35. Frankie
Chapter 35
Frankie
S he tastes like dark chocolate and honey on my tongue as I trace a deliberate path through her heat, my eyes never leaving hers. The moment my mouth makes contact, pleasure floods my senses—the sweet richness of her slick, the way her thighs tremble slightly on either side of my head, the soft gasp that escapes her lips.
My heart thunders in my chest as I kneel before Storm on the kitchen floor, flour dusting both our bodies. Four years I've dreamed of this intimacy with her—four years of stolen glances and careful distance. Of wanting but never having. The few kisses we've shared in recent days have only intensified my feelings, leaving me aching for more.
Now she's here, perched on the kitchen counter with her legs parted for me, her storm-gray eyes dark with desire and fixed on mine, her fingers threading through my hair, encouraging me.
A thread of insecurity winds through me despite her obvious pleasure. How can I compare to the alphas? What if I disappoint her? Yet when Storm looks at me like I'm the only one who matters in this moment, those doubts recede.
I lose myself in her taste, letting instinct guide me as I learn what makes her gasp, what makes her thighs tremble around my head. Her fingers tighten in my hair when I circle her clit with my tongue, so I do it again, drawing another breathless sound from her lips.
"Right there," she pants, her hips rolling against my mouth. "God, Frankie, yes."
Her pleasure encourages me. I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her steady as I devote myself to her pleasure, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention where she needs it most. Above me, Storm is a vision.
Her head thrown back, skin flushed and dusted with flour like some goddess.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
When I feel her thighs begin to shake, I double my efforts, focusing on the patterns that draw the loudest responses from her. Her breathing grows erratic, her scent spiking with that sweetness of her climax. I can feel the way her cramps ease with each wave of pleasure.
"Frankie," she gasps, her voice breaking on my name. "I'm going to… don't stop.”
I have no intention of stopping, not when she's so close, not when I can give her this release. I hold her steady as she crests the wave, her body arching, a cry tearing from her throat as pleasure takes her. I work her through it gently, easing off when she becomes too sensitive, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs as she comes down.
When I finally look up, Storm is watching me with wonder in her eyes, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. She reaches for me, tugging me up to stand between her legs, and kisses me deeply, apparently unbothered by tasting herself on my lips.
"That was amazing," she breathes against my mouth, her hands roam over my chest, my shoulders, every touch leaves trails of fire on my skin. "You're amazing."
I feel a flush of pride at her words. "I just wanted to make you feel good," I admit, my voice rough with desire.
Her hand slides down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans, which are still open from earlier. "Now it's your turn," she says, a mischievous light entering her eyes.
Before I can respond, she's sliding off the counter and gently maneuvering us, turning so my back is against the cabinets. Her hands work quickly, pushing my jeans and boxers down my hips until I'm exposed.
My breath catches. No one has ever seen me like this before. In all my twenty years, my experiences have been limited to my own hand, alone in my room, Storm's name a silent prayer on my lips.
I'm painfully hard, and the appreciative look in her eyes as she takes me in makes me throb with anticipation. Still, a thread of nervousness weaves through my desire. Unlike the alphas, I have no knot to offer her, nothing to help her through the heat that's rapidly approaching. I can smell the sweet, rich scent of her slick intensifying as her pre-heat symptoms worsen, her body calling out for relief that I desperately want to provide.
"Storm, you don't have to?—"
"I want to," she cuts me off, already sinking to her knees before me, looking up with those storm-gray eyes that have haunted my dreams for years. "I want this, Frankie. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."
When she leans forward and takes me into her mouth, I nearly lose my grip on the counter. The wet heat of her mouth is indescribable. Pleasure shoots up my spine as she takes me deeper.
"Storm," I gasp, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of her. "That feels—I can't?—"
She hums in acknowledgment, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. Her hand works what her mouth can't reach, establishing a rhythm that has me panting, my knees threatening to buckle. I've imagined this countless times, dreamed of Storm like this, but reality puts every fantasy to shame.
I know I won't last long. Not with the build-up of years of wanting, not with the visual of Storm on her knees before me, her wild curls tickling my thighs as she moves. When I feel the familiar tightening, the heat pooling at my core, I try to warn her.
"Storm—I'm close?—"
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her lips swollen and slick. "I want to taste you," she says, her voice husky with desire. "I want all of you, Frankie."
Her words push me to the edge. When she takes me into her mouth again, deeper this time, I feel myself hit the back of her throat. I'm completely lost, crying out her name as pleasure crashes through me in waves. She doesn't pull away—instead, she holds my gaze, those gray eyes fierce and determined as she swallows every drop, her throat working around me.
The sight alone nearly makes me black out, this beautiful woman on her knees, taking all of me so completely. When she finally releases me, I'm utterly spent, my legs barely supporting me, my body trembling with aftershocks that seem to go on forever.
When I can focus again, she's looking up at me with a satisfied smile. I reach down to help her up, pulling her against my chest in a tight embrace.
"I love you," I whisper into her hair, the words escaping before I can stop them—words I've held back for four long years, through quiet card games and whispered conversations in the Omega House, through watching her with the alphas, through everything.
Storm goes still in my arms, then pulls back to look at me, her eyes wide. "What did you say?"
I swallow hard, knowing I can't take it back, not wanting to even if I could. "I love you, Storm," I repeat, my voice steadier now. "I've loved you since that first day you sat down across from me at the Omega House and demanded I play cards with you."
Her expression softens, something warm and full of wonder in her eyes. "Frankie," she breathes, her hands coming up to frame my face. "I love you too. I always have, even when I was too stubborn to admit it."
The simple declaration makes my chest feel too small to contain the happiness expanding within it. I kiss her, pouring everything I feel into the contact, all the longing, the waiting, the quiet devotion that's defined my feelings for her from the beginning.
When we finally part, both breathless, I can't stop the smile spreading across my face. "Say it again," I request, needing to hear the words once more to believe they're real.
Storm laughs, the sound bright and free. "I love you, Frankie Calloway," she says, enunciating each word clearly. "Even covered in flour, I love you."
I glance down at us both, suddenly registering our state—naked, dusted white with flour, the abandoned pie ingredients scattered across the counter. We must look ridiculous, like we've been caught in some bizarre baking explosion.
"We're a mess," I chuckle, brushing a streak of flour from her cheek.
"A beautiful mess," she agrees, her smile turning mischievous. "Though I think we might be permanently banned from kitchen duties after this."
I lean in to kiss her again, unable to resist the temptation of her lips. "Worth it," I murmur against her mouth.
We stand there wrapped in each other, trading soft kisses and softer words, lost in the bubble of newfound honesty between us. I never want this moment to end. This perfect, flour-covered, kitchen counter confession of love.
"Perhaps you should finish the pie before attempting any more... creative baking techniques," a dry voice interrupts from the doorway.
My heart nearly stops. I instinctively reach for my jeans, yanking them up while trying to position myself to shield Storm from view. Heat floods my face as I turn to find Jonathan leaning against the doorframe, his expression a mixture of amusement and something harder to read. Despite Jonathan's previous assertions that Storm was free to pursue connections with all pack members, I've never actually touched her in front of him. Our few kisses had all been stolen in private moments.
"Jonathan," I stammer, mortification washing over me. "We were just?—"
"Clearly," he interrupts, his lips quirking slightly at the corners. "Though I believe traditional pie-making involves less nakedness and more actual baking."
To my shock, Storm makes no attempt to cover herself. She merely stretches languidly against the counter, completely at ease in her nudity, and gives Jonathan a challenging look.
"We're experimenting with a new recipe," she says with a teasing smirk. "It's very... hands on."
Jonathan's green eyes move between us, taking in our disheveled appearance; the flour scattered across the kitchen, the half-prepared pie abandoned on the counter.
He merely nods once, then straightens from the doorframe. "Clean up when you're finished," he says, already turning to leave. "Make sure Reed has a slice of your pie."
He's gone before either of us can respond, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
The moment he's out of earshot, Storm and I look at each other, wide-eyed with shock, before she bursts into giggles. I sink against the counter and let out a shaky chuckle as Storm slides over, leaning into my side.
"Your face," she gasps between giggles. "You looked like you were ready to dive out the window!"
"Me?" I mock disbelief. "Never.” My voice comes out a little high. And she laughs again. I join her this time. I did want to jump out the window. I know the rules between betas and omegas. Jonathan was always very strict at the Omega House, so it’s hard to differentiate between this version of him and the one who was my boss for four years.
When our laughter finally subsides, Storm wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest.
"I love you, Frankie..."
"I love you too," I tell her again, simply because I can now, because the words have been waiting so long to be spoken.
"Even when I'm driving you crazy?" she asks, a teasing light in her eyes.
"Especially then," I assure her, kissing the tip of her nose. "Your storm is my favorite weather."
As I pull away to help her finish dressing, I catch sight of us in the reflection of the kitchen window.
My Storm, the wild, fierce, beautiful omega who blew into all our lives like her namesake and changed everything.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.