5. Chapter 5
Frankie
“Fuck,” Frankie groaned, tweaking her pierced nipple.
Through her mirror, she watched the bronze bud grow tighter with the attention.
Her other nipple still had the clamp over it, restricting circulation around the area.
Pain pulsed at each of Frankie’s pleasure points, yet she needed more.
Her thighs were wet with arousal and lube, but watching in the mirror as she fucked herself wasn’t the same high as bringing a sub to orgasm.
Frankie closed her eyes, a trembling sigh escaping as her thumb strummed her swollen sex.
She tried to conjure up her usual image while getting herself off, knowing it would help.
McCoy’s chiseled jaw, lush green eyes, and septum ring over a wide smile appeared.
“Fuck, yes. McCoy.” My pet . Memories of them together filled Frankie.
McCoy sitting exactly how Frankie was now, legs spread wide at the edge of the bed, the mirror’s reflection capturing every cry of pleasure, every stroke of the dildo into McCoy’s sopping wet pussy.
At times, there had even been a gag in her mouth, and with each stroke, Frankie had used the crop on McCoy’s inner thighs for added stimulation.
“Fuck, yesss.” Raking her nails up her thigh, Frankie imagined doing the same to McCoy. The higher she crested, the harder she focused on one singular memory of McCoy. The utter affection and attraction that had been transparent in her green gaze as she knelt on her knees before Frankie.
“Ah, u-ugh, fuuuck.” With shaking hands, Frankie released the nipple clamp, and the immediate pain as blood rushed back caused a loud moan to fall from her lips as she climaxed.
She fell back onto the bed with a sigh, thighs trembling and pussy still spasming.
For several minutes, Frankie lay there, catching her breath.
Something had felt different with her lately, and she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.
One thing was clear; fucking herself into oblivion no longer satiated her.
She needed the rush of teasing a sub to climax, of hearing them plead to her to come, or the sweet urgency on their tongue as they cried out to their mistress.
You had that and ruined it, or did you forget, Mistress?
If only she had asked McCoy to be exclusive. If only she had trusted McCoy enough not to hurt her if she opened up; or trusted herself not to break. Holding people at arm’s length was Frankie’s specialty, though. Not just lovers, but everyone, including her aunt Belinda.
“How come you never let me touch you?”
Frankie swallowed, the memory of McCoy’s question echoing in the recesses of her mind.
Months ago, the answer had been so simple, and yet, one Frankie couldn’t begin to stomach, no matter how often she tried.
If only speaking the words didn’t make her want to break out in hives, then maybe, just maybe, McCoy would still be with her.
Frankie reached for her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found her mentor’s name. Since she’d left Toronto, their contact had been sporadic at best, but if anyone could help Frankie find a new sub, it was her.
The call rang twice before Frankie heard a low, sultry greeting come through the phone. “Frankie, your ears must have been burning, darling. I was just thinking of you.”
Smiling, Frankie pulled herself up and leaned against her headboard. She drew the blankets over to cover herself. “Hi, Natasha.”
At ten to ten, Frankie left her apartment, alight with newfound possibilities.
Her talk with Natasha had been enlightening, and they’d ended the call with Natasha confirming she’d get in contact with an old friend in Vancouver’s BDSM community.
Hopefully soon she’d have news for Frankie of finding a perfect sub looking for a new Domme.
One who clicked with Frankie the moment they met, and she could finally put her unfortunate longing for McCoy to rest. It was unhealthy, not to mention humiliating, to be pining after McCoy the way she had been.
She descended the stairs to the main level where the pub was located, the never-ending list of things she needed to do that day already rolling through her mind.
With two of her staff out sick, the day would be busy as ever.
Not to mention, she still didn’t have a clue what had happened with Evan the night before.
Did they no longer want the job? Frankie had been set to pay them for their hard work when Evan had bolted from the pub so fast it was as if a firecracker had been lit under their ass.
If by some stroke of luck they showed up again, perhaps Frankie wouldn’t have to cancel her class at the gym that evening.
She’d been teaching self-defense to women and other vulnerable groups—such as the 2SLGBTQ+ community—since she’d returned to Vancouver.
Feeling like she was contributing to someone’s well-being did wonders for her own mental health and recovery.
“Lian is still out sick,” Sloane announced the moment Frankie entered the dining area.
She was stocking the fridge but must have heard the click of Frankie’s heels as she came in.
“So is Jessie. Dakota’s here with Rain and Donnie in the kitchen but looks like death warmed over.
Ted and Jon punched in, but you know, they’re not much help up here. ”
“Greaaat.” Frankie inwardly groaned at the news, heading for the coffee pot.
“It’s too early for this.” She made herself a Classic Irish, knowing she’d need the extra indulgence of Jameson and Honey Jack to help get her through the day.
No, the staff who worked solely in the brewery making beer wouldn’t be much help in this crisis.
It’d defeat the purpose of pulling them on a mill and mash day.
Not when her on-tap beer brought in most of the pub’s monthly income.
It was crucial they got new batches started sooner rather than later.
“Coy’s got a slow day at the shop, so I was gonna see if she could help out so Dakota can go home.” Sloane worked as she talked, which Frankie was grateful for because she couldn’t guarantee her facial expressions were under control.
She shook her head slowly. “No. Thank you, but no. I’ll send Dakota home, but we can manage without McCoy.”
“Is that your business savvy talking, or your ego?” Sloane griped, irritation sparking in her green gaze when she finally looked up.
“Careful, Sloane,” Frankie warned. She took a sip of her coffee, adding quietly, “Don’t be a brat today, okay? We’re short-staffed as is, and I’m not in the mood.”
“Too long since you spanked my sister?” Sloane volleyed back, and then visibly cringed as she must have realized her error.
Sloane’s impulsiveness no longer surprised Frankie, and she found herself smirking. “Yes, actually, and if you don’t fuck off, I’ll have you bent over my knee instead. Except I’ll make sure you don’t get an orgasm out of it.”
Sloane laughed, and just like that, the tension lessened between them.
Frankie headed to the kitchen to greet her other staff.
Rain and Donnie, the old man who had worked for Frankie’s cousin before Frankie took over, were busy with food prep.
Rain was a spunky young woman who could talk someone’s ear off.
Donnie was the opposite, quiet as a mouse.
He was the only one of her staff who arrived even earlier than Sloane each day, eager to get ahead on battering the haddock and slicing the potatoes for apps and home-cut fries.
He was pushing seventy and refused to work past four, stating his wife’s supper was better than anything he could get at the pub.
Frankie couldn’t argue that. If she had someone at home waiting for her, living and breathing work would be the last thing on her mind.
You couldn’t even open up to McCoy. Face it, there’ll never be anyone waiting.
Frankie frowned. Her brain could fuck off too with the constant backseat-driver commentary. A long day awaited her, and she so didn’t have time for a “glass half-empty” attitude.
“Where’s Dakota?”
“Bathroom, boss,” Rain replied, looking up from the onion she was slicing with a squeamish expression. “He’s been in and out since he got there.”
“Lovely,” Frankie muttered, then spoke louder. “Send him home for me, will you? I’ll be in the office for a bit but will be back to help with the dinner rush.”
“Will do.”
Once Frankie was in her office, the first thing she did was check this week’s schedule tacked to the bulletin board.
Since her dishwasher, Jessie, was out sick, she’d have to get George to float between cleaning tables and the dish pit.
He was only fifteen and couldn’t work past nine, but at least he could help cover the supper rush when he arrived after school.
Andy would be in at two until close. Frankie tapped her nails against her desk, thinking.
They would be short in the kitchen again that night without Nathan and Dakota.
I could really use an Evan right about now . Frankie smirked. For more than one reason.