chapter nineteen #2
Frankie’s mouth found Willa’s like she needed it to live, kissing her deep and deliberate, every breath breaking into hunger.
Her hands slid beneath Willa’s shirt, palms hot against her ribs, fingers spreading wide—grounding her, anchoring herself.
Like she didn’t trust the floor to hold unless Willa was holding her too.
She pulled back just enough to breathe, her forehead pressed to Willa’s.
“I know we’re waiting,” she rasped, voice torn between restraint and want.
Her lips brushed Willa’s ear, the words spilling hot and low.
“But you’re gonna let me fuck you before you leave, right? ”
Willa let out a sound she didn’t know she was capable of—a desperate, broken whimper that slipped out raw. Her hips arched forward before her mouth could catch up. “Yes,” she breathed. “God, yes.”
Frankie groaned against her throat, the sound half feral, half reverent. “Let me taste you,” she whispered, kissing a path down Willa’s jaw. “Do all the filthy things I’ve been writing about since L.A.”
Willa shivered, thighs pressing together as heat bloomed low in her belly, wildfire hot and aching. She tugged Frankie tighter, until there was no space left between them. Just shared air. Shared hunger.
“Yes,” Willa gasped again, her voice shaky. “God, yes.”
But even as the words left her, something caught.
She wasn’t sure what was still holding her back, why she kept putting it off when every part of her ached for Frankie.
The fear was buried deep—the ghost of the last time she gave herself away completely and got left gutted, questioning if she’d been foolish to believe it could last. She couldn’t shake it, not entirely.
Still, she knew one thing with bone-deep certainty: she was leaving early the next morning, after tomorrow night’s show. If it was ever going to happen—if she was going to let Frankie have all of her—it had to be then.
Frankie stilled for a beat—her jaw tightening, her breath catching sharp in her chest. Then she leaned in, her lips grazing Willa’s ear. “Then let me take you to bed tonight,” she murmured, voice low and ragged, “and kiss you, touch you—everywhere—until you can’t think straight.”
Willa shivered, the words unraveling something deep inside her.
Frankie kissed her then, not angry, not disappointed—just desperate.
Like she was starving but willing to wait for the feast. Their mouths crashed back together, wild and breathless, all tongue and teeth and restraint stretched thin.
Hands wandered recklessly—up spines, over ribs, down hips—gripping, anchoring, memorizing.
They stumbled toward the bed in a tangle of limbs, kissing until they were dizzy, until the only sounds left in the room were gasping exhales and the soft, stuttering sounds they tore from each other.
Frankie cupped Willa’s face in both hands as they reached the mattress, her thumbs brushing softly across her cheekbones, as if she were trying to memorize the shape of her.
To leave fingerprints made of reverence, not just want.
Because it wasn’t just lust that brought her here. It was Willa. It had always been Willa.
When they finally collapsed onto the bed, neither one bothered to change.
They curled into each other—bodies flushed, hearts racing. Willa’s hand slid beneath the back of Frankie’s sweater, fingers splaying across the bare skin at the small of her back. Frankie kissed the corner of her mouth. Her jaw. Her temple. Tiny touches like prayers.
Willa tucked her face into Frankie’s shoulder and breathed her in.
After a few minutes of silence, she spoke. “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.” Frankie nodded.
Willa drew in a deep breath, her fingertips tracing up and down Frankie’s arm—over the flower tattoo, over the word Mimi in looping script.
“I was in a relationship once. I thought I really loved her—and that she loved me. I let her in, told her everything, fell hard. And a few years in, I shared things I don’t tell most people—my career goals, my hopes, my dreams.”
Her voice cracked slightly. “She said some pretty harsh things. Told me I wasn’t good enough. That she didn’t believe in me. And it… crushed me. But I still stayed.” Willa’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Shortly after left me— walked away like I was nothing, and it broke me.”
Frankie’s hand slid into her hair, her thumb tracing slow, grounding circles. She didn’t say anything at first, just kissed her temple—soft, steady, sure. Willa let herself lean into it, the silence stretching between them, full instead of empty.
Then Frankie’s voice broke through, low and certain. “You’re more than enough, Willa. Anyone who couldn’t see that—she didn’t deserve you.”
The words sank deep, settling heavy in Willa’s chest until her throat went tight and her eyes stung.
No words were spoken after that. Just a few slow, lingering kisses before they drifted off, tangled together. For the first time in a long time, Willa felt safe.
* * *
Frankie
The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows of Frankie’s hotel room, casting everything in soft gold. The world outside felt a million miles away. Forgotten.
Soundcheck was in less than an hour. She should have been pulling on her boots, tuning her guitar, running scales with the band.
Instead, she was flat on her back on the worn hotel couch, Willa straddling her thighs, hips moving in slow, devastating circles that made coherent thought impossible.
Frankie’s hands slid beneath the hem of Willa’s shirt, greedy and worshipful all at once, committing her to heart.
She traced the dip of her waist, the soft curve of her ribs, the thud of her heartbeat.
Then she sat up just enough to pull Willa’s shirt over her head and toss it blindly across the room.
Her bra stayed on—for now—but the way Frankie’s hands mapped her like she was something holy, something necessary, made Willa shiver from the inside out.
“Fuck,” Frankie whispered, voice low and wrecked like the air had been punched straight out of her.
She pressed her mouth to the swell of Willa’s breast, trailing kisses along the warm skin, nipping just lightly enough to leave the faintest red bloom behind. Her hands slid lower, splaying wide over Willa’s hips, holding her there.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathed against her chest, like a confession, like a prayer. “You drive me insane.”
Willa whimpered, chasing friction now, her hips grinding slow and desperate as her breath stuttered hot against Frankie’s throat.
“God, baby—let me—” Frankie’s voice cracked, fingers fumbling at the clasp of her bra, already half-drunk on the idea of tasting her, ruining her, worshiping her.
Willa leaned in, close enough for Frankie to feel the heat pouring off her, the ragged edge of her breathing. Frankie was about to say something else—something filthy and honest and probably embarrassing—
When—
Knock. Knock. “Frank! It’s Kara.”
Frankie let her forehead drop dramatically against Willa’s chest with a groan that was equal parts agony and disbelief.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she muttered into her skin.
Willa giggled, breathless and dazed, still flushed and glowing. She kissed Frankie once—slow, deep, lingering. A kiss that promised later. A kiss that made Frankie’s toes curl.
Then Willa leaned back, her hands dragging down Frankie’s arms with a touch that left heat in its wake. She scooped her shirt off the floor, sunlight catching bare skin as she padded toward the adjoining door between their rooms.
At the threshold, she paused. Hand on the knob. Just enough to glance back.
Her voice was soft, but certain.
“Tonight.”
Then the door closed behind her with a quiet click, leaving Frankie sprawled on the couch—wrecked, wanting. She stared up at the ceiling for a long second, still feeling Willa’s hips moving against hers, still tasting her mouth.
She threw her arms over her face with a groan.
Tonight.
Her voice was half a threat, half a prayer.
Then the knock came again.
“Frankie, I am coming in there in thirty seconds if you don’t open this door,” Kara shouted.
Frankie groaned louder and hauled herself upright, every inch of her still tingling. She was smiling like an idiot, and she didn’t even care.
* * *