wrapped her small hand around his larger one - she forced it against her cunt. “Do it,” she panted and he pinned her with a dark smirk that broke her. He hooked his fingers around her panties and shoved them to the side. He slid his fingers through the slit of her pussy. He dipped into her shallowly before tracing up to rub her clit - up and down and up and down at a taunting pace. Her voice keened and she had to bite the inside of her mouth.

People could see. People would know.

Did she care?

“Trust me,” he drawled. “They can’t hear you. Make all the pretty little sounds you want.”

And then he pushed his fingers into her.

She exhaled sharply. She clutched at his bicep - nails digging into the thick muscle. She rocked against his hand as he thrust and curled to the knuckle. His thumb swirled against her clit and she jerked in his arms. She dropped her forehead against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “That’s it. Your pussy feels so fucking good.”

He exhaled, pressing his mouth to the side of her head. He said her name. He repeated it - the letters punctuated by him shushing into her hair as he urged her to come.

It didn’t take long. She was already so worked up. He kept pressure on the peak of her sex as he fucked her with his fingers. Her climax swelled behind her cunt - made her belly tighten and her skin feel too hot. Her pleasure grew and grew - pulsing inside her with the same rhythm of the music playing above them. It hit her forcefully and she came hard enough that her legs nearly gave out - her thighs trembling around his hand.

Ben drew back to look at her. She’d never seen that expression on his face: it was hungry and dark and fucked out. His gaze was lazy - his eyes hooded as his tongue darted out over his lower lip. He eased his fingers out of her and held them up to the light. It was obvious that they were covered in her - glossy as they caught the colors fluttering through the glass bulb ceiling. He stuck them in his mouth and the sight made her clench again - made her nearly collapse. His brow creased - his eyes narrowed to slits and his nostrils flared. He released his fingers with a crude pop before his damp hands grasped the hinges of her jaw so he could crush his mouth to hers.

She tasted herself. The fleshy salt of her own pussy and Ben’s spit along with the cloying bite of alcohol. He was sealed to her. His body was so large that he could cover her completely - hide her from view. She could feel the bulge of his cock against her stomach.

“Do you wanna leave?” he husked between kisses. She could barely breathe - barely think. She clutched at him - fisted the back of his black shirt now wet with sweat. “Could fuck you in your bed.”

No. No. Too far.

“The booth,” she suggested - although there was a pinch of command behind it. “The booth.”

***

She was out of her mind, but she honestly was past the point of caring. The booth was private enough with its curtains and the screaming bass of the music.

They stumbled into it. His hands all over her. Her fingers caught in his clothes.

“Sit down,” she ordered before she clambered onto his lap.

She straddled him - her thighs spread over his - the hemline of her dress practically above her ass. She cupped his face to stare at him - to admire how good looking he was. She felt powerful like this. This was a give and take situation. This was more than just her getting fucked.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped- expression blushed with awe.

She gripped him tighter. “You don’t even know me.”

“Nah,” he contested before leaning forward and pressing a wet kiss to her throat and then the edge of her jaw. She shivered. “I do know you. I know that you try really fucking hard to look strong. You like to nurture people. You don’t like to be nurtured unless we do it by force. It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

She splayed her hand out across his cheek and he nuzzled into it. “Uncomfortable?”

“You don’t know what to do when people want to take care of you.”

“No,” she agreed. “I don’t.”

“Do you want this?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. She didn’t know herself. She didn’t know what she was doing or how her desire for Ben had now wrecked her insides. She’d wanted him since they’d kissed in the penthouse’s bar. She needed him in an almost biological way. “Fuck,” he muttered as he dragged her back to his mouth. His lips slanting and pressing - tongue behind her teeth as he devoured her with an unshakeable urgency. It was like he couldn’t get enough. “I’ve wanted this - thought of nothing else.”

“Me too,” she replied because it was true - because this was so different from Frankie. Ben was beneath her and declaring his longing for her - his desire for her over the rest. Worship.

He could feel his fingers trailing over her slick heat. She was soaked from her earlier orgasm - probably staining his pants. “Sit up,” he urged and she did - lifting herself onto her knees with her hands braced on his shoulder. He sunk a finger into her and then a second. She couldn’t hear what it sounded like with the echo of the music, but she could imagine it.

Ben groaned. “Fuck - fuck - I want to get my mouth on you.”

She grasped his belt - fiddling with it until she managed to undo it and then his button - his zipper. His cock sprang free - thick and hard and dripping. She could feel it in the dark - see the shadow of it beneath the onslaught of pretty lights.

He gripped the nape of her neck - his fingers digging into her flesh. He ground himself into her - the strength of him undeniable.

“You want me to fuck you?” He said in that low voice of his - deep and from his chest. “Make you feel good?”

“Yes,” She nodded frantically. “Please.”

Ben hitched her underwear to the side as she helped line him up and then -

Shit.

“Condom,” she whispered. “Fuck.”

His face fell momentarily and she almost cried.

“Kidding,” he grinned before reaching into his jacket for his wallet. He fished the small square package out and ripped it with his teeth. “I’m highly responsible.”

She laughed before smashing her mouth to his in the clumsiest of kisses. “Thank God,” she practically sang against his parted lips.

He slid the condom on and she could feel the blunt press of the head of his cock pushing against her. She could feel how hot he was. She could feel all of him and ever so slowly she sunk down on his length.

His mouth dropped open.

“Fuck, baby,” he ground out. “Your pussy -“ his forehead fell against her chest - teeth scraping the top of her breast. “-fuck - it’s so good.”

***

Ben couldn’t quite believe it. He’d thought they’d fool around - maybe make out on the dance floor, but he certainly didn’t expect this.

He stared up at her and felt his heart shutter in his chest.

She was illuminated with a brand new type of energy. She fisted her hand into his hair - nails scraping across his scalp. She rolled her hips forward and back as she impaled herself onto his cock. Her cunt was tight and slick and molten as the blood rushing under his own skin. He wanted to pick her up and drop her on the table - spread her legs and fuck her on top of it - slide down and lick himself out of her. He wanted to feel her spasm around him - jerk with her climax.

She smelled good like jasmine and tequila and the bite of citrus.

“Please.” she begged as he met her stroke for stroke. He planted his feet and canted his hips to meet her easy rhythm. It wasn’t necessarily frantic - not a screwdriver kind of fuck. It was deep and slow and inexorable. He pressed hard into her - his hands splayed over her pillowy ass. He could see her throat working - her nipples pebble under the skimpy dress.

He dragged the neckline down to bare her breast. He lunged forward - sucking the tip into his mouth - swirling his tongue with a practiced talent. He edged his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

“Ben,” she whimpered. “Benny.”

He wondered how Frankie fucked her - he wondered how it felt and so he found himself bursting out with it. It was strictly a curiosity. Kind of.

He tugged her down so he could keep his mouth to her ear. “Did he feel good, baby? Did he fill you up just right or leave you wanting more?”

She stuttered, drawing back to gauge his expression - maybe to see if he was being serious. A smile spread across his face and he tightened his grip on her hips - he pushed deeper into her and gave her a perfunctory thrust that sent a high-pitched yelp from her mouth.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can tell me.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Pleasure enriched her features - her lashes fluttering in bliss. He wanted to fuck her as if he could fuck her throat. He wanted to inhale her.

“It’s different,” she murmured as she brought her face an inch from his. “This is different,” she repeated with more meaning. They were breathing harshly into each other’s mouths, now.

“Tell me how it felt, baby — did he make you come like I’m gonna?”

***

Did he make you come?

She couldn’t even remember. It had been so fast - so different. Brute passion. With Ben, it was erotic and sexy and slow and quick and everything. Frankie was big, but Ben’s cock was piercing something vital inside her - it turned her inside out.

Ben had seduced her. Ben had taken her out. Ben had freed her from the penthouse and treated her like she was something special. He’d ignored every girl who’d walked up to him. He only had eyes for her.

It screamed inside her. Wailed. Benny.

His thumb was hard against her clit. He was circling - tweaking - in time with each snap of his hips. She rode him - held firm. Her knees chafing on the leather of the booth. The straps of her heels marking her ankles. There were masses of people grinding and dry-fucking just outside these curtains. The music beat inside her head.

Her second climax rushed through her. It lit up her veins and twisted around her ribs. She shuddered against him and he kept on going. His cock like steel - shearing through the sloppy mess of her spasming walls. Everything was so wet and overheated. Her dress was rucked all the way above her hips and cool air drifted over the bare skin of her ass and thighs. Her panties pushed to the side as it scraped against her folds and Ben’s length.

It was a storm of sensations: the thumping bassline of the techno song, the brilliantly colored lights, the sweat slippery on their skin, the blunt heavy pressure of his cock stretching her open as he drove up into her.

“You’re such a little fucking weirdo,” he grunted, kissing her chin. His pace staggered - his body trembling as she clung to him. She held him - embraced him in her arms in an almost maternal fashion. She cradled his face against her tits while he fucked into her. Every second he grew harder - thicker - and she knew he was nearing the end of it.

“Yeah,” she mumbled - breathlessly. “You, too.” She combed her fingers through his hair. He released a groan that vibrated through the silk of her dress. She felt him twitch and pulse inside her as he finished.

When she drew back, she almost burst into laughter at the look on his face. His lids were drooping - his hairline beaded in sweat. He gave her a lopsided smile and smacked her ass.

“Shit,” he said. “Fuck.”

“You’re really a Casanova with that kind of talk,” she teased and he smacked her ass again.

***

When they left - it was as if the club had spiraled into delirium. She had no idea how much time had passed. All she was aware of was the soreness between her legs - the wetness drying along her thigh. Benny’s arms wrapped around her as he sealed himself to her with his chest at her back. His chin dug into her head as he practically carted her forward and out of George’s. His frame loomed and dominated. People made fucking room for them as they cut through the crowd. It felt safe and it felt good for him treat her like the fucking sun after he’d finished fucking her.

He dropped his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Wanna go get McDonalds?”

***

The car ride home was painted in an other-worldliness. That pale blue dawn that turned their skin and swept over them inside the car. She was lying on her back - her head in Benny’s lap. His fingers were greasy from salt as he periodically shoved his hand into the McDonalds paper bag.

This was the hour she used to stagger home after a night out. Alone usually. Drunk or coked up and she’d crawl into her ugly bed with another beer or three in order to pass out. There’d be the song of morning birds - the honk of workday traffic - all of it acting as a symphony that clashed with her violent hangover. It had been the worst. It had been nightmarish.

Now - it felt like magic. She felt pretty. She felt wanted as they were driven back to their home.

Condensation gripped the windows of the car. Her body relaxed as they held each other in comforting silence. Nothing, but the tremble of the road beneath them, the click of the turn signal, the scratch of her sparkly dress on leather.

Silence. Easy Silence.

“Where’s my phone?” he finally grunted as he searched through his coat. He plucked it from his pocket and turned it on. His eyes widened - almost comically.

“Oh shit.”

***

Santi had dealt with stress before. It was in his nature - adhered to his bones as if he had been fucking born with a too-fast heartbeat. It had been the worst when Mateo broke away from them. When his father had refused to listen to him despite the fact that he had set Santiago up to be his heir. He had never understood it. That time had been critical. The best moment for the Cardinals and the Apostles to align. Charles had given his full support and still his father pushed back.

What did it matter now? He thought bitterly. It was done. It had gotten so bad and it wasn’t only because of Charles’s daughter. This whole fucking fight had been a long-time coming.

Mateo now had a reason to move in on his turf.

Santi stared out the great window of the living room. The city twinkled and blinked. It stood long and tall and went on until it hit the pink dawn that was rising at the horizon. This whole city had been a mass of labor and blood and -

He turned back so that he could watch the front door. Will was silent as he sat in one of the velvet chairs. He was leaning forward, hands curled into fists. There was anger simmering beneath his expression that Santi had no desire to unlatch. He knew that Will cared about the girl - certainly more than he cared about any other woman Santi had ever seen him with.

They had to be careful. He didn’t want Ironhead to break Benny’s face, which seemed more and more likely as time passed.

Frankie was stiff - leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes on his boots. He’d been tense the whole fucking night. He’d been distracted even when they were out.

When they’d gotten home and realized that Ben had run off with the girl, he’d sent his date away. He hadn’t even given her a cursory glance.

“You need to leave,” he growled and she went - bewildered and insulted.

There had been at least ten minutes of absolute chaos. Will tore the house apart. Frankie got on the phone. Santi had interrogated the guards. They had just seen them leave with Ben’s driver. They figured it was fine. Ben told them nothing.

Santi worried that Mateo had possibly threatened them or done something that would force them out. He had felt it in his guts - a real twist of fear that he had failed them somehow.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t need this on top of Frankie losing it. He didn’t need the fucking guilt of her dying when he could have prevented it. If Mateo took her - if he touched her…

Santi shut his eyes - the thought of it made him ill. He couldn’t go there - at least not yet.

“They’re at his club,” Frankie had finally announced - his lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. He looked alarmingly exhausted.

“Doing what?” Santi asked - incredulous.

“Dancing apparently? Drinking? Sylvie said that he came in with a girl. She thought it was a date.”

“Ben doesn’t date,” Santi grumbled at the same time that Will remarked: “It probably was a date.”

Santi squinted at him. “Is Ben that stupid? She could be killed out there.”

“Ben’s Ben,” Frankie shrugged - his expression completely unreadable. He appeared slightly upset.

Santi didn’t know what the fuck was going on. It had become increasingly apparent that all three of his men held some sort of infatuation for her. Frankie was trying to make her jealous. Will hung around her every moment that he wasn’t in the basement. Ben had now disobeyed Santi’s orders and taken her out to what? Impress her, he guessed? To Santi’s knowledge, Ben had never gone that far for any chick.

Yes - she was lovely to look at. She was sweet. She was stupidly good at cooking, but Santi drew the line there. He had to. He could not entertain the thought of touching her because he wanted to do right by her father. He had kept her far away.

Even when she had thrown herself into his lap - tears streaming down her face as she begged him to let her go, he refused to comfort her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t blur the boundaries that he had very carefully set up.

He glanced at the dog fast asleep on the couch.

You did get her a puppy. Were you blurring the boundaries there?

Santi grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The noise of the front door opening tore him from his thoughts. He lifted his eyes to see her stumbling inside with Ben at her heels. The puppy yipped, springing from the couch and bounding over to her. She let out a squeal of joy as she kneeled - scooping him up and pressing her face to the dog’s. After a moment, she glanced at the others and her smile fell.

Santi couldn’t think clearly. He was pissed and he also was highly distracted by the fact that this was the first time he’d really ever seen her in anything other than work out clothes. The dress was obscenely short. The heels elongating her legs. She had make-up on though it was slightly smudged. Even he had to admit that she looked sexy. Okay, maybe gorgeous.

Santi couldn’t control himself as his gaze washed over her before it zeroed in on her mouth. Her lipstick was smeared and Santi cringed. Ben you fucking didn’t -

“Where have you been?” Will said in a soft voice. The question was loaded - bubbling with that rage he kept so carefully buried.

“George’s,” Benny rolled his eyes and the girl leaned into him. When Santi studied her more closely, she looked slightly disheveled. She seemed dazed, but her lips were curved into a pleased - lazy sort of smile.

“It was so fun!” she said as she did a light turn on her heels. “Prettiest club I’ve ever seen.”

She was slurrying just a bit.

“Ben,” Santi articulated slowly. “This is serious. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Benny narrowed his gaze before he strode over to the bar. “She’s fine,” he said. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her.”

He reached for a glass and Santi grabbed him roughly by the arm - tugging him backward. “You can’t guarantee that. Mateo isn’t a fucking idiot. If he had seen that as his chance, he would have taken it. You can’t stop him.”

Ben ripped himself away from him and moved back toward the girl. She reached for wrist - her mouth forming his name under her breath. He shot her a wink before turning back to the three of them.

“Nothing happened,” Ben snapped. He ran a hand through his hair. His cheeks were rosy with a buzz. “We had a good time. She got out of this place for a bit. Get the fuck over it.”

“Why are you treating this so casually?” Santi crossed his arms over his chest.

Ben regarded them for several moments before quirking an eyebrow.

“She needed a night out,” he said carefully, with a deliberate weight to it. He pinned his eyes directly on Frankie - something unsaid passing between them. Santi suspected Frankie knew what he meant, in the way Fish looked at the ground. Still he was struggling to fit the pieces. Ben continued. “A lot’s happened to her. Give her a break.”

“We’re not blaming her,” Frankie finally pointed out. “This is on you.”

Ben scowled. “Dude - you have no room to talk.”

“What does that even mean?” Santi asked, but both men ignored him.

Will remained utterly silent as he sat in the chair. He clenched and unclenched his fists. The muscles in his jaw ticked and his nostrils flared as he regarded his brother with a pointed rage that was beginning to prick the surface. Santi paused.

He had seen Will truly angry a handful of times in his life. He was too controlled. He compartmentalized. But Will had been anxious over her - scared, even. Santi realized he needed to diffuse this before anything happened. That was more important than tearing into Ben.

It seemed as if Ben noticed Will, too because he hesitated before stating. “It’s not healthy to keep her locked in here. I might have gone about it the wrong way, but honestly I don’t really give a shit.”

Will’s eyes darkened even more if that was possible. Santi was at a loss. He couldn’t believe that they weren’t listening to him - that control of this situation was thoroughly racing from his fingers. Ben never pushed back. He’d complain or whine or joke, but he’d never so staunchly defended his actions like this. Actions that were fucking wrong.

He had to be into her. He had to like her far more than Santi realized. This wasn’t just sex or flirting or whatever they had done at the club. It was different. Now - it was interfering with Will and Ben. Frankie, too.

It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“This is why we don’t keep girls around.”

It was stupid to say. She wasn’t even just one of those girls. It sounded ridiculous now that he thought about it. Still - he had said it.

She blinked at him - her mouth parting.

“Santi, man-” Ben said before she cut in front of him and faced Santi.

“Then let me go if I’m causing so much trouble!” Her tone struck him as defensive. The words were thick in her throat - almost wet. She was getting wound up and Santi wasn’t sure how to react. She simply did not understand that going off with Benny had been a terrible fucking idea. Nothing had gone wrong, but it could have. People had seen her. There could be ramifications. He didn’t know how to get this concept through to her.

His own anger began building inside him. Burning. Scratching.

He lacked empathy especially when he was furious. He could be terribly blunt and this time was no different.

It burst out of his throat before he could stop it. He stormed toward her. He needed to push her away. He needed to build up those solid boundaries because everything was getting out of hand.

“Let you go? Who is gonna protect you, sweetheart? You have no friends. No family. You think you can just run off? To where? There’s nothing for you outside of this house.”

She flinched. A beat passed. A startling break of silence.

It was as if the air was sucked from the room. Santi immediately regretted it. He wanted to take it back.

She had to understand. She had to know that her life was on the line and her death would not be an easy one if she were to be caught by his brother. He had to.

She clasped her hand over her mouth and for a horrifying moment Santi thought she was going to cry.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I-”

She dropped her hand and narrowed her eyes to slits. Her teeth flashed.

“I didn’t ask to be here, you fuck.” Her gaze flickered between the three of them. Frankie grimaced and stared down at his feet.

Will held it though - his eyes boring into hers without a single ounce of regret. He stood up and stalked toward her. “I don’t fuck around when it comes to your safety” he disclosed. His tone was cutting and blunt. “Get mad. Stomp around. But - Ben could have gotten you killed tonight.”

“I wasn’t,” she shot back. “I’m fine. Better than fine.”

Will didn’t respond. His expression had gone flat - coldly blank aside from a tiny glimmer of something, which stirred and spat beneath his eyes. The vein in his neck throbbed.

Ben came to her defense.

“You need to chill out, man,” he growled and pushed against his chest. “I know how bad you want to fuck her, but - “

Will slammed his fist into Ben’s cheek and he went down. It happened in a flash - a single flaming moment as the tension finally burst. The girl cried out and dropped to her knees beside Ben’s sprawled form.

“What the hell, Will?” She gripped his face. There was an ooze of blood trickling at the corner of his mouth. He thumbed at it, his expression surprised.

“Shit,” he husked as he stared up at his brother. “You’re actually mad.”

Will surveyed them both for a couple seconds. His lips curled and his jaw clenched. That endlessly cold mask had appeared, fitting him like a second skin. Without another word, he simply turned around and stormed up the stairs. The entire room deflated. The sunrise was streaming in through the enormous windows. Santi was done. He needed to sleep. He needed to not think for a while.

Frankie made for the stairs and Santi followed.

[cannedsoupsucks]

I appreciate how you didn't have Pope and the reader immediately have sex. It felt real that they shared a couple of kisses and are now taking some time to process how they feel and how they're going to move forward. I also admire Frankie because I don't know how he's not feeling jealous. I know I couldn't do it!

Caught On - Part 4

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

Word Count: 7,705

Rating: Explicit. (language, sexual acts, sexual contact with two separate men)

Summary: This is it: the moment when things change between you and Pope … what happens between the two of you - and how do you handle it? But just as importantly, how do Pope and Frankie handle it? 

Author’s note:

I am so damn sorry that this has taken so long to get out. I didn’t forget about them, I just got really sidetracked with other things. But we’re back! Thank you all for being so patient with me. 

Catch up here: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

He would have stopped if he’d wanted to. You knew that - you knew exactly how he would have reacted - freezing and then straightening all the way up, pulling himself away from you and out of your hold, hands leaving your body without hesitation as he turned away and spluttered out an excuse. But Pope didn’t do any of those things, and before you knew it, he was kissing you, the man’s lips soft and warm against yours. 

Keep reading

[cannedsoupsucks]

My favorite trio are back and I love them to death! LOVE THEM!

Caught On - Part 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

Word Count: 7,890

Rating: Explicit. NSFW. (language, sexual acts, sexual contact with two separate men)

Summary: The three of you spend time together for the first time since you and Pope kissed. It’s a typical Saturday night for all of you … right? Wrong. 

Author’s note:

The moment you’ve all been waiting for … sort of. This is where things really pick up for these characters, and it’s been a challenge trying to keep things in character… hope you all enjoy. 

Catch up here: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

They pulled into the driveway a little over a half hour later, both men laughing as they carried things into the house. Pope had two six packs of beer - one in each hand - and Frankie was carrying two giant bags of chips and a plastic bag that you figured had some sort of cold dip in it. 

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[cannedsoupsucks]

I love this series and trio so much! I must confess that I'm a bit nervous that there might be some seriously angsty moments ahead. Good thing I like a bit of angst!

Caught On - Part 2

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia (we’re getting closer!)

Word Count: 8221

Rating: M. (Language, allusions to sex, feelings for multiple people but there’s no acting on it in this chapter, drinking, mentions of canon TF situations

Summary: The more you think about it, the more you realize that Frankie’s got a point. You care about both men - and they care about you … could there be an option that keeps everyone happy … even if it’s a little unorthodox? … and what’s Pope’s take on everything? 

Author’s note:

HELLO FRIENDS. From the response to the first chapter, I can truly say that I’m THRILLED that so many of you were on board for this one. We’re getting closer to the real “fun” parts of this story … so buckle in and get ready. Again; there will be eventual smut in this, but it’s not going to be a traditional throuple/poly rrelationship. Thank you ALL for your support and encouragement.

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