Chapter 20
FRANKIE
Dante looks perfectly disheveled as he sits behind the wheel. His messy hair strays in the breeze coming in through the open windows, and he’s left the top buttons of his shirt undone. I like this relaxed version of him—I hope this isn’t the last I’ll see of it.
We’re back on the gravel road again, driving through thick trees. The leaves on the black oaks are flaming orange, and the maples are turning gold. I love being here in the fall.
I tell Dante to take the next right, and the road narrows to a bumpy dirt lane marked only by well-worn tire tracks. A beautiful, secluded little A-frame materializes at the end of the trail.
“Here we are,” I say, pointing to the cabin. The front is all big picture windows, the sharp slope of the roof giving the house a fairy-tale quality, and the porch wraps around so you get a great view of the bay. “Home sweet home.”
I nearly jump out of the car before he’s even put it into park. It’s been so long since I’ve been here, and I’m overjoyed to be back. I grab my bag and nearly skip to the front door.
Dante comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is this your family’s place?”
“It belongs to the Alvarezes,” I explain as I punch a code into the lock box—Delores’s birthday—and then take out a set of keys. “I spent many hours of my childhood here with Delores and her family.”
“It was kind of her to offer you the place for the weekend,” he says.
“Yeah. She actually mentioned it last week, but I only thought to take her up on it now.”
I unlock the front door and swing it wide. Dante carries the bags in first, and I flip on the lights and watch as he makes a slow rotation around the main room.
The A-frame is quaint but idyllic, with wall-to-wall wood paneling and lots of windows.
Upstairs is a loft with a railing that lets you look down on the living room, and a wrought iron chandelier hangs from the peaked ceiling.
The living area and kitchen are all one big room, with a stone fireplace along the wall creating a visual divider between the spaces.
Two small bedrooms are tucked away behind the kitchen, along with the bathroom.
I trail my fingers over the furniture as I give Dante the tour.
The familiar but dated mauve, beige, and hunter green color scheme brightens the living area with unapologetically 1980s grandma flare, along with Delores’s handmade crochet doilies and porcelain animal collection taking up every spare inch of space.
“Wow. How, um…” Dante gestures to a figurine on a side table—a cat with a bow around its neck.
“How adorable? Quirky? Cheesy?” I supply.
“Vintage,” he finishes.
“Nice save,” I say. “And yes, they’re all hideous. But I love them. I love this whole place. It’s exactly perfect.”
“It’s great. Better than the St. Regis.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Really?”
“Really,” he says.
Warmth floods my chest at his appreciation. “I think so, too.”
We choose the loft bedroom and set down our things. Then I take his hand and lead him out the back door and into the waiting woods.
Our afternoon is spent walking the highlands and taking in the views from the highest hills before the wind turns cold and finally chases us back inside.
Dante gathers an arm full of split logs from the wood box outside and sets about making a fire while I head to the kitchen to see what’s available in the pantry.
I pretend like I’m really focused on looking for food, but really I’m watching him from the corner of my eye to see if he knows what he’s doing.
He methodically arranges a few of logs in the grate, then adds crumpled newspaper and twigs between them for kindling, and then sets a few more logs on top like a good Boy Scout.
Minutes later, a small, crackling fire lights up the fireplace.
He patiently watches the flames, making minor adjustments until a solid fire is burning.
I’m impressed. For a man who’s never had a proper vacation, he managed that like a pro.
I take down two cans of tomato soup and dump them into a pot on the stove.
Then I open a box of mac and cheese and fill up a saucepan with water, setting it to boil.
Dante walks over and looks curiously at the stove.
“Gourmet enough for you?” I tease.
“Looks great. Then again, I’m probably hungry enough to eat cardboard.”
“Ha ha,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “Think you can handle the macaroni while I shower?”
Dante frowns, looking dubiously at the box on the counter.
“You have cooked before…” I sort-of ask.
He levels me with a stare that might mean anything, but I just laugh.
“Just follow the directions on the box. If anything catches on fire, throw it in the bay.”
Turns out that Dante manages just fine. By the time I get out of the shower he’s got two bowls of soup set on doily placemats on the table, along with plates of mac and cheese topped with parmesan and black pepper. He even lit the decorative taper candles in the center.
“Fancy,” I say, grinning.
His eyes sweep over me as I saunter to the table in my satin sleep shorts and matching camisole. He pulls out the chair for me, his fingers caressing the side of my neck before he snaps open a fabric napkin and sets it on my lap.
“This is going to be the finest shelf-stable meal you’ve ever had. Chef’s promise.”
I grin at him across the table. “Considering I never checked the expiration date on the box, I’m going to let you taste it first. Chef.”
He takes his seat across from me and spears me with another heated look. “I’m much more excited about dessert.”
I swallow hard, and suddenly food is the last thing on my mind. How can he always make me want him, just like that? One look, one perfectly dropped word. Every single time.
We’re able to work our way through the meal, which is better than decent, but the second our spoons are down, Dante drags my chair away from the table and scoops me up in his arms.
“I’m taking you upstairs,” he says, his voice low.
The possessive timbre of his voice sends lusty chills down my spine. “It would be a shame to waste this gorgeous fire. Maybe we should put the futon mattress—”
I don’t have to tell him twice. After setting me down, Dante drags the mattress over to the fireplace and sets it on the floor. My heart thumps with anticipation as he holds out his hand to me. I take it, and he pulls me down beside him, guiding me back onto the cushions.
Closing my eyes, I let myself relax as he undresses me by the light of the fire.
When I’m naked before him, his hard body covers mine, his lips finding the curve of my neck as he plants hot kisses there.
My fingers slide into his silky hair as he trails kisses over my collarbone and along my shoulder, making me shiver.
His hands and lips are suddenly everywhere.
He drops a kiss on my belly, his thumb sliding down to stroke the wetness between my legs.
Opening for him, I guide his head lower until his mouth is so close I can feel his warm breath on my pussy.
Without warning his tongue plunges inside me, making me gasp.
I spread myself wider for him, giving him better access, my other hand firm on the back of his head as he feasts on me.
Heat from the fire warms my skin. It joins the heat only Dante can flame in me until I’m burning with need. The fire crackles in time with my breathless panting as he tongue-fucks me, bringing me closer…closer.
I clasp both of my hands behind his head and hold him firm as I take control, riding his mouth, throwing my head back.
Knowing there’s nobody around for miles, I let loose, moaning as loud as I can.
The sounds of my pleasure, echoing off the cabin walls, push me to an even higher level.
I’m so wet, so ready to come, grinding against Dante’s face faster and faster.
The fire suddenly bursts in an array of sparks as my climax barrels over me. Gasping through the shockwaves of the orgasm, I can’t help but laugh at the sight of sparks raining down in the fireplace.
“Fireworks for the big finale,” Dante whisper-laughs as he sits back on his knees.
I can see the bulge in his jeans, and even though I’m nearly limp with pleasure, I’m not going to leave that fat cock untasted.
Crawling over to him, I unbutton his jeans and work the zipper down.
Once his pants are down far enough for his dick to spring free, I push him onto his back and take him in my mouth.
He groans, his fingers weaving into my hair as I begin feasting on him like he did to me. He swells immediately, his hips jerking to the movement of my hot, sucking mouth. I can taste his salty precum, and he’s already so hard that I know he won’t last long.
“Frankie—”
He tries to pull back, but I grip his hips and hold him in place, drinking him down as he explodes in the back of my throat.
“Mmm,” I moan, my mouth full of him.
“Fuck.” He presses himself hard down my throat one last time and then withdraws, his heated eyes on me while I lick my lips and fall back against the mattress.
I watch as he stands and kicks his jeans all the way off, then crouches to rummage through the pockets. “What’re you doing?” I ask.
My eyes are heavy, exhaustion hitting me like a brick.
“Go to sleep,” he says gently.
“I sleep better with you next to me.”
Dante grabs a blanket off the back of the cushionless futon and spreads it over me, then crawls underneath and pulls me close.
“Look at that,” I say, pointing up at the windows full of stars above us.
We lay there, linked together, sighing contentedly at the sight of a million pinpoints of light dotting the midnight sky through the glass. I watch the stars until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer and wake to the sun streaming down where our personal galaxy had been.
Later that morning, we’re back on the road. This time, he doesn’t question my directions.
“Someone’s finally relaxing enough to give up some control,” I tease, ruffling his hair.