Page 72 of Operation Sunshine
And for once, Franco didn’t have a comeback.
His hand twitched under Ben’s, more a reflex than intention, but he let it stay, enjoying the warmth of Ben’s fingers. It was a simple gesture, yet it made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.
“You know,” Ben said softly, “you don’t always have to be the one holding everyone else up.”
Franco’s lips twitched into the smallest smile, laced with uncertainty. He wanted to argue, to tell Ben he was fine, that he could manage, that he thrived in the chaos he created.
The truth was lodged somewhere between his ribs, warm and stubborn.
“I’m not sure I know how to let someone see what’s in here.” He gestured to his heart.
The one thing he usually kept hidden.
Ben brushed his thumb lightly over Franco’s knuckles. “You’re here. You’re letting me in. That’s enough.”
Franco’s throat tightened, but he didn’t pull back. Because there, in the quiet of Ben’s living room, with the memory of their shared nights, the small intimacies, the laughter, and the lingering touches, he had an epiphany.
This was more than desire, more than heat.
He’d fallen for Ben Whitaker.
Ben leaned forward, both hands on Franco’s now. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” he admitted, his voice a little rough. “But I’m not scared of it. Not with you.”
And in that tiny, almost imperceptible moment—the first crack in the armour, the first admission that their connection was real, that Ben felt it too—Franco realised something terrifying and exhilarating all at once: he didn’t want to hide anymore, not from Ben, and not from himself.
Whatever this was, whatever it had become, he knew he’d risk the fall a thousand times just to stay in the space Ben made for him.
“Franco.” Ben’s voice cracked. “I want you. Ineedyou.”
Franco could hear it in Ben’s voice, and he realised that same need burned in him.
“Then have me.”
Chapter Twenty
Franco barely had time to breathe before Ben’s mouth was on his, urgent, hungry, as if the world might end if they didn’t collide right then and there. The taste of wine on Ben’s breath, the press of lips and the clash of tongues sparked something wild and reckless in Franco’s chest.
He clutched at Ben’s shirt, dragging him closer, heat and want flooding every nerve.Thiswas what Franco knew: a frantic edge, messy need, desire sharp enough to burn, all of it creating a wildfire that consumed before it could be questioned.
Then Ben’s hands framed his face in a caress. He pulled back enough to look into Franco’s eyes, his breath ragged, but his gaze steady.
Piercing.
“Slow down,” Ben murmured, his voice low but firm. “I want to see you.”
The words unravelled something deep inside Franco. No one ever wanted to see past the sparkle, the chaos. And yet here Ben was, holding him still, as though every flicker of emotion on Franco’s face was worth committing to memory.
Franco’s throat tightened. He nodded, unable to speak, and let Ben set the pace.
The kisses softened, deepened, morphing from frantic into reverent. Ben’s mouth moved over his like a vow as he slipped his hands down Franco’s sides with aching patience. Each touch was a question, an offering, and Franco’s body answered before his mind could catch up.
When Ben eased him back onto the couch, their bodies fitting together in a tangle of limbs and fabric, Franco felt bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothes. Every brush of Ben’s lips along his jaw, every drag of his thumb over Franco’s chest, said the same thing.
You don’t have to hold it together here.
Ben pressed a kiss below his ear, the slow roll of his hips making Franco gasp. “I think you’re worth it,” he murmured, echoing the words from earlier. “That’s why you’re here now. With me.”
Franco’s eyes stung. He clutched at Ben’s back, his nails digging into fabric as sensation blurred with emotion, raw and overwhelming. He let out a shaky laugh, part sob, part awe. “You’re going to ruin me.”
