by Holly Hart
For the life of me, I can’t decide which I’d choose.
“Stop playing with words,” Frankie scowls. “Why did you kiss me?”
I blink. I have to. “Um, Frankie,” I reply, choosing my words carefully, “that’s – that’s not exactly how I remember it.”
Frankie grimaces. A shadow of irritation passes across her face, reflecting the thunder clouds I know are roiling inside her head. “Why did you kiss me back?”
I take a second before replying, mentally stacking my options up against each other. Fuck, I really don’t know what to do. Frankie’s on the edge. Whatever’s happening here – it could go two ways. I feel like she’s on the verge of either opening up to me, or blocking me out forever.
I decide to risk it.
I guess that’s just kind of who I am. I’ve never been good at pussyfooting about. It’s not me. Even if I tried, I’d probably only lodge my foot so deep in my mouth that I’d end up needing a crane to haul it out.
“Because, Frankie, yer goddamn beautiful.”
That shuts her up. It’s Frankie’s turn to rock backwards. For the first time in the – what, couple of days – I’ve known her, the girl’s lost for words. I take the opportunity to press on. It might be the only one I get.
“Believe me. I ain’t messing with you. I ain’t lying either. I don’t do that: especially not with you. You’re beautiful, Frankie: hot; sexy; cute; all of it – wrapped up with a damn ribbon, if that’s what you want.”
I watch the effect of my words. It’s written on Frankie’s face. Every time I say something nice, she flinches – as though my complements are a hammer, pounding away at her self-esteem. Christ, that’s the last thing I wanted. I grab her hand. The heat of it surprises me, but I close my fingers around hers.
“I kissed you back because why the hell not? Why the hell wouldn’t a guy like me – hell, any guy at all – pass up the chance to kiss a girl like you?”
My question hangs in the air between us. Frankie’s chest rises up and down. It’s calmer now – the motion softer. Her pink cheeks quiver with emotion.
“Because –,” Frankie mutters before cutting herself off. It’s as though a thousand different arguments are competing for attention inside her head. “Because I thought you were going to hurt me. To hit me, I don’t know. That’s why I did it – kissed you, bit you. I was trying to cross a line, to force your hand…”
This time, I censor the smile from my face. It’s the last thing Frankie needs to see right now. “Well ye certainly did that, all right.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Ain’t no stepping back from a kiss like that,” I say.
I cut myself short, kicking myself. I’m not supposed to be entertaining a romance with Frankie. She’s damaged, and I’m the last guy she needs in her life. I’m just good enough to know that I’m bad. She needs putting back together, not breaking further apart.
But the damage is already done.
Frankie looks up at me with a curious mixture of hope and disbelief on her face. “You really mean that?” She whispers. “You don’t even know me.”
I don’t hesitate before replying. I can’t. Not if I want to keep Frankie’s self-esteem from ricocheting around like a yo-yo on a string. And the truth is, my answer is easy. It’s real. And my desire is building.
“But I do want to,” I growl, roughly pulling Frankie toward me by her hand. “I want to kiss you again. I want to touch you, to undress you, to put my head between your legs and not come up for air until you drag me up by my hair, spent and satisfied.”
I can scarcely believe these words are coming out of my mouth. Whatever happened to playing it cool: to holding myself back until Frankie is healthy enough to make a proper choice? All of that has flown out of the window. I can’t control myself, not anymore. Not now my blood’s up, now images of undressing Frankie are flooding through my mind.
I pull her body into mine. I scrape my fingernails down Frankie’s back. Our faces are so close together that when she gasps with pleasure, I feel the heat of her breath on my cheeks.
“I want to fuck you, Frankie: to carry you to that bed,” I throw a lazy elbow in its direction, “and fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week.”
Frankie moans with approval. Her eyes are closed, eyelids flickering – it’s as though she’s playing the scene out in her head. I want to know what she sees. Is she looking up at me, in there?
I groan.
“But…”
Frankie’s eyes open with all the outraged force of a drawbridge slamming down. “But what?” She asks in a Katana sharp tone. She’s got a take-no-crap-from-anybody look in her eyes now, and suddenly I don’t want to mess with her.
“But it wouldn’t be right,” I confess with a sigh. “You’re not ready. Hell, I barely know ye, and –.”
Another flash shoots from Frankie’s eyes. “So you think,” she spits angrily, “that I’m too young to make my own bad decisions; too fragile?”
Frankie prods me in the chest: once; twice; a third time. For such a little lady, she packs a hell of a punch.
I freeze.
“Fuck me,” Frankie growls. Her face is set and determined: jaw clenched; eyes flashing a challenge. “Fuck me, Ridley Byrne. Or are you not man enough?”
I’ve got no idea how to reply to that question. Heck, Frankie’s full of surprises. I wouldn’t have pegged her as the kind of girl who uses that kind of language. More importantly, I’m caught in a battle between my head and my… You know.
Doesn’t Frankie understand that I’m holding myself back for her? Hell, if I wasn’t worried about her I would have already made a move on the girl, well before now.
“You think you know what you want,” I growl, keeping my eyes wide open so that I don’t close them and picture Frankie’s naked body writhing under my touch. “But –.”
“But you know better?” She mocks.
The challenge in Frankie’s eyes pricks my manhood. I feel like an untamed horse, and Frankie’s the jockey. I don’t just want to regain control, I need to.
I do something stupid. I grab Frankie’s other hand, so I’m holding both her wrists. In my head, I tell myself I’m doing it to reinforce my point, but the truth is Frankie has pushed me over the edge. My control only stretches so far.
I push Frankie backward until her hair kisses the brickwork. “You think this will help?” I growl. “Make it all better? Quiet the demons that won’t let you sleep at night?”
I’m speaking from experience. My struggles never pushed me to search for pain, not like Frankie. I got turned the other way. I need something else: control. Frankie and I, we’re like two halves of the same horseshoe.
Bend us far enough and we meet.
Frankie leans forward with her head, lips searching for mine. When I pull my head back, she hurls me a disappointed pout.
“No, Ridley,” she says, her voice throaty. “I know it will.”
How the hell do you argue against that?
While I’m trying to come up with a line – any line – to throw back at her, Frankie takes advantage of my indecision. I’m leaning forward just far enough that, at a stretch, her lips can meet mine which they do.
“It feels good,” Frankie whispers as she presses her mouth against mine, tongue grazing my lower lip. “Don’t deny it. You know you want it. You know you want me.”
The truth is – the truth is exactly what’s coming out of Frankie’s mouth. The touch of her body against mine feels so perfect. The heat of her breath on my face: her perfect, perfume-less natural scent; everything, it combines to a crescendo.
“Fuck it,” I hiss as the air in my lungs streams through my teeth.
“No,” Frankie smiles, with a glint in her eye that suggests whatever’s going on in her head, she hasn’t lost a sense of humor. “Fuck me.”
I do.
I lift Frankie up off the floor, and before I know it her legs are wrapped around my hips like a vic
e. She presses her lips against mine once again: drinking me in; kissing me with hungry intent. If I didn’t know better, I would think that we were the last two people left on earth.
“God, Frankie,” I groan as she nibbles my ear, as her lips dance a trail down my cheek, as her hands rove over my body. “That feels incredible.”
My girl pulls back, just for a second, and fixes me with a serious look. Her particular sense of humor dances once more on her lips. She holds the look a second longer – and then winks at me. “I know.”
Then it’s my turn to attack Frankie with my lips. I can’t help it. This thing we have together, it’s not just chemistry; it’s chemical. I don’t know if Frankie’s damaged or not. I don’t know if I should be doing this or not. But I know there’s no way I can stop myself. Frankie’s curves, those thick, pouting lips, her streaming red hair – together they are irresistible.
Frankie’s not just my type – my type is her.
My hands cup Frankie’s ass cheeks. Each one forms a perfect handful. She’s exactly how I like my women – thick, curvy. Even so, in my hands she feels as light as a feather.
I pull back from the kiss, and cock my head to one side.
“Bed?”
Frankie grins, and nods her head. Her long red hair is a mess, swaddling her shoulders like a flaming willow tree. I don’t even remember tearing it free of its tie. Her cheeks are red and flustered. “Bed.”
I bury my face in Frankie’s shoulders as she runs her fingers through my hair. I couldn’t be more glad that my hideaway bunker is small, because there are fewer steps to the bed. I want to get Frankie’s clothes off right this second.
Most of all, I want to make good on my promise. I want to put my head between her legs, and not come up until I’m gasping for air.
All of the worries that were weighing me down; and Frankie’s too; have fallen away. We’re both being carried along by the heat of the moment. There’s no place that I would rather be. I’m drunk on Frankie’s touches; I sense my desire building to a crescendo. I’ve never felt like this before. We’ve only kissed, and yet my cock is straining to escape my jeans. I can only imagine what sleeping with this girl is going to be like.
Hell, maybe I shouldn’t even do that. I don’t want to blow my load too early.
I throw Frankie down on the bed. She gasps as the air escapes her lungs. I don’t give her a second to take a breath. I fall on top of her, breaking my wild tumble an inch from her face. Then her lips are in front of mine, and then we’re kissing again. Frankie’s fingers are at my belt, fumbling, and it’s free.
“No foreplay,” Frankie pants. “Just take me.”
To some men, that kind of sentence would be like an invitation up the stairway to heaven; but not me. I grab Frankie’s wrists once again. I hold them tight, pulling my head back. I want to see the look on her face. I know how desperate Frankie is for me to enter her, to take her like she’s been dreaming of. But I’m not going to let that happen. Not yet.
“Not so fast,” I say huskily, a teasing grin on my face.
Frankie screws her face up into a pout. “Why not?”
I reach forward and unbutton her shirt – my shirt – with my free hand. Frankie’s eyes dart up: down; everywhere; following the path of my fingers; tracing the ocean of skin I’m opening up.
My cock throbs. She’s not wearing a bra. Of course, that makes sense – where was she going to find one in my bachelor pad? But still, the pale softness of her skin, the plunging depths between her breasts – it all excites me in a way I didn’t think was possible.
“I told you,” my voice ripples, “I’m going to take this slow. I’m going to bury myself between your legs, until you’re screaming for release.”
A look – a strange look, flashes across Frankie’s face. It’s a mixture of delight and apprehension. It surprises me. Hell, everything Frankie does it surprises me.
A cold kiss of air touches Frankie’s skin when I finally pull the old shirt apart, and it erupts with goose bumps. I have to shut my eyes to avoid overloading with pleasure. Goose, I think. I like that. Frankie’s my Goose.
“Jesus, Frankie,” I groan, leaning back and adjusting my cock inside my jeans. “You look incredible.”
Frankie looks at me. Suddenly, she’s turned shy. I don’t care. I can’t stop drinking her in. Her nipples stand out on her chest – hard, pink nubs. They are begging me to take them in my mouth.
I do.
I lean forward, scraping my lips from hers, down her chin, layering her throat with kisses and peppering her chest with love.
Frankie moans with pleasure. Her body shifts on the soft, dark silk sheets, wriggling underneath my teasing touch. Every time she breathes, every time a spark of pleasure erupts on her body, I pull my lips away.
“Ridley –,” Frankie gasps. But I stop her protests dead. I take her right nipple in my mouth, dragging my fingernails down the left side of her torso. Frankie arches her back, panting with pleasure as sparks of delight start his down every nerve ending. “Ridley,” Frankie pants, “don’t stop.”
Like I had any intention of that…
I trace my lips down Frankie’s body. With a tinge of regret, I realize I have to let her wrists go. I can’t take them all the way down with me. She’s wearing a pair of my gym shorts, the string holding them up tied ludicrously tight. I undo it with one hand, and slide them off her body.
Goddamn, I’ve never seen legs like that.
“Oh my God,” I groan.
Frankie’s not wearing any underwear. Her crotch is decorated with light, red fuzz that matches the embarrassment on her cheeks. I look up, and she tries to cover her nakedness – and the hair – with her hands.
I push them aside.
“No way,” I growl. “No way are ye hiding that from me. Didn’t I ever tell ye I had a thing for redheads?” I say.
I don’t know if it’s true, or if Frankie’s just erased the thought of every other woman from my mind. I don’t care. Right now, Frankie is perfection.
My cock’s straining – I can’t take this torture much longer. But I want to taste her. I want to run my tongue along the slit between her legs. I want to pry them apart, touch her pinkness, push a finger deep inside.
“Ridley,” Frankie says, fighting her own breathlessness. “I don’t know…”
“I do,” I say with blunt firmness. I pull my T-shirt over my shoulders and toss it onto the floor. And then I dive in. I push Frankie’s legs apart. She strains to keep them closed, but not really. I know she wants this just as bad as I do.
I kiss her pink folds. Once at the top, once at the bottom, and then I let my tongue dance the whole way down.
That’s all it takes for Frankie’s back to arch. That’s all it takes for her breath to pant ever more relentlessly. I hear the rustle of her fingers scrabbling against the silk sheets, then I feel her fingernails scratching against my scalp as she buries them instead in my hair.
I ignore all of it. I’m lost in my own world, between her legs.
Frankie moans her approval. I imagine that if I looked up, I’d see embarrassment on her face – but she doesn’t need to feel that way. If I have my way, she’ll never feel like that again.
And then she pulls. She forms a fist around my hair, and drags me up her body.
“No!” Frankie growls.
I think I’ve screwed everything up. I shouldn’t have taken things this far, this fast. I shouldn’t have let myself be driven by my own desires.
I start to pull away.
But Frankie pulls me towards her with a fierceness that suggests she never wants to let go.
“Not down there,” she whispers, scrunching her eyes shut. “Not yet.”
“We don’t have to do this,” I whisper, grazing Frankie’s cheeks with my lips. “We can do it at yer own time, at yer own pace.”
I can’t tell if Frankie wants to call everything off, or if it’s something about me going down on her. I remember that strange look in he
r eyes, the way she tried to squeeze her legs closed. I don’t know what to do about it now. I file the thought away.
Frankie’ eyes open with a sudden fierceness. I’m almost tempted to flinch, but I hold myself composed.
“I never said that,” she says in a tone that makes what she wants very clear. “I need you to take me, Ridley; not dance around it until my skin starts to wrinkle.”
I shake my head. “Jaysus, gal: I’ve never met anyone like you.”
But I do as Frankie orders. The way she’s holding onto my hair – still – I don’t think she’s ever going to let go.
I tug the last remnants of the shirt off her shoulders, kick my jeans off, and rummage for a condom. With a rustle and a snap, it’s on. Frankie watches the whole time, fascinated. I ask myself one last time if I should be doing this…
Then Frankie pulls me in.
16
Frankie
I know Ridley’s doing everything right. In his shoes, I’d do exactly the same. He’s dealing with a traumatized girl he barely knows. More than that, a traumatized girl who is begging him to take her. Not just fuck her, but abuse her.
I can’t say I’d do any different.
Actually, there is one thing I might do… I might reach down and feel what it’s really like to have a man’s body. That would be kind of cool.
But cool is exactly not what I’m feeling right now. I’m hot, I’m bothered, and I really want to feel Ridley’s cock inside me. The grazes and cuts on my back send out signals of pain and fire as they brush against the silk sheets, but I don’t care. It feels good. It feels cleansing.
“Now,” I growl.
Who is this girl, and what has she done with the old Frankie?
I’m sure I was never like this. But after what happened to me, I’ve realized that I need to take life by the balls and make what I want to have happen, happen. I want Ridley to happen. I want him inside me to happen: right now.
Ridley pulls back and throws me a teasing smile and a mock salute – and then he attacks me like a man possessed. His lips are on mine; then on my nipples; then his fingers are probing my wet folds. I tip my head back as the pleasure starts to build.
