Chapter 9
STONE
After his shower, Stone pulled on a clean shirt and sweatpants, then returned to the kitchen. Frankie looked up from her mug, and when she swept her eyes over him, his damn heart skipped a beat.
“How’s the food?” he asked, keeping it casual.
She nodded. “Great. Thanks. You make the stew yourself?”
“Of course. You want more?”
She gave a small smile and cradled the coffee mug between both hands. “No thanks, I’m good.”
A beat stretched between them as he stirred the stew on the stove with a wooden spoon.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
He cocked an eyebrow.
I can think of one thing. The two of us getting naked, for starters.
Shoving that thought straight into the mental incinerator, he ladled himself a bowl of stew. “Aren’t you tired? I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. You must be the same.”
“Yeah, I guess, but I’m wired. And it’s still daylight.”
He glanced at the clock on the oven, it was just past midday. It felt much later.
“Not sure I could sleep even if I tried,” she said.
He nodded. “Adrenaline’s still running the show. You’ll crash soon enough. Me too.”
A flicker crossed her eyes. Sadness maybe, or confusion. Finally, she nodded. "Probably."
He took a few bites, watching her stare into her coffee like it might offer answers to questions she wasn’t ready to voice out loud.
Questions circled in his own head too. He wanted to know so many things about Frankie, but they were too personal and too fucking soon. No point probing if it just made her shut down or fire up at him again.
So he asked, “How’s your ankle?”
“Fine,” she said, flashing a defiant gaze at him.
He’d seen that look on soldiers, survivors, and people who didn’t know how to ask for help or felt that getting help revealed weakness. Frankie belonged in that club. He knew that mantra. He lived by it too. But this was different. Frankie was different.
He finished eating, dropped the bowl into the sink, and then crouched to pull out the first aid kit from the lower cabinets. Without a word, he set the kit on the counter and peeled the lid open.
“What are you doing?” she asked, drilling a frown onto her brow.
Without a reply, he came around to her side of the island.
“Stone,” she said, voice wary, “what are you—?”
He placed his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the counter in one smooth move. “Sit.”
“Hey.” She tried to shove him away, but it was reflex more than resistance.
He gently cupped her injured ankle, and when he raised her leg, he exhaled sharply. “Jesus, Frankie.”
The deep purple bruise had spread like an oil slick, and angry swelling covered her ankle bone.
“I told you I was fine.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” He met her eyes. “Now sit still.”
She huffed. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
His treacherous heart skipped a beat.
“Can you move your foot?” he asked, fighting a grin, but it was hopeless. Grinning felt good.
She moved her foot up and down, side to side. “See. All good.”
“I don’t think it’s fractured,” he said.
“Told you.”
“But you may have torn a ligament or something,” he added. “I’m putting strapping on, but as soon as you can, you should get that looked at.”
“Yeah, well, I’m busy.”
He set her foot on his thigh, bracing her calf with one hand and rotating her ankle gently with the other. She hissed through her teeth but didn’t pull away.
“You should stay off this for a while.”
She gave him a sassy grin. “You planning to carry me everywhere?”
Hell yeah.
He cleared his throat. “If I have to.”
Her smile faded. Their eyes locked.
The air seemed to shift, like a goddamned pressure change before a storm. His senses sharpened the way they did before an op went hot. Everything heightened: the soft sound of her breathing, the scent of his soap on her skin, the way her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat.
She leaned toward him, close enough for him to inhale her incredible scent. She licked her lips. Not a tease, he didn't think, but an unconscious gesture. His heart boomed in his chest. His focus narrowed to just her. A fierce primal need thundered in his groin. A desire he'd locked down years ago.
Her eyes softened, darkened. She leaned closer.
Or maybe he did.
Their lips met.
This wasn’t a tentative kiss that could be dismissed as a mistake. This was deliberate. Devastating. She kissed him with a ferocity that matched the fire in her eyes earlier. Hot. Fast. No hesitation.
Her hands scraped through his hair, nails against his scalp, dragging him closer with an urgency that had his cock pulsing. She shifted on the kitchen counter, parting her legs so he could step between them, the movement drawing him into the heat radiating from her body.
He gripped her waist, pressing his fingers into the soft fabric of her shirt, feeling the strong, lean curves beneath. Her body was dangerous in all the right ways. When he slid his hand under the hem, her skin was warm and impossibly smooth.
She tugged his shirt up with impatient hands.
Breaking the kiss, he pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, tossed it aside, and claimed her mouth again.
Their breaths mingled, and her hot tongue glided against his like they’d been kissing for years.
No hesitation, no awkward adjustments. Just fucking amazing.
He swept his hands up the sides of her torso, feeling each rib and each subtle shift of muscle as she pressed against him. His thumbs edged toward the swell of her breasts he’d seen beneath her shirt, those curves that had distracted him despite his best attempts to remain neutral.
She made a sound low in her throat, not quite a moan, more like a demand, and pulled back just enough to strip off her own shirt in one frantic motion.
Her body was better than any images his mind had attempted.
A constellation of faint scars marked her olive skin, and he wanted to map every inch of her body.
Her breasts were smaller than he’d imagined, yet high and firm and absolutely perfect.
Her dusty pink nipples tightened under his gaze, and a small, faded scar curved beneath her left breast. That mark intrigued him more than the rest. He wanted to know the story behind it.
To kiss every bump and groove and swell of her incredible flesh.
Blood rushed to his groin with enough force to make his head swim, but his brain threw up a red flag. This is a bad idea. His body steamrolled the warning, though, and his need for her overrode his damn objections.
Frankie cleared her throat, and her eyes were filled with such raw desire, his breath hitched. “Don’t overthink it, Stone.”
Her voice was husky and sexy but carried that same defiance that had drawn him to her from the start. She looked at him like she’d already hacked his brainwaves and seen right through the mental debate paralyzing him.
Her chest rose with a big breath, pushing her boobs toward him like an invitation to surrender. He couldn’t hold back a moment more.
Definitely a bad idea. But for once, he didn’t listen.
He lifted her onto his chest, and as he crushed his lips to hers, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her thighs gripped him with surprising strength.
He carried her to his room and lowered her to the mattress with a gentleness that felt foreign to him.
He reached to yank the curtains partially closed, blocking the harsh midday sun while still allowing the golden light to spill across the bed; just enough to see every perfect inch of her in the honey-colored glow.
His breath trapped in his chest as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and underwear, easing them down her body.
His gaze skimmed over the small, faded scar below her navel, the soft, dark curls nestled between her thighs, the lean curve of her hips, and the powerful line of her thighs.
She kicked her clothes free and lay back, completely bare, completely real, and ready for him with an unashamed confidence that stole the air from his lungs. Her raw femininity made his cock so damn hard, it pounded against his pants like a jackhammer threatening to punch a hole through the fabric.
He tore off his clothes in a flash, kicking them away without breaking his gaze from the gorgeous woman in his bed. Frankie’s stunning green eyes cruised up his body like flames licking his flesh.
She parted her legs, just a fraction, in a silent invitation that was a full-blown starting trigger in his head.
He lowered his body beside her, claiming her mouth while his hand found the curve of her hip, sliding inward.
She parted her knees wider, giving him room to explore her hot zone.
She was fire in his hands, arching, demanding, pulling him closer still.
When his fingers found the slick heat between her thighs, she broke their kiss and her eyes locked on his and glazed with an unashamed demand that drove him fucking crazy.
As he glided his finger into her velvet folds, she held his gaze with unflinching intensity, lifting her hips to deepen his thrust. They moved together in sync.
He increased his pace, thrusting harder and faster as his thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves that had her gasping and writhing beside him.
He curled his fingers inside her, searching for that hidden spot that would shatter her control.
He found his target, and a sharp gasp released from her throat as she surrendered her body to him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head tilted back against the pillow, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat.
Gasps of raw, glorious pleasure spilled from her lips like he’d never witnessed before.
The unfiltered, unrestrained sounds bypassed his ears and went straight to his cock.
Frankie laid herself bare, offering her body to him in waves of warmth that spilled around his fingers again and again, her inner muscles clenching and releasing in rhythmic pulses.