25 - Leonid
25
Leonid
—
The cool night air kisses my skin as I stroll through the seaport, the stars emerging one by one, illuminating the dark Alaskan sky.
It’s been a day of ups and downs, a rollercoaster of power struggles and transitions—clashing with Monty, operating a yacht, driving a car, fending off women, touring a distillery, and watching Kody pursue his dream.
But at the end of the day, it all circles back to Frankie. She’s our binding force. The spark that freed us from Hoss. The reason we strive to be more than our scars.
I pick up my pace.
Monty’s yacht looms ahead, bigger and grander than all the others in the quiet harbor. Its sleek lines and multiple decks glisten in the moonlight, guarded by two burly men in dark suits.
Their eyes track my approach. I give them a nod as I board, adjusting to the sway beneath my feet.
I find her on the bridge deck, sitting in the shadow of the overhang with a tall, attractive man.
Dr. Rhett Howell.
Good. I wanted to meet him. Hopefully, he won’t give me a reason to smash his pretty face.
They can’t see me in the unlit cabin as I draw near, allowing me a few seconds to observe them undetected.
Scrubs cling to his athletic frame, his hair meticulously styled. His forearms flex as he talks with his hands.
Her head tips to the side as she listens, her shoulders slightly hunched. Every so often, her eyes dart left to right, clouding with a strange wariness.
What the fuck is he telling her that’s putting her on edge?
I step onto the deck.
Spotting me, she jumps up, and some of the tension lifts from her features. Until she cranes her neck and realizes I’m alone.
“I left Kody and Monty behind. Needed to check on you.” I erase the space between us and nudge up her chin, examining her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She brushes me off. “This is Dr. Rhett Howell. Rhett, this is Leo.”
“Nice to finally meet you.” He stands, offering a hand. “Frankie speaks highly of you.”
I squeeze his grip firmly, dissecting his body language, delving for artifice.
“I have to say, Frankie wasn’t exaggerating.” He chuckles, releasing my hand. “With your amazing hair and that death stare, you’re a full-throttle version of a Viking god.” He swallows. “Magnificent.”
I release a vibrating, gravel-roughened sound that drains the color from his face.
“Thank you for staying, Rhett.” She sidles between us, putting her back to me. “I’m sorry I kept you.”
“Anything for a friend.” He waves her off, his gaze creeping back to me. “Besides, it’s not every day I get to meet a bona fide Tarzan of the Arctic.”
What the fuck?
I grip her waist and tug her against me. Her spine stiffens against my abdomen as I hold her in place with a hand on her collarbone. Watching him closely, I note the way he tracks where I touch her.
She didn’t tell him we’re together.
I don’t know whether to be pissed off or worried.
Something’s wrong with her, something skittish and troubled, shivering the frenetic air around her. Her hands fidget at her sides, fingers clutching at invisible lifelines, and sweat beads along her hairline, glistening like dew.
Every twitch in her body sets my instincts on edge.
Rhett seems oblivious. “I should get going. Early shift tomorrow. It was a pleasure, Leo.”
I don’t acknowledge him, my attention locked onto Frankie.
He steps off the yacht, his departure as unremarkable as his presence.
“What happened?” I spin her in my arms and touch her trembling chin and bloodless lips. “What did he do?”
Her eyes widen, pupils as dark as the polar night, leaping from shadow to shadow.
“Nothing.” She pulls away, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “I’m just tired.”
“Look at me when you lie to me.”
Those beautiful lashes lift, revealing a terrified expression that rips open my chest.
Backing away, she rubs her brow, her voice a broken whisper. “I need to lie down.”
The sensation of wrongness burrows deeper, chilling my blood.
“You apologized to Rhett for keeping him here.” I advance on her. “Why?”
“He’s a busy man.” She grabs her phone from the table and pads into the cabin. “I held him up, chatting about work.”
“You’re lying.” I stay with her, my eyes narrowing. “I know something’s wrong. Talk to me.”
She hasn’t asked about our driving lessons or why Kody isn’t here. Her breath comes shallow and fast, each exhale a ghostly gust in the silent harbor.
The tightness in my chest increases, feeding on her fear.
Without another word, she strides away, her steps hurried and unsteady. I chase her through the main cabin, passing the security guards, who exchange glances.
“Frankie.” I release a sharp exhale, the promise of confrontation escaping my lips. “Come back here.”
She stops abruptly, her back to me, her shoulders quivering. “You don’t understand. There are things…things you don’t know.”
“Then help me understand.” I capture her arm. “Fucking tell me.”
She turns, her eyes stark with alarm, pricking at my heart as she places her small hand over my mouth, silencing me.
I follow her line of sight to the ceilings, the windows, the doors.
Does she think someone’s watching us? Listening?
I take a closer look around the cabin, my scrutiny growing sharper, wilder, cutting through the haze of panic.
She angles away, her walls snapping back into place. Her jaw sets firmly, muscles tensing as if to lock away words she refuses to free.
Then she’s on the move again, rushing down the hall toward the sleeping cabins.
My pulse thunders as I prowl after her, unhurried, letting her think she’s escaped me. I don’t need to see her to know which turns she takes. Her intoxicating scent tugs on my every breath, pulling me with her.
Her trail leads to the first guest cabin. I sweep inside and lock the door.
The soft click magnifies the pressure in the air. She moves with urgency, her eyes scanning every corner of the tiny room, her feet barely touching the floor as she searches the walls, ceilings, and mattress.
“Frankie.” Worry ravages me as I watch her. “It’s clean. I already swept the entire yacht this morning. There are no cameras.”
“Are you sure?” She freezes, clutching her phone to her chest, her features contorted with indecision.
“Without a doubt. What happened?”
Whoever frightened her will feel the full force of my goddamn wrath.
Hauling a gulp of air into her lungs, she unlocks her phone and hands it to me.
The screen opens to a conversation with an unknown number.
Cold dread pummels my insides as I read the messages.
The cryptic insinuations, the threats, every twisted text preys on her fears. And the last message…
Who am I? I think you know. We share the same heart of frost and scars.
It triggers an unwanted image of Denver’s cruel smile in his video, resonating with the same dark undertones of his riddle.
Hell, some of those words—heart, frost, scars—were in the riddle.
My stomach drops like a block of ice as I lower to the bed, trying to tamp down my rising fury. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was afraid this person would hurt you.” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried to ask you about Monty, about his phone.”
“Monty was on his phone most of the afternoon.” I rack my brain, trying to piece together the timing.
“Did he use different phones? A burner might look smaller or cheaper.”
“I don’t remember.” All these gadgets look the same to me, and the day’s events blur together.
“What if it’s him? I didn’t alert the guards because they work for him.” She makes a keening sound, her face crumpling. “What if he’s behind this?”
“Hey, hey.” I toss her phone aside, hook an arm around her waist, and pull her onto my lap, positioning her to straddle me. “We don’t know if it’s him.”
The possibility wrings my gut with sickening dread. Monty, the man who should protect her above all else, the man who has everything except the one thing he wants.
If he’s terrorizing her…
My breath snarls and seethes, gathering strength, the precursor to a raging storm about to break. Heat surges through my veins, my fists clenching against her lower back.
I can’t lose control. She needs me to be calm, to be her anchor.
Closing my eyes, I mentally bottle the storm, each ragged breath pushing it down. With each slow exhale, I will my heartbeat to steady, each beat shoving me away from the precipice. The snarl fades. The seethe ebbs. I bury it deep where it won’t consume me.
“Where’s Kody?” She places a clammy palm on my cheek, shaking on my lap.
“He’s with Monty at Tipsy Sailor.” I draw a finger down her cheek, tracing the rigid line of her jaw. “They’re negotiating with the owner. Monty is trying to buy it for Kody.”
As I explain the tour of the distillery and conversation with Pilip, her eyes widen with fresh terror, the panic building.
“He’s alone with Monty.” A tremor runs through her, driving her fingernails into my shoulders. Her breathing quickens, short and shallow gasps chopping her words. “What if that was Monty’s plan all along? To get Kody alone?”
“Frankie.” I take her face in my hands, trying to catch her gaze. “Look at me.”
“We have to call Kody. Warn him.” Her eyes dart around the room, unfocused and frantic. “No, wait. We can’t. Monty would know I told you. If Kody leaves, Monty will know. He might try to hurt him.”
This woman. This brave, stunning, stubborn goddamn woman.
She held herself together for the past couple of hours, talking to Rhett while pretending she didn’t have threatening messages on her phone. She maintained her composure throughout the evening, refusing to call and put us in danger.
She dealt with it without freaking out.
Until now.
Not because she fears for her own life but because she’s worried about Kody.
I should redden her ass for choosing to protect us over herself.
“Listen to me.” I hold her head, forcing her gaze on mine. “Kody is a mean son of a bitch. He smells danger coming from a mile away.”
She’s not listening, too panicked to process what I’m telling her, the hysteria coming in too strong.
Her chest heaves rapidly as she clenches her teeth, trying to keep it together, but the signs are there. Her fingers scrape against my skin, her body tensing like a coiled spring ready to snap.
“Eyes on me.” I harden my tone, sounding harsher than I intend. “Breathe with me, love.”
She finally obeys, the liquid depths of her gaze swimming with fear, pupils dilated, her face devoid of color.
“We’ll figure this out.” I wrap my arms around her trembling body, pulling her pelvis tightly against mine. “Right now, you need to breathe. Focus on me.”
Her heart pounds against my chest, her breathing erratic, falling apart.
“Feel me.” I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her mouth, trying to calm her.
Her lips open against mine, soft and pliant, but the tension in her posture remains.
“Breathe in. And out.” With my mouth against hers, I breathe with her, for her, ordering her lungs over and over again until she matches my rhythm.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper between kisses and breaths.
“How? How will it be okay?”
“Don’t know yet, but I’m working on it. Need you to trust me.”
She clings to my neck, her fingers stabbing my back, her nerves fraying and breaking. Tears swell in her eyes, the bitter tang of her fear piercing the air.
My heart panics at the sight of her in pain. The chance this might escalate into a full-blown panic attack tears at me.
Emotions bubble up in her chest, pushing against the back of her throat, choking her. She wheezes, clawing at my neck.
“No, no, stay with me.” I kiss her again, deeper this time, hungrier, more demanding.
Her inhale untangles. Her exhale detaches from her airway, and slowly, she begins to breathe, to respond, her lips moving against mine.
A moment later, she melts into me, parting her mouth with a sigh that I consume and conquer.
I’m no longer kissing her to console her. My tongue thrusts in a rhythm that heats and seduces. But I don’t know who’s seducing whom.
Straddling my hips, she gently rocks on my lap. Her hands grip my face. And her mouth. Her gorgeous fucking mouth eats at mine.
My cock stiffens, pushing at my zipper, and her nipple pearls under the heat of my palm.
No bra.
As she thaws beneath my caresses and moans against my lips, a thousand dirty fantasies flash through my mind. A lifetime of sinful things I want to do to her. But we have more than just one night.
We have forever, and even that won’t be enough time with her.
“Arms up.” I lift her dress, pulling it over her head and off.
The sight of her naked form, all that snowy white flesh, wrenches a groan from my throat. I reach for her, desperate to map every flawless inch with my mouth and hands.
She reaches for me at the same time, stripping my shirt and opening my jeans. I shift, rolling us to the bed in a tangle of tongues and limbs.
Lying beneath me, she trails a fingernail down the center of my chest to the scar on my abs. I take her hand and kiss the pads of her fingers. No plastic claws or razor-sharp tips on my girl. Instead, she wears callouses, tiny scars, and patches of healed frostbite like badges of her survival in the harshest winter.
She isn’t shaped like the women in the bar. My redhead vixen is smaller than every person here with tits that barely fill my mouth. But where she lacks in size, she more than makes up for in grit and ferocity.
I love her madly, immeasurably, incomprehensibly, beyond the point of pain.
Setting my mouth in the dip of her quivering tummy, I cage her in, one hand beside her head and the other next to her waist. Then I lick the succulent pathways of her beautiful body.
No words pass between us. No dirty talk. No soulful declarations. Just eye contact. That’s all we need as I wander in the gentle hollows and shadowy valleys of her soft skin, my teeth nipping, my lips worshiping.
When I reach the white lace between her legs, I yank it up like a string through her folds, exposing flesh that feels like lips against my tongue.
The fabric grows wet, from my mouth, from her cunt. With one hard yank, I rip away her underwear, tossing the ruined scraps.
Settling in, I don’t just lick her. I feast on her, messy and loud, releasing a vibration of groans that tells her she has the most delicious pussy in existence.
“I’m so close.” She shudders and writhes against my face. “Don’t stop.”
That’s exactly what I do. I pull back and climb up her body, pushing down my jeans as I go.
“Wha—?” She pants, eyes wild. “What are you doing?”
“You’re coming with me.” My cock jerks against her inner thigh, dripping with anticipation. “Together.”
I want to fuck her into oblivion, mark her with my bites on her neck for all the world to see.
But not tonight.
Tonight, she needs solace, succor, and languorous love-making.
“Okay.” She palms my ass and squeezes my hips with her thighs. “Together.”
“Open for me.” I position myself at her entrance, my legs shaking with restraint. “Take as much as you can.”
I push in, just the tip, and she clenches so hard I’m locked in purgatory.
“Fuck.” I grunt, trying to go deeper. “Let me slide it in, Frankie. Let me in.”
She whimpers and widens her legs. “You guys and your oversized dicks.”
I ease out and slowly, gently work myself in, stroking with short, shallow thrusts until I bottom out with a guttural grunt.
She liquefies around my cock as if the feel of me inside her brings the deepest relief.
Softly, languidly, I stroke in and out. At this pace, I feel her everywhere, every pulse, every precious inch. She moans into my mouth, yielding to the heavy friction and bending beneath my weight.
“Feels so fucking good. Come here.” I sit back on my heels and tug her toward me. “You’re so fucking hot.”
Pressing a hand to her belly, I feel my hardness moving inside her, against my hand, slow, slower, achingly perfect. A gentle glide, so wet and effortless despite the squeezing tight fit.
“You were made for this cock.” I push deeper, swelling harder, hissing past my teeth. “Your pussy’s so warm. So wet. Yeah, pulse around me. Just like that. Fuuuuck.”
With each long, luxurious thrust, I revel in the warm, swarming power of it. I don’t need to ram my way in. Her body knows me, opens for me, and allows me to make space without causing her pain or discomfort.
“I’m so happy when I’m inside you.” Moaning, slow and lazy, I ride, the world outside forgotten, all fears put on hold, dominated by slick, drugging pleasure. “I feel alive when I fuck you. Ahhhh, God. Fuck, yes.”
Finding her hands, I restrain them against the bed above her head, wrist to wrist, making her feel every tunneling plunge as I grind against her clit.
She plants a foot on the mattress and hooks her other leg around my hip, lifting into me, meeting my painstakingly slow rhythm, and spiking my pleasure into the cosmos.
“Leo.” Gasping, she pins me with those soulful green eyes. “I’m close.”
I cup her face, fingers stroking her temple, and finish her off.
Our love, our connection, our divine sexual chemistry—all of it culminates in a synchronized eruption of spasms, goosebumps, and glittery, groaning relief.
“I’m going to fuck my come into you.” My mind fractures as lightning races through my body, shooting shockwaves to every limb. “Fuck, Frankie. Fuck!”
I groan, long and loud, collapsing on her, reeling, twitching, shattered to my soul.
Aftershocks ripple through her cunt, squeezing my cock, compelling me to thrust a few more times. I devour her mouth in sloppy, breathless kisses until we’re empty and listless. Then I roll off her.
“Thank you.” Panting, she stares at the ceiling and blindly reaches for my hand. “Thank you for coming back for me, for being here.”
“I’ll always come for you.” I lift her fingers to my mouth, kissing them and grinning. “My filthy, sloppy wet, come-filled girl.”
Her laughter fades into a sigh. “The thing is you’re not just here when life is beautiful. You show up when it’s completely falling apart and make it beautiful again.”
She is life, and she’s always beautiful, even when she’s falling apart. Anything less than this inspiring, heart-shaped, purely sacred woman isn’t a life at all.
But as I put us both back into our clothes and pocket her shredded underwear, the shadows of reality creep back in.
The threat is still out there, and our struggles are far from over.