Chapter 15 #2
My teeth close in on his lower lip as he begins to pull back, the sounds coming from me with anyone else would embarrass me, but with Frankie… I can see it in his eyes, he’s eating every fucking thing about me up. My lips begin to quake.
“That’s it sexy,” his whisper is deep, and shoots straight to my clit. He keeps his movements the exact same. Holy shit, I’m gonna cum. “Let go.”
I cry out, my nails all digging into his flesh. My whole body shakes with the waves already crashing through me. What the fuck. Never, I have never cum from just some fucking dry humping. My hands snap down and I clutch both his hips, stopping him because I need a fucking moment.
“Thank all the fucking Souls, I was on the verge of embarrassing myself.” He chuckles, but it’s breathy, raspy and sounds more like he does it through a groan. He dips his head back down, pressing light kisses against my throat. “You okay?”
I nod, words evading me. I lick at my lips.
When my mind seems to get back on board with me, I brush my nose against the side of his head, finding myself wondering what sex will feel like if that’s what fucking dry humping is with him.
Ready to freaking find out, I grab his shirt with both hands and start to drag it up his body, letting my nails rake against his skin.
He lets out a low curse, then pushes himself up, kneeling between my legs.
His hand goes back, grabbing the neck of his shirt behind his head, then yanking it off, tossing it to the floor.
He goes to move back down but I stop him, needing a moment to appreciate his incredible ink. “Wait. I… let me look. Please”
He nods, his eyes moving over my face, and I know I am flushed, but I choose to ignore that right now.
I have never seen him without his shirt, I have wanted to see what he has for so long.
It’s incredible. A mix of styles, that all seem to fit beautifully together.
Pushing up, I get myself sitting, him still between my thighs.
Skimming my nail along his flesh, following some of the lines of his ink, I let my eyes connect with his.
He is smirking at me. “Want to add more to my body? I think you are the only one I will ever allow to tattoo me again.”
I nod. “Your skin is mine now, so I agree. But… this work is beautiful.”
He motions to my clothes. I nod again. He gets his sweatshirt off me, taking my tee with it.
His eyes move over my chest, and I feel really damn glad I wore a pretty bra, granted, most of my underthings are pretty because I like feeling fucking pretty.
This is one of my better choices, a lacy black number, with a matching panty.
He does definitely look, but his eyes are really spending more time on my ink.
Frankie’s hand comes out, the back of his finger slides across the larger piece I have across my chest, rolling his finger over, he brushes the pad of his finger down between my breasts to my stomach. I swallow hard as his fingers move over the ink there, getting closer and closer to my scars.
His eyes meet mine, his finger keeps moving, both staring at one another as his finger touches the very edge of the scarring. “I can see this is not the day, but when you are ready to talk about this, you let me know.”
I give a slight snort, an ingrained reaction to things that feel too intense. “You already know what happened.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “But I don’t know how it felt for you, what it was like for you, how you feel about it now…”
My eyes dart to the side, pressing closed, I work on a hard swallow.
His finger keeps its slow movement along my scarred flesh, I can feel his eyes haven’t left my face, I feel so fucking exposed.
I feel so fucking exposed and it is the most incredible feeling I have ever felt because it is Frankie seeing me.
I let my eyes move back to meet his. The corners of his lips lift just a little.
“Never leave me.” The words fall out without even a thought behind them, but as soon as I hear them, I know I mean them. I completely and totally mean them.
He leans forward and down, his hands fisting and pressing down on the bed beside each of my hips. His face getting right up close to mine, his eyes on mine. “Never. This is it Harlow. You and me. This. Is. It.”
He means it, I can see it.
His lips tip up again. “That’s my sexy girl.”
Oof. Why is that so fucking hot? I lift a brow.
He chuckles. “You are being such a brave girl, trusting me. Knowing that I will never fucking lie to you. Knowing that I am with you to the fucking day I die. That I will haunt the fuck out of you until you go too, then I will fucking find you in the after.” He gives another chuckle.
“You like that, don’t you? You like how fucking obsessed with you I am.
You like being my sexy girl too. Don’t you? ”
Breathing out a little soft sound that make his lips twitch more, I lick my lips again, then because I refuse to do anything that stops him from showing me all of him like he is now, I force myself to answer. “Yes. I do.”
“You do what?” he taunts a little.
“I like being your sexy girl.”
He gives a deeply satisfied sound, it is a rumbly appreciative hum, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
I am almost startled when his hand gives me a little squeeze on my stomach, toward the side, his hand splayed wide, every part of it touching my scars.
Most people see them, then avert their eyes, or they try to not stare.
They try to not touch them. Most guys grip me above them, behind them, sure sometimes they touch them, but they mostly avoid them.
Not Carbon. No. He wants to touch them. He wants me to know he sees them, that he feels them, that they don’t scare him. He leans me back down to the bed.
His fingers slide across the marred flesh, along my waistband, reaching the button he flicks it, his eyes drop down to watch his hand get the zipper down.
Once down, his eyes drag back to mine. “Harlow, I am going to take your jeans and whatever sexy motherfucking panties you have on off. Then I am going to go back to kneeling because I want to look at you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel you need to say anything before I do this?”
I shake my head.
He pushes back up to his knees, his hands both slip into my jeans and panties, and he starts to pull.
I lift my hips to make it easier, his hands move my legs up, resting them against his chest as he pulls my bottoms from my legs.
Once off, he lets my legs rest together against his chest and shoulder.
He doesn’t toss my jeans just yet, instead, he reaches in, pulling the panties out, then tosses the jeans.
He hooks his fingers in the panties, holding them before us both, he chuckles lightly.
“You wear the sexiest fucking bras and panties.” His grin widens as his fingers touch the crotch. He lifts them to his nose. Inhales, then exhales on a groan. Holy fuck. His brow goes up. “Do not underestimate the depth of my obsession with you.”
I shake my head, because I don’t even know how to express the level I would go to for this man.
The fact that he fucking sees me. He. Sees.
Me. The fact that he truly sees me and isn’t afraid.
It’s annoyed, frustrated, or anything but just willing to fall deeper down the damned rabbit hole with me…
one of these days he will see just how willing I am to feed his obsession because anything less won’t be enough for me.