31. Chapter 31
Evan
They didn’t know which was hotter: the fact they were watching intently as their Domme ate them out, or how much of a boss Frankie looked in her suit while doing it.
She was beautiful. No, scratch that. Frankie O’Rourke was sexy .
And by the way the femme held Evan’s trembling thighs still while giving long, slow strokes of her tongue along their sensitive flesh, they suspected she was well aware of the effect she had on people.
“Fuck, Daddy, you’re so fucking good.”
Evan’s legs burned from being held so far apart, and they could feel the heat rising under the shirt they wore.
But a little discomfort was worth it to have Frankie devour them.
Her slender fingers pumped in and out of Evan while she masterfully worked her lips and tongue over their hot, swollen sex.
Their breath hitched in their throat when Frankie curled her fingers just right, hitting their g-spot at the same moment she closed her teeth over Evan’s throbbing nub. A long moan escaped.
“Oh god.”
Frankie chuckled, and the breathy vibration had Evan mewling.
“Careful,” came the huskiest voice Evan had ever heard leave Frankie. The sound wrapped around them, trickling down their skin like the warmest honey.
It was unfortunate she was too far away for Evan to touch.
Her long, multi-colored curls were loose and all gathered over one shoulder.
Evan had the strongest urge to sink their hands through the thick locks.
Frankie grasped their swollen nub between her lips this time, giving it a gentle suck at first, and then harder, increasing the pressure until Evan released another ragged moan.
Their elbows shook from supporting their weight, slipping down further on the sheets, so Evan repositioned.
Frankie’s head was closer now, and they couldn’t resist reaching for her hair.
Their body was so taut, desperate, and so close to the edge, and Evan could think of nothing better than touching Frankie while they came.
Their approaching orgasm halted just before its glorious crescendo, however, because the moment contact was made, Frankie wrenched away. Her chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, and her mouth, slick with Evan’s arousal, curled into a snarl. “No. Hands on the bed, or I tie you up.”
A flash of hurt stabbed Evan at the words said so callously.
Frankie’s dislike for touch flickered in and out of their lustful haze, like a lightbulb shorting out.
It was something she’d stated more than once since they’d met, so the information wasn’t new.
How did the importance of not touching slip Evan’s mind?
Tears sprang forth, and the abrupt change from butterflies to the sinking anchor in the pit of their stomach did a bang-up job of chasing away any chance of an orgasm.
“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” The mattress dipped, and then Frankie was tugging Evan’s hands away from their tear-soaked eyes. “Evan, please.”
“I-I forgot.”
“It’s not your fault. We weren’t doing a scene.
I always do a scene. Always remove temptation.
That way, I don’t get hurt. I-I don’t like my hair pulled.
I don’t …” She was muttering to herself more than Evan, staring vacantly at their hands tangled together.
Her tortured expression was enough to quiet Evan’s sobs.
They pulled up into a sitting position on the bed.
“Frankie?”
It was a long time before Frankie lifted her face to theirs. Tears shone in her eyes, but she stubbornly clung to them.
“Will you let me hold you?”
“Will you …” Frankie trailed off. She cleared her throat, scrubbed a hand over her face, and glanced around her bedroom like she was seeing it for the first time. “No. I’m fine. I’m sorry, but I just remembered the repairman is coming this morning.”
Evan stared in confusion. “Repairman?”
Frankie practically jumped off the bed, answering Evan while she smoothed down the rumples in her suit. “Yes, for the dishwasher. Sorry again. Do some self-care this morning, okay? I need to…” She didn’t finish her sentence, just bolted from the bedroom.
The fuck?
Heaving a long, frustrated sigh, Evan fell backward onto the soft sheets.
Hours later and no one had seen Frankie. According to Andy, after spilling coffee on her paperwork that morning, she’d locked up her office and rushed out of the pub. He’d also said in all the years he’d worked there he’d never seen her so rattled.
It’s my fault.
Why couldn’t Evan have kept their damn hands to themself?
This was precisely why Frankie couldn’t have a vanilla relationship.
To be fair, who would want one? Not Evan, to be sure, not after discovering they had a submission kink, or how freeing it felt to be restrained and used by Frankie.
But Frankie had explained her aversion to touch.
Perhaps not in so many words, but after learning about Emily and what happened to her and Frankie, Evan had understood .
Of course touch during sex could be triggering.
So why hadn’t Frankie insisted on restraining them?
Where are you?
And Sloane was an hour late to her shift. She had at least texted Andy with a heads up, but punctuality was surprisingly something Sloane rarely had an issue with. Despite her restless—often chaotic—nature, it seemed as if Sloane took great pride in her job.
“Closing can’t come soon enough,” Rain grumbled on the way back to the hot line. Evan knew the day was doomed if it started drizzling on Rain’s cheery parade. And here they’d thought nothing short of a terminal diagnosis could ever dampen her mood.
“Boss’s phone goes right to voicemail,” Dakota said while throwing together a club sandwich. He shot Evan a look rife with suspicion. “You live in her back pocket. Care to share why we’re down two people during one of our busiest nights?”
Evan opened their mouth, about to lie and tell him Frankie had forgotten her cell phone on her nightstand, but decided it wasn’t their place to do even that. Besides, as the boss, Frankie didn’t owe anyone an explanation. Also, Dakota could go fuck a duck for all Evan cared.
“No response? What a surprise.”
“Actually, I was gonna tell you to go fuck yourself, but figured it wasn’t ‘workplace’ appropriate.”
“Picking a fight will only drag out the shift longer. I’m in charge of the kitchen when Frankie’s not here, so buckle up and shut up. Both of you,” Rain said, once again surprising the shit out of Evan. Their respect for her only grew.
They kept their head down, focusing on the steady flow of dirty dishes Jessie brought in from the eating area.
Besides the noise the pub carried into the kitchen, and hollering orders back and forth, Evan worked in silence for the next half hour.
When they were finally able to grab a quick break, they let Rain know and headed out to the bar for a soda refill.
Evan didn’t enjoy being out front when it was so busy but worry for Frankie and Sloane made them a little more than curious.
Lian was filling up a tray with drinks, so Evan stood off to the side and waited for her to finish.
They scanned the occupied tables for any sign of Frankie or, Evan cringed to think, Cecil.
They had fully intended to warn Frankie about him that morning, but their emotions had already been all over the place.
And then the whole hair-touching thing happened and ruined everything.
What if …
No, Cecil wasn’t so bold as to show up without some preparation beforehand.
He was probably still home, brewing up a dramatic concoction.
Even when Caleb and Evan were kids, Cecil loved to add flair to whatever revenge scheme he planned out.
A teacher dished out detention for Caleb?
Cecil left dead mice in the man’s car for seven days—the length of Caleb’s detention—before Cecil took a bat to both kneecaps in the staff parking lot on the eighth day.
That was just one story of many. For as long as Evan could remember, Cecil had brought nothing but chaos to their life.
It made them wonder why they’d wasted so much damn time trying to gain his love and respect over the years.
A quick squeeze to their arm pulled Evan back to the present, and thoughts of Cecil and their screwed-up childhood drifted away.
They caught the departing figure as they passed on the way to the restroom, her familiar pink-tipped hair swaying across her back as she walked. And she wasn’t by herself.
“Sloane?” Evan’s eyes narrowed on the man gripping Sloane’s forearm. It wasn’t a light touch either. It looked like he was dragging Sloane down the hallway.
Evan took off after them, their gut clenching with aggravated anticipation. Calling for backup would have been a good idea, but fuck they seemed to be fresh out of those, because before they knew it, they were shoving open the door to the larger restroom on nothing but false bravado.
“Hey!” Evan said, just as the man pulled his fist back to strike Sloane again. She was between the hand dryer and the second stall, her body turned in toward the wall. One hand clutched the hand dryer for support, causing it to continually run.
Evan bent over, quickly yanking out the small knife they kept sheathed inside their boot. It wasn’t the same one they’d attacked Frankie with, but it was sure as hell better than nothing. Coming up on the man’s left side, Evan shoulder-checked him as hard as they could. “Get away from her!”
Unfortunately, Evan’s lightweight ass only proved to piss him off more. The man struck Sloane first and then rounded on Evan. “Goddamn, you look just like the losers I used to stuff into the school lockers back in the day. Fucking bring it, shorty.”
Evan was fast and quickly dodged his first swing. Shit, those fists look like sledgehammers!
“You were supposed to get Frankie, you idiot.”