Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
DANNY
I ’m trying to decide exactly what Frankie means, when she clarifies by straddling my lap and kissing me. We’ve both worked up a sweat and her musky Old Spicy-style scent is strong. I’m tempted to grab her hips and pull her hard against me, but I resist. She’s kissing me with some urgency but I think it’s best I take it slow. So, all I do is gently twine my fingers in her hair and kiss her back, our mouths opening, our tongues touching and teasing. I can feel her body soften with desire, while mine actively does the opposite. But I won’t rush. I’ll let Frankie set the pace.
She lays her hand on my erection. I guess that’s a sign we’re moving things along. But this floor is as hard as I am, and I’ve already got enough bruises from bumping myself on wooden objects. Time to suggest we vacate the workshop.
“Bedroom?” I murmur.
“No,” she breathes. “I want you to take me on the bench.”
The bench. The hard, unforgiving wooden bench. With the vises and other metal implements attached. And the possibility of splinters in places where no splinters should be.
Frankie’s unfastened my pants and now her hand is inside my Calvins and reaching for my fully primed cock. Bench it is.
Except—
“Condoms are upstairs,” I say.
Frankie halts. She slides her hand out of my pants, which is good because if she’d got a firm hold on my guy, I suspect there might have been an embarrassing incident.
“You could go get them,” she says.
“I could,” I agree. “But upstairs there’s also a big soft, comfortable bed that isn’t covered with dangerous metal things and would allow for unrestrained freedom of movement.”
Frankie smiles. “City-boy wimp.”
“Guilty and unrepentant.”
“Oh, all right…”
With the athleticism she demonstrated at our dance lesson, she hops off me and holds out a hand to pull me up. As my pants are falling half off, I have no dignity to preserve so I take it. She hauls me to my feet like it’s no effort at all.
“You have some serious strength there,” I remark. “I’m impressed.”
I take a step and my knee twinges. Not used to those quick swivel turns.
Frankie catches my wince, and grins. “Want me to fireman’s lift you up the stairs?”
Okay, I have a shred of dignity left. “I’ll manage.”
“Huh,” says Frankie when she sees the bedroom. “There’s a bed, and—nope, that’s it. Spartan.”
“I half expected the sheets to be plaid flannel,” I say. “But they’re white cotton. Good thread count, too.”
“City boy.”
Frankie says it half-heartedly, like her mind is on something else. I wonder if it’s the history of this particular bedroom. I suppose it is a bit weird to think the last people who had sex here were Cam and my sister, though Shelby assured me they’d taken the old mattress with them.
The bedroom only has one window, which given the steep pitch of the roof is more of a skylight. It’s just after sunset and the glimpse of sky through the trees is an intense indigo blue, pin-pricked by the first stars. I’ve switched on the bedside light, but it’s still dim in here. So dim, I can’t fully make out the expression on Frankie’s face.
I move towards her, slowly, and just stand there, with my arms by my side. She looks up at me, her eyebrows at half-Angry Bird. I worry that she’s judging me and I’m falling short. I really hope that’s not the case.
Then she says, “I’ve worked hard to love my body. But I’m still self-conscious about getting naked for the first time.”
Relief. It’s not about me.
“Especially with someone like you,” she continues.
Okay, so it’s a little about me.
“You’re in the perfect body category,” Frankie says. “Like all your family, and most of mine. Shelby and Tyler have always been slim, like Mom. Even though Jackson and Dad were bigger, people referred to them as ‘burly’ or ‘solid’. I’m the only one who ever got called ‘fat’ at school.”
“Kids are assholes,” I say. “And if it helps, I had a late growth spurt. For all of elementary and most of middle school, I was really small. Even my kid brother Max was taller than me at one point. So, until I finally did a heap of growing between fifteen and sixteen, even my friends called me Danny Du-Runt. Fun times.”
I’ve made her smile. It’s reluctant but it’s a smile.
“No lingering insecurities?” she says.
“Hell, no,” I reply. “Self-esteem solid as a rock.”
Frankie lifts her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m going to ask this once, and then we will never mention it again. Do you think Chiara is a witch?”
“I think she makes it her business to notice things about other people,” I say. “But I’d love to know how hard she looks at herself. Not that I’ll ever have the courage to ask her that, of course.”
Frankie moves a fraction closer, and my breath catches. I want her so badly, but I have to be patient. I want to tell her how gorgeous she is, how I love her curves, but I know that could have the opposite effect. When I was short, people used to think they were doing me a favor by citing all the famous people who were height-challenged. All it did was highlight that being short was seen as a social disadvantage and I’d need other attributes to compensate. Frankie’s body isn’t something I need to comment on. How it feels to touch her, be close to her, that’s what matters.
“It’s possible I’ll freak out part way through,” she says. “Just so you know.”
“All good,” I say. “We’ve got time. Maybe not for all 157 episodes of Gilmore Girls ?—”
“Danny,” says Frankie. “Shut up and kiss me.”
I shut up and kiss her. Slowly and then not slowly at all. We do the clothing fumble, trying to take off each other’s before giving in to practicality and removing our own. Then we’re on the bed, limbs entangled, hands and mouths everywhere, following our mutual lustful instinct. The only part of me I steer her hand away from is my erection. I want this first encounter to be about her pleasure. Mine can wait. Well, it can if she doesn’t get a hold. If she starts giving me a hand-job I will not be answerable for the consequences.
“Will you stop that?” Frankie protests, after I’ve yet again forestalled her hand. “I want to touch you.”
“And I very much approve of you touching me,” I say. “But Lil Danny is on a hair trigger right now and I’d like this to last.”
Frankie raises one eyebrow. “ Lil Danny ?”
“Could be worse. Could call it my joystick. Or my lightsaber. Or?—”
“Stop right now or I’ll do Big Danny an injury.”
“Seriously,” I say. “I promise to give you access at the earliest opportunity, but right now, I think you should relax and let me do this…”
“Ohh…”
Frankie arches her hips as I put my fingers and thumb to good use. She is slick and tight and hot, and the hair on Lil Danny’s trigger is now one of those nanowires measured in atoms. I take her nipple in my mouth and tease it gently, which doesn’t help me one bit, but does send Frankie right to the edge. I know this partly because I can read the physical signs, but mostly because she’s swearing at me, ordering me to get inside her right now.
The condom is within reach, and I have honed my ability to remove it from the packet and roll it on with one hand (and some careful tooth-tearing action on the foil). Frankie’s breathing is shallow and rapid, and her whole body has tensed up. I stroke my thumb over her sweet spot one last time and, ignoring her furious demands to hurry up, enter her slowly and steadily. I maintain control until I’m right up to the hilt and then it’s all on. Frankie shudders and grabs onto my arms as her orgasm rushes through her, and I drive myself into her hard and fast and shout out loud as I come in perfect gratifying sync.
Now’s my favorite part, the come down, if you’ll pardon the pun. The gradual slowing of heart rates and breath, the tingle of the aftershocks through our nervous systems, the melting of tension as we lie together in a sweaty, mellow tangle. The pleasure of satisfaction achieved. And a tiny hint of smugness on my part.
“You’re smirking,” says Frankie.
“It’s how I smile!” I protest.
“You ignored my requests,” she adds.
Sounds like I’m being cross-examined, which I react badly to.
“I figured you’d want more than a two-minute bang.”
“ Bang! Did you seriously just use the word ‘bang’?”
This seems to be going downhill fast. Time to put on the emergency brakes.
I roll over on my side, prop myself up on my elbow. “Frankie. Did you enjoy it? Because I certainly did, and I would like to do it again. Many times.”
Her expression is more amused than annoyed, I’m relieved to see.
“Yes, Danny, I did enjoy it,” she says. “But let’s take turns calling the shots, okay?”
My mind fills with a raft of possible ways that could play out, and it’s enough to stir Lil Danny from his post-sex coma.
“Okay, but no whips and chains,” I say. “City-boy wimp, remember?”
Frankie reaches up and pushes a wayward curl off my brow.
“No whips and chains,” she promises. “But I’ve still got my eye on that workshop bench.”