Chapter 5 FIVE

Frances had just finished cleaning her desk. She slid open the drawer in her table and placed a brown envelope. She paused when a man called out her name.

"Yes?" she asked. It was her Co-police who she had been working with for years.

"Someone's looking for you," the cop said, looking over the exit.

"Who?" asked Frances. She couldn't remember pushing the drawer in after she had been looking over the exit. She was still wearing a police uniform when Frances found a tall man outside the station. He slowly turned around...it was Benedict. A reddish color blended through

her cheeks when he held out a bouquet to her and she suddenly lost an interest in everything else when Benedict's smile glimmered.

"What's this?" she asked, glancing up and down.

"I found it in the garbage," he answered with a mysterious smile. Frances grew silent with a puzzled look.

"Why...would you...give me garbage? Do I look like garbage?" she giggled.

"Yah," he answered. Her brows bowed together. She opened her mouth but not a single word came out.

"Because I want to take you out," he continued with a cocky look on his face. The veil of curiosity was gone from her eyes and replaced by a shy one. They shifted into silence as they locked their gaze with shared understanding. Frances felt something weird all over her body. It

was as if almost an electrical feeling upon meeting Benedict's eyes. To escape such

embarrassment, she cut her gaze off.

"Uhm...I still have work," she responded, rubbing her hand against the white flesh of her neck.

"You're out on five Frances, I saw it in your sched," he uttered in sincerity.

"But I have some errand to run," she lied. Frances said that, not for the reason that she wanted him to leave, merely because she wanted to know how sincere he was, how long he could bear rejections and how wholehearted his intention was.

"I don't know about that," Benedict disagreed, tilting his head slightly. He disagreed as though he should make the decisions. He was not behaving like a dominant beast, because in the first

place he was the dominant one.

"I mean I'm not a creep...or a psycho, and if ever I'll turn into that kind of cockroach, you know you'd easily beat the shit out of me, right?"

Her face didn't give Benedict much response to what she was about to say, just a blank look of a person deciding whether she'd agree or not. It took her a second to realize that she had been staring at him for the past seconds or so. The moment comprehension came to her, she glanced down and avoided eye contact.

"Come on," said Benedict, pursuing Frances in a light and unharsh manner.

"I know some good restaurants here."

She was left no choice and finally nodded her beautiful head.

"But let me change my clothes first."

"It's weird to think that I don't mind dating a girl who is still wearing a police uniform, but okay," responded Benedict.

The interior of the restaurant was intimate and elegant; a dimly lit space filled with two-seater tables, a piano bar, and a band with their harmonic voices. It was run by award winning owners, in the beautiful districts of New York City just a mile or two away from the station. They sat next

to a couple who were speaking a different language. Frances was wearing an outfit her co-police's idea of her could change. The scarlet glittering party dress slid elegantly to her slender waist, whistling down from her bust. The bends of her hips and the fullness of her bosom, reminiscent of the heritage of perfection. As she fixed her hair, with those long slender arms, her navel naked for the room to view. She made Benedict firmly believe in the possibility of perfection, the possibility of how good someone can look from a minuscule distance. It was, perhaps, her eyes that made her more attractive. Her eyes were literally like the night sky. The night sky that mesmerizes people and gives him chills down to his spine. Benedict never expected she'd look like an angel. Indeed she was beautiful. But a black uniform, covering her

body and a knot hair would make her less attractive than she was the very moment.

"I never expected you'd look that good," Benedict complimented her. A genuine smile fixed on her lips and she answered,

"I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult."

"It means you're beautiful Frances, it's a compliment," he answered, raising his hand as he called out for the waiter.

"So...where do you live?" she asked, fiddling her necklace.

"I once lived in Buffalo, but I'm originally from Washington," he answered, still looking for the waiter. When he found him, Benedict met her gaze.

"How about you?" he asked.

"I'm originally from Carolina,"

"Why did life bring you here in New York?"

"Job, source of finance...I guess," she answered as she smiled at the waiter who stopped in front of them. He handed them the black note.

"So...what do you do for a living?" she asked as she folded the paper to the next page.

"I sell goods for a living," he lied.

"A wandering businessman?" she wanted to know.

"Well, a bit like that. I wander around, locally, internationally, and sell them whatever my clients want," Benedict answered, his fingers sliding over the note as he searched for a dish of his interest.

"Did that job brought you here?" asked Frances. Benedict smiled and shook his head.

"No, I'm here for a vacation," he responded. When they both had chosen a food, they held the note back to the waiter and he left kindly.

"What's your full name again?" she asked, her hand supported her jaw.

"Benedict, Benedict Sebastian," replied by him.

"Sebastian? You don't look like you're from Greece," said Frances, sipping through a glass of water.

"Oh, it's because I'm not a Greek. Do I look like I'm from Greece?" he asked kindly.

"You don't look like you're from Greece, you look like you just came down from heaven" she

replied with a mysterious smile on her lips. Benedict nodded his head, aware of the words her mouth let out.

"How about you? What's your full name?" he asked, sinking back to the chair.

"Frances Mitchell," she replied.

"Your surname sure does fit your job," answered Benedict. Frances shifted to silence.

"By the way, why did you want to be a police officer?" he asked. She hesitated to answer. She wasn't expecting he'd understand.

"I wanted to be a police officer to avenge my father's death," she answered. Despite the tone, she remained smiling.

"May I ask what happened?"

Frances was hesitant.

"Have you heard about the crime organization here in New York?" Benedict nodded, staring at her narrowly.

"My father was once a cop. He was a loyal and an honest cop. One day, with the knowledge of where the boss was hiding, they raid an abandoned building. There were more than five of them when they stormed inside, but it was only a single, wounded cop who came out," she explained quite seriously.

So it was indeed true, Benedict thought.

"I'm sorry," said Benedict, trying to comfort her.

"It's okay. I lost a father, but I also gained one," she said, lifting the glass of water to her lips.

"What do you mean?" asked Benedict with puzzled thoughts.

"The wounded man who came out alive was my father's partner. And I treated him since I meet him as a mentor,"

"That sounds like another story. What's his name?"

"Sir Caesar," she replied. Benedict's pupils dilated until his eyes looked like two black buttons.

"Caesar? Caesar Dickson?" he asked. Frances nodded silently. Out of the corner of Benedict's eyes, the waiter, with their dish, walked towards them.

"You know him?" she asked curiously. It took him seconds to answer after he had shook his thoughts away.

"Yeah, he's one of my cousin's closest friends," he lied.

Placed by the white, pearl-like plate was a succulent Italian Seafood Filet. It was expected, for they were inside one of the best Italian restaurants in New York. And as expected for a dish that would hook you just by hearing the name, only those financially stable people are able to afford it.

After they finished munching, biting and consuming the dish, they walked their way under the night sky to Frances' home.

They quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. Just a second passed, it was raining bullets. Benedict glanced at his clock. It was exactly eleven at midnight. He then turned to Frances who pushed a key to the door knob.

"Is that your room?" he asked. Frances smiled and nodded.

"It's raining," said Frances, shivering.

"You should come and wait for the rain to stop."

He obeyed and came inside with her. Benedict closed the door behind him and looked around.

"Stay here, I'll get you a towel," she said,

hurrying her way towards her room. Eventually, after a minute or two, Frances came out of the room and held out a towel to him as she wiped herself.

"Your clothes are wet, I still have a couple of my ex's shirts and pants," she said, walking back to the room. He didn't wait for her to come back. He didn't wait for her approval, he went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. When she had come out, a couple

of glasses were already filled with wine. He held the glass towards her, exchanging it with the shirt and pants. In a seductive manner, he slipped the shirt out his torso, revealing his full masculinity. Frances pupils dilated and eventually glanced around to avoid being caught.

"I have a room," she said.

"Do you want to change clothes there?"

He didn't answer. His body dangerously near her. She could smell the manly fragrance of him as she cut her gaze off. His head dropped slightly so he could take a good look at her clearly.

"You can change clothes in my–"

He didn't let her continue. Maybe her time stopped when his lips met hers, but the flutter only intensified. Her heart pounded as hard as it could the very moment. The interest of everything seemed to disappear and the only thing she could think of was how soft he felt against her. He slowly pulled his face away from hers and observed her reaction. Frances was blanked with the redness creeping through her cheeks. When Benedict was assured that she did not feel sexually harassed, he continued kissing her. His arm covering the back of her waist. Heat rose from

Frances' stomach to her chest. His other hand began to wander around the soft garment that covered her breast. He kissed her genuinely and seductively. Benedict then slipped the shirt out

of her body, revealing her crimson colored brassiere. She pushed him slowly to the room, and harshly at the bed. Frances looked up at him with her hungry eyes as if she was restricted from food. Benedict began to crawl over her, looking at her like how a predator looks at its prey. He

continued his work as she did what she had to do. Eventually, they found themselves fully naked against the warm flaming body of both. He looked down at her. Her nipples harden, offering

themselves up to him. He then guide his already erect penis towards her vulva. Then Benedict slid himself inside Frances like a puzzle fit together and a strange animal noise escaped from her as the mounting, Benedict Sebastian overtook her. His hips began to move, along with the soft and hungry harmony of her moans.

"Fff*ck!" she screamed as he moved faster and faster by time. He was hitting on every right spot. She loved what he was doing. The idea of his dominance, the tingling sensation all over her body and his rapid movement. His hand slid to the side of her right breast. Benedict bent his head and took her erect nipples to his mouth. She arched her back and moaned, giving

herself up to the wave of intense pleasure.