#then had the nerve to say it just didn't “feel like gorillas” when this is the same fanbase notorious for taking out the rap and rnb sectio

[c1trvswurld]

ik humanz is universally hated and labeled the worst Gorillaz album...but counter you guys just have the music taste of a monkey whose had their heads switched but their spinal cords were not intact in the 1970s

[horunicorn]

Oya Oya

Hewwo :3 I have written much smut but this is my first time making it public. Sorry it came out so long. Feel free to point out any mistakes.

Warnings: choking, dominance

The fusuma slammed shut behind you, rattling the shōji across the room, after he'd pushed you rather roughly into his room at the Shinsengumi dorm. You were honestly surprised the kumiko didn't fall apart.

"What the hell, Y/N?"

You curled your lip up at him defiantly. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," he warned, pacing to and fro in front of the door, clearly agitated. Then again, the man did have a short fuse. "Who gave you permission to hang with the Yorozuya bastard? Is that what you do behind my back?"

His accusation flipped your entire mood over. You were cheeky before; now you were pissed. What right did he have to point fingers at you? After all, he was the one who pushed you to do it. For three weeks, you had been patient while he worked. Of course, since he lived where he worked, it seemed like he was never free, always balancing his vice commander duties in and out of the headquarters. He did ask for your permission before going on cases, to make sure that you were okay with him doing overtime on certain days. And you always assured him that you would wait for him, no matter how busy some days could get. You always told him that it was okay to put his job first when he needed to. But that didn't mean he could take advantage of your understanding, did it?

The guy was smarter than most; he picked up on hints and cues effortlessly, especially if they were from you. So why had he been so oblivious to your subtle advances these past weeks?

"Who are you to tell me who I can or cannot be friends with?" you snapped back, temper flaring.

"You know very well who I am and what I can and cannot do," he answered, a little condescendingly.

"Yeah, well, you should also know that Gin-san gives me way more attention than you do," you uttered rashly. It was how you felt on the inside. After so many days of neglect by Hijikata, Gintoki's friendly affection towards you had you hooked in like fish to bait. Every smile and head smack he gave you fed your growing hunger for a man you couldn't get to and yet you still went on with it. You hung around Gintoki, longing for Hijikata, for something physical, just to take away the ache of missing the vice commander.

"What did you say?" Hijikata's tight voice betrayed the anger that was sparking inside him. The thought of you just being in Gintoki's presence was enough to provoke him. Confirmation that you let him touch you - nevermind if it was just playful shoves or shoulder bumping - flooded his vision with red. "You let him touch you?"

You scoffed at his ridiculous jealousy. "I'm not a slut. All Gin-san did was listen to me when I was alone. He kept me company."

True, you worked eight hours a day but the tiredness didn't mean that you didn't want to talk late into the night.

"Company, huh?" Hijikata crossed the room to stand in front of you so fast that you had to double check the spot he was previously at, just to be sure. He was a head taller than you. Now that he was all riled up, his presence was intimidating, especially since you had to look up to meet his eyes. "It just had to be him?"

You knew better. If you let him go on, you would have angry make up sex in seconds. This was a matter that needed talking through, not blind fucking. You pushed him away harshly, much to his surprise.

"We're not in a movie, Hijikata." Ah, using his family name when you were alone was never a good sign. "You can't just fuck me and be done with it."

A thought crossed your mind. Maybe it wasn't that he was busy. Maybe it was you who had done things wrongly. If you hadn't dropped all those stupid hints and just came straight forward with your needs, you needn't have had to feel the pain of ignorance from him. Your low self-esteem came racing back to you.

It was my fault. I didn't talk to him.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, turning away from him. Your sudden change in demeanor startled him but it wasn't something he hadn't experienced before.

Just like that, his anger melted away. He stepped towards you, pulling your reluctant form into his arms.

"You shouldn't have to apologize for anything," Hijikata sighed, one hand carefully cupping the back of your head. When his temper wasn't in the way, he saw things much clearer. "It was wrong of me to accuse you like that, especially since I know how much I've been neglecting you. I just didn't like the fact that of all the people to go to attention for, it was him." Hijikata said him with visible distaste. You relaxed against him, calmer now that he was no longer angry, that he had assured you it was not your fault.

"But I like him," you protested.

"Could you not like anyone else?"

"You hate everyone else, except the gorilla and he's infatuated with Otae-chan."

"Are you saying you'd go to Kondo-san if you could?" Hijikata teased, instantly lightening the atmosphere.

With that you ducked out of his embrace. "Please. I don't do stalkers." Hijikata was quick to catch you again though, this time from behind. He placed a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear.

"If you hadn't gotten caught today," he began, "I would have shown my appreciation for your patience in a different way."

"You have something planned?" you asked excitedly, happy that he had been thinking of you too.

"I did," he confirmed in the past tense. "But I can't get Yorozuya's stupid smug face out of my mind."

You knew all too well why. You knew that hanging out with Gintoki came with a punishment if you were caught. Before you could respond, Hijikata had a hand locked around your neck, with pressure not enough to choke but just enough that made swallowing difficult.

"Sometimes I think you let yourself get caught on purpose," he went on in a low voice, free hand travelling down your left arm and tugging it behind your back. He had you in a hold you didn't have any intention of breaking out of. Indeed, just the feeling of his hand on your throat had you weak at the knees, ready to be ruined by him.

"T - Tōshi," you managed, voice strangled by the hand on your windpipe. "Hard to... breathe."

"But you like this, don't you?" He purred. "You want to be choked like the little slut you are."

Oh, there was no denying how much his words were turning you on. Getting choked with his hand was good. Getting choked on his cock was better and you were more than eager for it.

"Choke... me with... your...cock..." Earlier misgivings forgotten, you wanted nothing more than for him to use you. It was all you had wanted since using Gintoki as a filler. His attention.

"Mm, I don't think so, baby girl," he murmured, finally releasing you from his hold only to take your hand and drag you down onto his futon. "I want to give, not take. And I expect thanks."

Translation: I will fuck you senseless and you will be vocal about it.

"Dont you think you can punish me better if - " Your question was cut short by a gasping inhale. Hijikata had somehow managed to loosen the knots of the date-jime that held your nagajuban and kimono together amidst everything and was now shamelessly pushing his fingers between your damp labia, hand disappearing in the folds of the cloth. Immediately, your hips moved up, asking for more when he'd barely begun. He murmured an amused "oya oya" upon finding the absence of underwear on you.

"I think you've been wetter than this, haven't you?" Deviously, Hijikata poked two fingers into your hole without any warning. There hadn't been much foreplay but could you really complain when you were swallowing his fingers like the greedy whore you were? He pulled his fingers out along with your arousal and spread it over your clit, rubbing in tantalizing circles, like a taunt.

"You're going to tease me," you stated, breathless already.

"Just for now," he promised, the sensitive nub slipping between his pointer finger and middle finger. Your nerve endings fired, sending thick coils of pleasure up your body. Again, your hips moved up.

Hijikata chose that moment to take his hands off of you. He sat back on his heels, hands placed perfectly on his lap. Disheveled and disgruntled, you forced your pleasure-weak body into motion, sitting up with your kimono loose around you, one side sliding down to bare a shoulder.

This was no dream: your body had flaws everywhere. Beauty marks on your skin, scars from being clumsy, skin that wasn't silky smooth or creamy white. You felt very small when you walked past some women on the streets but Hijikata always made you feel perfect. He loved every one of your imperfections, which encouraged you at times like these.

"Frustrated?" he smirked and you wondered just what he was playing at. Unbothered, you knee-walked closer, until you were parked right in front of him. Your hands grasped at the lapels of his uniform jacket. The familiar musk of cigarette smoke wafted up your nostrils, further turning you on. His gaze was hot on you; you could feel it despite not looking at him. Deliberate in your movements, you pushed the jacket off then proceeded to unbutton his vest and undo the knot of the white scarf around his neck. You were busy working on his shirt when he caught your hand, bringing it up to his mouth.

The contact of the softness of his lips against your skin made your thoughts fuzzy. His stare lingered on you and your restraint broke. You crashed your lips into his, claiming your pleasure, trying to pacify your desire for him. He indulged you, using a hand to hold your head steady. You kissed and kissed until there was no more breath to breathe between the both of you.

Hijikata pulled back first, dragging a thumb across your lower lip. It was such an intimate move, hinting at the lust he had for you; that was all it took for you to go into full 'I need you now' mode. Impatient, you shoved him back and shimmied up his body, brazenly rocking your hips, smearing your arousal onto his white shirt. Obviously, he felt your dampness through the material and gripped your hips to stop you from moving. The sight of you grinding above him was too much for his already tortured mind. Everything had to go. Now.

Soon you were balancing above him, the tip of his hard cock pressing at your slick entrance. You braced your hands on his broad chest, breath controlled as you slowly sat down on him, the length of him sliding into you inch by inch until your ass touched his lap. The sensation of him in you never failed to make you moan. His girth, his length, everything was just enough to fill up your tight hole.

"My sweet girl," Hijikata murmured, eyes half lidded. "I'd nearly forgotten how good you feel around me." He held onto your hips. "Move for me."

At his demand, you lifted yourself off and back down again, whimpering at the discomfort. Yeah, he was definitely big. Without your weekly routine, your body needed time to get used to him again. It didn't take long, though. Hijikata's soft encouragement and touch had you thirsting for more in no time. You got used to the stretch, gaining momentum and confidence as you moved. No longer did it sting; there was nothing but pleasure with the way you had him sliding in and out of you. Every time you rose left his cock slicker than before, layer upon layer of your arousal coating him.

When your legs got tired, you resorted to bouncing, biting your lip when your ass slapped against his skin in the sexiest way. Hijikata was in awe beneath you. His blue eyes were dark, lips parted in heavy breaths. First his eyes fixed on the way he was entering you, on the way your sweet pussy just swallowed his cock. His rough hands roved up your stomach, fingers dancing over your jumping breasts. That was the second thing he stared at. The soft mounds of flesh on your chest that bounced along with you made his cock twitch. Then he looked at your face. At the way you bit your lip, the pleasure in your expression. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to dominate you.

The feeling swept over him. Having you on top was incredible, especially since he knew you could control the depth and angle of his entrance. But he needed to have you his way. He couldn't yet explain why.

You cried out in surprise when he sat up abruptly, forcing you to remain still on his lap. You pressed your chest to his, feeling him move along with you, in you. The movement brought on a whole new sensation that made you scratch his chest with a low moan.

"Can he do that?" Hijikata asked, voice thick with lust. And something else. He knew now why he needed dominance over you.

"Who - What?" You couldn't register his words and the meaning behind them at first, not until he flipped you both over in a practiced move and he rolled his hips into you, hitting every unclaimed spot within you. Your legs came around his hips.

"Can that silver haired idiot do this? Make you feel this good?" He pulled back slightly, only to plunge back into you with a jolt that pushed another moan from your mouth.

"N - No. Tōshi..."

Hijikata pulled at your hips, angling your lower body upwards and began thrusting into you, going deep and hard each time. He knew very well that at this angle, each slide of his cock was sure to brush your g-spot. And each time his pelvis met yours, the head of his throbbing cock would carass the tip of your cervix, making you buck your hips even further up.

Seeing you this way only fuelled his unneeded jealousy for a rival that was hardly a threat.

"I bet he can't," he agreed gruffly. "He doesn't know your body, does he? Doesn't know how my baby girl likes it. Tell me." Hijikata drove deep, pushing his own hips up. You choked on a moan, hands tight around his wrists. "Who's making you feel good?"

You were unable to answer, eyes in danger of closing, body on the brink of orgasm. As if fucking him wasn't hot enough. No, jealous Hijikata was even better. His need to hear your verbal confirmation of just how good he could drill you was heightening the entire experience.

Hijikata wrapped a big hand around your throat, forcing you to meet his steely gaze.

"Who?" he demanded.

A lone tear rolled down your cheek and you knew once you opened your mouth, you'd be begging. "Y - You, Tōshi. You're making me feel good. Fucking my pussy so good."

He smirked in satisfaction. There was no need to hold back now. With demonic speed, probably living up to his title, Hijikata slammed into you, hips snapping back and forth furiously. He hadn't even gotten to rub your clit yet and you came undone, pulsing around his cock, sinful moans falling from your mouth along with his name.

"One more time," he urged, tempted to stop and savour the way you were contracting around him. Snug in your warm wetness. He was close. Too close to stop. He spit on your clit and rubbed it in tight circles, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. This was too much after the first and his name left you in screams, your body spasming, legs jerking. The sight of you being ruined by him did it. A few more thrusts and he fell on top of you, hugging your trembling body close as waves of pleasure crashed over him. He bit your shoulder, hard, enjoying the feeling of his seed leaving him and filling you. The others might not be at the sleeping quarters but you doubted that your screams hadn't reached the main block.

Once you both felt calm enough to move, Hijikata carefully extracted himself from you, using his scarf to wipe off any semen that came leaking out of you. You laid your head on his clammy chest.

"I'd never cheat," you said blatantly.

Hijikata pushed a hand through your messy hair, staring up at the ceiling. "I know. I just... wish I could have been there for you. I know it's not fair, having to always put up with my work."

"You're here now." You turned your head to smile up at him and he returned it with one of his own rare ones. The kind that took your breath away and reminded you of how different he could be around you. "Won't the others be looking for you?"

"Let them," he sighed. "I've been long overdue for a day off anyway." There was a brief pause, as though he were thinking things over. "Can I take you out?"

Your heart skipped a beat, delighted that you both could finally spend quality time together. Not that mindless fucking wasn't fun but normal couple stuff had to come in somewhere.

You smoothed your hand over the skin on his chest, loving how only you were allowed to touch him this way. "Yeah, you can."

[plumforpersephone]

what sad, h*rny lana del rey song is this? 🤔

oh no, she tries to cling onto him in her sleep. can i know everything about him, please? every thought he's ever had? every single time he thinks about her? how he thinks about her? 👉👈

he soothes her. "it's okay. it's okay. go back to sleep, honey." she didn't want to lose him. he gently disentangled himself, quieting her with soothing, soft mouth sounds.

do you think he was awake, watching her all night? do you think she crawled onto his chest at some point and rested peacefully there? maybe he froze, unsure of what to do, or how to react? maybe he settled after a few moments, and played with her hair. do you think he stared and yearned?

goddamn, this part with benny? the scene cemented itself in my heart the second i read over it. i've felt it there ever since.

it's how there's no hesitation in his movements as he gorilla glues their bodies together. there's no awkwardness. he doesn't even ask and she doesn't feel uncomfortable, not even for a second. like, of course i will squeeze my body into yours. and, of course i will let you.

a sigh of contentment dripped from his mouth and she allowed herself to sink into him. his fast beating heart.

they're so funny together. they've both had two opposite reactions from the same emotionally stressful event and they laugh and they joke. "for you? sure - killed twenty guys." + "i will. i will if i have to." and it's what i'm saying how you characterize through speech. they all have a distinct manner of speaking. you can tell who is who even without a tagline.

i love this:

"doesn't matter," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her even closer if that was possible. "time is a construct." she pinched his hip - disappointed to find a thick band of muscle rather than fat. he jerked slightly under her hands. "do you wanna play or something?" he grunted before he banded his arms around her - tightening until she couldn't move at all. an overgrown boa constrictor.

the tiny, minute physical touches: he inhaled audibly at the slide of her lips over his sternum.

when does this all start to feel like love to them?

"it's because you want to have sex with me. that's why i get on your nerves." no, 'cause i could spit out teeth with how hard my jaw is clenched right now.

he twisted onto his side and forced his thigh between her legs - coiling them together like a bunched knot. the instinct.

how he urges her to sleep, even santi had given him a double-take, the second he'd stomped back into the penthouse. his hands still itched from the blood - palms sweaty from the smooth wood handle of the hammer. + he waited for the guilt to come. he waited for that doubt to push against him - to make him question his actions. the irritating reminder of it - like knuckles rapping against a door over and over again. nothing.

i actually think the guys are at their cutest when they're killing people for her. 😇🥰👉👈

his lips twitched. fuck - he had it bad. one thing i love about benny is how he falls so easily into her. sure, in the beginning, he tries to fuck her out of his head with other women, and there's the whole merissa thing later - but i feel like he questions his feelings for faire the least. it just does something for me. don't get me wrong, i love how the other guys agonize and question their feelings for faire, i adore how they suffer over it. i just find it so sweet how he accepts that she is a core part of him so quickly.

so in lieu of that, i love this part very much: it just felt biological. just felt like he saw something inside her that mimicked himself.

and again, for as lost as the guys feel when it comes to her, here they are instinctually providing comfort. will restlessly needing to do something nice for her. and santi and this fucking dog.

god help me, santi bringing tom home for her is one of my favorite parts in this story. it was fluffy and looked completely out of place against santiago's tom ford suit. he smiled at will sheepishly. "i thought she might want a friend … or something." and the way he didn't even think about pet supplies. just so desperate to do something good for her, he doesn't think it through completely. just stupid and in love. malewife behavior. 🤦‍♀️😭

one thing i love about seeing faire & santi's relationship develop is that santi is very much learning how to care for someone romantically. he's got a decent amount of instinct, but it's like he's missing all the verbs in a sentence. halfway there, halfway not.

santi really didn't do shit like that. he was cold and severe most of the time. he cared for them - his brothers. … but will couldn't remember the last time he went out of his way for anyone else - especially a girl. i'm wilted. 😥😭💀🚬

benny. grinning, "you're staring." you smug fucking fuck. "princess."

a neon sign for one of benny's best moments:

when she looked at benny, he had an unreadable expression on his face. it was no longer teasing or entertained or heated with arousal. it was anxious and almost - distressed. "they hurt you pretty bad, huh?" it was imperative that she grow a thick skin - that she bury these things just as she buried all of the grief she held for her parents and the emptiness that was - had been - her homelife. benny gripped her chin - lifting her face to the shadowed light. his eyes flitted over her - his thumb sweeping the curve of her jaw. "you know i sent them back to him," his tone was rough and husky. "i sent their bodies back missing a couple of parts."

and holy, holy, holy lord, did you write the fuck out of that.

this:

"you have an explanation about the dog, yet?" will shot under his breath. "yes," santi answered. "of course." [santi did not, in fact, have an explanation for the dog.]

she was still beautifully endearing. + her smile was the happiest will had ever seen it. + she giggled. + lips still painted in that alarmingly bright smile. i love how she shines in this scene. the guys are swooning with heart eyes and their hands clasped over their chest, but she has no idea what she looks like to them. like a wilting flower coming back to life.

i love how sort of small, unsure, less killer santi always finds himself becoming around her, like she's not a person he knows who or what to be around -

santi rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flitting between the dog and her. will suddenly knew that santi had no idea how he was going to explain himself. "it's um - it's tom," he answered. "tom."

benny in this scene. "i've never wanted to be a dog so bad." poking holes in santi's obviously made up on the spot story. will elbowing him and grabbing him around the neck, hauling him into the kitchen. distracting, quite successfully, benny with pastries.

but also, the way will protects santi's & frankie's secrets? how, later, he says that frankie doesn't like it when people hurt girls, but it's more than that, knowing that frankie is deeply affected by her. how santi plays tom off as a casual, indifferent thing that happened by chance, and how will wrangles benny in.

in my head, i've got faire as the one who's the most insecure about their dynamic. it fractures the potential of their future right down the middle. that's why last baron's comment in chapter twelve feels more devastating to me than the revelation that pope killed her father - that pope refused to shut down rumors that the guys used her as a sex slave.

her uncertainty about the legitimacy, truthfulness, authenticity, and validity of her relationships with the guys is mostly an independent experience. that's why there's not bloodthirsty jealousy among the guys. benny and frankie squabble, sure, will punches benny, and they all butt heads over her at some point or another, but there's never hate or resentment.

it sends her down a sad and lonely road. it's not one that the guys travel with her.

[will] also didn't mind the fact that all of them were doing their part to take care of her. they were establishing trust - chipping away at that icy barrier she had erected the second she'd stepped into their lives. she had - without any of them truly realizing it - become part of their framework. they took care of their own - always had.

it's instinct that has the guys closing in on her, comforting her where they've never done so outside of their group. it's instinct why she's immediately engulfed by the need to embed herself into them, and why the fear and doubt come later.

"where's frankie?" - he's out killing some bitches. of which said bitches will result in some nasty retribution that wraps itself around your neck, that you'll get long-lasting PTSD from.

oh, and her concern: "are you sure he's okay? i don't - i don't want him going out there because of me."

frankie.

my sad, angry, broken, violent, vengeful, homicidal, reeling boy.

there was a part of him that wanted to drive back to the penthouse and crawl back into bed with her. it had taken everything in him to tug her hand off his wrist and put benny in his place. she had begged him to stay and he couldn't. because as much as he wanted to remain with her, there was a larger part of him that was boiling - still red-hot with fury. he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried.

this angst goes down like fine wine.

it's so illuminating to see into frankie's head. i see him as a protector, just as intense as will, but less neat, more mess. will is like a perfectly made-up bed and frankie is tangled up, crisscrossed sheets.

he wouldn’t use his gun. it was less intimate - cold and calculating and quick. not frankie’s style when it came to acts of comeuppance. he had told the guys he was going to be doing recon - get some more information and he’d been telling the truth. he just forgotten to add that he was going to kill anyone dumb enough to confess that they’d been part of the break-in.

you pack together tragedy and humor so fucking well. and the whole of frankie's backstory is just ... i mean. come on. i don't even know what to say about it. it's so beautifully written.

she never trusted “only an hour”. her mother used to say that and then she’d disappear for an entire evening and not get home until dawn. i always wonder how much of her deepest anxieties the guys come to know when they're together. does she ever tell them this? are the guys more careful about their promises, when they find themselves with her, together, post-baron?

in hindsight, it's so surprising that frankie touched her first. while benny kissed her for maybe two seconds before they both lost consciousness, and will - well, we all know what he did. and we know what we would like him to do.

this scene just reads so incredibly, it feels breathless. despite being lost in his head, unmoored, he still comes to her for help. his torso was attractive - dark hair that trailed thinly down his stomach - curved lines of muscle. strong and broad. + the muscles in his jaw flexed and his nostrils flared, which she found extremely sexy despite the fact that he was being kind of a dick.

you really do ratatouille up the most perfect meal of frantic, feral horniness and caustic, soul-crushing, angst.

"please don't cry," he murmured as he squeezed her neck. "please, sweetheart." [[SHE APOLOGIZES!!! TWICE!!!]] "please stop," he begged - his expression agonized. "please stop. c'mon - honey. calm down."

i love the desperation of frankie. out of everyone else, he seems to bleed the most from it.

the sad lust between all of them sounds like a cigarettes after sex song. you could throw a dart at their music catalog and whatever song it landed on would be a perfect addition to this story's soundtrack.

watch your step (6)

Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount: 13.3k Warnings: gore. alcohol/drug abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. smut. violence. panic attacks. self destruction vibes. dog breeding. there's some hair fisting/pulling in here. Summary: Frankie seeks revenge. A/N: Wow. Fuck. Sorry for the wait. This fucking chapter has seriously ruined my life. It's been such a bitch to get right and I honestly have questioned it a number of times. A sincere and true and million-dollar thank you to @frannyzooey. Kelli literally stepped in and helped me with pacing and transitions because I just couldn't get them. She edited the shit out of my chaos and saved my ass. She is a fucking angel and this story wouldn't be what I wanted if she wasn't helping me through it. I am so grateful to her and my other baby angel supporters.

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She didn’t dream, but she didn’t sleep that well either. She remembered Frankie’s heat - the smell of his musk like smoke in her bed. She had felt him start to leave and somewhere within the fog of her unconsciousness, she clung to him - held firm as he tried to get up.

“It’s okay,” he soothed her. “It’s okay.”

She clutched tighter - circling his forearm - feeling the tense line of muscle - the bump of his vein. She didn’t want to lose him - the warmth and comfort of his body in her nest of sheets. He gently disentangled himself - quieting her with soothing, soft mouth sounds.

“Go back to sleep, honey.”

She released him with a whine - stuffing her cheek into her pillow. Her eyes were still screwed shut so she could enjoy the peace of total darkness. It was too soon for anything else. She didn’t want to face whatever was waiting for her downstairs. She didn’t want to have to start dissecting all the elements of Pope’s confession - which had incidentally become her history. She could hear Frankie opening her door - his voice hushed as he spoke to another in the hall.

There was a beat of silence before someone new slid into her bed - the mattress dipping under his weight. His body was hard and familiar as he sealed himself to her - his skin still damp from a shower. He automatically brought his hands to the back of her head - palms cradling the curve of her skull. A sigh of contentment dripped from his mouth and she allowed herself to sink into him. She notched her ear to his heart and was surprised to find it beating fast - to the point that she thought it might rupture. His torso was flushed with a hot spell as if all of his parts continued to work overtime. She briefly wondered what he had done to the guards - where he had been to still be coming down from it.

“Benny,” she mumbled and he gripped her roughly in response - the tip of his chin digging into the top of her head. “Did you kill anyone?” His heart picked up -a fluttering muscle - red and rippling. He was affected by something - had been, at least. He didn’t respond, but made a gruff sort of noise from his throat. Her room was so dark - the curtains enveloping them inside this womb-like space. There was the subtle click and buzz of the air conditioning. The creak and hum of the penthouse itself. She reached up and behind her, catching one of his hands to inspect it. She ran her fingertips over his knuckles to find the skin peeled and raw.

He sucked in a breath.

“Benny,” she repeated, her previous question still hanging between them.

Did you kill someone?

Would it even matter if he did?

“For you?” He traced a line down her shoulder - her arm. “Sure - killed twenty guys.”

“No, you didn’t,” she returned into his flesh - her nose smashed into his bicep. She was dubious, but also not one-hundred percent certain.

“I will,” he assured her. “I will if I have to.”

She didn’t doubt him. She had come to see Benny as ruthlessly loyal. She had watched him lose himself to it - returning from whatever errands Pope had sent him on with those blue-green eyes half a life away. Standing before her. Perplexed or lost, but always splattered in blood. The white marble foyer casting him in stark relief and then he would inevitably come back to himself - pasting on some too-bright smile as he greeted her. She didn’t think he enjoyed it. He dissolved into someone else when he killed - when he did what he had to do.

He shifted against her. “Was that like super romantic to say?”

Her lips twitched in a smile despite the subject matter. “So you didn’t murder anyone tonight?”

“I did some things.”

Should she ask? Prod further?

What good would it do?

She was still shaky from the night’s events - still felt as if her skin had been peeled off her inch by careful inch. The cuts in her legs pricked and she wouldn’t have minded a drink or a couple of painkillers. She knew Benny would have gotten her anything if she requested it.

But.

A small spasm of anxiety that stopped her. Something between utter exhaustion and the fact she had been proud of herself for avoiding it so far. She didn’t want to have to rely on liquor to sleep despite the fact that this moment - of all moments - seemed like an appropriate situation to ask for a drink to settle her nerves.

“What time is it?” She burrowed her face further into his chest - suddenly feeling very uncomfortable now that she was awake. When Frankie had dropped her onto the mattress only a few hours ago - she had been drained to nothing. Her bones had felt heavy and the room had spun and spun. She had passed out almost immediately - didn’t even recall the exact moment she had melted into unconsciousness.

Now - there was an itch inside her - a desperate tug for vodka or whiskey. She wanted that sugar buzz to blanket her head - to protect the mushy mass of her mind and the angry welts of what the scene in the kitchen had left on her. It felt like those images and sensations and terrors had been carved into her meat. The afterburn of her adrenal glands pulsed above her kidneys. They’d been working overtime as she fought for her life. The windfall of all her new knowledge regarding her father on top of the stress she had already been put through.

There’d been so much without respite: her mother, the Chapel, Baron, Pope and her father, the almost-sex, the man’s skull after it went a few rounds with Will’s baseball bat, the panic attacks, the heat of Frankie’s lap beneath her ass on that cold balcony…

She worried her lip with the edge of her teeth - considered biting into it until she felt the tang of pennies. What the fuck had happened to her? How was this her life now?

She realized that Benny hadn’t answered her and she nudged him again. “Hmm?” His voice slurred through a haze of sleep.

“What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled - wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her even closer if that was possible. “Time is a construct.”

She pinched his hip - disappointed to find a thick band of muscle rather than fat. He jerked slightly under her hands. “Do you wanna play or something?” he grunted before he banded his arms around her - tightening until she couldn’t move at all. An overgrown boa constrictor.

“No,” she said - mouth practically dragging over his sparse chest hair. “Not playing. You’re just a smart ass.” He inhaled audibly at the slide of her lips over his sternum.

An accident. She couldn’t exactly turn her head.

But it also wasn’t as if she was shoving him away.

She was an internal mess.

There was a sensation between her legs that made her throb all over - swollen with a blurred excitement. She wanted something. She wanted to forget and she wanted to sleep and all of it felt like it was riding her - trawling her dead weight across unpaved roads until she decided how she wanted to fix it. She could feel every ridge of Benny’s body and it wasn’t unpleasant. He was gorgeous and he was holding her with such intensity that she thought she might burst apart - ooze out in bits and pieces. Both of them were locked together - warm breath and humid, damp skin. It was as if they’d already spent hours fucking.

“You’re a dick,” she whispered for good measure.

Benny chuckled - his fingers digging into her hip. He really was an ass because he knew exactly what he was doing.

“It’s because you want to have sex with me,” he teased - his voice rich and husky against her ear. He pressed his lips to her cheek and she felt the dart of his tongue before he pulled away. “That’s why I get on your nerves.”

“I don’t,” she protested, but it lacked any of the strength she’d packed in her previous refusals.

I’m just tired. I’m just considerably cozy and warm in your arms and I nearly got finger-fucked within an inch of my life by your brother. I sat on your best friend’s fucking lap for an hour on your balcony. I then clung to said best friend - basically begged him to stay. I’m being suffocated now and the thing is - I want it. I want to be held like this and made to feel safe and guarded and fine -

Jesus. Christ. She was getting around.

Benny stretched out beside her - a groan reverberating through his ribs. He then twisted onto his side and forced his thigh between her legs - coiling them together like a bunched knot. He was in sweats - thank fuck. She was certain that if he had his naked thigh against her clothed cunt, it would have given her up.

“If I get a boner don’t get mad,” he informed her as he dropped his face into the crook of her neck. “Can’t help it.”

“Noted,” she grumbled, though she was quite certain she could already feel him half-hard and nudging her flesh. She tried to wiggle, but it was no use. He had her crushed to his chest.

“Stop squirming.”

“Hmpf.”

She managed to angle herself into a more comfortable position. She rested her palm against the side of his ribs when a thought suddenly occurred to her. He was shirtless. His back was bare.

There was a part of her that wanted to ask - that perhaps this was the best time to ask when they were both drunk on exhaustion and huddled in the night-blue trap of her bedroom. The shadows swelled around them - tucked them in. This was the closest they’d ever been physically. Sure - they’d kissed before, but that had been different - slathered in the blur of alcohol as they balanced on bar chairs. At that moment, she felt that if she moved an inch forward she’d be inside him.

Just as she had done in the kitchen a week before, she slowly trailed her hand around his waist - acting like it was just an unconscious gesture. Her fingers lightly grazed the flesh behind his hip and there they were - raised ropes of tissue. He blew out a breath - his chest rising and the side of her face with it.

“Sleep, babe,” he ordered curtly - sounding much more awake. Regardless, he didn’t shake her hand off of him.

It was on the tip of her tongue. The question or perhaps questions was the more apt term. Benjamin Miller was an enigma to her. Someone she felt like she basically knew and yet still really didn’t. What happened to you? How could you have lived through this? How can you bury everything under a joke? Where do you go in your head when you do the things you do?

“Benny,” she murmured - a plea beneath it - a drawn-out ache that she didn’t intend to deliver. There was a beat of silence before she felt the wet pressure of his lips at her hairline.

She couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t the right time. She felt like if she asked now, it would shatter something between them and she had come to appreciate their connection, whatever it was.

So she did what she thought Benny would do: she lightened the mood.

“Don’t feel me up,” she warned before screwing her eyes shut - praying that sleep would come to her.

He laughed - his body quivering with it before he stilled. She sensed him reaching down and grabbing her comforter before yanking it up to their chins. “See?” he said. “Safe as houses. No funny business.”

“I don’t see how that made a difference.”

“It doesn’t - I was just trying to humor you.” He nosed at her hair. “We’re literally already feeling each other up.”

He had a point.

“Fine.”

“Just relax,” he soothed. “You can sleep for a week if you want.”

She was lulled by the tone of his voice. It was so low - so earthy and smooth. She felt secure in a way she hadn’t before and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that revelation.

“Sleep,” he urged - squeezing the nape of her neck. It really was cozy with the ac-blasted air and the buttery heat of her bed. The pressure of his body against hers. The weight of him. The height of him.

She hung onto his waist - not really giving a shit how it made her look.

“Night, Benjamin,” She skated her fingers down the scars that rippled across his lower back - taking notice of the way he shivered.

***

Benny waited for her breathing to even out and was surprised by how suddenly it did. She really was exhausted - emotionally, physically and mentally. He doubted that he would get any sleep at all. She was straddling his thigh as she clung to him - her hair soft and smelling like jasmine and the wet of rain.

He also was just too keyed up after what he’d done.

Even Santi had given him a double-take, the second he’d stomped back into the penthouse. His hands still itched from the blood - palms sweaty from the smooth wood handle of the hammer. He had gotten the answers he needed. Their security had been infiltrated by the Apostles as he suspected. Desmond - the man in charge of hiring new guards had been getting paid under the table by Baron. Desmond had brought two Apostles in - showed them every weak point in their security system so that they could take advantage when they were gone. Their top guy and head of their security - Patrick - had been blindsided. He groveled to Benny about having no fucking idea and Benny believed him.

He winced as he flexed his hand - the tendons throbbed. He was overwhelmed by a flash of memory from earlier that night: the twist of images and sounds in the form of crunching bones, gurgling blood, and the hammer meeting flesh.

Desmond - of course - would not be coming back. It had taken him thirty minutes for Benny to finally force out his confession - complete with evidence of wire transfers and text messages from burner phones. He wondered briefly if that was a record for him. Will probably had him beat. His brother was so disturbingly talented at doling out pain that he usually had grown men shrieking within five minutes.

Overachiever.

Just like in school.

Benny waited for the guilt to come. He waited for that doubt to push against him - to make him question his actions. The irritating reminder of it - like knuckles rapping against a door over and over again.

Nothing. He secured his arms around the girl - made sure her neck wasn’t bent at an uncomfortable angle as she quietly snored against his chest.

At the heart of it, he had done it for her. But he had also done it for Santi. He was fucking over Mateo - Baron - whatever the fuck he went by. He was over his shit and his crooked schemes as he tried to undermine Santi at every turn. Charles Faire’s pretty daughter had just given him an excuse to finally lash out at them - to trespass on the penthouse - the place the boys had always considered sacred. It didn’t matter if she wanted nothing to do with the Apostles. It didn’t matter if she left the country or point blank told Mateo her father’s legacy was his.

He wouldn’t care. He was smart, but rarely thought logically - normally. He’d believe that her stepping into the Chapel was her wanting to join the business. He’d think Santi was using her as a pawn - a piece to play later to convince the Apostles to trust Santi’s leadership over Mateo’s. They were stupidly superstituous - hung up on bloodlines and birthrights even though Charles Faire had always been adamant that his daughter have nothing to do with their world. Mateo was paranoid and fucking insane, which was a lethal combination.

No doubt Mateo already had a bulletin board covered in photos of her from old yearbooks or her instagram account if she even had one. He’d have his lackeys do their research - interviewing old boyfriends or professors or bosses. He was probably jacking off nightly to the thought of her lifeless at his feet.

Yeah - Mateo was that kind of crazy.

Benny would be lying if he said that he hadn’t enjoyed leaving the bastard a message. After he’d gotten the information out of Desmond, he and Patrick had dragged out what was left of the men in the kitchen and took part in a little corpse desecration. Benny had used all the techniques Will had taught him before he’d dropped them off at Mateo’s clubhouse uptown. A wonderful wake-up call that he hoped told Santi’s brother that if he fucked with Charle’s Faire’s little girl again, he’d lose a few limbs. Maybe - Scarface style in a bathtub with a chainsaw.

He heard her whimper into his skin and drew back to study her.

Her long lashes fluttered - eyes darting beneath her lids. Her brow was pinched. Her jaw tensed as she ground her teeth. She must be having a nightmare. Something Benny was an expert in. He didn’t want to wake her so he tried soothing her with gestures. He pushed her hair back and stroked the soft down of her cheek with his ravaged knuckles. She leaned into it - mumbling something before once more going silent.

His lips twitched. Fuck - he had it bad.

She had become all he thought about and a part of him had worried that it was simply an infatuation - that she was just a girl he hadn’t fucked yet and longed for the challenge when everything else had been handed to him so easily.

He had fucked other women the last week - two or three a day to try and scrub her off. Not in the house, of course. He felt too guilty about doing it in a space that was now considered hers. No - he kept to his clubs - screwing his way through chicks he’d had before and chicks he hadn’t. He wanted to expunge her from his system or, at the very least, distract himself.

He couldn’t. He could not.

His dick was practically chafed raw at this point. It was becoming a problem - a very complex issue and one he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with.

Especially because he knew he wasn’t the only one who wanted her.

Will fucked around - he’d had a million women. But Benny had never seen his brother look at any of them the way that he looked at the girl who was currently curled up in his arms. Frankie was the same - always difficult to read when it came to having any emotions beyond guilt or anger or indifference. Women had attempted to punch through that thick veneer he coated himself in. They tried to access Francisco Morales like fucking him right would make him suddenly bend to them.

Benny had yet to see any of them succeed and now Frankie was following her around like a lost puppy. He’d even slept in this bed with her until he’d texted Benny that he had emergency shit to deal with and would you come stay with her? She shouldn’t be alone.

It was very fucking obvious that Frankie cared about her - that he felt as if he was responsible for her well being. Maybe - he was. Maybe - all of them had become responsible as soon as they’d locked her in this place.

So yeah it was no surprise that Benny felt no guilt killing a man tonight over her. He hadn’t even spared a second thought.

But it had been another story last week. He had felt regret - true regret - in his gut when he’d nearly hurt her in their kitchen. He’d rounded on her - grabbed her hard by the throat because she’d traced the vulnerable skin of his back - the evidence of the worst moment of his life. She had looked shocked and small as she blinked up at him - straining and gasping and tugging at his knuckles.

Benny…Benny….

It had stabbed through him. He released her as a mess of realizations clattered in his skull. He had gotten her black-out drunk and kissed her the day before. He had fucked another chick a floor beneath her as she listened. He had nearly strangled her and she was still smiling at him apologetically as she rubbed her throat like she had somehow done something wrong.

He decided that he would do right by her from then on. Protect her if she needed it.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t have an answer because it’s not like he really knew her all that well. He knew bits and pieces in the small details she’d give him about her life before all this.

Benny just liked her.

It just felt biological. Just felt like he saw something inside her that mimicked himself.

***

Will barely slept. How could he?

He still felt the ghost-print of her mouth on his - the swell of her tongue. Her knees pinning tight to his ribs as he inched closer and closer to the heat between her legs. A very insistent part of himself had nearly gone back to her bedroom after he had left her there. She had looked so stunned - so lost as she stared up at him. Her lips still bruised from their kiss - the dilation of her pupils at all that he had promised. He had lain flat on his covers - studying the lines that ran along his ceiling, fighting every cell in his body that wanted to charge out the door and pound her into her mattress.

Just go fuck her.

It’ll stop your head. It’ll be nice for the both of you.

He had desperately wanted to make her feel good. He wanted to fix the images he had left her with. He wanted to give her pleasure as a way of painting over all that shit stuck in her head. The graphic flashes and sounds of shattered skulls and the wet slop of guts. He felt as if he had streaked her in tar and it would take every effort to clean her. He’d fuck it out of her - make it so damn sweet that she would forget her own name and his.

She hadn’t deserved what he’d done to her. She hadn’t deserved last night and she hadn’t deserved the nights before it.

As dawn splintered its way through his shades, he had given up on trying to pass out. He went for a run to clear his head. The morning air was still flushed with dew while he jogged around the bay. The sea reflected the peak of the new sun. The water screamed with its diamond-white froth, a million flickering sapphire scales lapping and knocking into each other.

He knew she wouldn’t be up for hours, but he still wanted to do something for her. It bubbled inside him - making him restless. He couldn’t cook, but he could pick her the best baked goods in the city. There was a small spot a couple blocks from their place called The Tin. The girl who owned it was utterly in love with either Benny or Frankie (Will couldn’t tell) and always saved a box of their most popular items before they would sell out every Sunday. Will greeted the girl with his most charming smile and she blindly handed him a pink box filled with spinach and artichoke danishes, matcha-frosted croissants, strawberry tarts, and orange-cranberry muffins.

“How’s Frankie?” She asked as she swiped his black card. Will raised an eyebrow and her cheeks reddened. She ducked her head. “I mean - he - um - hasn’t been in here in a couple weeks.”

“He’s been on a cleanse,” Will lied. “But, you know, Benny has been non-stop talking about how good your muffins are.” He left enough suggestion in his tone that she blushed even deeper. “He’s wild about them.”

“Oh,” she squeaked. “That’s - that’s really so nice of him. Here - please - take another dozen. I know he loves these raspberry danishes.”

Will winked at her. “He’s going to be thrilled.”

***

Will dropped the boxes of pastries on the counter as his gaze swept over the kitchen. He grimaced at the sight of blood on the floor - some of it her blood, he was sure.

“Fucking, Benny,” he growled as he found a rag to clean up the mess. They’d usually have a cleanup crew handle this, but Will knew Santi was on edge. Their security had been breached and the situation was delicate to say the least. He wanted to be sure he could trust the people who came into his house.

Will grabbed the cleaning supplies from under the sink. He savored the medicinal smell - the warm water from the faucet as he washed his hands.

Tidying up the kitchen would make him feel better - busy his head since he doubted anyone would be awake until the afternoon. He’d shower and then bleach the fuck out of the floor. He’d make it look brand new - wiped clean of any evidence from the night before. Finding the knife she’d used as a weapon on the counter, he tossed it into the trash. He could buy her another one since blades were his specialty.

Will just wanted to fix this.

The kitchen was her safe space and he intended to keep it that way.

***

“Will!”

Santi called from the front door - an obvious strain in his voice.

Will glanced at his watch - the expensive Rolex that Santi had given him for his birthday. It was his third one since he kept forgetting to take it off while he worked.

Two PM. Fuck - it was later than he thought.

He wiped his hands on his gym shorts. His ratty t-shirt smelled like Pine Sol and his fingertips were pruney and pink from scrubbing.

“What is it?” He stepped into the entryway before stopping abruptly.

Santi was standing there with a honey-colored puppy in his arms - a red leather collar around its tiny neck. It was wriggling around - pink tongue darting out of its mouth. It was fluffy and looked completely out of place against Santiago’s Tom Ford suit.

He smiled at Will sheepishly. “I thought she might want a friend…or something.”

Will blinked at him - stunned. “How’d you get a dog for her in less than twelve hours?”

He handed the dog to Will who immediately cradled it - scratching its soft head as it licked his chin. Fuck - it was cute.

Santi had dark half-moons under his eyes and he sighed - threading his fingers through his curls. “Remember Justine? She runs that dog-breeding business that’s a front for the cash flow we get from down South.”

Will cracked a smile. “Damn you must really like her.”

Santi’s eyes widened before he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Look - I felt bad, okay? I told her about her dad and she got all weepy and Frankie said she pretty much had a panic attack and so I thought - why don’t I give her a pet for - you know - comfort?”

“A therapy dog?”

“Yeah - exactly.”

“Did you get any supplies for it?”

Santi’s brow creased in confusion. He was intelligent - cunning and resourceful - but he really had zero idea how to take care of living things. It wasn’t like Will could blame him - all four of them had grown up in a world that hadn’t really asked them to be attentive or paternal.

Will rubbed behind the puppy’s ears as it made happy little noises. “I’ll deal with it,” he assured him. “I’ll call Justine to send some stuff over.”

Santi gave him a grateful nod. He walked slowly over to one of the plush chairs in the living room and collapsed into it - groaning. Will was amused to say the least. He could just imagine Santi - flustered and haggard - racing out to find a dog as quickly as he could.

I’ll pay anything! Just help me out here.

Santi really didn’t do shit like that. He was cold and severe most of the time. He cared for them - his brothers. He cared for vivality of the The Cardinals and that his businesses ran smoothly. But Will couldn’t remember the last time he went out of his way for anyone else - especially a girl. Santi had had maybe one girlfriend back in school and the rest had been short affairs - mostly arrangements.

“So how much did you tell her?” Will dropped into the couch across from him and let the puppy loose to run around the room. They’d need pee pads and a crate and toys. Maybe - some astroturf on the balcony so it would have a bathroom nearby.

Santi shut his eyes - rubbing at his temples. “I told her as much as I could before she stopped me. Told her about my brother and Charles. Told her about why we took her.” He pulled at the top button of his shirt until it opened. “I didn’t get very far. She freaked out about me knowing her dad and the fact that I saw her like one time as a kid.”

Will shrugged. “She was probably overwhelmed. She had a busy night.”

The image of her moaning beneath him flashed through his head. He had felt how wet she was - her feverish skin branding his own as she clung to him. The way she bit her lip as he cleaned her wounds - the weight of her foot in his hands. She could kiss, too. She was good at it. Will scrubbed at his face - trying to banish that memory until a more opportune moment - like when he was naked in his shower or bed - whatever came first.

“You going to tell her the rest?”

“When she can handle it,” he replied - his nostrils flaring slightly. “She’s hanging by a thread as it is.”

“What if she asks?”

“Then I’ll tell her, Will!” Santi snapped before frowning. “Fuck - sorry - I’m tired as shit.”

Will held his hands up. “I’m just wondering in case she comes charging down here demanding more information. I want to make sure you’re ready to tell her the rest. It’s fucking heavy.”

Santi nodded - his lips forming a thin line. “Trust me - I’m aware.”

***

She woke up in a fog. She was overheating - sweat under her knees and arms and the crooks of her elbows. She tried to disentangle herself from the heavy body on top of her.

“Benny,” she grunted before smacking her fist into his side. He mumbled - unphased - and yanked her closer - his arms banding around her chest - crushing her tits. “Benny - I can’t fucking breathe.”

She kicked out at him - knocking against his shins. He sighed and released her before popping one eye open.

“So cruel to me,” he pouted as he cast her a wounded sidelong glance.

The room was still dark, but she could make out the orange sweep of the sun beneath the curtains - spilling threads of light across the floor. She could feel that it was late - probably close to five or six. Her tongue was cottony in her mouth and her eyelids were heavy, but she felt better.

“I’m hungry,” she declared, Benny quickly sat up on his elbows - his hair an absolute mess as long strands fell wildly across his brow.

“Let’s go raid the kitchen, then.”

“I knew you’d get up for food.”

“And?”

“You’re predictable.”

“I’m predictable in the places it counts.”

He slipped out of bed to stretch - turning toward her so she only caught a brief glimpse of his scarred back. His front was even more distracting. Fuck - it was too early for it. She ogled the way his muscles bunched and flexed - the lines of his obliques and the tendons in his neck. The rounded broad shoulders.

“You’re staring,” he grinned.

Shit. She diverted.

“Are those crocodiles?” Even in the dark, she could decipher tiny green creatures on the waistband of his boxers that had risen up above his sweats.

He frowned - dropping his head to stare down at crotch. “Will got me these.”

“They’re cute.”

“Yeah, yeah…we all know you were admiring the view.”

She scowled and he chuckled. “It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

He snatched his t-shirt from the floor and threw it on. He stepped closer to the side of the bed and did a come-hither motion. “C’mon - let me help you down the stairs, princess.”

She crawled across the mattress toward him. “You’re not carrying me.”

She was beginning to feel like an invalid.

“If you can’t put weight on your foot then - yeah - I’m carrying you.”

Jerk.

She stepped cautiously onto the floor. The pain in her flesh from the glass had become muted - a flare on her sole - a distant throb in her calves. She ached in other places though. She felt bruised and she probably was - she had yet to see herself in the mirror. She touched the crown of her head and winced - there was still a lump.

When she looked at Benny, he had an unreadable expression on his face. It was no longer teasing or entertained or heated with arousal. It was anxious and almost - distressed.

“They hurt you pretty bad, huh?”

She swallowed - pushing down that tickle at the back of her throat. The very real desire to cry scratched at her - beckoned and pinched. She probably could with Benny. She could weep and he’d never say anything - never mock her for it. But it was imperative that she grow a thick skin - that she bury these things just as she buried all of the grief she held for her parents and the emptiness that was - had been - her homelife.

Benny gripped her chin - lifting her face to the shadowed light. His eyes flitted over her - his thumb sweeping the curve of her jaw. “You know I sent them back to him,” His tone was rough and husky. “I sent their bodies back missing a couple of parts.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. The air in her lungs expanded fully in her chest.

She raised her hand - circled his wrist and squeezed. It was like the violence he described was distant - blanketed in a thin frost. It didn’t bother her, but instead caused her heartbeat to race and climb up her ribs. She knew which him, Benny meant. She was oddly touched.

***

Will heard her before he saw her. The sun was just setting - the glass towers of the surrounding skyscrapers glittering in shades of blood orange and gold. It was nearing the end of summer, but the evenings were still bright - still well lit and heavy with heat.

The puppy had raced toward the stairs at the sound of new voices. Santi stood up almost immediately - combing his hair back with his fingers. He’d shoved his jacket off - his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You have an explanation about the dog, yet?” Will shot under his breath.

“Yes,” Santi answered. “Of course.”

“Oh my god!” Will heard her shriek before he stepped into the room. Benny was behind her - seemingly just as shocked as she was. He sent Will a look over her head - mouthing what the fuck? Will pointed to Santi who was unaware of anyone else - his eyes following the girl’s excited movements. She dropped to her knees and Will winced. She was going to open her cuts.

“Who is this?!” she squealed as the golden-fluffy thing jumped into her arms. She pressed her mouth to its head - peppering it with kisses. Despite the fact that she looked like she’d been put through the ringer - her face slightly swollen, she was still beautifully endearing. Her smile was the happiest Will had ever seen it.

She lifted the puppy into her arms - cradling it and cooing as it rooted its nose along her throat and jaw. It licked her cheek and she giggled.

Benny sidled up to his brother. “I’ve never wanted to be a dog so bad.”

“What’s its name?” she asked Will and he shook his head before gesturing to Santi who was still frozen in place - observing her silently. “Santi got him.”

She stood up, carting the puppy with her. She looked at Santi expectedly - her lips still painted in that alarmingly bright smile.

Santi rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flitting between the dog and her. Will suddenly knew that Santi had no idea how he was going to explain himself. “It’s um - it’s Tom,” he answered. “Tom.”

“Tom,” she echoed before nuzzling one of his fluffy ears. “Very fitting.”

“Is she on crack?” Benny mumbled to his brother. “That dog is not a Tom.”

Will elbowed him in the side and he doubled over. “Fuck! You asshole.”

Santi ignored them, his lips curling into a subtle grin as he stepped toward her. He reached out to scratch Tom’s head. “He was wandering around outside and I just found him.”

“With a collar?” Benny piped in before Will grabbed him around the neck and hauled him into the kitchen.

“Ow fuck!” Benny hollered before wrestling him off. “That hurt.”

“Stop being a baby,” Will handed him a pink box of pastries.

“Oh shit!” Benny exclaimed. “Are these the raspberry ones? That chick loves me.”

“She sure does.” Will had only planted that seed deeper.

Benny rammed the danish into his mouth - chewing violently as crumbs and spittle flew.

“Jesus, Ben! You’re gonna choke.”

“I’m hungry,” he shrugged as he wiped his chinwith the side of his hand. “Cuddling takes it out of me.”

“Good for you.”

He wasn’t exactly jealous - especially since he’d had his tongue down her throat beforehand. He also didn’t mind the fact that all of them were doing their part to take care of her. They were establishing trust - chipping away at that icy barrier she had erected the second she’d stepped into their lives. She had - without any of them truly realizing it - become part of their framework. They took care of their own - always had.

“What are you eating?” the girl asked from the doorway. She was still holding Tom - her eyes gleaming as the sun faded across her bare arms and legs. When her gaze fell on Will, her lips twitched at corners before she ducked her head. Heat flared beneath his skin at the sight of her bashfulness. At least she wasn’t avoiding him.

“I picked up some breakfast for you guys,” Will smiled. “Didn’t think you’d be up for cooking.”

She stepped next to him - her arm brushing his as she peeked into the box. The puppy was already asleep - head resting against the curve of her breast. “Those look good.”

He turned his head and found them face to face. He could still feel her beneath him - recall those sweet, throaty gasps she’d made as his tongue licked the cup of her mouth.

“Want me to heat them up for you?” he asked - purred - really. He couldn’t help it. She forced it out of him - waterlogged him in the thought and smell of sex.

She ran her fingers over the top of his hand - his knuckles. She lightly traced the sable ink of a roman numeral tattooed on his skin. “Yes, please.”

***

“Where’s Frankie?” She was on her third muffin, which pleased Will quite a bit. There were flecks of sugar on her lower lip and it took everything in his power not to lick them away.

“Errands, apparently,” Benny replied as his gaze darted to Santi. Frankie had been nearly radio-silent all day. Will wasn’t entirely sure if he should be worried. Frankie had a temper on him. He also had a deep-seated grudge against Santi’s brother. Will loved Fish, but he had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. He had a thousand demons and often nowhere to put them ever since he had stopped chugging whiskey bottles and blowing lines.

“He’s fine,” Santi said in a way that seemed like he was convincing himself more than anything. “You know how he gets.”

“How does he get?” she queried before resting her chin into her palm. The fingers on her other hand played with the empty muffin wrapper.

Will didn’t know how to respond. Frankie was a fiercely possessive person and still reeling from all that had happened with Benny. He often needed to dole out enough violence until it cooled his head.

There was also another reason. Frankie obviously liked the girl or cared for her to such a degree that he was going to act out one way or another. Will didn’t want to blow up his spot or say something he couldn’t take back.

He scratched his beard before finally stating: “He doesn’t like when people hurt girls.”

It was not a total lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. After all - he had been this close to shooting her in the face if Santi had commanded it. Shit - they were fucked up. They were a mess of conflicting values. To be fair, hypocrisy wouldn’t be their worst crime.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you sure he’s okay? I don’t - I don’t want him going out there because of me.”

“He’s fine, babe,” Benny said as he finished licking his raspberry-stained fingertips. “He’s just doing some recon.”

Will didn’t think that was necessarily true either, but it would be the best thing they could offer her. He handed her croissant and she took it - seemingly satisfied with Ben’s answer.

“So,” Benny continued as he leaned against the fridge - crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Santi cast the girl a weary look before turning back to Benny. “We’re going to The Chapel tonight.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “We’re leaving her alone again?”

She paused from tearing chunks out of the croissant. “I don’t - I’m not so sure about that.” There was a subtle shift of fear blossoming across her features. He didn’t blame her.

Santi frowned at her apologetically. “I know it’s not ideal, but we need more information and we need to keep up appearances. Mateo - Baron - hit us in a way that shouldn’t have happened. I want to present a strong front.” She nodded absently - her eyes flicking to the kitchen floor. Will’s gut twisted. Santi grimaced before stepping toward her and clasping her on the shoulder. “I’ve already called my best guys - the men I’ve known since I was a kid and trust with my life. They’re going to guard the place and keep you safe.”

She bit her lip. “Okay - sure.”

. “Why don’t we just arrange a meeting with your dumb fuck brother?” Benny implored - the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“It’s delicate,” Santi explained. “It’s his move anyway after you sent him that fun little message.”

Benny grinned so deeply, his cheeks dimpled. “I hope he liked it.”

The girl blinked at him before staring back down at her lap where Tom slept.

Will placed his elbows across the counter as he considered her body language. She’d begun to curl into herself. He didn’t think leaving her right now was the best option, but Santi had a point and he was positive Baron wouldn’t try anything this soon now that they had the place on lock down.

“When do we go?” he asked as he kept his eyes on her.

***

How many?

Two guys. They’ve been running their mouths about breaking into your place.

Of course, they are. Fucking idiots. Thanks, Danny.

Just don’t make too much of a mess. I’m still patching things up from the last time.

Benny won’t be with me.

Thank fuck for that.

As Frankie hung up, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed sleep. There was a part of him that wanted to drive back to the penthouse and crawl back into bed with her. It had taken everything in him to tug her hand off his wrist and put Benny in his place. She had begged him to stay and he couldn’t. Because as much as he wanted to remain with her, there was a larger part of him that was boiling - still red-hot with fury. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he tried.

So he narrowed down all the spots in the city that Baron’s lackeys would go. He watched and he waited and like clockwork - a few had shown up to what they considered the Apostles’ safe space. The penthouse had been theirs and that had been shot to shit. It was only fair.

He scanned the area as he blasted his AC - letting the cool circulated air wake him up a little. He was currently parked down by the bay - eyes locked on the building in front of him. The Wharf was a dingy bar the Apostles’ henchmen frequented. It was all wood - barren aside from the rusty blue sign: The Wharf - established 1923.

The salt water had chewed away at the docks out front, as well as the roof and walls. It’s red paint had turned to a rusty finish. He’d have to pay Danny to fix the place up. Another act of goodwill in exchange for information on the Apostles member’s movements. Not like Mateo would ever venture here. He was too much of a snob.

He swallowed, cracking his knuckles.

He wouldn’t use his gun. It was less intimate - cold and calculating and quick. Not Frankie’s style when it came to acts of comeuppance. He had told the guys he was going to be doing recon - get some more information and he’d been telling the truth. He just forgotten to add that he was going to kill anyone dumb enough to confess that they’d been part of the break-in. Santi would be annoyed. He’d be frustrated, but at the end of the day it wouldn’t matter. Baron would see it as a slight, nothing more. He didn’t value his men like Santi did.

Frankie had been itching for them to finally knock the fucker off his axis. He was too damn unstable. Now that he was aware of Charles’s daughter, it would only be a matter of time. Frankie had said that he would look out for her and he had meant it. He saw so much of his nature inside her - saw that dangerous impulsiveness and desire to numb out.

After holding her through that panic attack, his sympathy for her had only increased.

“I’ve just come to learn that no one can really protect me. Not even the people who should have.”

Fuck - that broke him. It really had. He had lain on that bed as his thoughts churned and tangled. He wanted to do something - break something. Despite all the work he’d done on himself, all of his weaknesses still rested in his blood - in the deep thick of his head. Dormant, but susceptible. His easy fury - his explosive temper and penchant for violence and revenge.

Francisco had lived a life, already. In his younger years, he had been reckless and too much. He had traveled as his mode of education - bumbling and staggering through various countries. He just couldn’t sit still at home - couldn’t keep his head on straight with the constant talk of heirs and wars and alliances. It wasn’t even like Santi was the head of the Cardinals then. He was at University - racing between home and campus - to deal with his stubborn father and Charles and Mateo. The inevitable mantle of leader was asking too much of him before he had even taken it. Santi’s life was already laid out before him and - to be fair - he didn’t need Frankie’s chaos in addition to his family drama.

It had been the best for both of them because Frankie doubted he would have lived very long had he stayed during that time period. Santi had even told him that he genuinely didn’t believe he’d come back. He hadn’t been sure.

We were both fucked up, Fish. You got into so many fights - drank so much. I didn’t know if you’d ever get home.

Frankie - with his hot head and hotter self-destruction - had stormed across the globe. He made connections for Santi as he roamed through ports and back alleys and used his family name - Morales - to carve out pockets of gold for his best friend. He wanted to assure his success - build his empire. Benny and Will were younger then - still doing their part through home-grown fights and interrogations and the favors asked of them by Edward Garcia. Frankie’s role had been the bigger picture. He dove headfirst into jungles - got lost in the Philippines and woke up on the floor of a cockfight. He smoked too much hash and got scammed by a number of women he’d drunkenly ended up in bed with. Teresa he had liked - Teresa he had taken all the way to Seville before he caught a flight to Ibiza and left her. The music there had ruptured his right eardrum and his tongue had stayed numb from all the ecstasy. Tanzania. Istanbul. Hong Kong. Belfast. Portugal. There was a club in Berlin that he didn’t leave for two days. He read a bunch of classics as a way of pretending that he was still feeding his head - that he hadn’t torn through all of his brain cells because he kept dropping acid on the tube and Paris metro. He went to the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel and the Rijkmuseum.

“It’s an education by way of passport, Santi.”

“Uh huh - sounds like it.”

“I’m building your reputation, Garcia.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, man. You do what you have to do and then come home.”

By the end of it - Frankie was half a person. He was a shadow, a projection of someone else entirely. He hadn’t quite realized that he had planted the seed of his own chemical solution. He came home at twenty-two with his head on backwards. He felt like a raw nerve or like he’d stuck his tongue in a spark plug. He had spent a solid year drowning in drugs and drink until it just became a facet of his personality. From then on - he’d use them to fill the hole inside his gut - his chest. Anytime - he had a moment of quiet or even boredom, he’d drink to deaden his nerves - to paint over the fact that he did not like who he was.

Frankie smoothed his hand over the leather steering wheel. Almost two decades later and he still couldn’t help himself. He craved that easy violence. He craved having a reason for it.

***

It wasn’t much of a fight because the two men were already loose with alcohol. They were exactly where Danny said they would be. Round table at the back right corner. Next to the storage room door.

The Wharf cleared the second he strode in because Francisco Morales still carried enough weight to frighten crowds. He was still someone you didn’t fuck over unless you wanted to lose a precious limb or tongue or eyeball. He had to admit that his ego swelled a little at the sight of people scurrying away.

Danny nodded at him from behind the bar before disappearing down the hallway near the front. He’d remain scarce until Frankie was done.

He directed his glare at the men in question. Their eyes darted around the room, apparently still trying to figure out what was going on up until they recognized Frankie.

‘Oh shit,” one of them shouted - hand disappearing to the back of his jeans to find his gun.

Frankie said nothing as he cut a path toward them - rampaging through tables and chairs and knocking glasses and cutlery out of the way. The expressions on their faces were almost comical. Their eyes rounded out - mouths slack and open as they stumbled off their seats.

“We didn’t - we didn’t -”

That was about as far as one of them got before Frankie smashed a glass over his head. Skin split with a spurt of blood. The man dropped headfirst into the table and stayed there. Frankie curled his fingers into the lapels of the other man’s jacket and wrenched him forward - shoving him to the floor. His features were dazed - his skin pale - as he squirmed and fought against Frankie’s iron grip. Frankie released him, stepping away far enough in order to bring the heel of his boot down on the man’s face. There was a crunch - a warbled shout. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt flecks of blood on his cheek.

The man was screaming as he tried to crawl away from him. Frankie followed - shoulders stiff as he towered over him. It was pathetic - reminded him of a scurrying insect. He lurched forward, straddling him before he used his fists.

He was furious. His rage ran rivers beneath his skin as he grunted through every punch he delivered. The man gurgled - spat and begged at him, but he couldn’t hear. There was just a buzz - a constant hiss of noise as he broke the man beneath him. There was red and black and he couldn’t feel anything beyond the violence in front of him. Frankie tugged his knife from his belt and jerked it into the man’s throat - nudging it beneath his jaw. His eyes rolled back as he twitched.

Now - the other one -

There was a sharp burn across Frankie’s ribs and he hissed - hand flying to his side as blood blossomed through his t-shirt. Fuck. He turned around to find the man he knocked out very much awake. He had a knife - fingers shivering around the handle. Teeth bared. He lunged for Frankie - sending him backwards into the floor. There was the ripe punch of beer and scotch - the back of his shirt growing wet, but he couldn’t care. This was an annoyance. This was just a hiccup.

Frankie laughed. It was only a moment - a quick, rattling bark of laughter that startled the guy enough that he loosened his grip on the knife. Frankie took the opening and covered the man’s knuckles around the wood handle with his own hand. He drew his elbow back before shooting forward, stabbing the blade into the man’s neck.

He choked - the liquid at the back of his throat bubbling and frothing. Frankie scooted out of the way as the man collapsed beside him. He stood quickly and huffed - cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders backward. His eyes roved the area. The world flew back at him - all of his senses returning at once. There was nothing now - just a great gasp left in the wake of his violence. The bar room was empty - echoing - the glass liquor bottles glittering underneath the yellow pendant lights.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. There was still an unsteadiness inside him that refused to fade. There was an anxiousness - a burst of hunger that he wasn’t sure where to put.

He palmed his side where his injury throbbed. He’d been careless with that.

The bottles twinkled and for a moment he could taste the bite of whiskey - the warm fill of it churning in his stomach. He would welcome that. He’d like to feel it. He didn’t want to be in his head right now.

You fucking can’t. You know where it’ll lead. You’ve been there a thousand times.

He dug his finger into the shallow cut across his ribs. The pain snapped him awake. He clenched his teeth and hurried out of the bar. He’d call a cleanup crew and wire Danny whatever the damages cost and then some.

***

She wasn’t exactly angry with them for leaving her…again.

The puppy made up for it if she were being perfectly honest.

“I’m so easy,” she muttered as she tossed a ball across the den floor. Tom bounded after it - snuffling and yelping as he did.

She trusted them enough to know she was safe here. There were guards downstairs - guards outside the front door who constantly checked in on her. They even called her Ms. Faire.

She glanced at the open wine bottle beside her. She’d gotten nervous once she was alone - her anxiousness prickling her skin.

“Only for an hour or so,” Benny murmured as he rubbed her back. “I promise.”

“What if you have business or something?” she asked. She never trusted “only an hour”. Her mother used to say that and then she’d disappear for an entire evening and not get home until dawn. Hell - she’d done it to her when she was a child, leaving her in a locked car for the afternoon as she ran whatever errands she ran.

Will had squeezed her waist - his mouth hot against her ear. “I’ll come back to you even if I have to leave them. Sixty minutes tops.”

The wine warmed her stomach, but it wasn’t enough. She was worried and mostly over them. She didn’t know when that switch had flipped.

When they had saved her?

When they had told her the real story?

When she had started to allow them to touch her - invade her space because she enjoyed it?

It was so strange and deeply fucked up, but she had never had a family. She had never had this kind of warmth - this comfort despite the fact that they were violent people.

No one had ever taken care of her before and now she had four men going out of their way to keep her safe. The boys had proven time and time again that they would look out for her - patch her up. Fucking feed her ridiculously good pastries and give her a pet. They wouldn’t even take advantage of her, despite the fact that she begged for it. Her cheeks flared up - her stomach somersaulting as she remembered what Will had promised.

“I’ll fuck you until you can’t think.”

“I’ll lick your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

Fuck - She had butterflies over a killer.

She was, at least, grateful that things hadn’t been weird earlier. Will had treated her like he always had - ruining her fucking life with that ridiculous smile that illuminated all of his handsome features.

Tom barked at her and she laughed - scratching his ears. “Time for your walk,” she told him before scooping him up and padding over to the front door. She handed him to Gerald who had taken over bathroom duties for the dog. She couldn’t exactly go outside - not because she was a hostage, but because who knew who was waiting out there for her. Her life was still on the line.

You’re not a prisoner anymore. Not really.

She made it about four steps before the front door banged open behind her. She whirled around to see Frankie standing before her. His hair was unruly. His eyes dark and fathomless. There was a thin film of sweat coating his brow - his pallor almost pale.

She rushed forward before his expression stopped her. It was unfocused - as if he was staring at something beyond her. There was a deep-seated anger marking his features. He looked…scary.

“What happened to you?” She reached for his arm and he shrugged her off. His lips creased to a thin line. She noticed he was favoring his left side as he brushed past her.

“Frankie!” she snapped and he didn’t even pause. He simply kept walking, silently climbing the stairs to the second floor.

What the fuck?

***

Irritated, she went to her bedroom. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. She’d never seen him look that way before. Detached, but also not. A spiral of fervent emotions ripping across his face that he was trying to temper down.

She went to her bureau and pulled out a fresh pair of pajama shorts and a tank. She slipped both on, trying not to focus on the fact that Frankie had completely ignored her. He’d never been rude to her. He’d practically been up her ass since she got here.

Suddenly, there was a sharp rap at her door.

Thinking it was Gerald with the dog, she crossed her bedroom to answer it. Frankie stood there - hands filled with cotton and gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He blinked at her - his white teeth biting his lip. He seemed softer now - his thick curls falling across his forehead - his brown eyes round and brow creased. He’d gotten rid of his jacket and was just clad in his jeans and a loose gray shirt. She saw rusty red staining the side of it.

She folded her arms over her chest. “Couldn’t do it yourself could you?”

“Please?” he replied - offering her the supplies, which she took automatically. She moved aside to let him in. He winced as he accidentally knocked his hip into her door frame.

Once inside, he turned toward her, lifting the hem of his t-shirt high enough to show the wound. There was enough light in her room to cast his body in warm relief. His torso was attractive - dark hair that trailed thinly down his stomach - curved lines of muscle. He wasn’t as built as Benny or Will, but it was obvious he was strong and broad. Her eyes fell on the cut. It was still weeping blood and she frowned.

“I take it you weren’t just doing recon?”

He shook his head. Something had happened and he was pissed or his brain had bounced around in his skull and he no longer could hold a conversation.

“You don’t want to do this in the bathroom?” she asked as she unscrewed the bottle of alcohol.

“Here is fine,” he muttered.

He remained silent as she cleaned his wound. He did inhale loudly when she pressed the alcohol-soaked gauze to the torn flesh. The muscles in his jaw flexed and his nostrils flared, which she found extremely sexy despite the fact that he was being kind of a dick.

There was a feeling at the nape of her neck - a pinch of fear. She was positive he had gone out and done something because of her. She needed to know - she wanted to know.

She softened her voice.

“What did you do, Frankie?”

***

Her question didn’t really register. He didn’t want to be here with her in the state he was in. He had assumed one of the guys would be home to help him out, but they’d left and he was stuck. He still felt brutally on edge. He felt dazed, so utterly dizzy with all that anger still percolating inside him.

“Frankie,” the girl pressed and this time he did hear her. Her tone was forceful now - panic creeping into her words. “What - did you do?”

He wouldn’t tell her. It was too much. Her voice was taking on that hysterical vibration - that thin high-pitched anxiousness.

I allowed my anger to get the better of me and went out and murdered two men. I wanted to protect you - I wanted to hurt the people who hurt you and I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t control it. I still can’t control it and it seems as if I’ve learned fucking nothing after Benny…

After I let my fury get the better of me and I drowned it in booze. I couldn’t move or fight or protect my best friend and he got taken and now he can’t even stretch his back without flinching.

Pain seared across his side as she swiped the angry, red cut a little too hard. He grunted - gaze finally catching that her hands were shaking and there was a sick sort of expression on her face - like she might throw up or burst into tears.

“Did you go out there for me?” she hissed. “You could have died. You could have died and left me here and the others are out - the others are out at the Chapel and - and-” She lifted her face to meet his eyes - Frankie winced. “What if Baron kills them? I don’t - I have no one, Frankie. I have no one. I have no family. I have no friends. I would just be here and I don’t - I don’t know what I’d do?” A sob caught at the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. “There is nothing for me out there. I’d just be waiting here like an idiot - alone. I didn’t fucking want this - “

Frankie felt stricken on top of the shame that was already ravaging his body. He couldn’t let her cry like that. He couldn’t watch her fall apart as she just bashed herself against his silence.

He said her name softly and reached for her.

***

Frankie had touched her before, but now it felt different. Before it had been careful, gentle touches — ones meant to soothe and fix, but now there was something else in his touch. Something thicker and filled with tension. Something more intimate and wild. She was teetering. An upside-down carousel. A thousand colors and animals and shapes and the non-stop swell and tinkle of circus music. She felt sick. She felt so utterly alone and confused.

He looked distraught - jumbled and - fuck - she wanted to fix it, but could not. She could not stop crying or panting or clinging to him. Frankie’s broad hands cupped the nape of her neck - his thick calloused fingers dug into the base of her skull. The gruffness was gone and replaced with worry.

She tried to focus on his face. His pouty lips and umber eyes with those sweet curling lashes. It all mixed and swirled - going to watery paint.

“Please don’t cry,” he murmured as he squeezed her neck. “Please, Sweetheart.”

It made her cry harder. Tears running rivers down her cheeks - she fisted his shirt. She was hyperventilating now - barely able to get a breath in. Spit and snot and she must have looked out of her fucking mind.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry.”

It felt as if her heart might burst like a bubble in her chest. She clawed at him and his voice went very far away. She was underwater - drowning in salt as the surf continued to knock her into the sand. The hits kept coming. Her life had unraveled spectacularly.

“Please stop,” he begged - his expression agonized. “Please stop. C’mon - honey.” His face was closer now - his features blurring and darkening through her tears. His grip went to her jaw and he was cradling her cheeks. His hot breath fell against her nose and chin. “Calm down.”

A beat, his eyes dropping to her mouth — and then He kissed her. It was a collision, really. He lunged forward - rock and grit vibrating beneath a groan as he crushed his lips to her own. His tongue slipped between her teeth - slid across the roof of her mouth and tangled with hers.

It was everything she wanted right at that moment. Everything she could have asked for and there was no stopping it. This was a train on a crash course - no end in sight and if he stopped she’d fall apart -she’d crumble or die or go to dust.

“Make me feel good,” she whispered against the thrust of his tongue - the slant of his lips, her fingers slipping into his hair to pull him close and Something low and rugged bloomed from the back of his throat. Her words seemed to have snapped something within him.

It’s a fight — he was forcing her down and she was dragging him with her as they tugged and ripped at each other. They missed the bed and went straight to the floor - the carpet rough at her back. His fingers were everywhere - bruising and calloused. He shoved at her clothes and it was such a fucking echo of him and how he’d been with her since day one. He had stripped her bare - demanded she reveal herself or at least she had felt that way. He had seen her and she hadn’t been able to hide from him. She couldn’t bury who she was because he was right fucking there and he wanted to touch it.

Her vision spun and swam as he pulled away from her mouth and sat back on his heels. For a moment - she thought he meant to leave - meant to stop this as Will had. But he only was grabbing at her shorts - ripping them down before wrenching her thighs apart and diving forward. There was a moan that rumbled from deep within his chest as his nose scraped through the slit of her sex. She started curl into it - spine arching off the floor - squeaking with the burst of pleasure as he tweaked her clit with the suction of his lips.

He plunged his broad tongue flat against her - sweeping through her folds until her hips jumped against his chin and the warm slippery glide of it momentarily stunned her. He was pressing his face into her cunt with a careless sort of abandon - a frantic urgency - a yes yes yes now fuck please tumbling from her mouth as her head fell back and her thighs jammed into his ears and she was about to reach for him - push at his shirt, fist his hair - but he was already moving away so he could climb up her body. He kissed her belly - her tits - mouthing over her thin shirt and she could see herself all over him and how wet she must be, to leave a sheen - a fucking glaze over his nose and lips and mustache. He seemed so affected - so intense - clawing his fingers around the middle of her bra over the cotton of her shirt to pull her up to his mouth - smashing their lips together until it hurt. It did sting, but it was far away. She could taste her cunt - the salty flesh of girl as he shared it with her.

He tore himself away from her again so he could pop the button of his jeans - rucking them down just enough for his cock to spring forward and - she stared.

Fuck it was big. It was heavy - thick and swollen with the head red as it jutted from the sparse curls at his groin. She swallowed - lifting her eyes to meet his. He was gone, His expression fierce. His pupils expanded - burst to full black as his gaze bore into her own and he spat on his hand - the sound of it blunt and crude in her silent bedroom. She couldn’t catch her breath and she felt her heart climb up her throat as she watched Frankie’s spit slick palm wrap around his cock - pumping and stroking just for a second as she laid prone beneath him. Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out to grasp it. The length jumped in her palm - pulsed with the throb of his own heartbeat. It was hot to the touch and she barely had time to think about if he’d fit inside her, but she genuinely wondered.

His hand curled under her knee to spread her open further, to make room for him. She was truly on display at this angle, could feel her aching pussy, gaping and wet from his mouth and all the pleasure he had pulled from her flushing her skin.

She’d been liquid for ages, really. Slick for days.

At least - that’s how she felt. She wanted to be sated - wanted to be shoved off that cliff she’d been balancing on since she arrived here. Her climax was already growing - swelling inside the center of her body - cresting between her legs and throbbing behind her sex. She wanted him to push himself into the center point of her pain and her pleasure until it all coalesced into bliss - into relief —

Please move - she cried out in her head - and he did — dropping forward, covering her entirely with his broad frame. He rested his forearm beside her head, braced his other hand on her hip to pin her down and she felt the leaking, velvet hot flesh of his cock against her thigh.

“Fuck,” she whimpered. “Fuck - I want you - please.”

Her words broke across him - the corner of his lips lifting as he stared at her. He drew his pelvis back before he thrust forward and claimed her in one, full stroke. The second he breached her, his mouth parted. They both groaned from the stretch of it - the intensity of it. Her body locked up as her hands flew to his face - her palms against his cheek as she dragged him down to her lips to silence the agonized whimper from her mouth.

It was a lot. She was soaked and hot as a furnace and it still felt as if he was splitting her down the middle. She felt impaled - vulnerable and small and she did not think he could go farther and yet he did. He pushed into her inch by inch notched as deep as he could into her until his groin slotted with her own.

“Oh fuck,” she panted against his mouth. “Shit.”

It felt as if he was in her throat - fucking her heart or guts and he hadn’t even moved.

She was forced to just feel all of him - let the muscles of her cunt expand to accommodate his size. She felt heavy and full and there was a dull ache at the center of her and it was as if her entire world had narrowed to the pulsating point between her legs.

He dropped his head to kiss her - hungry and forceful - teeth clicking together. He distracted her with it as he drew his hips back before he shoved himself forward again. She gasped - the breath knocked from her lungs. She held onto him - clinging and grasping everywhere she could reach. He ruined her - overtook her. All of him was her entire fucking world at that moment: his sweat, the weight of his body, his warm humid breath and damp curls that fell across his forehead. He rocked back before immediately boring down again - pushing further inside her as he fucked her into the carpet.

For a few minutes - she was boneless. She hadn’t realized how powerful he was. She had seen it in Will and Benny, but she could feel it in Frankie now - the enormity of his strength pressing down upon her like the weight of the sea. His grip on her hip pinned her to the floor as she tried to squirm. She could only take and take.

But as her pleasure began to pulse through her, began to demand more, she gave it back. She met him thrust for thrust - tilting her pelvis up - desperate for him to keep her filled.

She crept her fingers under the waistband of his jeans - sinking them into the meat of his ass to make him drive deeper as if he could go deeper and he could. There was no end to it and she wasn’t sure if she wanted it harder or rougher or faster, but it didn’t matter because he was fucking the words right out of her mouth.

His cock squelched within her - rich wet noises as their flesh clapped together. The button of his jeans scraped her skin - the denim rasping and ripping at the inside of her thighs and knees. It disturbed her cuts - rubbed against her bandages. The sting was welcome - added a blunt tang to the sex. She could not get enough. She threaded her fingers through his curls - spreading her legs to take him deeper. He rolled his hips as he ground into her pussy - there was not a breath between them - nothing but the furious lock of their bodies.

He grunted into her neck with every harsh stroke inside - her ass scraping across the rug. His cock pulsed and dragged - hypersensitive - pleasure and a chemical crash because it felt right.

His broad hand cradled the back of her neck, his fingers working into her scalp as he held her in place so that he could grind his cock as deep as he could get it. He fisted her hair as he continued to take her in desperate, sharp thrusts. The lump at the crown of her head burned and throbbed, but she was too far gone - utterly distracted by the filthy groan that fell from his mouth. His pace grew sloppy as she clenched around him - cramp of pleasure rippling into the next - collapsing one after the other like a pyramid of cards. He rose above her and her gaze fixated to his chest - the lurching collarbones and strained throat as he speared into her hard and fast and she was near-weeping, moaning: “please fuck - don’t stop don’t stop” and he held her hair tighter and the pain in her skull burned anew and so she rose up and nipped at his throat and he growled at the sting of it - hips stuttering against the bowl of her pelvis as she felt him spill inside her. It was warm and heavy and filled her so completely and she didn’t think of the consequences of that - of allowing him that - it didn’t fucking matter.

And then it was over.

Frankie still bore his weight above her - his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Slowly he eased his fingers out of her hair and she winced - the sensation more intense than before. He noticed it - his eyes glued to her face and his expression crumpled for a second before it became completely unreadable.

His gaze widened and he drew away from her suddenly. He pulled out of her cunt- the unmistakable hot wetness of his spend trailing along her inner thigh. He stared down at it for a moment - his pupils expanding - hungry and feral and she thought maybe he’d fuck her again - maybe he’d turn her over and slam himself into her one more time because christ she felt so empty -

But his face returned to that numb sort of blankness. Illegible. She had no idea what to say as she lay sprawled out in front of him - totally bare from the waist down with his seed dripping out of her. His cut had begun to bleed again - dribbling dark beads. It looked ugly and she realized that her knee had been rubbing up against it. There was red smeared on her skin.

She found her voice and it was steady - entirely focused on the leaking wound along his side.

“You’re bleeding.” She sat up to reach for him.

It apparently was the wrong move because he stumbled backward.

“It’s fine,” he snapped. The first thing he’d said to her since he’d kissed her - since he’d begged her to calm down. “Just - shit it’s fine.”

This wasn’t right. Why was he acting like this? Why couldn’t he look at her?

“Frankie,” she pleaded - embarrassed by how desperate it sounded.

His eyes were trained on the door and the silence grew between them. It was bloated and heavy and terrible. A mixture of anxiety and shame had begun to bubble inside her. He stood up quickly - tugging his jeans up and dragging a shaky hand through his sweat-damp curls.

She heard the door open downstairs. She heard Benny’s laughter ringing through the entryway.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” he rasped before rushing out of the room.

She was frozen - splayed out on the floor. Vulnerable and half-naked. The air was cold against her wet, puffy folds. There was a sharp soreness between her legs - hot bruising pressure - the only evidence of what had happened. She glanced down. No - that wasn’t true. There was a small pool of blood from his wound. It spread in a nebulous pattern across the cream carpet beside her. The room creaked - folded in on itself. Empty. Silent. She heard Benny laugh again.

She stood up - finding her footing on trembling legs. She crossed her room and slammed the door.