Chapter 15
Luciano
Thankfully, we fall right back into our normal routine the second we step into Jude’s house. This place… it does something to us. It’s like we leave all our baggage at the door and just be.
We study for a while, and when Frankie can’t stand to see another number on the page, I grab her hand and drag her to the kitchen.
Today, I actually got our housekeeper, Lourdes, to make one of my favorite Italian dishes— Osso Buco. It’s basically a veal shank braised with vegetables and wine, served over mouthwatering risotto.
I know Frankie loves to cook, but not seeing her all weekend made me antsy to take advantage of every single second we had. Hence why I didn’t want to waste time watching her cook tonight, so I brought dinner ready and packed from home.
“This smells delicious.” Her eyes go half-mast when I pull her plate out of the microwave.
“Tastes even better, trust me,” I wink, setting the plate down on the kitchen island.
She plants her sweet ass on one of the stools, leaving space for me to take the one beside her.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously when I don’t heat up my own plate.
“Not today.”
She frowns for a second, but the moment that first forkful hits her tongue, she forgets the whole world—including me.
“Oh, my God,” she moans, not knowing how her little sounds always get my blood running hot.
“It’s good, right?” I chuckle, fighting the urge to shift in my seat.
“Are you kidding me? This is what I want my last meal to be. So good!” she moans again, going back for seconds as if she were starving.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, resting my chin on my fist just to watch her slowly savor every bite.
“I emailed you the recipe. Took me promising Lourdes my firstborn, but I knew you’d appreciate it.”
“Firstborn, huh?” she teases, but then almost orgasms with the next bite of veal.
“Yeah, totally worth it.”
I laugh because this is how Frankie gets when she loves what she’s eating. Other girls whip out their phones, take a pic for the ‘gram, nibble at half the plate, and then push it aside. Not my Frankie. Eating good food is like a sacred ritual to her. This is her religion. Everything else falls to the side when there’s a well-cooked meal in front of her.
“I can’t wait to try making this,” she says, completely immersed in the experience. “I wonder what kind of other vegetables I could sneak into it.”
“Just send me the list, and I’ll get them for you when you wanna try,” I offer easily. “Though I gotta warn you, Lourdes usually takes about three hours to nail this dish.”
“Oh.” She pouts, probably counting the measly hours we usually manage to scrape together. Four—that’s all we get. Four pathetic hours after school, and that includes driving back and forth.
Frankie always has to be home by seven. Eight at the very latest. Though the one time she pushed it to eight, she said Sister Margarette was starting to regret ever putting us together to “study.”
Tough. Too late now.
Though I’m sure, the old hag would lose her mind if she knew half the time we use it to make out instead of doing math.
Speaking of which…
I lick my lips, my own kind of hunger kicking in when I see Frankie’s cleaned her plate, completely relaxed now that she’s got some food in her. I don’t wait for her to offer to clean the dishes again—like I said, we’re on a time limit—and instead lace my fingers with hers, pulling her back into the living room.
“What’s that look in your eye?” she asks suspiciously when I sit down on the couch, pulling her by the waist to settle on top of me like I always do.
“I’m just eager for our tutoring to continue,” I coo with a shark-like grin.
“You’re not talking about calculus, are you?”
I shake my head, smirking like the cocky bastard that I am. “We’re way past that, Frankie. I kept my end of the deal. Taught you, fed you. Now it’s my turn to get what I want.”
“And what’s that?” she asks, batting her eyes, running a finger down the lame-ass tie of my school uniform. As if reading my mind, she helps loosen it, slipping it off my head.
“Better?” she asks with a teasing glint in her eye.
I nod, feeling as if I were going to fucking combust if I don’t kiss her this very second.
However, today… Today’s not about me. Today’s all about her.
“I want to try something,” I say, keeping my voice firm but calm. “Do you trust me?”
“You already know the answer to that. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”
“Ouch,” I pretend to be hurt. “Fair enough. But do you trust me here? In these four walls?” She holds her breath and then nods, those beautiful blue eyes locked on mine. “Good.” I lick my lips again, my whole body hardening at what I have in mind. “Because today I want to see you.”
Her brows bunch up in confusion. “What do you mean, see me? I don’t understand.”
“We’ve been parked at PG-rated second base for a while now,” I tease, keeping my voice light, “and I think you’re ready to hike your education up to rated R.”
“You want to see me… without my clothes?” she asks, blanching like I just suggested we join a cult.
“Just this part,” I say, tugging gently at her navy cardigan.
She glances down at her chest, then back up at me, shifting nervously on my lap.
If she only knew that every time she moves, it’s as if she were giving me a lap dance, she’d bolt out the damn door.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” she finally says, her insecurities starting to poke through.
“Look at me,” I order gently, tipping her chin up until her face is inches from mine. “You’re perfect, Frankie. Just the way you are. Nothing under that hideous cardigan and blouse is gonna change my mind on that.”
Here’s the irony in all of this—I’ve fed dozens of girls every bullshit line there is from the ‘get laid handbook,’ and not once did I believe a single word coming out of my mouth, even though they gobbled it up like candy. But this? What I just told Frankie? It’s a hundred percent the gospel truth. She’s… perfect. Even when she’s giving me hell. Especially when she’s giving me hell. Frankie is just… yeah, fucking perfection. And yet, by the look on her face, she doesn’t believe me, hence the fucking irony.
I lean in, brushing my lips over her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, and every little inch of her face before finally hovering by her ear.
“You’re perfect, Frankie,” I whisper. “Let me prove it to you. Let me show you just how perfect you really are.”
Her blue eyes soften, looking at me with such vulnerability it punches a hole straight through my chest. It takes everything I have not to kiss away every worry she’s ever had. But I won’t do that. Not until she says yes. Not until she wants it.
“Okay,” she breathes out so softly I almost think I imagined it.
“Okay?” I ask, needing to be sure.
When she nods, I have to swallow a groan.
Fuck. This is happening.
Don’t fuck this up, my conscience hisses in my ear, and for once, I agree with the little bastard.
A smile curves at the corner of my mouth as I slide my hands up her sides, my heart pounding in my chest like a goddamn drum. With my eyes locked on hers, I slowly undo each button keeping her cardigan in place, her breathing going shallow with every flick of my fingers.
I’m not in a rush to get her naked. I know Frankie. She needs time to process things, and just because I’m dying on the inside doesn’t mean I get to scare her. Like this, she’s got plenty of time to change her mind and stop me if she wants.
As I reach the last button, she lets out a shaky breath, her light-azure eyes darkening into an intense sky-blue as if warning me of an impending storm.
Good. Let it come. I’m not scared. Fuck, I’ve been ready for this for longer than I’m willing to admit.
I pull the cardigan off her shoulders, using it as an excuse to kiss the slope of her neck, craving a little taste just to keep my sanity intact. But when I reach for the buttons of her white school blouse, she shakes her head to stop me, my heart plummeting straight down to the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll do the rest,” she says, stunning me into silence.
I swallow hard as she straightens her spine and starts unbuttoning her blouse herself, far quicker and more determined than I thought she’d be. And when she slips the fabric off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, I shit you not, I forget how to breathe because sitting in front of me isn’t just perfection—it’s fucking majestic.
“Lucky,” she swallows, her voice trembling. “Say something.”
“You’re gonna have to give me a minute, baby,” I rasp out. “I’m having a hard time finding my words right now.” Her eyelids drop to half-mast, her teeth worrying the corner of her lip, when she sees me physically shove my hands underneath my thighs just to stop myself from touching her. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I curse under my breath, drinking in every inch of her creamy skin, her soft curves, the way her ample breasts look ready to spill out of their white lace confinement. “You’re exquisite.”
Usually, my Frankie would have started shit right about now, throwing some insult or a sarcastic jab my way, but not today. Not now. Today, not only did she hear the truth in my voice, but she’s also seeing it plastered all over my face.
“Do you want to touch me?” she asks, her voice breathy, just as anxious as I am.
“Hmm,” I nod, my jaw so tight it feels like it might snap.
“Then why aren’t you?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.
“Because…” I grit out in pain. “You’re not done yet.”
“I’m not, huh?” she taunts, biting her bottom lip. “Then why don’t you do the honors for me?”
Fuck me. What did I tell you? This girl is perfect for me.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I grin, pulling my hands free and sliding them up the sides of her body, hungry to touch all that warm, soft skin.
“You’re acting like a kid ready to open their Christmas present,” she giggles when I take too long to take off her bra.
See, Marcello? I think smugly. I can make my girl giggle, too, jerkface.
Not wanting to think about my brother, especially under these circumstances, I grab Frankie’s chin and pull her gaze back to mine.
“If you were wrapped like this under my Christmas tree, I’d play with you all fucking year long,” I growl.
“Kind of feels like you already are,” she says, a smidge of insecurity slipping back into her voice.
“Frankie, look at me,” I order, my tone hardening. “This isn’t a game to me. I want you. You know I do. You can feel how much I’ve wanted you since we started this little experiment.” I lift my hips, grinding my rock-hard cock against her ass just to drive the point home. “No one’s playing with anyone here,” I promise, my voice low and serious. “I thought I’d proved that to you by now.”
She bows her head, her fingers trailing absentmindedly up and down my shirt, trying to find her words. “Then why were you acting like an asshole back at school?” she finally asks.
“Because I am an asshole. You already knew that about me,” I try to deflect with a weak smile.
“I’m serious, Lucky,” she says, her voice suddenly stern. “What the hell was that? And before you think of giving me a bullshit reply, the bra stays on until you tell me the truth.”
Damn it.
I lean back on the couch, dragging my hand over my mouth. “You want the truth?” I mutter. “Fine. Here it is. All I could think about for most of the day was when I’d get to see you again. And when I finally do, you and my brother start making googly eyes at each other.” I let out a humorless laugh, mortified as the words spill out of me, raw and messy. “I got jealous. Really fucking jealous. There. That’s your truth. Happy now?”
I close my eyes and drop my fist to my temple, absolutely fucking humiliated that I just admitted that shit out loud.
“Lucky,” she whispers, pulling my hand down and placing it on her hip, the warm skin under my fingertips making me grab onto her. Unable to help myself, my fingers sink into her softness like a drowning man finding land. “I wasn’t making googly eyes at your brother,” she says patiently, picking up my other hand and placing it right above where her heart is thumping a mile a minute. “I’m not sure you realize it, but your brother can be a little intimidating. Today, he showed me kindness. And all I did was give some back.”
I open my eyes, my heart racing even faster than hers under my palm, when I see the same kindness she gave him being thrown my way.
“But this,” she says, slipping her arms behind her back to unfasten her bra with slow, sure fingers, “you and me,” she continues as the straps fall from her shoulders, her bra hitting the floor next, making my mouth run dry at the sight, “there’s no reason for you to be jealous, Lucky,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with truth. “You’re the only person I’ve ever felt safe enough to show myself to. All of me.”
As I stare at her vulnerability—her heart, her body, her soul—laid out bare for me, something shifts yet again in the deepest parts of me, rearranging my insides into something I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle.
“Are you just going to stare at the girls all day,” she teases breathlessly, “or are you finally going to kiss me?”
As if her words snap something loose inside me, I cradle the nape of her neck and pull her to me, crushing her against my chest. And then I devour her mouth like I’m starving for her. Because I am. I have been for quite some time now. Longer than I’ll ever admit to her.
Our kiss is hunger, desperation, and salvation, all wrapped together.
My hands slide up the length of her body, cupping her bare breasts, groaning into her mouth when my palms can’t even hold all of her in them.
At first, my touch is featherlight and reverent. But it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens. Intensifies. Grows more desperate in tandem with the voraciousness of our kiss.
“I need to taste you,” I growl against her lips, barely able to get the words out.
Frankie nods frantically, her hands already fisting in my hair, pushing me down, guiding me to where she needs me most.
I kiss my way down her throat, licking, nipping, worshiping until I find one perfect, dark pink nipple, taut and begging for my mouth. I flick my eyes up to hers as I stick out my tongue and circle its tip around the bud—slow, torturous strokes—before closing my lips around it and sucking it into my mouth.
Frankie lets out a whimper, her head falling back in surrender, her hair cascading like spun gold over her shoulders.
I groan, the sound ripped straight from my chest at how fucking responsive she is, how her hips start swaying against my lap, grinding down on my rock-hard cock through the thin barrier of our clothes.
I let go of her nipple with a loud, wet pop, just long enough to attack the other one, lavishing it with my tongue, grazing it gently with my teeth, worshipping every inch of her.
“Lucky,” she mewls, rocking faster against me, her skirt hiked up so high I can see her cotton-pink panties peeking from underneath.
“What, baby? What do you need?” My voice comes out hoarse, unrecognizable, completely reeling by how badly I want her.
In these situations, I’m usually the one in control. Usually, I’m the one leading. But with Frankie… I’m fucking helpless.
“I… I…” she stammers, her chest flushed pink, sweat starting to bead along her sternum.
I lick a slow line up the crevice of her chest before sinking my teeth into the swell of her breast, needing to leave my mark on her, something that says she’s mine.
She lets out a broken howl, her hips grinding harder, faster against me.
“Do you need to come?” I ask with utter awe at her being so close to it.
Though, to be fair, if she keeps up with her tempo, I’ll be the one coming any second now.
She looks down at me, wild-eyed, beautiful, like the storm I knew she was from the start.
“Yes! Please,” she begs, her voice breaking. “I’m so close.” I grip her waist, steadying her.
“Do you trust me?” I whisper fiercely, desperate to hear her say it.
“Yes,” she whimpers, her eyelids so heavy with lust that I can barely see the shade of her wild, stormy blue eyes behind them.
Her ‘yes’ is the only permission I need. Before she can even blink, I lift her off my lap, flipping her so she’s laid out across the couch, sprawled like a goddamn feast just for me.
She gasps, blinking up at me, her chest heaving, her skin flushed, her body practically singing for me to touch her, taste her, devour her.
“Then trust me,” I say, my voice so low and rough it sounds like it’s been scraped raw from inside me. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby. Gonna make you feel so good you forget your own name.”
Her hands clutch the cushions beneath her, her eyes wide and hungry and trusting.
Trusting me.
I kneel between her spread thighs, trailing kisses down the soft curve of her belly, breathing her in like she’s the first taste of oxygen after drowning.
When I reach the hem of her skirt, I yank it up higher, baring the pink cotton panties stretched tight over her center, soaked with how ready she is.
“Fuck, Frankie,” I groan, running the pad of my thumb over the wet spot. “You’re so wet for me. So fucking perfect.”
She cries out a moan, arching into my hand. “Please,” she pants. “Please, Lucky—”
“I know, baby. I know.”
I hook my fingers into the sides of her panties and pull them down slowly, letting my knuckles graze her thighs as I go, dragging them over her knees, then finally off her ankles, tossing them to the floor.
I stare at her bare, glistening, pink and perfect and mine, and it takes everything in me not to come in my fucking pants like a goddamn pubescent chump.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Frankie,” I murmur, running my hands up the inside of her thighs, feeling her tremble under my touch. “Every inch of you is beautiful.”
And then, without warning, I lean in and lick a long, slow stripe up her center.
She cries out, her whole body jolting, her fists tangling in my hair, pulling me closer to where I want to be. I groan against her, drinking in her taste, my tongue finding her swollen clit and circling it, teasing it, before sucking it into my mouth. Her hips buck, her thighs clamping around my head, ensuring I’m not going anywhere. I grab her hips, pinning her to the couch, and devour her like a man gone mad. Every flick of my tongue, every swirl, every soft scrape of my teeth against her sensitive skin is designed to drive her out of her mind in return. And it’s working. She’s panting, moaning, chanting my name like a goddamn prayer.
“Lucky… Lucky… Lucky…”
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur, the vibration of my voice against her making her jerk. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them up just right, stroking her sweet spot while I suck on her clit like I’m possessed.
Fuck, she tastes good. So fucking good.
The need to start humping the damn couch just to get some release is almost blinding. But then I remember that today isn’t about me. It’s about her. This is all for her. So whenever her insecurities start creeping back into her mind, she can remember this moment when she had me on my hands and knees, devouring her sweet pussy like a man unhinged.
I lick and tease Frankie’s clit while I fuck her with my fingers, her arousal doing a number on my head and, fuck me… maybe even my heart. And when I feel her clench my fingers into a vice grip, I almost lose it. Her whole body tightens, her back arching off the couch, her cries turning wild, desperate, and frantic.
I lift my eyes, needing to see her face when she shatters.
“Come for me, Frankie,” I command, my voice pure gravel. “Let me see you. Let me see all of you.”
With one more flick of my tongue, she breaks apart. Her head throws back, a scream ripping from her throat, her body shaking and trembling under me, her legs squeezing my head like a vice, her entire soul poured into the way she fucking falls apart for me.
Fuck me if it isn’t the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. Most guys would stop right about now, and demand she pay the favor back. But not me. I don’t stop. Not until she’s sobbing my name again, pulling at my hair, trying to shove me away because she’s too sensitive, too overwhelmed by the sensations racking over her body.
Only after I see her come again, her juices soaking my lips, hand, and sleeve, do I ease up, kissing her thighs, her hips, her trembling soft belly, whispering how perfect she is between every kiss.
When I finally crawl back up her body, she’s completely depleted—flushed, panting, wrecked in the best way imaginable.
When I kiss her swollen lips again, she kisses me back as if trying to climb inside me. As if she never wants this to end. Never wants to let me go. And fuck me, but neither do I. Not now. Not ever.
“Is it always like that?” she asks once her breathing has calmed, her fingers twirling in my hair as my head remains resting on her chest.
“No.”
It’s never like that.
I’ve never had anything remotely as earth-shattering as that in my life. Especially since I made no move to come.
Me. Not coming? Content in only seeing a girl shatter? Fucking unheard of.
But all I can muster to say is no, leaving out all those troublesome parts.
“Huh?” she says, her tone lighter than it was a minute ago. “No cute, witty line for me? Like this is what I should always expect from the Lucky Luciano experiment?”
I lift my head, resting my chin in the indent between her breasts, staring deep into her eyes. “How do you feel?” I ask, sidestepping the landmine she just threw at me.
“Honestly?” she says, running the pad of her finger over my jaw, my cheek, until it traces the seam of my bottom lip. “I never realized how intimate it would be.”
I don’t say anything to that since that’s probably why my head is so fucked right now. Usually, sex is just that—sex. But this… what we just did… it’s just as she said—it’s intimacy in its purest form. She laid down her walls and was vulnerable with me while I gave her… Fuck, I don’t even want to think about what I just gave her.
When my eyes catch the flicker of a gold medallion on a bracelet wrapped around her wrist, I use it as an excuse to not go further down the rabbit hole I already find myself tumbling through.
“What’s this?” I ask, nodding at her bracelet.
“This?” she says, rubbing her fingers around what looks to be a small St. Peter medallion. “It was my parents’ parting gift before they abandoned me.”
My eyebrows pull together as I watch her tenderly rub her thumb over it before discarding it completely.
Hmm.
I always assumed that people gave their kids up for adoption because they had no financial means to raise them. However, that doesn’t seem to have been the case with Frankie. I’ve been around enough expensive jewelry to know her bracelet is pure-grade gold. If her parents were strapped for cash, I doubt they would leave such a treasure with an infant they were never going to lay eyes on again.
I’m about to ask her what else she knows about her parents when her phone starts ringing on the coffee table.
“Time’s up,” she mutters, unable to hide the sadness in her voice. “I have to go home.”
An orphanage is not a home. Neither is a fucking convent. And if there’s anyone who deserves a loving home, it’s Frankie.
“Lucky?” she giggles softly. “I’m going to need you to move so I can get up and get dressed.”
“What if I don’t want to? What if I want to stay right here, exactly where I am?” I say, brushing my fingers ever so lightly over her nipple.
She bites her bottom lip before shaking her head and replies, “It’s almost seven, Lucky. Don’t start something we can’t finish.”
Too late for that, I think to myself, but I get up off her anyway, entangling my hands in hers and pulling her up.
Before she has time to say anything, I lean in and kiss her—sweet and tender—the complete opposite of the man I am. But exactly the man I believe she deserves.
She breaks the kiss first, rests her head against my chest, hugs me tightly, and softly says, “Thank you… for seeing me.”
I lower my head, place a kiss on the top of her head, and reply, “Thank you for letting me.”
I don’t say anything else. I can’t. Because if I open my mouth, I’m pretty sure I’m going to tell her something I’m not ready to say out loud yet. Something absolutely absurd like, ‘You’re mine now, and I don’t ever want to let you go.’ Instead, I just hold her tighter, memorizing the way she feels pressed against me, how she fits so perfectly in my arms as if she were made for me and no one else.
Her phone buzzes again, a sharp reminder that reality is waiting for us, clawing to pull her away from me.
I loosen my arms reluctantly, letting her pull back. She gives me a little, shy smile, the kind that claws under the skin and sinks its teeth into a man’s heart.
I watch as she gathers her clothes, slipping her blouse back on, fumbling a little with the buttons as her hands are still trembling.
I know, deep in my gut, that what we just did wasn’t just part of an experiment for her either. It was more. It was everything.
When she finally stands, ready to leave, she hesitates, biting her lip as if trying to find the right words to say to me. But she doesn’t need to say anything. I already know.
Without thinking, I reach out, snagging her hand and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, right over that tiny St. Peter’s medallion.
A silent promise— I’m not done with you, Frankie O’Malley. Not even close.
As she kneels down to start packing up her books, I know two things for sure. Firstly, I’m going to miss her like hell the second she leaves my side. Secondly, no matter what it takes or what stands in my way, I’m going to make damn sure she never feels abandoned again. Not while I’m still breathing.
These thoughts run rampant through my head when I hear a loud thump from the hallway outside. Frankie also freezes once she hears the loud commotion. Before either of us realize what the sound is, the door to the apartment bursts open, and in stumble my brother, Jude, and his wife, Mina, so entangled with each other they don’t even realize we’re standing in their living room.
“You smell so good, wife,” Jude grunts, kicking the door closed with his heel before shoving Mina up against the wall, lifting her in his arms until she’s straddling his shoulders.
Impressive.
“I need to know if every inch of you smells this good,” he mewls, lifting her skirt to take a good, long whiff between her thighs. “Just as I thought,” he says, craning his head back to look into his wife’s eyes. “You smell fucking delicious. And what do you know? I’m fucking starving.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mina winks, tugging on the strands of his hair to steady herself. “Now be a good husband and eat to your heart’s content,” she adds in her posh British accent.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirks before his head disappears in between her thighs.
Huh? Looks like eating pussy was on every Romano’s mind tonight. Go figure.
It’s Frankie’s little gasp of astonishment that finally pulls Mina’s attention to us.
“What’s up?” I say, tilting my head, a smug smirk on my face.
“Jude, love,” Mina says sweetly, smiling. “Dinner will have to wait. We have guests.”
“What?” Jude grumbles, pulling away from his favorite meal.
He licks his lips, eyeing his wife first, then following her gaze until he spots us.
“Hey, big brother,” I taunt, while a visibly shaken Frankie lets her bookbag fall to the floor, her textbooks scattering across the rug.
Jude just scowls at me. He gently sets Mina back down on her feet, then takes three long strides toward us, crossing his arms, his gaze bouncing from me to Frankie and back again.
“Care to explain what the fuck you’re doing in my house?!”
Busted. Anybody know what’s the going rate for a coffin?
Because I’m pretty sure I’m about to need one.