Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
FRANKIE
I guess it’s hard to be subtle about your horniness when you’ve got a body part that goes off like a smoke alarm whenever there’s even a hint of heat in the air. Women get perky nipples and maybe a little flushed in the face, but apart from that everything happens on the inside. You can be walking around a grocery store finding the ingredients for pasta all’arrabbiata and nobody there will be able to tell from looking at you that you’re in a fever of lust. It’s so bad, I’m thinking about slipping Danny’s hand under my skirt for a quick finger bang by the frozen desserts. But that wouldn’t be fair on him. He’s suffered enough today – pickleball plus an abrupt curtailing of our afternoon fun-time because he forgot he was tonight’s chef. You can’t take a rain check on dinner when you’re the one cooking it. On top of that, Ava and Cam are joining us. Poor Danny. He’s holding that bottle of tomato passata like it weighs ten tons.
“Will you eat this?” he says.
“When sparingly applied to the pasta,” I reply. “And not accompanied by mushrooms, anchovies, capers, or olives.”
“Chili all right?”
He’s so sweet. I kiss him on the cheek. “Chili is fine if it’s in flake or powder form,” I say. “But I will spend hours picking actual chili peppers out of any dish.”
“Got it.” He screws up his mouth. “Sorry. Nate reminded me when I dropped him home last night, but by then my brain was fried.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him. “Focus, so we can get out of here.”
By the time we pull up outside Danny’s, it’s five minutes to three. Dinner’s expected at seven-thirty. Okay, so we could swoop in at the last minute, puffed and still sweaty, and ensure everyone knows exactly what we’ve been up to. Or we could allow, say, thirty minutes for showers and getting dressed, five minutes to drive, and an hour for cooking plus polite pre-dinner conversation. Which would leave us ninety minutes, give or take. I’m a planner, what can I say?
Good thing about both of you being in a fever of lust is that you don’t need to waste time on chat. Soon as the front door is closed, Danny and I are in a clinch, hands shoving away clothing, kissing like we’ve been starved of each other for years. My whole body is humming, desperate for him to be inside me, to touch me in every good place. I can feel his erection straining inside his shorts, pressing against me, so close, yet so far. My knees are starting to jellify. I need us to get horizontal fast.
But Danny starts moving backwards and because I’m basically surgically attached, I go with him. He half topples, half sinks onto one of the wooden chairs, and pulls me down so that I’m straddling his lap.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “Knees were giving out.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “Get inside me.”
“Can’t,” he says. “Condoms upstairs.”
“I am not moving,” I tell him. “So let’s do this…”
Gently, I ease his erection from his shorts so that it’s standing proud. Quick as I can, I slip off my own panties and straddle his lap again. I press my center against his hardness, and start to move, up and down and around. Danny groans.
“Frankie, I?—”
“Shh,” I hiss, urgently. “I’m so close…”
And I’m there. My orgasm is quick and explosive. No surprise, it’s been building since the frozen dessert section. I move against Danny, slower and slower, until it recedes, and rest my forehead against his chest. I become aware that his heart is thumping and whole body is trembling. Took a lot of self-control on his part not to come along with me. For which I’m grateful. Be embarrassing to have to explain how my pickleball dress looked like I had an incident with a jar of mayo.
I lift my head. Danny’s head is tilted backwards, his eyes are shut and his whole face is screwed up in concentration. Probably still reciting his times tables.
“You okay?” I say.
He screws his face up even tighter. That’d be a no, then. I could help him out the way I did before, but I’m too happy sitting here, and even with cushioning, this wooden flooring is very hard on the knees. I could use my hand but I’d need a … how shall we say? … receptacle. Otherwise, this’ll be like Old Faithful in Yellowstone.
I check around. Answer is right in front of me. Danny’s “Big Dink Energy” T-shirt is loose, and soft, and already kind of stinky. Perfect. Ideally, I’d put lube or moisturizer on my hand but I don’t think this will take long.
With one hand, I poise the T-shirt in readiness, and with the other take hold of his erection. He groans again, screws his eyes shut even harder, like he’s in pain. Poor boy. Help is on the way.
I’m only a few strokes in, when he grabs my hand with both of his and makes a sprint for the finish line. The T-shirt does its job. Except I forgot that now he’ll have to take it off, which could prove messy. Oh well. That’s why showers were invented. And cedar body wash.
“Urghh.” Danny’s peering down at his T-shirt bunched-up in my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Couldn’t reach the dish towel,” I say. “Lift up your arms. I’ll be careful.”
There’s a tiny bit of leakage but could be worse. I dump the shirt on the floor. Danny can wash it later. Or burn it, whatever.
His face is relaxed and soft now, and he’s smiling at me with wry affection.
“On the way back here, I had visions of us taking our time in the comfort of my bed,” he says. “We could have done this in your car by the roadside.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Not enough room.”
Danny’s no longer so amused. “That’s a very definitive answer.”
I give him a steady look. “Do we want to list every one of our previous sexual encounters? Or would we prefer to draw a line under them and move on?”
He’s struggling not to make the sulky-boy face. “Move on,” he agrees, grudgingly. And immediately adds, “But if you were to list them, how many would there be?”
“Fifty-nine,” I say.
“ What? ” Danny’s aghast. “Seriously?”
“No!’ I smack him lightly on his bare chest. “It was a stupid answer to a stupid question!”
“You’re mean,” he says. “But I’m glad you were lying. My list only totals fifty-five.”
I fix him with my best courtroom glare, until he gives in and grins. “Messing with you,” he says. “My list is actually only?—”
“Shut up or there’ll be no encore.”
“And it doesn’t include any time I didn’t get past second base?—”
“Shut up now.” My voice has that sing-song warning lilt to it.
“Or any time I?—”
“Right, that’s it.” I hop off his lap, scoop my panties up off the floor. “I’m having a shower. And after that, I will think about going back to bed with you.”
“I could join you in the shower?” he calls out after me. “Too soon?”
My answer is short and involves my middle finger. I can hear him laughing as I slam the bathroom door behind me. Then I lean against the door myself and indulge in a silly, goofy smile. I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life. It’s wonderful, and it’s terrifying, but I’ll do my best to ignore that part.
When I come back out into the living area, Danny’s nowhere to be seen. His T-shirt is gone from the floor, so maybe he’s hosing it down outside. Then I hear a creak above me, footsteps on the bedroom floor. I’m naked and wrapped in a towel, conveniently packaged, if you like. I hope Danny is ready and waiting. I am most certainly primed for round two.
“Hey.” Danny’s lying on the bed, one arm crooked behind his head, a pose that heightens the definition of his chest and ab muscles. He’s lean and fit, and his skin is tanned golden all over, apart from a cute paler area in the middle that’s shaped like a pair of running shorts. Lil Danny has revived in the interim. And he’s condomed up. Big Danny’s not only ready, he’s raring to go.
I drop my towel, and Danny grips the base of his erection. His eyes darken with desire, and my insides turn entirely liquid.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like you to fuck me senseless,” I say. “We’ve got forty-five minutes.”
Danny sits up and opens his arms. “Then get your gorgeous ass over here right now.”