8 - Frankie
8
Frankie
—
As it turns out, I didn’t need to grab clothes from Monty’s room.
Standing in the largest of the two guest bedrooms, Kody and I stare at the walk-in closet in disbelief. Clothes for every season fill the huge space, with two sections for the guys and one dedicated to me.
“How?” He rummages through the built-in drawers, pulling out men’s shirts, pajamas, and underwear. “We didn’t agree to stay here until after we left the hospital this morning.”
“One text to his staff, and they drop everything to do what he asks.” I open more drawers, finding women’s clothes, things I would pick out for myself, all in my sizes, styles, and favorite colors.
Everything we could need.
The attention to detail disarms me.
Overwhelms me.
Shakes me to my core.
During those final months at Hoss, we wore the same stitched-together clothes for weeks. When it came to survival, fashion and style were never a consideration.
It’s just nice to have something clean and appropriately sized.
But this…
This is too much.
The clothing, the food, the security team, the private island with all its luxuries—everything about Monty clashes with the simplicity and brutality of our recent lives. I can’t help but feel torn between these worlds.
Not only did Monty invite us into his home, his sanctuary, but he’s going above and beyond to make us comfortable. It’s out of character.
He’s not a man who rescues and adopts wild animals. He sets traps to keep them out.
My temperature rises, forming a bead of sweat on my forehead.
The room feels suddenly too hot, suffocating, as if all the windows have been sealed shut on a summer day.
“Is it just me, or did it get really warm in here?” I fan myself with a hand.
Kody pulls at the collar of his shirt before peeling it off entirely in a clear surrender to the swelter, leaving him in the sexiest pair of low-slung jeans. “Not just you.”
A wave of stifling heat envelops us, the air from the vents blowing as hot as a coal stove.
I nod toward the French doors leading to the balcony. “Open those and maybe the windows. I’ll check the thermostat.”
As I head into the hall, he flings open the French doors, welcoming the cooler outside breeze.
The climate control panel shows the upstairs temperature on the highest setting. An easy fix. I make the adjustment and return to the bedroom.
“What’s this?” He holds up a shiny new phone and gestures to another on the desk.
“Those must be for you and Leo.” A shallow breath escapes me, too quick, too sharp. “I’ll teach you how to use it tomorrow.”
He lowers to the bed, instantly engrossed with the device. Within minutes, he figures out how to power it on and navigate through the set-up guide.
Guess he doesn’t need my help.
“Kody?” I kick off my boots.
“Mm?” He doesn’t look up.
I’ve lost him.
The fact that he’s taking to technology this quickly is a good thing. Hard to maneuver through the modern world without it. I just hope it doesn’t change him.
I’m rather fond of his feral nature.
A trickle of sweat runs between my breasts.
Time for that shower.
In the attached bathroom, I find all the same items I left behind in Monty’s bathroom. Shampoo, conditioner, perfume, skincare—all my favorite brands are here, including razors and hygiene products for the guys.
It’s been so long since I’ve moisturized. My skin will probably soak up a full bottle of lotion.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I touch my gaunt face. I look haggard, pale, weathered by harsh conditions and stress. Older . My cheekbones protrude sharply, making the hollows beneath them more pronounced.
Monty should’ve taken one look at me in the hospital and moved on. He can have any woman he wants.
When Leo and Kody start venturing out in public, they’ll turn heads and attract female attention just like Monty. It will only worsen after they take advantage of the gym and return to their beefed-up, chiseled physiques.
Once the world sees how potent and irresistibly sexy they are, they’ll be propositioned, chased, objectified, and idolized. How will they handle that?
Adultery runs in the family.
My face burns, and my ears pressurize.
Oh, the irrational fears of a scorned woman.
I have a long way to go to rebuild my confidence, but I will, despite the hard truth staring back at me.
I’m not the sweet, healthy, fresh-faced girl I was nine months ago. That girl died in the hills, and a battle-hardened, half-starved, bloodthirsty woman rose in her place.
A woman with a lot of baggage.
Which makes Monty’s obsession with me suspicious and worrisome.
He kept all my things in his bedroom like some love-sick widower, only to set up a room for me to share with my lovers.
I can’t make sense of it.
The man I married is an over-the-top, jealous, possessive male who always gets what he wants.
Evidently, he wanted me on that plane badly enough to agree to our sleeping arrangements.
I’m no longer his to share, but that’s precisely what he’s doing.
He’s sharing me with his brother and his nephew.
It’s fucked-up.
Deep down, I hope his intentions are genuine. If his generosity is steeped in a need for atonement, or even if it’s a harmless obsession with the woman he lost, I can deal with that. Or rather, a therapist can help him deal with it.
But if there’s something else driving him, something malicious and evil…
No. I can’t accept that. The man has his faults, but he’s not Denver.
Among the bathroom supplies, I don’t find any condoms, lubes, or performance enhancers. Thank God. That would cross the line of acceptance and make it really fucking weird.
In the drawer, I find the ointment that Kody needs for the burns on his leg.
Overwhelmed once again by Monty’s thoughtfulness, I reach for the perfume and spray it on my wrist.
The scent explodes in my memories before it reaches my nose—a balance of sweetness and tartness, fruity and floral, with a bloom of cherry as the top note.
Cherry perfume might be the sexiest fragrance in existence, and Monty loved to inhale it from my skin.
As I return the bottle to the counter, a click snaps my head to the doorway.
Standing just outside the bathroom, Kody holds his phone low, the camera lens angled at me, with his coal-black eyes focused on the screen.
“Did you just take a picture of me?”
“More than one, woman. You’re my favorite feature on this thing.” He turns the phone, revealing a photo of me bent over the bathroom sink. It’s a picture of my ass.
“Delete that.”
“Never.” He pockets the device and prowls toward me.
Those jeans cling to his hips, accentuating the leanness of a man who survived for months on rations. His bare chest ripples with defined muscles honed by the physical demands he endured. Every sharp line and sinewy curve represent his raw, wild resilience.
What a gorgeous, compelling creature. With mussy, finger-raked hair and a dark shadow of stubble covering his jaw, he strikes an imposing silhouette.
His boots, heavy and untied, add a ruggedness to his gait. And the way his body moves, fluid yet powerful, hints at the fiercely controlled violence that snarls inside him, waiting to be unleashed.
The bathroom is too small for him, especially with all that lethal energy he’s packing.
A thrum ignites across my skin as he crowds me against the counter. Gripping my hips, he spins me to face the mirror. His hand goes to my hair, gathering it over my shoulder as he buries his nose in my neck.
The rock-hard inferno of his towering frame licks along my back. He leans closer, letting me feel the heavy, fully erect beast between his legs.
I flatten my hands on the counter, bracing for whatever he has planned.
He sucks on my neck, deliberately leaving hickeys before brushing that hot mouth along my shoulder and down my arm. When he reaches my elbow, he lifts my wrist and brings it to his nose, scenting the mist of perfume.
“You smelled like this when you came to Hoss.” He lowers my arm and releases a slow breath. “You still have feelings for him.”
“Not on purpose.” I meet his intimidating gaze in the mirror. “Please, don’t look at me like that. They’re not good feelings, okay?”
Those eyes, broody and black as night, hold mine with a penetrating intensity that borders on intrusive. I can’t hide from this man. Not that I want to, but dammit, it’s exhausting to be so exposed and open to scrutiny.
“You’re entitled to have feelings.” He slides his hands around my waist. “Three days ago, you were starving in the Arctic, and Monty was a cheating husband with a fake name who rejected your baby. Now you’re in his house, and his side of the story makes everything more complicated.”
“I don’t want to be this angry. But I’m afraid to not be angry because that means I feel other things for him, and that’s a betrayal to you.” I swallow. “I won’t betray you, Kody.”
“I know. I can feel you.” His fingers dip beneath my waistband and free the button. “I see you, all of you, and I’m still here, not to judge but to protect and love. I find deep beauty in the parts of you that others can’t see.” He pushes his fingers inside my undies, cupping me. “I’m addicted to your strength.”
“I long for a day when I don’t have to be strong. Strength has drained me. I don’t want to be praised for enduring. I want tenderness and peace. I crave a softer path, a gentler life, that asks nothing of my toughness.”
“You think that’s what you want, but you won’t settle for it. You’ll go to sleep tonight and wake rested tomorrow, ready to fight again. Not because you must but because that’s who you are. You don’t give up.”
“Maybe. But I’m tired, Kody. Tired of being scared. Tired of fighting every day. I’m ready to fast-forward to the epilogue where we live happily ever after.”
“And miss out on our adventurous life together?”
“I think we’ve had enough adventures for several lifetimes.”
“Epilogues are boring.”
“Not ours.” I wriggle my ass against his erection. “Ours will be nonstop sex.”
He rumbles a deep, vibrating sound in the most arousing, primal way. I tremble in the echo of it.
The reflections of our gazes hold fast as he slowly opens my zipper.
“How’s your leg?” I ask.
“The pain I’m feeling isn’t in my leg.” He caresses his hands along my hips and beneath the denim, guiding my jeans and underwear down, down, down my legs, and off, taking my socks, too.
He lowers to his haunches behind me, his nose trailing up between my thighs until his teeth close around my ass cheek in a claiming bite.
The pain awakens me, setting me on fire. My legs shake. My back arches. Then his nose is there, buried between my legs, smelling me. Of course, he is, and I’m fucking here for it.
I whimper as he tongues me from behind, delving past swollen flesh, parting me, and sinking deep with languid circles. Each curling lick feels like worship. Every thrust of that strong tongue focuses on my pleasure.
His fingers join in, slowly massaging my clit as he feeds. I squirm and gasp, my inner thighs slick with my arousal.
Another gasp, drowned by a masculine groan against my pussy. Then he devours me with vicious indulgence as if desperate to swallow my climax.
I give it to him, crying out and flooding his tongue as I peak.
Warm, shimmering waves crash over me as he rises and spins me to face him.
Rough hands yank off my shirt. My bra hits the floor next.
Once I’m completely naked, his mouth crashes over mine, the taste of my pussy on his tongue. He kisses me the way he kissed me to orgasm. Intimately. Aggressively. Hungrily.
When we come up for air, the room spins. My lips throb, and my body drips with desire.
“Fuck.” I grip his hips for balance. “Goddamn, Kody.”
“Hold on.” He moves me to the wall between the counter and the doorway.
I slump against it, nude and buzzing with the remnants of my release. He takes one step back and reclines against the opposite wall.
At some point, he opened the zipper on his jeans, making room for the unnatural creation between his legs. A bead of precome clings to the tip.
With his shoulder blades braced against the wall, his boots planted wide, and his massive cock jutting from the open V of his jeans, he runs a hand through his rumpled hair, looking for all the world like a sculpted, immortal sex god.
Mine .
I’m going to fuck him until he can’t move.
He smirks, and Lord Jesus help me, it’s such a rare thing to see on those gorgeous, pouty lips. I could come again just from the sight of it.
I let my hand fall to my pussy, my fingers caressing the ache.
He wags his head. “Let me look at you. Spread your legs.”
I widen my stance, and my God, does he look. There isn’t an inch of me he doesn’t touch, caress, and violate with the phantom fingers of his gaze.
My blood sings. “I love you.”
“Know what happens when you say that to a caveman?”
I laugh.
He scowls.
As if our very lives rest upon that question, he closes the distance and shows me.