One Night with Frankie, page 5
“Thanks,” he said, wrapping his waist. She turned, but not before noticing how he tucked his rigid length behind the towel.
She walked to the claw-footed tub and turned the water on. From the corner of her eye, she saw him watching, and so she took her time undressing. She heard him clear his throat, and it made her smile. When she stood naked before him, he took her in, lazily working his gaze from her feet to her middle, where he stopped for a second, like a man who hadn’t seen water after days of wandering through a merciless desert.
“Want to join me?” she asked and saw his eyes widen, then blink. There was no hiding the stiff line under his towel.
“Um, I just took a shower.”
She shrugged. “And?”
Frankie dipped a toe into the water, but kept her eyes on him. She loved the way he watched her, absorbed, enthralled. Her stomach clenched, and her body warmed. When she lowered her body in and bent her legs, she parted them a little. He wanted her; she wanted him—what was he waiting for?
As if having an internal argument with himself, his face twitched, and he kept working his lower lip. His hand scratched at his beard, then moved to the back of his neck, where he seemed to massage some tension. Still, his bulge didn’t go away. “Frankie, I…”
She cocked her head. Was he nervous? “What is it?”
“I’m just not sure this is…”
“Shh,” she interrupted. There was no room for his doubts. Or her own.
With her finger, she told him to approach. He took a deep breath, letting her index lure him closer. He stood by the bathtub, and she moved her hand over his stomach, her flat palm brushing the soft hair just above the towel. She heard him stifle a moan. Her fingers drummed down over the edge of the towel, then along his length. He shut his eyes and his head dropped back just a little. He enjoyed being teased.
As her touch grew firmer, so did he. She tugged on the towel, letting it fall to the floor. Henry’s eyes burst open. She took him in her grip and ran her hand down his shaft, his skin smooth, rock hard, and veiny under her touch.
“Get in, Henry.”
With a small nod, he did and sat at the opposite end, letting her slide over until she was between his legs, wrapped in his arms. His length pressed against her back, and she pushed against it, making him moan into her ear, sending shivers across her wet skin. She ran her hands over his thighs and released a long, happy sigh, as the tension she had been desperate to be rid of lifted from her shoulders.
thirteen
Henry
Frankie’s touch had almost made him come in her hand. Embarrassed to admit his lack of endurance to himself, Henry shut his eyes. She rested in his arms, warm and pliant, those slender fingers teasing his skin, sending waves of elation throughout.
Who was this woman, and what had she done to him?
Her nape attracted his lips like a magnet, where he continued to kiss her, growing hard against her back, his balls aching with need. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in a long time, and he didn’t understand his reluctance to take things further. What they’d done on the sofa had whetted his appetite, and his brain couldn’t even wrap itself around what sex with her would be like. He imagined revealing his inexperience would break him in half and he worried he would let her down or himself, too.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even realized how his hands had travelled to her chest, and how they now cupped her breasts. He pinched her rock-hard nipples between his fingers and she threw her head back, turning to meet his mouth, her lips cold but soft. Her moans became consumed by his kisses.
“I’m going to come,” she whimpered.
He pulled back. “Really?”
He’d never made Barbara come like this and thought it impossible.
“Yes.” She giggled and brought his mouth back to hers. “Harder.”
He pinched her nipples with more pressure, and she convulsed between his thighs. Their kisses stopped. She rested her head back, working her lip between her teeth, and he watched as she slid a hand beneath the water. She fucked herself with her fingers, pummeling into her body harder and harder, her back pushing into his erection with added force.
He rolled her nipples between his fingers, pinching and pressing, his hands squeezing her breasts. When her head rolled around, her moans turned into gasps and screams, just as they had in the living room, and she stilled. Her fingers kept their pumping action, the water sloshing around them. Mesmerized, Henry watched her come in silence, her lips slightly parted, small breaths slipping over her red, swollen lips.
When she finished, she turned to nuzzle her face into his neck. Her lips grazed his nape and he shivered with pleasure. He was still hard as a rock, but felt as if he’d accomplished something remarkable. To some, it may have seemed ordinary, but to Henry, it was as if he finally grasped what everyone had been talking about his entire adult life.
“Did you like that?” she asked, her eyes meeting his.
He cleared his throat, then whispered in her ear, “It was alright.” She laughed, an angelic sound that echoed throughout the small bathroom. “Frankie… I…”
His words fell short. He couldn’t explain how he felt; that his body tingled all over, and his heart seemed too big for his chest, as if awoken after years of deep slumber, that he felt alive, as if he’d just been born. No, Henry couldn’t tell her that after only a few hours, he was falling in love with her. Ever the coward, he kept silent, unable to bring himself to say any of these things.
Her hand moved up and caressed his cheek. “I know.”
What did she know? Did she feel the same way? The hope alone was enough to make him think his heart might burst.
She turned around and moved his legs straight to straddle him. Her slickness against his cock sent the blood rushing to it once more. “Let’s get out.”
After drying off, he followed behind her gorgeous naked body as it padded across his house and back into the bedroom. At the door, he waited and watched as she crawled onto his bed, the sheets thrown to the side. Between her legs, he saw her swollen, dark pink slit glistening—ready for him, wanting him, but fear held him hostage.
Over her shoulder, she looked at him with hooded eyes. “Come here, Henry.”
As if sensing his uncertainty, she brought her fingers down to her core and started doing what he was too much of a wimp to offer. With shallow breaths, he watched her run her fingers along her thighs, and then up, tortuously unhurried, until two of them disappeared between her folds. She groaned as she pushed them in, then pulled them out. Even from where he stood, he saw her fingers slick with arousal.
She repeated this a few more times, then looked at him once more. “Is this what you want? Do you want me to come for you, Henry?”
Her question caught him by surprise. He didn’t know what to answer. Would anyone say no to such a question, he wondered? Then, he worried he was strange for liking it so much. Maybe this wasn’t normal. Maybe men his age didn’t take the time to watch their women come undone and please themselves. And if they didn’t, then they were goddamn fools.
She flipped onto her back, spreading her legs, and continued her assault. Only once he brought his eyes up to meet hers did he notice her watching him, her sight directed low. He looked down, as if recalling he was naked, his hard shaft ready and alert.
She licked her lips, her mouth calling out for him, or at least for his cock. “I want you, Henry.”
His name spilling from her aroused lips was the sweetest sound. Though he had never liked his name, when Frankie said it, it unlocked something inside.
He marched over, unable to stop, like under mind-control. Only once he climbed on top of her and lined himself up, he had a sudden change of heart.
fourteen
Frankie
Henry shimmied down, as if readying himself to consume the delicacy he believed she was. He ran his tongue and lips across her stomach, his nose tickling her skin and nipped at her hips and thighs with his teeth. When she arched her body to meet his mouth, he pressed her down, eliciting moans of restrained delight.
There was a part of her that enjoyed being commanded, and as much as she had always enjoyed taking over, too, it wasn’t something her past lovers often let her do. Henry was different. She felt she could ask him to do anything, and he’d accept. With him, she got the one thing she’d always been missing—the permission to be loved as she was. It was this belief that let her fall under his control and surrender. Deep down, she knew she could trust him—he was there for her pleasure, and not just for his own.
When his shoulders pressed between her thighs, she willingly spread open for him. The hair of his beard brushed against her sensitive skin, only intensifying the current that shot through her once his mouth wrapped around her. Henry flattened his tongue, running it over her slit, lapping her up as if it were the nectar of the gods, the sounds of his delight forcing her to bite down on her lip. Once he reached her clit, his deliberate and slow circles gave way to added pressure that made her legs tighten around his head. She gripped his hair, pushing his face deeper.
When his fingers made their way inside, they produced a scream she hadn’t known she’d been fighting. He fucked her with a skilled hand and tongue, as if releasing an untapped hunger on her body. The tension built, and she pinched her nipple. But it didn’t have the same effect as his fingers did in the bath. Still, she rubbed and massaged her breasts; her hardened nipples burning against her palms just as white light burned behind her closed lids.
“Stop,” she screamed. Henry continued. “Henry, I need you to stop.”
This time he did and looked up, his confidence stricken. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying it?” He looked so worried, she wanted to take him in her arms.
“Are you kidding? Yes, I’m enjoying it, but if you keep going, I’m going to come.”
“Isn’t that the point?” He chuckled, arching an eyebrow. He wasn’t trying to be funny. His face showed genuine confusion.
She returned his laugh and took his face in her hands. “Soon, baby, soon.” She didn’t know why she’d called him so, but his shy grin told her he liked it. “Don’t you want something for yourself?”
Pondering her question, his brows met. His mouth glistened with her arousal, but he seemed miles away. Her orgasm faded into the background, and a small regret grew, knowing it would have been a spectacular one. Still, she wanted to please him, too.
“I want to make you happy,” he admitted.
No words had ever melted her heart so thoroughly. She’d known no one so considerate, so kind, and it killed her inside. A million responses ran through her mind, ones where she told him he didn’t need to worry, ones where she acted detached as she’d become adept at doing with the others. But instead, she kept quiet, giving in to his unselfish desires.
She urged him to continue with a gentle pressure on his shoulders, desperate to have his warm mouth on her again, and to feel the length of his tongue inside her once more. He picked up where he left off, his fingers working magic, resurrecting her orgasm. Soon she came, trembling with every wave of her climax, his hands gripping into her hips to keep her still as she rippled against his face.
Once her breathing settled, she glanced down to find him staring at her with adoration, but she felt unworthy. She pulled him up to rest his head against her stomach and ran her fingers through his wavy hair.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.
“For?”
“For letting me do that… I enjoyed it.”
With a slight tug on his hair, she tilted his head back to bring his regard up to hers.
“Letting you?” His eyes dropped, and a faint hint of pink washed over his skin. “Have you… never done that before?”
Had she blinked, she would have missed the tiny shake of his head before he dropped it back down to rest. Her heart broke at the thought that this man had never been allowed to give this sort of pleasure. Then she wondered if he’d ever been shown anything like it, either.
“Lie on your back.”
He tensed, but then rolled over. She laid on her side and swept her fingers from the top of his head down over his eyes, watching as he shut his lids. She ran a finger across his cheek and over his lips, waiting to see what he’d do. As she had hoped, he parted his lips and sucked on her finger, rolling his tongue around it. When he released it with a wet pop, she ran it across his lips some more before running it down his throat, over the jutted edge of his Adam’s apple, which dipped with his swallow. Her finger continued its trail between his pecs and down the middle of his stomach, where she noticed a long scar on his side.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Fell off my bike when I was twelve,” he said, keeping his eyes shut. “Hit some rocks.”
She cringed, then kissed the scar before continuing. Her finger circled his belly button, and she watched him harden as she neared his hips. His erection bobbed up, long and straight, and her lips tingled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, wondering why she’d stopped. “Do I have a Dad bod?”
Her laugh filled the empty room, bouncing brightly off the space unoccupied by the double bed and three-drawer dresser. Then her mind took a turn. Did he want kids? Was that something he planned? There were so many things she didn’t know about this man, and so many she desperately wanted to find out.
“No, you don’t. Quite the opposite.”
The heat radiated off of him and warmed her from the inside out. With a firm grip, she held him tight and moved down, wrapping her lips around his hot length. He made an inhuman, guttural sound, and her saliva ran down his shaft, coating him. Over his belly, she saw him looking. His lower lip disappeared behind his teeth, his blue eyes the color of the sea when a storm rolls in.
He tensed along her tongue. Any minute now, she thought. She picked up her speed, sucking, licking, stroking, moaning; the sounds she made a symphony in the room’s stillness. Heavy with lust, his eyes fixated on her before squeezing shut. Then, he shattered into her mouth with a throaty yell.
Coming to rest at his side, she traced the contours of his stomach and chest, feeling a slight sheen of sweat against her fingers. His chest rose and fell in perfect synchronicity, as if on a tempo resonating in his head.
“That was incredible,” he said, still panting.
A proud smile stretched across her face at having been the one to have given him such pleasure. But sadness lingered at the idea that no one had ever shown him before.
He turned, pressing her body into the mattress with the weight of his own, and he took her lips once more. Her mind focused on the softness of his kiss, the tenderness of it. He was hesitant, as if forbidden to do what he wanted. As if it were his first time.
She weaved her fingers through the hair along the back of his neck and pulled him closer, taking his mouth with passion, her tongue probing without reserve. Like a guarded virgin within her arms, she hoped Henry felt the reassurance in her kiss and knew that he did everything just right.
As his fingers stroked down her stomach, she realized she’d never been so aroused for anyone before. And never so repeatedly.
“Uh… Frankie?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“I don’t have any protection.”
She nodded toward the living room. “My purse.”
He bounced off the bed, leaving her alone and grinning. With him gone, she looked around his bedroom, which, unlike the rest of his home, had very little character. The white walls were bare, and other than the bed, a side table, and dresser, there wasn’t anything else. The room seemed only meant for sleep, nothing more, and it made her sad in the strangest way.
Over her shoulder, she spotted a framed photograph sitting on the dresser. In it, Henry held a beautiful brunette, the same brunette from the photo on the fridge. He looked much younger and appeared cheerful and alive. Frankie wondered what had turned him into such a quiet and reserved fraction of what he used to be, and it sent an ache through her heart. Then she wondered if he only kept pictures of them during the good times and then became curious why he kept them at all. Was this woman still in his life?
The idea of the other woman—or women—he’d been with popped into her head, and she grimaced at the intruding jealousy. Why should she be jealous when she’d only just met the man?
But she was. She recognized this gnawing in her gut as envy, and she hated not having met him earlier in life. She shook her head at how ridiculous she was being. No matter when she had met him, she never could have given him that blissful, uncomplicated happiness he exuded from the frame. She couldn’t give him anything more than what she was giving him tonight.
After taking a deep breath, Frankie’s heart solidified once again, and she heard Henry returning. She reminded herself that what they were doing was nothing like what she did with Jason. The woman in the picture was a distant memory locked within a wooden frame.
There should be no guilt, no reason she should think any of this was wrong.
fifteen
Henry
Frankie’s purse sat on the table outside and when Henry opened it, he didn’t have to search long before finding the condoms. He paused, holding the small purple box with gold writing. A stream of questions wormed its way into his mind. Why did she have so many in her purse? Was she the sort of girl that needed them so often she had a box on standby?
A chill wafted through the screen and touched his naked skin like a prickly slap. He returned inside, dropping her purse on the couch, and rushed to the bedroom, trying to chase away the images of her with other men.
He leaped onto the bed, but had to accept that he wasn’t hard anymore—the thoughts on the veranda having killed his desire. She sat up and brought her lips to his chest, dropping soft kisses on his skin, licking his nipples. Within seconds, this woman had resurrected his arousal in an uncanny way and had banished all worried thoughts from his mind. She snuck the condom from his hand, tearing back the foil and rolled it onto his shaft.
