52. FRANKIE
FIFTY-TWO
FRANKIE
I pace the hotel room. Jackson texted ten minutes ago that he’d just parked at the hotel. I promised myself I’d be calm and collected when he walks through that door. I am so calm.
I have never been calmer.
The door clicks.
The fucking calmest.
The door inches open.
Blue eyes lock on mine, and he takes a couple steps into the room.
I’m so calm. I’m so calm.
Time softens, swirls around us, and continues moving while we remain rooted to the spot. Life goes on around us, but we’re stuck in our own continuum. Just Frankie and Jackie.
I scan him, cataloging every inch, like I’m going to find him somehow different, even though it’s only been a little over a day since I’ve seen him. My gaze meets his just as his lifts from having taken its own trip over me.
And then everything lurches as our little bubble hurtles forward to crash back into time with reality.
I don’t know who moves first, but we collide, mouths falling together.
Hands slide under my thighs, and I wrap myself around him. Arms. Legs. Hands. He’s not going anywhere. Ever. He better be ready to play baseball like this.
My back hits the mattress, and the comforting weight of a nearly three hundred pound wall of muscle closes over me. Yesss. Bury me in these muscles. I won’t be happy until my lungs complain from lack of breath. Because then I know this is real. That he’s here.
He slides a knee up and balances on a forearm, taking some weight off me. I whimper, and he laughs into our kiss.
“I’ll crush you,” he whispers hoarsely.
“Was counting on it.”
He draws back, and our gazes lock, his pretty blue eyes searching mine. “Did you hear the news?” His choked words tremble over my lips, the emotion dusting over my skin.
My lips tighten, and my eyes well as I nod tightly. “Yeah, baby.”
He cradles my cheek—the injured one, now healed. “Justice.”
I send him a shaky smile. One he matches for a heartbeat, but then he buries his head in my neck. And inhales. Fingers diving into my hair and latching on tight.
I melt into the mattress as he just breathes me in.
Like my scent calms him. Like my scent comforts him.
I gently stroke the pads of my fingers up and down his back.
I get it, because the scent of his oatmeal soap mixed with what is just the simple smell of Jackson is like a balm washing over me.
Happy prickles light up my skin. Because in his mad dash to pack his things, he packed the soap I bought him.
Brought it with him to keep at the clubhouse. My soap on his skin.
My fingers trail down to his ass and dig in as I grind upward. “I think we should get naked,” I murmur between kisses on his shoulder. “I need to make sure you still look the same as I remember. It’s been so long.”
His large frame shakes atop me, and when he pushes up on his palms, a smile is splitting his face. I push back a dark lock falling over his brow, but it just falls back down.
“I think that’s an excellent plan,” he says. “I expect you to be extra thorough. For verification purposes.”
I nod seriously as my hands drift under his shirt and start pulling it up. “I take this kind of evaluation seriously.”
He rises to his knees, then pulls his shirt over his head.
A gasp falls from me, and my hand shoots to his ribs, hovering just over his skin. Over the giant bruise marking his side.
My gaze flies to his. “Jackson.”
His smile turns lopsided. “The ground is kind of hard. Especially when you fall from the height I did.”
I study the large bruise splaying multiple ribs. I gently skate my fingers around it, avoiding directly touching it. “It was an incredible catch.”
“Yeah, it really fucking was.”
I snort, and my heart spins around in my chest at the adorable, proud grin on his face. My smile softens. I reach up and place my palm over his heart. “You played amazingly today.”
His grin turns a little shy, the cocky jock disappearing. “Thanks, babe.” He shuffles back and slides off the bed. “You need to get naked too. I think this will take some dual research.”
I sit up and quickly tug my shirt off. Jackson’s back is to me as he drops his boxers and joggers in one go.
I drop my wide-leg sweats but hold off on my underwear.
I toy with the waistband as I wait for Jackson to turn around.
He goes to spin, but then pauses, his attention catching on something.
I grin when I see what it is: the bottle of lube and towels I left on the nightstand.
“Someone was prepared,” Jackson says, a teasing lilt in his tone. He finally turns, and his jaw drops, a strangled noise erupting from him.
I sigh happily and tug down on one side of my waistband. His stare lasers in on the movement. I will never get over the reverent way this man looks at me.
“I-I haven’t seen those before,” he rasps.
I snap the bottom strap of my new jockstrap. “I had a little time to go shopping this morning. One of my favorite underwear stores is out here in San Fran.”
They’re a pretty pattern—Fun Fetti the design is called. And Frankie is very much fun fetti. They’re also very small. Not exactly the jockstraps you see in the locker room. Well, that and it’s missing the main purpose those jockstraps serve. A cup.
Nope. These show off one-hundred percent Frankie.
Jackson drops to his knees in front of me, hands sliding up my thighs and over my hips, fingers trailing under the straps. “Oh my God.” His words are faint and disbelieving, and I might press my hips forward the tiniest bit because a man only has so much restraint.
“I know. I have a pretty package, don’t I?” I tease.
“It’s a fucking crime,” he murmurs, then leans forward and grazes his teeth over the small elastic waistband.
His tongue dips out, and I inhale sharply. He mouths the soft—and thin, might I add—fabric covering my dick.
“You, uh, might want to hurry and remove these before they snap right off,” I manage roughly.
Does he listen? Of course not. He massages my ass and continues to nuzzle and mouth my dick.
The heat of his mouth is like a brand through my jockstrap.
He traces me with his tongue, and my fingers fist his hair.
It’s utter torture, the wicked glide of his tongue, the swirl of it over my crown, but with a small barrier dulling the sensation.
Tease. The most tormenting tease. And he knows.
The sinful glint in his darkening blue eyes screams naughty boy.
He nips at my hip and then snags my waistband with his teeth.
He tugs lightly, eyes still locked on mine.
They glimmer with a playfulness that has my heart loosely swooping in my chest like a leaf fluttering to the ground.
Then he lets out a soft growl and shakes his head back and forth.
A laugh bursts from me. My playful Newfoundland puppy.
I cup his cheek, and despite how hot my body is burning from him, all I feel in this moment is tenderness.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He gently lets go of my waistband, hands coming up to cradle my hips. “I love you, too, Frankie.” His brow furrows, eyes shining beseechingly. I see the question flickering across those blue irises. The quiet fear.
Insurmountable hurdles are rising before us. But there’s only one thing that matters.
“Do you want to make this work?” I whisper.
His fingers tighten, claws digging in as he nods furiously.
I stroke through his dark waves, fingernails scoring his scalp. His eyes flutter shut for a breath.
“We’re going to figure this out, Jackson.” All that matters is that we both want this. “Together.”
His cheek flexes in a movement I know means he’s biting it—hard.
“Not right now, dolcezza. For now, let me love you.”
He drops his forehead to my hip, hand skating in small circles on my thigh.
There is an endless list of things we have to figure out. But for now, I just want to disappear into this safe little bubble of us. To pretend life isn’t complicated, and all that matters is how we feel about each other.
“Okay,” he whispers into my skin.
Then he slowly peels off my underwear. His fingertips slide featherlight up and down my achingly hard dick.
He licks the groove where my thigh meets my hip, then drags his lips down to tongue the base of me.
He loosely strokes me and pulls me out of the way as he skims wet lips over my balls, tongue gently curling around them until he sucks them into his mouth.
A deep, rough groan vibrates through me, and my head falls back.
The hand he still has cupping my ass slides toward my crease. He pauses, fingers latching onto my cheek and squeezing twice. Our little way of asking for permission.
“Not tonight, loverboy.” With all the traveling, fast food, and out-of-routine eating, I’m just not feeling comfortable with that today.
His fingers retreat, and he lets my balls slip from his mouth. He gives the tip of my dick a quick kiss and then stands. He guides me back until my thighs hit the mattress. His mouth finds mine, a graze of lips, then he sucks on my bottom one, flicking his tongue over it.
“I want to be able to kiss you,” he murmurs.
And I get it. I want the closeness too. The intimate connection. The ability to stare into those beautiful blue eyes as they darken over.
I sit and languidly shuffle backward. He follows, crawling in rhythm with me. His lips find mine again, and his tongue slips into my mouth, rolling in tandem with mine. Lazy. Light… Loving.
His hands skim over every inch of my skin, and mine his, though I avoid his bruised ribs. I revel in the bunch and flex of his ass under my left hand, the clench of his trap under my right. So much muscle. So much meat. Our hips grind, but the friction is a mix of pleasure and discomfort.
Reading my mind, he blindly reaches for the lube, his mouth still fused to mine. Then his hand slips between us, and he coats us. He pulls away and shifts back, then scoops me up into his lap, knees spread wide, those thick thighs the perfect seat.