Asa rattled off a time and place—a public place—for them to meet after the weekend. He hung up without waiting for Benito’s reply, leaving Benito to stagger to his feet and continue back to his car.
Benito drove home on autopilot, thoughts whirling so fast he couldn’t keep up. His bones vibrated with a heady mix of elation, fear, and exhaustion. It imprisoned him in his own mind. He craved release. In the past, he might’ve gone to the club, but he could only think of Mickey.
He parked his car outside his flat and dug his legitimate phone from the glove box, the burner left in pieces in a storm drain. His shaking fingers flew over the screen.
Benito: Home. Can’t wait to see you.
A reply pinged back seconds later.
Mickey: conting the fking hrs.
18
Mickey watched from his bedroom window as the matte black SUV pulled up outside. It was already dark, concealing Benito from view, but even without hawk-eyeing the car like a stalker, Mickey reckoned he’d have known the moment he arrived.
Everything was different when Benito was close—light, and yet somehow addictively darker.
Benito opened his car door. Mickey took his cue and jogged downstairs to meet him, opening the front door before he could knock.
He caught Benito with his hand raised, long fingers curled into a fist.
Benito blinked. “Don’t want your neighbours to see me?”
“You think I give a shit what my neighbours think?”
“You did that one time I came here to—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey grabbed Benito’s wrist and yanked him inside. As ever, they fell naturally against the door as it swung shut. Mickey crowded Benito against it, leaning in, their faces inches apart, a whisper away from the rough kiss he’d been dreaming of for days. “I don’t care what my neighbours think,” he said lowly, in case there was any confusion.
Benito smirked. “You should.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m done with the cute game we’ve been playing for weeks now. I—fuck, I needed it, but I want you, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait to have you again.”
“Have me?”
“Figure of speech. You know what I mean.”
Mickey let a slow grin warm his face. “Well, we have all night, so maybe you can show me what you mean.”
“Now?”
“If you like. Or later. Or both. You are staying, right?”
“If you want me to.”
“I do.” So fucking much. The first, last, and only time Benito had slept in Mickey’s bed was hazy, but the blurred memories of Benito in his arms for hours and hours and hours were enthralling enough that Mickey knew he wanted it again.
And again.
And again.
As much as he wanted Benito naked and writhing beneath him.
Benito pushed off the door, squaring up to Mickey like he had the first time they’d been alone together in the by-the-hour room above Freefall, but the aggression Mickey had craved from him then wasn’t there, and Mickey didn’t miss it. The release he desired now was primal in a different way.
Sweeter.
Deeper.
He released his death grip on Benito’s wrist and slid his arms around his waist. Their bodies fit together with perfect alchemy, but it had nothing on the magic of Benito’s lips brushing his, lightly at first, but then with enough force to rock Mickey backwards.
A low sound escaped him, or maybe it was Benito’s broken moan. Together, like this, he couldn’t tell. All he knew for certain was that the few weeks they’d spent without moments like these had done nothing to calm the inferno that blazed between them.
Kissing Benito was everything. It stole Mickey’s breath and his ability to think about anything except the next sweep of his tongue in Benito’s sinful mouth. Only the fact that he’d barely let Benito through the door made him pull back. “Come on,” he said. “I bought food from the posh supermarket and put it in the oven.”
“You cooked?”
“Not even close, but keep thinking I did if it makes you smile like that.” Mickey spun around and padded barefoot to the kitchen.
Benito was a heartbeat behind him. Somewhere along the way he’d abandoned his Yeezys and the dark jacket he’d arrived with. He stepped up to Mickey with socked feet, forearms bare. “I don’t care what you did. It smells amazing.”
“You wanna eat now?”
“Whatever. I’m easy.”
Mickey snorted. Nothing about Benito—even this—was easy. He turned the oven off, leaving the fancy pizza inside, and opened the fridge. He hadn’t drunk much since the night he’d made a twitchy, emotional arse of himself at the club, but drinking with Benito felt safe. He knows you. He’ll catch you if you fall.
Maybe. But the feeling was tangible enough that Mickey latched onto it.
He handed Benito a beer.
Benito opened his mouth, but his phone cut him off. “Shit. Sorry.”
He fished a black iPhone Mickey had seen before from his pocket and answered it. “What’s up, G?”
Gianna. Mickey relaxed and stepped away to give Benito space, all the while taking the time to soak him up while his attention was diverted by his spiky little sister. Benito was wearing dark grey track pants and a plain white T-shirt. His hair was longer than when they’d met and had started to curl like Gianna’s. His jaw remained unshaven, but there was a neatness to it that was deliberate and about as groomed as either one of them ever got.
Benito seemed to sense Mickey’s gaze taking him apart. He smirked as he listened to whatever Gianna had to say and licked his lips, dark eyes smouldering.
Casually edible, and yet . . .
Mickey blinked first, suppressing a shiver. He was used to wanting Benito by now, but there was something about him tonight—a current that simmered below the surface of his dirty gaze and contradictory sweet smile. Some of the tension he usually carried had faded too, giving way to a wildness that lit Mickey on fire.
Benito ended his call and set his phone on the kitchen counter. “Gianna keeps locking herself out of her iPad. She gets herself in a mess with words and numbers, then loses her shit and chucks it across the room.”
“Valid. If she’s anything like me, her brain gets overloaded and makes everything seem worse than it is.”
“Do you think— Never mind.” Benito clamped his lips shut.
Mickey hoisted himself onto the counter and drank his beer, giving Benito a chance to change his mind.
He didn’t.
Curiosity won out. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to ask you if you could talk to Gianna about shit like that next time you happen to see her, but that’s weird, right? You’re not a social worker.”
“No,” Mickey agreed. “But I’d do it if the opportunity ever came up. I don’t think it will, though. I’m handing Barnfield to another HO soon.”
“When?”
Mickey shrugged. “When the fire safety updates are done. It doesn’t feel right to abandon ship before then.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Abandoning the residents there?”
Mickey widened his legs, waiting until Benito took the hint and stepped between them. “Not exactly. It’s just . . . I don’t know, fucked up, I guess, that fate made everything so complicated.”