Chapter 14
Frankie hadn’t expected the growl, the hands, or that the second he hauled her against him, her entire nervous system would go full DEFCON horny.
“Feeling your body against mine?” he rasped, his voice dark enough to make her knees consider early retirement. “I’m beginning to understand why no man’s ever made foreplay memorable. You’re too fucking fuckable. On behalf of all mankind, please forgive our lack of control.”
“Wow. Tossing in an early disclaimer. Should I be worried?”
“You tell me.” His mouth claimed hers in a move that shouted he was in charge, while his free hand slid into her hair with a care that felt at odds with all the alpha energy.
It took her a second to realize why. He remembered the wig.
She’d forgotten about the damn thing. Hell, she’d never worn one during sex because while Francesca B wore them daily, Frankie Peterson wore them rarely. But Marcus? In the middle of this, he remembered and adjusted his grip, like she mattered.
Or maybe he was just smart enough to know the moment wouldn’t survive another mudpuddle debacle.
Either way, it landed. Enough to make her heart stutter.
With one hand still tangled in her hair, the other moved between them, loosening his tie and shoving his jacket off his shoulders in a single, impatient motion.
She helped him get rid of his jacket without hesitation, because hesitation didn’t live here anymore. Her body was already humming, her breath gone, her brain unraveling by the second.
There was no Naked Runway. No Mr. Uptight revenge fantasies. No Gi Gi’s Crossing.
Just the kiss. The contact. The untangling tension she’d been pretending didn’t exist between her and Marcus.
They didn’t make it to the third-floor bedroom.
Barely made it past the stairs. His hands roamed, gripping and guiding with a hunger that left her dizzy.
Somewhere between the bottom step and the second-floor landing, he yanked off his tie and tore open the buttons on his shirt, letting it all fall in a careless heap on the floor.
Her gaze caught. Broad shoulders, solid chest, the kind of abs that made gym memberships look like a good investment. A faint trail of dark hair led down to where her imagination was already racing ahead.
She slid her palms over the warm skin of his chest, nails skimming across firm muscle, and felt the shiver run through him. Her hands moved around and tracked the lines of his back.
He caught her mouth again, the kiss deepening until it blurred everything but the feel of him and the way her body leaned into every inch he offered. That tiny act of gentleness with her hair still sat lodged in her chest, impossible to shake.
She was spinning. Hard. Falling for the guy in a way that—
He made a sudden turn, and she stumbled a step. He caught her and steered them down the hallway. The world narrowed to the solid heat of his body and the steady pull of his hand on hers.
He pushed into a room she’d never seen before. Velvet drapes. A lamp casting golden light. A wide bed with creamy pink linens and soft, feminine touches.
She blinked. The room was…romantic. Disarmingly so.
She flickered her gaze to him, to the bed, then back again. “Why wasn’t I offered this room last night?” Her voice was part breathless, part suspicious.
Marcus stepped closer, brushing his thumb along her cheek with deliberate slowness. “Because last night it was four walls and a stack of tile boxes,” he said. “But when I realized the cottage wasn’t going to be ready anytime soon, making this room livable shot to the top of the list.”
Her brain lagged. When the words finally computed, her damn heart took another hit. “Are you saying you had this done for me?”
He nodded, looking smug in a room full of throw pillows. “I was going to call it the Honeymoon Suite when it’s featured in the Gi Gi’s Crossing Gazette. But from this moment on, it will be known as the Spanking Room.”
Her lips parted. “You’re—”
“Dead serious.” His mouth found hers, and any reply she might have had dissolved under the kind of kiss that stole thoughts and left only desire.
He walked her backward until the backs of her knees brushed the mattress. Every cell in her body buzzed with anticipation as he lowered her with maddening care.
Greedy to feel the solid weight of him between her legs, she parted them in invitation.
He joined her, bracing himself above her. So close his nearness stole her sanity and erased anything but the restless pulse between them and the hard press of his body.
And when she said hard, she meant hard!
She could feel him, every jaw-dropping inch. Suddenly, all the teasing and bravado from earlier snapped into something real. Something inevitable.
As if he still needed to prove himself worthy of the honor, he reverently kissed her jaw. Didn’t he realize she’d surrendered the second his hand touched her hair? And don’t even get her started on this room.
Then he found the spot beneath her ear, and the sound that escaped her was indecent. Not that she cared. The only thing that mattered was getting him closer.
She arched into him, fingers threading through his hair, soft gasps spilling free, opening her up to the dangerous-crack moment. That moment where control slips away, and you have no desire to shore it up.
He slipped deft fingers to her blouse, easing it open button by button until it slid from her shoulders, displaying her red lace bra. His gaze darkened, and his breath caught. “You should warn a man this is what you wear underneath.”
“If this is causing heart palpitations, wait until you see the panties.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his grip on her tightened, possession thrumming through his touch. His hand traced her waist, smoothly made its way to her hips, before finally skimming the hem of her skirt, which was bunched at the top of her thighs. “Are they going to give me a heart attack?”
Her pulse tripped. “God rest your soul if they do.”
His lips shifted course, abandoning the path of his hand to start way the hell up at her collarbone.
She groaned. “You could speed this part up.”
“But I won’t,” he murmured against her skin as those damn lips took their time going lower. Lower still. Until they were in the vicinity she wanted them to be.
“You were saying something about a great pair of panties,” he murmured.
“Epic would be more accurate. But don’t take my word for it.”
He pushed her skirt up and revealed a matching scrap of red lace. After what seemed an eternity, his gaze, dark and heavy, met hers. “Scandalous.”
“Expensive,” she shot back, breathless.
Keeping his eyes on her, he tugged the lace down her thighs, tossed it aside, and slid a thumb over her, causing her to buck. “And wet.”
She watched while he sucked her juices off his thumb.
“Less talk, more action,” she urged.
He repositioned himself and kissed the curve of her thighs. “Better?” he asked, sparing her a glance before returning his attention to her core.
The sight of him there, between her legs, like it was his new favorite place, would have undone her if there was any undoing left to be had.
“You said foreplay wasn’t worth the effort,” he murmured, as his tongue flicked her clit.
Oh right. This had all started with that statement. With great effort, she summoned Frankie Peterson, woman in control, to the surface. “I’ve yet to have an orgasm.”
He chuckled before dipping his head and swiping his tongue over her again. The action sent a jolt through her so sharp she swore the room tilted, and a strangled sound ripped from her throat as her hips bucked helplessly beneath him.
He anchored her with his arms, mouth working her over like it was a task he’d been training for all his life.
Her hands twisted in the comforter as she tried to set the rhythm. He allowed it for a moment.
Then he took over.
Dragging her straight to the edge with ruthless precision.
When she came apart, sharp and sudden, her moan splintered into a broken version of his name.
Aftershocks rolled through her as he kissed his way back up her body, completely shutting down her ability to think with any semblance of coherency.
“I’d ask how it was, but that would imply I didn’t know,” he said in the cockiest bastard tone she’d ever heard.
A shaky laugh slipped out with her breath. “I take it back,” she whispered, still breathless. “Foreplay’s not a waste.”
Marcus raised to his knees and smiled. “My mission here is done.”
She slid her hands up his arms, ravenous for more. “Not even close,” her voice low and wrecked. “Show me what else you’ve got.”
Something in his expression shifted.
He leaned forward and kissed her, slow and deep, and she could taste herself on his tongue. Then he drew back.
“Wait.” She blinked at him. “You’re stopping?”
His thumb skimmed her cheek. “Yeah.”
“Seriously?”
“I should go.”
“Like…leave?”
He nodded once, already standing.
She blinked, still trying to catch up. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Pushing up on her elbows, she searched his face for something. Anything she could grab onto. “You’re honestly bailing before I get to show off my blowjob skills?”
He swallowed hard but stayed silent.
“I haven’t even called you Daddy yet,” she said. “Haven’t been naughty enough to earn that spanking.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Want, regret, restraint. Who the hell knew? Not her because it vanished too fast to read.
“You should get some rest,” he said.
A brittle laugh escaped her as she tugged the sheet higher. “Right. Because nothing helps a girl sleep like a guy making her come and then ghosting before she gets to return the favor.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, as if that could erase the sting, then he turned and walked out.
And for the first time in a long time, Frankie didn’t feel powerful.
She felt played.
And that? That was worse.