One Night with Frankie, page 4
The possibility, dark and crushing, made her take a step back and her head drop. Henry had been nice, had invited her here to talk, to share a drink. Clearly, it meant nothing more. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…” She felt a deep blush crawl up her neck. “I think I should leave.”
She turned so quickly to find her purse; she almost ran for the door.
“Wait!” Henry shouted. The deep sound of his voice reached across the cottage, halting her in her steps. “Don’t go.”
His words wavered, floating in the air. But his eyes kept her cemented to the wooden floor, as if pleading for her to understand what he wanted to say without saying it out loud. As if his brain could not form the right question to ask. She saw in the way his chest puffed out, and how he held it for a long time, that he needed her to stay.
Inexplicable fear took over as they stared at each other. Her body didn’t budge. But when he moved, he took tentative, careful steps. Frankie’s heart pounded; her mind went blank. Doubts screamed at her, telling her this was a mistake, that he wasn’t like the others and would get hurt. And yet, as his hand reached for hers, his fingers brushing the inside of her palm, all she thought about was that nothing with Henry felt wrong.
His desire for her to stay became clear in his rigid body and how his chest expanded with every worried breath he took. It all overcame her in a way she’d never experienced before—it was all too much.
She had been wanted. She’d been desired and never rejected, never subjected to doubts and reservations. Now it took walking away to lure Henry, almost as if presenting him with an ultimatum. And this made her feel cheap, as if she’d forced it to happen, like a wanton temptress. She’d never had to do that before. Still, it didn’t push her out the door, either.
Timidly, he smiled, the corner of his mature eyes crinkling, the blue in them now a dark cobalt. “Please, don’t go,” he repeated, his pain audible. “I want you to stay.”
They were two broken souls, both needing something they didn’t feel worthy of. It broke her heart and connected it to his in incomprehensible ways. There was no reason for this man to have appeared at this precise time in her life, but she didn’t want to dissect the factors that had played in making it happen. She just wanted him to absorb some of what she kept bottled inside. Even if dumping it all onto an unsuspecting stranger was selfish, he lured her body in without guilt.
He gripped her hand. The act strange, but welcomed. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her hand in such an affectionate way, but as his lightly calloused fingers ran through hers, tightening their grip, they forced her to look up. His steady, potent gaze frightened and intoxicated her. Her other hand reached up, and ran along the soft bristle of his beard. He leaned into her touch, his lips caressing her palm. The intimacy of his kiss nearly made her convulse.
In the dim light, his hair looked darker, blacker than brown. Through the undone top buttons of his shirt, she glimpsed the freckles that graced his chest, along with a whisper of hair. Unlike the men she dated, with their hairless, almost prepubescent chests, Henry was virile, manly, and raised her interest to a primal level. Her hands, now steady, floated to his neck, where she began unbuttoning his shirt.
ten
Henry
Frankie worked the buttons of his shirt, and the occasional tickle of her fingers against his skin made his throat run dry. He lost the ability to speak. Her forwardness surprised him as he watched her, finding it impossible to take over. Utterly at her mercy, he found himself turned on as hell because of it.
From high school on, Barbara had been his world. She had been all he’d known, the only one he’d been with—his first. And even on their best days, they had been awkward, always fumbling, never quite right. Barbara’s repression and her unwillingness to express how she felt physically had left Henry feeling inadequate and unpermitted to take her the way he’d always longed to—without boundaries, without restraint.
And now, years later, he believed there was no other way. His hands shook, his chest tightened with uncertainty, as if his experiences with his ex-wife had tarnished him and the lover he might have been.
Tightening his lips, he tried to shake the worry that clouded his aroused mind—the one that screamed he would leave this young, more experienced woman, disappointed, only to become some funny anecdote she would share with her friends when she returned to New York.
“Don’t be nervous,” she said, pulling him by the shirt toward her. Her eyes conveyed some sort of confidence he yearned to mimic.
“It’s hard not to be,” he replied with a short, nervous laugh.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
She ran her delicate hands across his chest. He shook his head and sighed, too embarrassed to say the words aloud. I don’t want you to hate this.
A tender hand came up to rest against his cheek, warm and comforting. “Henry, we don’t need to do anything if you’re not okay with it.”
“I want to,” he replied, not even recognizing the dark, lustful sound of his own voice.
“Then come with me.”
She led him by the hand toward his bedroom. At his bed, she asked him to sit, and he did, his erection straining against his pants. The old mattress dipped and sank below him.
She stood in front of him, his face now level with her stomach. Her fresh scent made his mouth salivate, which relieved the dryness. When he looked up at her sweet face, her skin had turned a pale shade of pink, and her breathing was quick, telling him maybe she was just as nervous as him.
“Do you like me, Henry?”
The question forced his jaw to drop. “Like you?” She nodded, insecurity flooding her features. Like seemed too small a word. He’d never felt like this for anyone and so soon after meeting them. “I do. Very much.”
Under those light lashes of hers, her kind eyes searched his, waiting for him to make the next move. With a deep inhale to steady his nerves, he tugged the fabric of her top up, bringing his mouth to the soft skin just below her belly button. Bumps spread across her flesh. She took a sharp breath, spurring him on. He draped his tongue across her taut belly, her skin tasting as good as he’d imagined, and he wove his arms around her waist.
As his lips travelled up her stomach, she reached behind and unclasped her bra, tugging it free from beneath her tank top. Just the act of giving him a little extra glimpse of her, without being entirely exposed, made him thirst for her. His fingers slid under her top, up along her bare back, and traced the curve of her spine. He longed to return to the front, to touch the nipples that peeked through the fabric. But he didn’t; the urge to prolong this experience stronger than his urge to give in.
His desire must have been obvious, because she giggled and took his chin, tilting his head back. She leaned down, her eyes sending heat waves through his soul, his arousal intensifying with each painful second.
When her lips reached his, they were soft, but commanding. Chaste kisses soon turned to wet ones. Her tongue traced the middle of his lips, coaxing it open. With another giggle, she fell onto him, pressing him into the bed, her breasts pushing against his chest. His fingers crept under the waistband of her shorts, grazing the top of her ass, and she rubbed against him with just enough force to make him stiffen some more.
Then she moved off, unbuttoning her shorts, wiggling them down her legs and threw them off somewhere to the side. She hooked her thumbs into the hem of her white boy-short underwear, about to slide them down, when Henry diverted his eyes.
She caught him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching for his hand and placing it just above her mound.
The heat from her body made him struggle for air. “This is crazy.”
“It is,” she laughed, running his palm further down. She was wet for him, and it was almost too much for him to take. The reality of how long it had been since he had been with a woman struck him, freezing him in place. “Don’t you want this?”
He nodded, unable to speak, and dropped his free arm over his face. “You have no idea how much.”
She moved her lips to his ear. “Then let go, Henry.”
He looked over into the sincerest eyes he’d ever seen. Was it that simple? Could he just be with her without having to worry about the outcome? Things had never been so easy in his life. The last time he’d let go of his common sense, he’d lost his career and his wife. And now, this gorgeous creature waited for him to act, to get lost in her, and even the intensity of his desires wouldn’t grant him the capacity to move. Locked in fear, his entire body remained caged in by insecurities. His palm itched to press down. His fingers longed to slide the soft cotton fabric aside and dive deep into her warmth, but he shook his head and sat up instead.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He hated himself. He hated his lack of confidence, his cowardice. But he hated having misled her the most. Adjusting his pants, he headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll sleep on the couch. You’re welcome to sleep in my bed tonight, or if you want to leave, I’ll call you a cab.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes and pursed her lips. He’d upset her, he could tell, and braced himself for her reaction. Dressed in white, her hair tousled, she walked over, looking like an angel.
“You won’t sleep with me?” she asked. He shook his head in response and her shoulders dropped, but she smiled and reached for his hand. “You are probably the sweetest man I have ever met, Henry Camden.”
She kissed his cheek, her lips lingering for the briefest moment, but long enough to make him reconsider his decision. She sighed, the sound unbelievably sexy, and then stepped away.
eleven
Henry
When Henry opened his eyes all he saw was darkness. When they adjusted, he made out the moonlight peeking in through the patio door. He rolled over, wildly kicking to loosen the blanket wrapped around his legs, and groaned as he settled onto his side on the uncomfortable sofa.
Then he saw her standing right next to him, with only her silhouette visible. At first, he thought she was naked, and had to blink a few times to convince himself it wasn’t a dream. When she didn’t disappear, he swallowed. She stood stock still, still wearing her white underwear and matching top. Her hips were curvier than he’d thought, and her thighs plumper. She was a sight, and he was happy she wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
“Frankie?” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. She said nothing. He wondered if she was sleepwalking.
He shifted onto his elbow and reached a hand out to hers. When her fingers laced through his, he looked up. Cast in shadows, he could just make out the whites of her eyes and teeth. She moved his hand up along the curve of her hip, past her stomach and up to cup one of her breasts. His breath cut short. Thrilled, Henry grazed a thumb over her nipple, enjoying the hardness beneath his touch. His other hand rose to do the same, and her head fell back, her chest pushing against his palms.
The simplicity of her reaction filled him with confidence. Still, his mind struggled. If she was asleep, then he should wake her and bring her back to bed, but if she was awake, should this continue? She stepped closer and ran his hand down her body, straight to her warm middle. Her panties were wet, and she moved against his fingers. His erection grew—he’d never been harder in his life. She was a fantasy come true.
With another step, she lifted her leg up and over him, straddling his hips, pressing against his length. The thin blanket wedged between them became an unwelcome but necessary boundary. He ran his hands around to cup her ass, feeling the slight give under the pressure of his fingers. It wasn’t as firm as he’d believed it would be, and he loved it. She rubbed herself against him, slamming her hands against his naked chest, and she ran her long fingers along his stomach. He tried to keep it clenched, to reveal the last remaining muscles, but it was impossible with how hard she was driving herself against him. His orgasm neared, but he refused to believe it. This couldn’t end just yet.
Reading his thoughts, she reached down and tugged the blanket away. She paused and glanced up at him under hooded eyes, then yanked down his pajama bottoms, releasing his cock. Heat draped over his face, but he caught the quick surprise that fluttered through her eyes. Henry’s body had seen better days. He kept in shape, but he wasn’t twenty anymore and he knew it. The way Frankie looked at him with lust-filled eyes filled him with pride and told him he had nothing to be ashamed of.
She moved back down, her moist panties sticking to him, and continued to grind. With a slight pressure against her back, he brought her face to his, then ran his hands up into her long hair. His mouth met hers with heated urgency, his tongue probing past her lips without pause. She moved harder, faster. He longed to rip her panties off, to have her wet skin flush against his, but he wouldn’t push his luck. She moaned into his mouth, their lips touching but no longer kissing. Their pleasure made it too difficult. At least that’s how Henry felt.
She slid her mouth along his jaw to his ear and kept moaning—his name, God’s, cusses and gibberish. They all came out in tortured whimpers. He bit his lip, fighting against his need to come. When her body shook in his arms, he knew she was close, too.
She sucked on his earlobe, heatedly rubbing her lower body, her hard nipples against his chest. Sweat built along his skin from the heat they created, and the couch protested noisily beneath them. A soft ocean breeze wafted in, and she shivered. He hugged her tighter, his hands gripping her ass, his fingers diving deep into her flesh.
“Yes, more,” she moaned, and he obeyed, pressing harder. She came with a loud scream, whimpering against his ear. Only then did he let himself go.
As they came down, her tension disappeared; her muscles relaxed. His release sat warm and sticky on his stomach, but he refused to let her go. With her thighs still wrapped around his hips, he didn’t dare move. Like a soft cushion, he held her against his body and waited for his heartbeat to settle.
After a while, her breathing became shallow, and he peered down to find her fast asleep, a peaceful smile on her lips. The sofa wasn’t wide enough for the both of them, and he needed to move. He rolled himself off as delicately as possible. She didn’t wake. He cradled her in his arms and carried her back to bed, sitting on the edge, staring at her for a few minutes. Her beauty produced a weird crack in his heart. He covered her with the blanket and let her rest while he went to the bathroom.
In the mirror, he caught his reflection and grinned. What they’d just done made him feel like a teenager. Innocent, yet carnal. As if they wanted each other, but wouldn’t dare go all the way. Not yet.
But then he frowned, his forehead creasing. What was he doing to himself? Not yet? Make that never. Tomorrow, Frankie would be gone. They had no future.
He ran a hand down his face, noting the dark shade of his skin beneath his eyes and how it made him look older. Who was he fooling? There was no way someone like her would want anything more with a man like him.
twelve
Frankie
She awoke in his bed. Had she dreamt it all?
Relaxation infused her muscles, and her thighs were tight and warm. No, it hadn’t been a dream.
Frankie had gone to the living room and had watched him sleep. He’d looked so handsome, so peaceful. In slumber, he didn’t have the weight of his past hammering down on him. While he slept, he smiled and his eyes flickered. Her heart swelled as she watched him, her arousal amplifying with every breath he took. At some point, he’d shifted, and his erection became visible underneath the thin blanket. It had only further stoked her desire, and she refused to fight it. Their earlier kiss had freed something inside of her she hadn’t realized was fighting to get out.
When he woke and looked at her, it was as if she were a mirage. He looked confused, lost, but kept licking his lips, and his breathing quickened. He wanted her—men always wanted her—but for a reason she couldn’t understand, knowing someone like Henry Camden wanted her gave her a rush. Frankie felt appreciated. Valued.
He let her do what she wanted, and not the other way around. He forced nothing on her and had let her make the first move, showing her affection, tenderness, and had shared her orgasm with the gentlest of touches and kisses.
Now, in bed, she ran a hand down between her thighs to the heat he’d created. She didn’t remember falling asleep on the sofa, but she must have. And Henry must have brought her back to his bedroom. The reality of what had happened between them, and that he was just on the other side of that wall, called out to her. He didn’t know what he’d sparked, but she refused to let it end just yet.
She hopped out of bed and found the living room empty. The bathroom light was on, shining through the crack under the door. With a hesitant hand, she turned the knob and pushed it open. Henry was in the shower, oblivious to her presence.
With a flat, soft stomach that she knew he’d been sucking in for her sake, she could see he was fit. She didn’t care if he didn’t have washboard abs. Besides, the men with those didn’t care for her more than their bodies, anyway. Henry’s shoulders were strong and broad, and his back rippled with each movement as he lathered himself. The water trickled down his spine to the roundest, most delectable ass she’d ever seen. He mentioned he went for daily runs, and his firm thighs and muscular calves told her this was true. Before she knew it, she was wet for him again, and squeezed her legs together.
Henry turned, and seeing her, let out a small yelp. “Jesus, you scared me.” He clutched at his heart.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
She couldn’t help smile when he dropped his hand to cup himself, trying to hide. After what they’d just done on the sofa, she found his shyness adorable.
He shut the water and with one hand, reached for his towel, which was just out of reach. She grabbed it and handed it to him.
