Family Affairs

by Pamela G Hobbs

  “I know I said you’re the boss of this, but please, I need to return the favour. I have to taste you. Let me taste you.” He gripped her waist.

  She went willingly, her stomach clenching with a mixture of desire and panic. She wasn’t a big fan of this and had squirmed inwardly when Stephen had done it. Dev leaned down and kissed her hotly on the scrap of lace covering her mound. He licked her through the fabric and then peeled her panties down, kissing and tasting as his mouth followed.

  Tossing the undies behind him, he began kissing his way back up her legs, using his tongue as he went. He stroked her inner thighs, reverently whispering approval about her skin and her taste and her fragrance. Suddenly, he pushed himself all the way up and captured her lips again, invading her mouth, desperate and hungry, kissing her with a passion she hadn’t felt from him before.

  He reached down with one hand, his mouth never leaving hers, and stroked along her most intimate parts with gentle, searching fingers. He slid his fingers along her wet folds and before she could utter a protest, had entered her moist, hot canal. In and out he plunged as she instinctively raised her hips against the pressure.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he swooped downwards and swirled his wet tongue along the path his fingers had just left. He captured the sensitive nub with his teeth and tugged gently, swiftly followed by more deep, searing kisses. All the while his curled fingers were pumping a rhythm inside her.

  Frankie thought her head would explode with the feelings gathering inside of her. He was like a force of nature – an unstoppable storm raging on her body – and she gloried in it. For the first time in her life, she allowed herself to feel, not analyse what she was feeling or why, just relishing in the feeling of pure joy. The blood between her thighs was throbbing fast and her breathing was increasing notch after notch as her body reacted independently to what Dev was doing to it.

  She could feel the tension twine tighter and tighter inside her belly until she was writhing under the force of his searching mouth. Blindly, he grabbed her hand and pulled it down to his mouth. He licked her fingers, moistening them, and placed her hand over her own sex.

  “Show me what you like. Show me how you want it.” His voice was husky and full of sexy darkness.

  “I can’t, I don’t know how . . .” Her head was tossing on the bed as frustration mounted. So close, so damn close.

  “You do, babe, you do – touch yourself for me. Ah, babe, you make me feel on fire. You’re so beautiful like this, so hot. That’s it, sweetheart, find your rhythm, feel it – God, I want you so much . . .”

  Dev’s groan almost pushed her over the edge – she could feel the tension reach its peak. In a panic, she snatched her fingers away.

  “I can’t . . . I can’t, I, Jesus, Dev!”

  As soon as her hand left that sweet spot, his mouth took over and he pressed his tongue firmly, lapping at her and sucking as his free hand reached under her bottom and raised her up, pressing her more fully against his busy mouth.

  “Dev! Help me!” Frankie cried as her body shattered around his mouth and tremors ran through her, on and on as he kept flicking his tongue over and over.

  Her heart thundered through her chest and her hands reached down to grab his hair.

  “Stop, stop, I can’t . . . no more . . . oh, dear God, Dev,” and she flopped back helplessly on the bed.

  Slowly, Dev eased away from her lower body and gently kissed his way up her stomach, stopping to swirl a kiss into her navel. She wriggled and huffed out a laugh. Then he continued his path up, laying more kisses around her soft breasts. He could feel her racing heart and see the pulse jumping in her neck. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and although part of Dev wanted to drive into her scorching, tight, still trembling body, the other part, the one not rigid with unfulfilled desire, wanted to hold this woman close to his heart and never let go.

  “Babe, you’re amazing. So beautiful.” He kissed her chin and her parted, gasping lips. “That was amazing. You are amazing.” He continued dropping little kisses on her face, her nose, her cheeks, nuzzling down her neck.

  He gathered her up from the bed, wrapping his arms tight about her so they could lay back, entwined. He stroked her back in easy circles, letting her breathing settle.

  Frankie was stunned, simply stunned, and, surprisingly, not a bit embarrassed – though she knew, even as she lay there sated, that it may indeed come later. How wonderful to actually feel – just like she’d read about and understood from books and friends. She was now, officially, an orgasmic woman. She’d joined that elusive – to her, anyway – club. Whoop-whoop! She lifted her head from his chest and smiled straight up into Dev’s gorgeous blue eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you . . .” She accentuated each word with a kiss to his body where she could reach.

  Dev lazily grabbed a handful of her cloudy hair and, holding her steady, gazed back at her, his eyes brimming with lust.

  “Trust me, it was my pleasure entirely. When you’ve recovered, feel free to continue being in control – I could totally get used to it!”

  Frankie laughed, but his sexy voice, his brooding eyes and her still-humming body made her aware that she had more to give, more to take, more to share.

  “Ah yes, where was I?” And climbing back up on Dev’s body, she slithered down so that his full, hard erection was pressing eagerly at her opening.

  He quickly reached for a condom but Frankie stopped him.

  “Are you clean?” she enquired quickly. “I’m on the pill, just so you know.”

  “Clean bill of health – I promise. I’d never put you at risk. Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her voice was husky with desire.

  Reaching down between them, she positioned him against her and, rising up, she shifted so that when she slid back down again he found himself deep inside.

  “Mother of Jesus!” Dev swore as the sensations slammed through him.

  She leaned forwards and circled his taut nipples with her tongue, just as he’d done to her earlier. She nibbled gently and tugged, eliciting groans of pleasure from her willing victim. Dev began to move his hips, thrusting up and pulling back, and she followed suit, joining him.

  She sat up, arching her back as her body responded to this new attack of senses, delicious, thrilling nerves as she rode him, her hands braced on his thighs. Dev could only marvel at what he could only just see before him in the half-dark room. This goddess, this woman of beauty and smarts, humour and kindness, was using their bodies to create something magical between them. She was controlling the pace and it was driving him wild with desire.

  Rearing up, he wrapped his arms around her and feasted on her nipples, the strength of his mouth causing a deep shiver through her body.

  “Dev,” she moaned.

  God, she was glorious!

  Dev moved his tongue to her other breast and slipped his hand down between them both into the tight space created by their snugly fitting bodies. He found her swollen, wet and ready and, using a circular motion with his thumb, brought her gasping to the edge again. She pressed against him, using the pressure to give herself release. Shuddering about his body, her inner tremors brought him to climax and he shattered inside, unable to hold on any longer.

  Together they collapsed, spent, onto the bed, and before he could crash blindly into oblivion, Dev grabbed the duvet and yanked it up to cover their glistening, exhausted bodies.

  Chapter 15

  “Babe.”

  Frankie snuggled deeper into the warmth of the duvet and sighed peacefully in her sleep.

  “Babe.” He spoke louder this time and accompanied it with a dig in the ribs. “Wake up, sleepyhead – I have a show to put on. And you,” he said, yanking the covers off her body, “need to get back to the house and change.”

  “Hey!” Frankie woke with a jerk. “Give me back my covers!”

  “No, Jones, but look what I have for you . . .” The duvet thief morphe
d into a prince as he waved a cup of steaming coffee in front of her nose.

  She raised herself on her elbow, realised she was buck-naked and let out a shriek.

  “Jesus, Dev! I’m naked!”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed. At all. Much. Here, woman,” he threw a long-sleeved shirt in her direction, “cover yourself or I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Dev eyed Frankie as she squirmed into the shirt and tugged it down around her bottom while he sat on the side of the bed and she inhaled her morning drug of choice.

  She looked incredible.

  Her hair tousled and falling about her shoulders, her eyes, ringed with smudged mascara, giving her a ridiculously sultry look and her mouth, Christ, her mouth looked like it had been kissed till its fullness was an advert for a very fancy lip gloss, all wet and dewy. Get a grip, Dev, he admonished himself. She could be tender and maybe uncomfortable after last night’s lovemaking. At least that’s how he thought of it – making love.

  Frankie? He wasn’t so sure.

  Now that she’d discovered her own way of finding pleasure, where did he fit in? Dev scrubbed at his unshaven face and took a deep swallow of his coffee. He needed a shower and shave, and had to get to the gallery to finalise things with the owner and his agent this morning at eleven. He glanced at his watch – already past nine and all he could think of was ripping that shirt off Frankie’s body and taking her again. Now! Jesus, he was a madman. He put down the mug and reached for the towel hanging over the end post on the bed.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Frankie eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup. He looked anxious, unsure and wow! Bloody hell, did he look hot as Hades, standing there with his morning stubble, sleepy eyes, mussed hair and faded jeans. She swallowed. Her mouth suddenly dry despite the caffeine hit.

  “Grand,” she squeaked.

  “I’m taking a shower; I’ve left out a towel for you on the rack.” Dev was backing towards the kitchen as he spoke. “I’ll just let you use the loo first.”

  He scarpered and Frankie smiled smugly. She’d seen the bulge in his jeans – yup, that man was still eager. She put the mug down, scrambled off the bed and closed the bathroom door behind her.

  As Frankie waited to hear the shower switch off a few minutes later, she twisted her hair up into a knot and wandered around the huge loft. She’d pulled on her clothes, figuring she’d shower at the house later. A small part of her simply didn’t want to wash away the scent of their night together, not just yet.

  She hugged herself as feelings from the previous night flooded in. He was incredible! He’d made her body sing for the first time ever and right now, Frankie felt like a junkie looking for a fix – she wanted to do it all again. Now. Twice they’d woken in the night and turned to each other, discovering each other, tasting each other. And twice more Frankie had achieved her holy grail. She felt good this morning. And, okay, a little tender. A smile broke across her face. A big, silly grin of pure delight.

  “Private joke?”

  She hadn’t heard Dev come back in and swung round to catch his eye, the grin still spread across her face. Delicious was the word that sprung to mind – she wanted to eat him up.

  Again.

  A shiver ran over her skin as his eyes returned the desire that was obviously apparent in hers.

  “No.” He backed away from her. “Stop.” Dev looked slightly panicked. “No touching,” he mumbled. “Have pity on me – I’ve a shitload of work to do. You, looking at me like that? It’s not helping. I have to go. Now.”

  He grabbed his keys from the counter and, still walking backwards, he made it to the door. “I’ll see you at the show – 6 p.m. and don’t be late. Pull the door shut behind you when you leave. And, babe,” he paused to make sure she was paying attention, “we’ll talk about this later.” He gestured vaguely at the word “this”.

  She pouted in a totally fake actress I-am-making-a-pout face. “Do we have to?”

  “Yes. We really do.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him but it was too late – the door shut behind him. Frankie poured herself one last cup of coffee, zapped it in the microwave and drank some more of the now slightly burnt-tasting brew. She recalled the aroma of this very blend wafting up to her window that first morning in the lodge, only two months ago.

  So much had happened.

  So much had changed.

  Dev was right – they did need to talk. But some things were still the same. Some bastard was still out there, stalking her; although the emails had now stopped. Frankie wasn’t deceived, though – it had gone “quiet” for periods of time before and then, out of seemingly nowhere, the nasty emails and letters would bombard her once again. Well, it wasn’t really out of nowhere – usually they started after some public appearance – or an opening of one of her films, or a celebrity shoot in which she was featured. Her being in the public eye, in fact. Which made her think about this evening and the paparazzi that might be there – maybe they could use this occasion to draw him out.

  She found her bag, pulled out her mobile phone and keyed in Flynn’s number.

  Frankie was taking one last glance around the loft bedroom, ensuring she had everything before leaving, when her eyes fell on the closed door. Curious, she turned the knob slowly, aware of the large “Please Knock” sign taped to the front. It was entirely dark inside and, groping for a switch, she illuminated what could only be Dev’s darkroom – an old-style set-up with trays and chemicals all laid out along one side. Several strings of wire hung from one side of the room to the other, complete with photographs hanging by clips that looked like old-fashioned clothes pegs. A pile of frames were propped against one wall and she could see another lot stacked on a desk next to them. Glimpsing what looked like an image of herself, she crouched down to pull the pictures back from the wall for a better look.

  A shiver skidded up her spine as picture after picture showed her face staring back at her. Not all close-ups, but all very personal. Dear God, that one of her tossing her hair back over her shoulder, that was two years ago in Venice! She recognised the church in the background. And this one . . . She pulled out another and held it up. This was taken, Christ, two days before Stephen was murdered.

  It was a view of her sitting at a café in Greenwich Village in New York – her face in repose, her eyes captured by something far away. What struck Frankie was how sad and lost she looked, how tired – and this from a newly engaged woman. Huh. Dev obviously knew what he was doing – he’d caught exactly the turmoil going on inside her. But that wasn’t the point! What the hell was he doing with all these? Several were from opening nights over the last few years – places where, indeed, anyone could capture a shot of her.

  Had Dev been at them all, everywhere?

  That was a little scary and more than a little unnerving. The ones at the back of the stack were unframed but tied in a piece of string. With slightly shaky hands, she undid the knot and spread them out before her on the floor. Sitting cross-legged she was able, right there in Dev’s loft, to relive her teenage years in Ireland. Fabulous pictures from the summers spent between Dalkey and the lodge, group shots of the one Christmas that she was there with a terrible head cold – that brought a spontaneous chuckle as she took in the wan face and deep-circled eyes as she stuck out her tongue at the photographer. Every photo in the pile was of her or focused on her within the group. Every photo told a story of her past and her belonging, her place, within this family.

  The ones on the desk had all been taken this summer at the lodge and God, they were beautiful. Not because she was in them, she wasn’t that vain, but they were gorgeous – black-and-white studies of her doing ordinary things: gardening, hanging out the washing, setting the table outside, and a few of her with other members of the family. The one of Toby and her clinking glasses at the party was perfect, as was the one of herself and Caro, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the stone wall, both with their heads thrown back in riots of laughter. It was perfect. She r
emembered that moment exactly and if she were to ever forget it, she only had to pick this up and, wham! Miraculously, she’d be there again.

  She’d want a copy of this one, for sure, but that didn’t stop her feeling a little freaked out. It seemed almost, dare she say it again, stalker-ish.

  And yet . . . And yet all the pictures that Dev had printed were taken with compassion, showing joy and tension in equal measure. What was noticeably absent from all of them was hate.

  There was no self-pity, no fear and no anger.

  All her “stalker” emails were peppered with those emotions and they were palpable, even simply from reading on a screen or off a piece of paper. These photographs were taken with love.

  Oh.

  Good God.

  Heat crept up and over Frankie’s body as the reality of what she was seeing in front of her sank in. A jittery, fluttery feeling settled in her stomach that was a complete mixture between I-want-to-throw-up and oh-God-this-is-so-exciting. Neither feeling was willing to challenge the other for pole position, instead appearing like a bazillion swallows dancing the cha-cha-cha.

  What to do? What the feck to do? What was she supposed to do with this . . . this new understanding? He’d said he’d fancied her for years, but this? This was . . . more.

  She unfurled herself from the floor, gathered the images together and replaced them as neatly as she could. Almost staggering, she switched off the light, closed the door and made her way to the front entrance. Making sure she had all her bits and pieces, she pulled it behind her and headed down to the side street. Loads to do today, she thought, lots of errands and beautifying with herself and the girls, lots of appointments and pampering lined up.

  Good. Lots of everything to do but no thinking time, and that had to be good. For now.

  Devlin stood still in the vast gallery space, his jean-clad legs planted just over shoulder width apart, hands fisted on his hips. An onlooker could mistakenly assume he was preening at the body of work displayed before him, but the reality was he was scared shitless. Slowly, he turned three hundred and sixty degrees and tried to take in the enormity of what he saw. Years of work, of toil and sweat and creative chaos, of self-doubt and, thankfully, some moments of absolute clarity.