Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
FRANKIE
Iwas still in Archie’s lap when the laughter finally started to fade.
The kind of laughter that came after fear — too loud, too sharp, too close to tears. My face was damp, my eyes burning, my heart still racing from the emotional whiplash of the last ten minutes.
“You’re not my sister,” he’d said.
Not softly.
Not uncertainly.
Fierce.
Certain.
And something inside me had unlocked.
I was straddling him in the front seat of his Ferrari, knees awkwardly braced, one hand gripping his shirt like I might float away if I let go.
The steering wheel pressed against his shoulder, the center console digging into my hip, and neither of us seemed remotely interested in the logistics of it.
We were still half-laughing when our foreheads bumped.
“God,” I breathed. “I cannot believe—”
“I told you,” he cut in, smug and warm and entirely too pleased with himself.
I narrowed my eyes at him, even though I was smiling. “You are insufferable.”
“And right,” he said.
I rolled my eyes — and then he kissed me again.
It wasn’t careful or testing the waters. No, it was fueled by relief and adrenaline as something caged too long snapped free. He kissed with tongue and teeth, demand in every stroke and nip.
My hands slid up into his hair without asking permission.
His fingers tightened at my waist like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t keep me there.
The kiss deepened almost instantly, like we both knew there was no more pretending now.
No more internal brakes. No more mental gymnastics about what was allowed.
The cap was off the bottle.
And whatever I’d tried to deny—whatever I’d nearly buried under panic and logic and fear — came roaring back to life.
Archie was a great kisser.
Almost annoyingly so—but I refused to complain.
He kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much I could take before my breath went shallow and my thoughts scattered. “See?” he murmured against my mouth, voice low, warm, just this side of dangerous. “Worth the wait.”
Heat spiraled down my spine. “You are so full of yourself,” I whispered back, even as I leaned in again.
“Only when I’m right,” he replied.
The way he said it—soft, amused, just a hint of something darker underneath—made my pulse stutter.
This wasn’t new.
But it felt new.
Because now I didn’t have to second-guess it. I didn’t have to hold part of myself back in case the ground disappeared.
His mouth moved from teasing to deliberate. Slower. Deeper. Not rushed. Not anymore. He wasn’t afraid of how much he wanted me anymore, and I wasn’t either.
My hands tightened in his shirt as I shifted slightly in his lap, the confined space amplifying everything—the heat, the closeness, the way the air inside the car felt suddenly too thin.
His thumb traced the curve of my waist, just once, and the quiet sound that left me was not dignified.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
A slow, satisfied exhale brushed against my lips. “You’re going to make this very hard to be patient about,” he murmured.
My face flamed.
“Behave,” I shot back automatically—which only made his mouth curve.
“I am behaving,” he said lightly. “Remarkably so.”
I laughed breathlessly against his mouth, and something about that. The laughter woven into the heat firmed the ground beneath us. This wasn’t just fire, or wanting—it was us. Messy and stubborn, and demanding and so fucking generous he made my heart hurt.
He was choosing me and I’d be lying if I tried to deny I didn’t want him and chose him the same way. Eventually, the reality of where we were intruded—the front seat, the open windows, the fact that anyone could drive past at any second.
I pulled back just enough to catch my breath.
“We are in public,” I pointed out weakly.
He glanced around lazily, then back at me. “Technically secluded.”
“Archie.”
“Frankie.” My name rolled off his tongue like he owned the sound of it. The playfulness didn’t disappear. It sharpened. Darkened. Something almost feral flickered beneath it, and heat slid low and liquid through my veins.
“Don’t be scared,” he murmured, voice dropping until it felt like it lived against my skin instead of in the air. “I would never let anything happen to you that you didn’t want.”
The certainty in it made my pulse jump.
I slid my hand into his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, and licked my lips before I could stop myself. “I’m not scared.”
But my voice wavered just enough to betray me.
His brows lifted, slow and knowing.
I exhaled, breath shaky. “Okay. I am scared.”
“Of what?” he asked, softer now. Not teasing. Intent.
His breath ghosted across my mouth, and when I dragged my nails lightly along his scalp, he tilted into the touch instinctively. Like a cat basking in attention. Like he trusted me with his throat.
I wasn’t sure which of us that calmed more.
“Of going too far,” I admitted. “Of changing who we are.” My voice dipped lower. “Of losing your friendship. I already came so close—”
His hand came up fast, cupping my chin, thumb pressing just enough to make me look at him. Not rough. Never rough.
“No,” he said, the single word so absolute it demanded that I believe him. “You didn’t ‘almost lose me’.”
His eyes locked on mine, dark and steady and unblinking in a way that made my stomach flip.
“I was never leaving you, Frankie.” His voice roughened, something possessive threading through it. “You could date the rest of the world. You could pretend you didn’t want me. You could push and test and run.”
His grip tightened slightly, a soft flex as though the idea of me doing any of that would hurt him.
“But I would still be right here.”
A shiver ran through me.
“You don’t get rid of me,” he continued, the edge of a smile ghosting his mouth. The baffling level of his certainty dared me to deny him. “You don’t scare me off. You don’t outgrow me. And you definitely won't lose me.”
The intensity in his gaze was almost dizzying.
“I’ve wanted you too long to disappear now.”
The words settled deep in my chest. Unshakable. Maybe his devotion should terrify me more than anything else, but it didn’t.
“Trust me?” Two words. A plea. A promise. He deserved so much more than me.
“Yes.” The word escaped me in a long breath. “With everything.”
His smile deepened and he stole another long kiss that left me breathless before he whispered. “Then trust me with this…” And his fingers glided down to the snaps on my jeans. “Trust me with you.”
The sound of the metal snaps on my jeans coming undone was obscenely loud in the quiet of the car.
A sharp, definitive click-click-click that echoed the frantic, tripping beat of my own heart.
Archie’s knuckles brushed against my stomach, a fleeting, warm touch that made my muscles clench.
His eyes never left mine, dark and intent, watching for any flicker of hesitation.
There wasn’t any. There was only a sick, thrilling lurch of anticipation as his palm flattened against my lower belly, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of my jeans and the thin cotton of my panties.
The first touch of his skin against mine was electric.
His hand was warm, a stark contrast to the cool air that had been kissing my skin moments before.
He didn’t rush. He explored, his fingers tracing the delicate line where my thigh met my hip, his thumb stroking a slow, maddening circle just above the place where I was already beginning to ache for him.
My breath hitched, a ragged little sound that was half-gasp, half-sob.
“Shhh,” he murmured, though his eyes were gleaming with a predatory satisfaction that belied the soothing tone. “I’ve got you.”
His fingers delved deeper, parting me gently, and the air I’d been trying to hold in rushed out of me in a shaky exhale.
He found me slick and swollen, ready for him, and a low, guttural sound vibrated in his chest. “Fuck, Frankie,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and lust. “You’re so wet for me. ”
I could only whimper in response, my head forward to press against the headrest, my eyes squeezing shut as his fingers began to move.
He started with slow, deliberate strokes, spreading my wetness, learning every sensitive fold.
It was a torturous, exquisite kind of teasing.
He circled my clit with the lightest pressure, just enough to make my hips jerk, to make me gasp his name.
“Please,” I begged, the word tearing from my throat. “Archie, please…”
“What do you want, Frankie?” he growled, his voice a low rumble against my ear. He shifted beneath me, and I could feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against my ass through our clothes. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
His words were like gasoline on a fire. “I want… I want you to make me come,” I panted, grinding down against his hand, desperate for more friction. “Please, Archie, make me come.”
He rewarded me with a deeper, firmer pressure, his fingers stroking my clit in a steady, relentless rhythm that had my toes curling inside my boots.
The confined space of the Ferrari, the steering wheel digging into my back, the center console against my thigh—it all faded away, blurring into a haze of pure sensation.
There was only the drag of his fingers, the heat of his body, the sound of his ragged breathing mingling with my own cries.
“That’s it,” he urged, his voice dark and demanding. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back. I want to hear everything.”