Chapter 9
Luciano
I’m not usually impatient. When it comes to my pranks at least, I’ve got the patience of a saint. Some of them take weeks to pull off, and I never rush. Timing is everything.
So yeah—patience? I’ve mastered it.
Just… not today.
Today, I’m done waiting because there’s no damn way I’m letting Mother Superior’s golden girl throw her life away on vows that she isn’t even sure she wants.
Frankie said it herself—she doesn’t have all the facts. And if that’s the case, she can’t possibly make a decision that permanent.
Look, I might have a bone-deep grudge against nuns, but I don’t hate Frankie. She drives me up the wall, sure. Gets under my skin, absolutely. Always has a comeback, always challenges me, and makes me a little unhinged at times… check, check, and triple-check. But I wouldn’t wish a celibate life on my worst enemy. Let alone on a girl who hasn’t even had a real taste of living yet. Who the hell signs up for that?
Sister Agnes said I should work on being more charitable. Well, fine. Consider this my good deed for the year—saving Frankie O’Malley from making the biggest mistake of her life.
I’m already at the St. Mary’s fountain, kids buzzing past me like gnats, but no sign of Frankie.
Fuck.
Don’t tell me she’s going to bail on me again. No way in hell I’m letting that happen.
I pull out my phone and tap the location app I may or may not have secretly installed on her phone.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Borderline stalker behavior. But after getting stood up once, I wasn’t about to let it happen to me a second time.
When the screen loads, I frown. She’s in the damn chapel.
Instead of meeting me like she said she would, she’s spending time with God? The actual hell is that about?
Jaw tight, I make a beeline for the chapel. And there she is—Frankie—standing next to none other than my twin. And because the universe clearly hates me, Father Torres and Mother Superior are also there.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I stride up to them like I own the place, brushing past their surprised faces without a second thought.
“Luciano,” Father Torres says, blinking at me. “Are you here for confession as well?”
I let out a short bark of laughter. “Confession? Nah, Father. My sins would take way too long to list. You’d have to cancel your afternoon for ‘em.”
“Then why are you here?” Sister Margaretta asks, eyeing me as if I were a cockroach she’d love to squash under her shoe.
“I was looking for Frankie. We have a study session,” I remind her since she was the one who blackmailed me into this arrangement.
“Yes, I’m quite aware.” Her tone is sharp. “Unfortunately, vocation and faith come first. Frances needs absolution, and Father Torres is going to give it to her.”
My jaw tics with the way Frankie’s head continues to be bowed, not looking at me.
“Absolution for what?”
Frankie shifts uncomfortably. “The sin of gluttony.”
I stare at her. “Explain.”
She lets out a disgruntled sigh before her blue eyes meet mine.
“I overate this morning at breakfast, and Mother Superior reminded me that we should only eat to nourish ourselves, not indulge.”
That’s it. I officially hate this woman.
“That’s bullshit,” I snap.
“Luciano!” Sister Margaretta gasps. “Language. You are in the house of God.”
I want to tell her to shove her God up her ass, but my brother grips my shoulder before I can open my mouth.
“Lucky, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” Enzo mutters, already steering me out of the chapel.
I glare as I watch Frankie disappear into the confessional with Father Torres.
As soon as we’re outside, I explode. “That was fucking bullshit, and you know it!”
“I know,” Enzo agrees. “But you’re on thin ice with Mother Superior as it is. You really want to get kicked out of school because you cursed in a church?”
“You’ve done way worse in that chapel,” I remind him.
“Yeah,” he grins, wiggling his brows. “And very recently, too.”
Dick.
I pinch the bridge of my nose just to cool myself down before I do something stupid.
“I know you’re worried about her, but Frankie is a big girl. She can handle herself.”
“How the fuck do you know?”
“She’s been handling you just fine these past few weeks, hasn’t she?” he jokes but then thinks better of it when he sees the rage in my eyes. “Chill, Lucky. Alejandro isn’t going to do anything bad to her. He’s just going to hear her out. That’s all confession really is. Free therapy.”
“Bullshit!” I holler. “That fucking nun forced her to come here for what? Because she ate more porridge than she was allowed?”
“Porridge?” Enzo repeats, confused. “Whatever. I think you need to walk it off. You’re not making any sense.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying, Enzo. That nun is brainwashing Frankie.”
“And what’s it to you?” my twin asks, his curiosity piqued
I grind my teeth, refusing to give him an answer. It’s not like I know why I suddenly want to burn the school’s chapel to the ground with Sister Margaretta in it. Instead, I shove my hands into my front pockets and turn away.
“Just tell Frankie I’m waiting for her at the parking lot when she’s done.”
Enzo stares at me, clearly dumbfounded, but doesn’t argue.
Maybe he’s right. Perhaps I shouldn’t be this pissed. And yet, here I am.
I get that people need something to believe in. I get that some find comfort in faith. But what I don’t get are all the rules. Who decides what makes someone ‘virtuous’ or ‘sinful’? Who gets to draw that line?
Everyone sins. Every single person on this earth breaks the rules in that little black book they preach from.
You know who has the longest-running book club in history? The Catholic fucking Church. And Frankie—bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, all fire and fight—is being groomed to believe she has to give up her life, her body, her sense of self, for some invisible man in the sky.
It makes zero sense to me. And I’m not sure it ever will.
Twenty minutes later, I finally catch a glimpse of her walking over to me.
I’m leaning against a tree a few feet away from my car, arms crossed, still stewing, though I’ve had enough time to cool down.
Mostly.
“You done?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
She nods, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her cardigan. “Yeah. Sorry for keeping you waiting.”
“Whatever.”
I grab her backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Wait. What are you doing?” she asks, eyes wide, flicking down to where our hands are joined.
“Making sure no one else interrupts our tutoring sessions.”
“And holding my hand is necessary for that?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t pull away. And I don’t let go.
I don’t need to hold her hand.
Hell, I didn’t even think about it.
Just did it. Because I wanted to.
And I always do what I want.
Mom says I’ve got impulse-control issues. I say it’s one of the side effects of being a Romano. We don’t wait around for permission—we act. No excuses. Just instinct. And apparently, holding hands with Frankie O’Malley just became the only instinct that has felt right this whole goddamn day to me.
We drive to Jude’s apartment in silence, neither of us in a hurry to acknowledge what just happened back at school.
It’s only when we step into the elevator that Frankie finally speaks. “I missed dinner last night,” she says, her voice quiet. “Woke up starving. Sister Margaretta saw me wolf breakfast down and thought I was binge eating.”
I frown. “Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“Because then I’d have to explain why I missed dinner in the first place.”
I lower my gaze to her face, watching her carefully. “And why did you miss dinner?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
My forehead creases for a second before the realization hits. “It was because of me, wasn’t it?” My smirk creeps in. “Because of our kiss?”
Frankie stiffens. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
That’s a yes.
She stayed up last night thinking about me. Couldn’t even muster to eat.
I fucking knew it.
“God, you’re vain,” she mutters when she sees my cocky grin plastered all over my face.
I shrug. “Been called worse.”
The elevator dings, and before I can needle her more, she rushes ahead toward Jude’s apartment.
I let her escape… for now.
When we step inside, I toss the keys onto the counter and turn to her.
“Settle in and try to knock out some of the exercises. I’ll be right back.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re just going to leave me here? Alone in your brother’s apartment?”
“Yeah. It’ll only be for, like, half an hour. Just enough time for you to get some homework done. You good with that?”
“Do I have another choice?” she snaps.
My lips curve into a lazy grin, handing her the bag with her books. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“You wish.”
I laugh at her sass before walking out the door.
I hurry with my errand because, knowing Frankie, she’s probably sitting there freaking out at the idea of being left alone in someone else’s home.
Less than half an hour later, I’m back, kicking the door closed behind me with two heavy paper bags in my grip.
“Little help here?”
Frankie looks up from her notebook, eyeing the bags suspiciously before getting up from the floor and taking one from my hands. “What is this?”
“Groceries.” I set the bags on the counter. “If you’re going to be skipping meals, then I’m going to make sure you eat before you leave.”
Her brows furrow. “I don’t intend on skipping meals anymore.”
“Oh, trust me. You will.” I wink.
If I have my way, Frankie will be skipping every dinner back at the orphanage for the foreseeable future.
She watches me warily as I put the food away, probably wondering what the hell I’m up to. I’m in no rush to tell her.
Instead, I walk back into the living room and grab her notebook.
Five equations. She got one right. An improvement.
“Come sit.” I pat the spot next to me. “Let’s go over these.”
For the next hour or so, we dive deep into her work. And for once, I can actually see her starting to grasp some of the fundamental concepts. Not everything, but enough for her to get a passing grade on any pop quiz Sister Agnes decides to pull on us.
“Enough,” she groans eventually, dropping her pencil onto the table. “My brain is fried. I can’t do this anymore.”
I glance at my watch. It’s a quarter to six.
“Then how about a snack?”
Frankie follows me into the kitchen, rubbing her temples, a clear sign that the previous exercises are doing her head in.
“I’m not a great cook, but I do make a mean mac and cheese with bacon,” I offer. “Or grilled cheese. Your choice.”
Her face lights up. “Mac and cheese sounds amazing right about now.”
“Mac and cheese it is.”
A few minutes later, she’s going to town on the food I prepared as if it were a five-star dish, not something that came out of a box. And for the life of me, I can’t look away.
It’s not just the way she eats. It’s the little fuck-me noises she makes that has me shifting in my seat. The way her eyelids flutter closed after each bite like she’s savoring every morsel. The way her tongue laps at the spoon, greedily licking it all up.
Okay. Two things I have learned in this small time frame. Watching Frankie eat has just become my dick’s favorite show to binge watch. And that she doesn’t suffer from the sin of gluttony—she’s a foodie. There’s a difference.
She appreciates the experience. The preparation, the presentation, and the act of eating. Mother Superior is a tyrant if she sees anything wrong with that.
“You know it’s rude to stare at people while they eat,” she murmurs between bites.
“Sorry.” I grin, not making an effort to look away.
“You’re still doing it.”
“You didn’t tell me to stop.”
“I told you it was rude.”
“And we’ve established that I am rude and don’t give two flying fucks about it.”
I prop my chin on my fist and lean in closer just so I don’t miss a single second of the best show on earth.
Frankie laughs, but when she takes another bite, she moans softly, savoring the taste, causing me to discreetly rearrange my hard-as-fuck shaft.
Her little wanton sounds are giving my cock ideas. Dangerous ideas.
“God, you’re such a weirdo,” she teases when she catches me staring at her mouth.
I arch a brow, feigning innocence. “Is that supposed to offend me?”
“Nope. Just pointing out the obvious.”
She flashes me a smile. Not just any smile, either. A genuine one. A smile I’ve never seen on her full, luscious lips before, which makes my chest tighten in tandem with my hardening cock.
Fucking hell.
Thankfully, I’ve got my hard-on under submission by the time she finishes.
As I’m about to ask her if she wants more, she grabs our plates with the intent of washing them. But before she can take them to the sink, I catch her wrist.
“Leave them.”
“You made the food,” she argues. “The least I can do is clean up.”
I tighten my grip just enough to make sure she listens. “Leave the plates, Frankie.” My voice drops a little lower. “I have a better idea of how you can thank me.”
“Hmm. How come I don’t like the sound of this?” She arches an eyebrow.
“Oh, you will.”
“I doubt it.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
She eyes me skeptically before nodding.
She shouldn’t. She really should not trust me.
As far as my intentions go, they’re anything but virtuous.
“Come on,” I say, threading my fingers through hers.
Again, she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t fight me. And when I lead her back into the living room, she follows, hand in hand with me.
Instead of sitting on the floor as usual, I drop onto the couch and tug her down beside me.
She eyes me warily and asks, “What is this?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I let my eyes roam her face, letting the weight of what I’m about to say sink in. “What happened today with Sister Margaretta,” I finally say, “was absolute bullshit, and you know it.”
“It is what it is. I can handle it.” She gives a crestfallen smile.
“Fuck that. It’ll only get worse once you take your vows.”
Something in her gaze flickers, like a brief moment of doubt, and I make sure to use it to my advantage.
“I’m supposed to be tutoring you, right?” I say, watching her carefully.
“Yeah…” she answers cautiously. “So?”
“So, I have a proposition.”
“Here it comes,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “What is it?”
“Well, like many subjects we learn in math, we need to know every variable before we can figure out the correct answer. The same logic can be applied to life.”
“Still not following.” She purses her lips, unimpressed.
“I want you to have all the facts before you make any lifelong decisions.”
“This is about me taking my vows after graduation again, isn’t it?”
“It is.” I nod, holding her gaze. “I can’t let you make that kind of commitment without having all the facts. What kind of tutor would I be if I let that happen?”
“The kind that minds his own fucking business,” she retorts, pushing off the couch.
Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t stand fast enough.
I grab her waist and yank her onto my lap, her sweet ass landing right where I want it.
“What the hell?!” she jerks, struggling in my grip. “Let me go, Lucky!”
“No. Not until you hear me out.”
“I said, let me go!”
She thrashes so much that I have to pin her arms behind her back just to keep her still.
“Will you calm the fuck down and just listen to me?” I order, my breath uneven.
Her eyes blaze with fury. “Then you’ll let me go?”
“Yes. I promise.”
She glares at me for a few seconds before she finally stops fighting. Her chest rises and falls as she huffs out her irritation, but she relaxes just enough in my lap.
“Can I at least sit back on the couch?”
“Nah,” I retort with a shark-like grin. “I think, for what I have in mind, you’re perfect right where you are.”
She stiffens. “I’m not… hurting you?”
If by hurting she means rubbing her sweet ass right against my once-again-hard dick, then yeah, I’m fucking dying over here.
“I’m fine,” I grit out, forcing my eyes to stay locked on hers instead of drifting lower.
Not to her mouth. Not to the way her skirt’s ridden up over her tights. Not to how perfectly her body is pressed against mine. Or the rise and fall of her chest, each breath making the buttons of her cardigan strain just a little more.
Focus, asshole. Look at her eyes.
However, when I do just that, I almost forget to breathe for one fleeting second.
Almost.
Because I’m not some pussy who gets lost in a girl’s eyes.
This isn’t about that. This is about saving her from throwing her life away. And, yeah, maybe it’s also about pissing off Sister Margaretta and tearing down the pedestal she put Frankie on. Can’t have her favorite little saint getting too cozy with a sinner like me.
“Now, as I was saying,” I continue, the timbre of my voice lowering, “I want you to have all the facts. You can’t take your vows if you haven’t experienced life yet. And let’s be real, Frankie, you haven’t even had a fraction of a life experience worth a damn.”
Her lips part, then press into a thin line. “And you’re going to give it to me?”
I have half a mind to tell her I’d love nothing more than to give it to her.
And by that, I mean my nine-inch dick. But, baby steps.
“I am.”
Her eyes hold mine, unblinking. “Okay… and what kind of life experience are we talking about?”
“I think it’s best we start with the basics.” I release my hold on her and let my fingers trail slowly up her spine. “Kissing first. And then we can move on from there… when you’re ready.”
She barks out a laugh. “Yeah, right. Like I’d ever fall for that.”
“That’s my offer,” I deadpan. “If you want me to keep tutoring you and make sure you pass calculus, then those are my terms.”
Her body goes rigid. “That’s blackmail.”
“No… that’s negotiation.”
“It’s fucking sexual harassment,” she counters, brows raised. “Like that terminology better, asshole? What’s stopping me from telling Sister Margaretta you’re trying to take advantage of me?”
“For me to take advantage of you, you would have to be an unwilling party. And Frankie, by the way you let me kiss you yesterday, you’re fucking willing. You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
“God, you’re a conceited prick.”
“But am I wrong?” Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t refute it either. “Besides, you’re not the only one who can tell Mother Superior a few things. I could tell her you kissed me first.”
Her eyes widen in alarm the minute the words fall from my lips.
Gotcha.
“You wouldn’t,” she all but stammers.
“Wouldn’t I?” I lean back against the couch, stretching my arms out lazily and giving her enough room to pull away from me at any time. “It’s up to you, Frankie. Your call.”
She chews her bottom lip, weighing her options, and asks, “How would this work?”
It’s hard to keep the smug grin off my face, but I manage.
Frankie might be teetering on the edge of saying yes to my plan, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t gladly rip me to shreds if I pushed the wrong button.
She’s got that fire-under-pressure energy, like a live wire wrapped in silk. Looks soft to the touch, but one wrong move and you’re fried.
Sure, we haven’t spent that much time together, but I know her. She’s a spark trapped in a powder keg—too sharp to tame, too bright to ignore. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to stay away. Perhaps that’s the reason I want to save her from herself.
“First, I tutor you, so you get your half of the bargain. Then I feed you so you don’t get in trouble with Mother Superior. And once you’ve been properly fed and tutored,” I say, trailing my fingers down her arm, “we move on to the second part of your education.”
“What if I don’t want to go any further than kissing?”
“Then we won’t.” I lift one shoulder. “But that means you’ll only have half the facts. Still, I’ll work with whatever you’re comfortable with. No pressure.”
She scoffs. “Funny way of saying that, considering I feel like you’re backing me into a corner.”
“I’m using leverage. That’s not the same.”
“From where I’m sitting, it sure feels the same.”
She shifts in my lap as if trying to make a point—hurt me, fluster me, something. All she does is remind me how fucking badly I want this to happen. How badly I want her. Even if it means being stuck in first base for the entirety of our so-called tutoring sessions.
“I could have all the leverage in the world, Frankie,” I say, keeping my voice low, “but if you really didn’t give a damn, none of it would work. No one can make you do something you don’t want to. So maybe the better question is,” I continue, tipping my head to the side, “do you want to?”
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when it hits her—there’s nothing keeping her here. Not my hands. Not my arms. Just her. She’s been sitting on my lap this whole time out of her own free will. And it takes me saying it for her to realize it.
“If I’m going to agree to this,” she says, hesitating for a split second, “I need to establish some ground rules.”
It’s fucking hard not to grin like the devil himself when I see her resolve cracking.
“I’d expect nothing less from you.”
“Whatever happens in this apartment stays in this apartment,” she warns with a firm tone. “You can’t use anything we do against me. Or tell anyone about it—especially Sister Margaretta.”
I lift a hand. “Cross my heart.”
“And that includes your twin. Telling Enzo anything about this is off-limits, too.”
“Discretion is my middle name.”
It’s not. It’s Giovanni—after my bio dad—but that’s neither here nor there.
I don’t keep secrets from Enzo either, so that rule I’m definitely breaking. But for now, I can hold my tongue.
“Also,” she continues, dead serious, “you’re not allowed to do anything I don’t ask you to do first. I call the shots on what I want to experience.”
“Fair enough.”
“And this has an expiration date.” She levels me with a glare. “The minute I have my grades high enough to graduate, I’m pulling the plug on this.”
“As you should,” I reply smoothly.
However, I hate the way that sits in my chest. Knowing there’s a countdown on whatever this is doesn’t sit right with me for some reason.
“One more thing.” She nibbles on her lip. “Don’t make fun of me.”
Something sharp twists in my gut at the sudden vulnerability in her light cerulean eyes.
I pull myself up and snake my hand around the nape of her neck, my thumb grazing her cheek. Her breath hitches at the light touch while I hold her stare.
“I would never do that.” It’s a vow. And I never break my vows. Mostly because I rarely make such promises, but in this case, it’s one that will be easy to keep. “Can I ask why you think I’d make fun of you?”
“You’d be surprised what people are capable of when they have the upper hand in life.”
“Not me, Frankie. You know I’m no good.” I lean in slightly, my voice dropping an octave. “I never hid that from you. But you’ve never heard a single thing about me teasing or bullying anyone. That’s not my style.”
“You bully me all the time.” She lifts her chin, eyes slit. “It’s what you’re doing right now.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Maybe what you call bullying, I call flirting.”
Her eyes expand yet again as if stunned by my reply, and I don’t miss how her gaze then flickers to my mouth.
“You’re flirting with me?” she whispers.
“Maybe a little,” I murmur, my own pulse thudding rapidly as I inch closer.
Her lips part slightly, her eyes searching mine.
“D-Don’t,” she stammers, but she doesn’t pull away. “No matter how this little… experiment goes, I’m still going to take my vows after graduation. No amount of flirting will stop that from happening.”
“We’ll see,” I say with a cocky grin in place.
“Yes, we will.”
“So, are you ready for your first lesson?” I ask, anxious to start.
“Wasn’t yesterday my first lesson?”
“In a way,” I admit, smacking my lips, “but we barely scratched the surface.”
Her fingers tighten around the hem of her skirt. “You mean that kiss was mild?”
“Child’s play.”
She swallows hard. “So… what are you going to teach me today, then?”
I drag my tongue across my bottom lip, watching her body tense in anticipation.
“I’m going to kiss you again. Just like I did yesterday.” I pause, watching the way her pulse flutters against the base of her throat. “Only this time, I’m going to use my tongue to open your mouth.” I lean in, my voice dropping to a near growl. “And you’re going to let me.”
Her breathing picks up, her chest rising and falling faster. “Maybe we should just… repeat yesterday.” Her voice wobbles.
“Don’t be scared, Frankie.” I run the pad of my thumb along her jaw, feeling the heat of her skin. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
The rougher stuff? That’ll come later—if she’s up for it.
She inhales sharply, then nods. “Okay. I’m ready.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Good. Close your eyes.”
She does as instructed and I drink her in for just a second before I go all in. I press my lips to hers, soft at first, just like yesterday. I mold them perfectly against hers, breathing her in, fingers tangling in the nape of her neck to keep her exactly where I want her.
Her hands press against my chest, tentative at first, then with a little more certainty. I swallow a groan at the feel of her touch. However, the second I sense her melting into me, leaning into the kiss, I strike. I use my tongue to pry her lips open, slipping inside.
Fuck me, but her warmth, her taste, she’s too much and not enough.
My cock instantly twitches in my pants when her tongue shyly meets mine.
I deepen the kiss, needing her to fight me back, to wage war with our tongues, and when her arms wrap around my shoulders, her fingers sinking into my hair, I let out the groan I’d been holding in.
I hate it whenever she pulls away to catch her breath, so I don’t let her. Instead, I crash my mouth into hers again and again, kissing her harder, deeper, until she matches my pace, lets go of whatever hesitations she has, and starts kissing me back like she fucking means it. And when she finally gets bold enough to slip her tongue past my lips, I nearly fucking come.
Fuck.
I want her.
I want her to straddle me, to open her legs, to rub that untouched little pussy against my cock and moan for me the way she’s already doing into my mouth.
Fuck.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m so turned on that I’ll be walking differently after this. And as if the little she-devil were reading my thoughts, she whimpers into my mouth and presses her chest against mine, like she’s trying to merge with me or something. My cock swells as her scent invades all of my senses, her plump ass pressing against my zipper, making my cock ache for something it can’t have yet.
She tastes fucking good. Like the sweetest, richest dessert I’ve ever tasted. She feels even better. All soft and pliant. And now that I know how she tastes and what she feels like, first base won’t cut it.
Fuck do I want her. Not just to kiss. Not just to prove a point or for the sake of what she just coined as our experiment. But because I want all of her.
And what I want, I always get.
Even if all of this goes to shit and Frankie decides she’s going to take her vows anyway, she’ll be doing it without her cherry intact.
Because that little treasure? Yeah, that’s mine for the taking.