“Miko doesn’t count. He’s like having an extra shadow,” Beni casually brushes off. “An annoying, smart mouth, take a bullet for me shadow who knows when space is a mild-mannered request versus a necessity.” He sinks his teeth into his bratwurst and releases his own satisfied grumble. “Damn. These are even better than his father’s were.”
It’s impossible not to grin like a lunatic at his gushing. “Why do you think that is?”
His eyebrows lift towards the night sky in question.
“What makes one bratwurst better than another?” Grabbing my beer to have a sip, I continue to inquire, “Oh, and what’s bockwurst? How is that different? Why is that different?”
Beni’s expression oscillates between skeptical and enthusiastic. “Are you sincerely inviting me to educate you about meat? Niente cazzate?” He shakes his head at the same time he rushes to translate, “No bullshit?”
Mirth hits my gaze as I nod and have a sip.
“Remember, mia bella, you requested this madness.”
“Wait. What’s mia bella mean?”
“My beautiful.”
I can’t stop the swoon from slipping free.
“Which I absolutely believe you are.”
The strength and softness in his voice echo the sincerity.
From behind my plastic cup, I sigh, “Onward to the madness…”
Benicio happily launches himself into a full force, university style lecture that’s filled with multiple hand gestures that I find adorable. The more excited something makes him, the more they flail about. Any regard for looking prim and proper and prestigious is thrown in the grinder, leaving me with a man who is, underneath his expensive bullet resistant suits, just a man.
A man with an affinity for meat.
And, more importantly, a man with an affinity for me.
Our conversation about the sausage family stretches through the course of our dish and half our beers. It somehow transitions into one about buns, which then turns into one about bread, and drops us off in sandwich territory, a far distance from the meal we devoured.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I playfully scold, hand waving frantically around in the air, “why won’t you tell me what your favorite is?”
“Because if word got out, it would sully my perfect reputation.”
“Tell me anyway.”
His humor-filled voice is one I am quickly discovering I can’t get enough. “No.”
“Come on! I signed an NDA and a stack of other documents when I took this job. Pretty sure, you could have me fired or make me disappear by sending me on a ‘vacation’ that I magically never return from for just thinking the wrong thing, let alone spilling some tiny secret.”
He doesn’t bother hiding his chuckles, and I don’t bother pretending not to devour them.
“Cough it up.”
“No.”
“No is not a word I accept.”
Beni loudly laughs at my mocking of his earlier proclamations.
“And if you want there to be a date number two, you’re gonna have to give up the answer.”
“Are you saying this is date number one?”
“Only if you tell me what I wanna know.”
Even louder laughs leave his gorgeous mouth. “Now who’s strong-arming who?”
“Me.” I carelessly shrug and shoot him a flirtatious smile. “Now, spill it, Beni.”
A small shake of his head is accompanied by his stare briefly soaring to the cloud filled sky. “Fanculo, can’t believe I’m being shaken down by a long-legged snotdog fan.” He releases a heavy sigh prior to meeting my gaze again. “Fine. My favorite sandwich is a three-cheese grilled cheese with Dijon mustard.”
“You really like mustards.”
“Heavily underrated condiment, and also, a new potential avenue we’re exploring. I have been thoroughly underwhelmed with what I’ve sampled thus far for the company, but I refuse to surrender until I’ve tasted victory.”
“Why does that not feel like you’re talking about mustard so much as overthrowing new territory?”
“Mustard is technically a new territory. The choice of phrasing stays.”
It’s my turn to giggle and shake my head. “Moving on. Please, explain to me why appreciating a good grilled cheese would ruin your reputation?”
“There’s no meat on it.”
“And?”
“And if word got out that Beni the Baby-Faced Butcher Bennett-”
“That’s too many Bs.”
He stumbles over his own snickers, “If word got out the butcher preferred cheese, it would destroy me.”
“No, no, that’s if word got out that you were secretly a vegan.”
His head falls back on a sound so sweet I wish it were the secret that only I could keep.
“However, I can sort of see your point.” I lean over closer to quietly state, “I won’t tell your dirty little secret…”
All of a sudden, all traces of humor are abandoned for a clear-cut aspiration. Beni’s face dips down until we’re nose to nose. “Promettere?”
Mindlessly, I echo, “Promettere.”
“Good.” He lightly inhales, viciously sucking away the small breath I had been clutching onto. “Ora ti bacerò.”
The words that manage to leave me are airy. “You’re not asking me, are you?”
“No.”
At that moment, the conversation is completely over, and the hostile conquering commences. Despite the fact my mouth seems to belong to me given its attachment to my face, Beni aggressively informs me otherwise. His tongue slips inside and sweeps the area. Explores and eradicates any evidence that he wasn’t the first to touch the sweet sanctuary while simultaneously leaving markings behind that he will, undoubtedly, be the last. My tongue initially retreats in fear, only to receive lustful lashes that have it rushing towards his. The assertive action also results in white hot whips causing me to desperately whine to be further punished.
Rewarded.
Taken.
Claimed.
Fat drops of water begin to drizzle down on us, yet Beni proceeds to deepen the kiss as though daring the rain to detach us. The thought of defying his will isn’t allowed to form due to the overpowering pushes of his tongue against mine. His hand latches onto my nape during a possessive growl, and the instant I touch his chest in search of my own stability, whatever resolve was left in him shatters. The firm but gentle touch transposes to one that’s bruising and greedy. It’s practically impossible not to shudder under the pressure. Improbable not to whimper from the force. Groans are expelled louder and louder during each passing press to the point I’m not sure if the thunderous sounds gracing my ears are from him or what I imagine is a different pending storm. Beni’s hand skates past my shoulders sinking towards my skirt-covered ass like a man one grab away from owning every inch of my goosebump-ridden flesh.