Page 58 of Operation Sunshine
It wasn’t frantic. It was careful.
Franco froze, his heartbeat stuttering at the tenderness he wasn’t prepared for. He’d been ready for more flour-on-the-floor, desperate, naked collisions. He hadn’t been ready for the slow unravelling by someone who wanted to taste every second.
“Come home with me,” Ben murmured against his mouth, low and ragged. “Stay the night.”
Franco’s laugh cracked around the edges. “Whitaker, youknowwhat happens if you invite a stray in. You’ll never get rid of him.”
“Good,” Ben said simply.
And just like that, Franco was lost.
The rain still hissed against the windows as they stumbled through Ben’s front door, leaving shoes and jackets in a careless trail.
Bringing Franco back here… This feels reckless.
Ben couldn’t deny it also felt right. He didn’t bother with small talk, offering coffee, snacks…
We both know why he’s here.
Ben led him by the hand to his bedroom, and Franco didn’t say a word. But once they were inside, Ben slowed everything to a crawl.
He kissed Franco the way he’d been wanting to for weeks, unhurried,thorough, mapping every inch of his mouth. He pinned Franco to the bed with his weight. There was no race to undress, just the slow build of heat.
Franco’s usual banter gave way to soft gasps and half-formed words as Ben’s fingertips traced his ribs, his hips, his thighs. Ben wanted to draw it out, keep him there, to see how long he could make Franco shiver before breaking him.
“You’re trying to kill me,” Franco whispered, a tremor in his voice.
Ben kissed his neck before whispering, “What gave it away?”
Franco wasn’t used to this, to sex being stretched out, pulled thin,savoured. His flings were usually shambolic and fast, fuelled by hunger and heat. But this?
This was unbearable in its sweetness.
“When I take your shirt off, am I going to find cake batter? Or maybe icing?” Ben asked with a smile.
He snorted. “Never mind just under my shirt—it’s probably everywhere.” Then he groaned when Ben sat up. “Did Isayyou could stop?”
“If you think I’m going to let either of us climb into this bed and get my sheets full of sugar and God knows what else, then you can think again.” Ben held out his hand. “I have a shower. It works.”
Franco bit his lip. “Was that an invitation to conserve water? How eco-friendly of you.” He took Ben’s proffered hand and allowed himself to be led into the bathroom. The shower turned out to be of the walk-in variety, and Ben flipped the water on before pulling Franco to him, unbuttoning his shirt, and removing it. He glanced at his own shirt with a wry smile.
“I seem to be missing some buttons.”
Franco snorted again. “They’re going to be turning up all over theplace. You wait and see. Let’s hope a customer doesn’t find one in his lunch tomorrow. Then Raj reallywillkill me, especially if the guy chokes on it.” He snaked his arms around Ben’s neck and drew him close. “Kiss me the way you did a minute ago,” he murmured.
Ben’s hand was on his neck in an instant. “Like this?” Their lips met, and Franco lost himself in the lingering kiss, revelling in its sweetness, the way Ben held him close, as though he was something precious.
Even though this was light years away from the frantic couplings on the kitchen counter and the function room table, Franco loved every single second of it.
Steam curled around them as the shower warmed. Ben guided Franco under the spray, tilting his head back so the water cascaded through Franco’s dark hair, plastering it to his forehead.
Franco laughed softly, blinking droplets away. “You’re going to ruin my whole aesthetic.”
Ben smoothed his thumbs along Franco’s jaw, gently pushing the wet strands from his face. “You don’t need an aesthetic,” he murmured. “You’re already—” He clammed up.
Franco swallowed. He wasn’t used to pauses like that, or being looked at as though someone was memorising him. Normally, a shower was nothing but a quick rinse after a night out, a way to wash away the glitter and sweat before moving on. But with Ben’s hands steady on him, everything felt more deliberate.
Ben reached for the soap and lathered it between his palms before skimming the suds over Franco’s shoulders and down his arms. His touch was neither hurried nor clinical—it was reverent, as though every inch of skin mattered. Franco closed his eyes, goosebumps erupting in the wake of Ben’s fingers.
