Frankie blinks open her eyes and smiles up at me on a happy sigh. “Told you we had nothing to worry about.”
27
Frankie
Playlist: “Cinnamon Girl,” Lana Del Rey
Ren tosses aside the washcloth he used gently between my legs, along his length. Falling back on the bed, tugging me close, he stares up at the ceiling, moonlight casting his hair a cool tarnished copper. His skin is pale as moonbeams, his gaze an icy winter sky. Tight, powerful muscles bunch in his arms as he wraps me in his embrace. I touch him everywhere I can, running my hands along long muscle, firm skin, the sharp indent where his hip meets his backside.
“Wow.” With a thick swallow, he turns and glances at me. “Was that…okay for you?”
I laugh and press a kiss to his neck. “So much more. So much more than okay. It was wow.” Interlacing my fingers with him, I kiss his hand. “What about you?”
He shakes his head side to side. “There’s nothing… Nothing comes close to what I just felt with you.” Pressing his lips to my forehead, he hugs me close, then glances down at me, breathless, eyes glowing.
Smiling, he smooths my hair off of my forehead. “You’re incredible,” he says quietly.
I run my hand along his chest and kiss over his heart. “So are you.”
Hooking my leg higher over him, I drift my hand across the terrain of his body, tracing the planes of muscle and bone. I kiss him as I run my hand down his stomach, touching him gently. Even relieved of an erection, he’s thick and heavy.
And I’m already aching for more.
With each touch, I watch him harden. It makes me feel delirious, learning this new part of Ren—his desire, his wants, every idiosyncrasy of his pleasure.
He throws his head back when I slide my grip lower, my fingers wandering to cup him, exploring velvet soft skin, hard muscles. His abs ripple, and his grip tightens on my shoulder.
“Oh, hell,” he mutters. His hips falter as he presses into my grip. Slowly, I ease my way over his body, kissing down his ribs, the narrow line of hair pointing to his erection.
“Frankie, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I whisper. I want to taste him. I want to bring him pleasure for pleasure’s sake. And it’ll be the first time he’s let me do this.
Ren groans and rolls his hips as I take a soft, teasing lick. He reaches for my waist and spins me so he can reach between my thighs. Rubbing my clit with his thumb, he curls two fingers inside me.
A rough cry rips out of me, before I grip the root of his cock and take him deep into my mouth. My legs shake as he strokes my G-spot, works my clit. Ren breathes unsteadily, his free hand delicately cupping my head, his fingers knotting in my hair.
“Oh, God, Frankie. Your mouth. Jesus.”
I moan with pleasure, watching him fall apart under my touch, locking eyes with those pale irises that widen as his hips falter.
“Close,” he whispers, warning me, trying to pull away. I shake my head, hold him tight in my grip.
Stay. I want this.
My orgasm begins at the heart of me, radiating out. Ren feels it, his eyes widening, then growing hazy as he thrusts into my mouth. Air rushes out of me as I fly over the edge, as light dances behind my eyelids. With a pained shout, Ren arches his back, pouring in hot, long pulses down my throat. His breath is rough and erratic. I slowly release him with one final kiss to the tip and smile up at him.
With no preamble, he reaches for me and pulls me flush over his body. After long quiet moments, he presses cool lips along my neck, up to my mouth with a heavy, satisfied exhale.
“Well, Zenzero,” I say happily against his neck. “Not that I’m surprised, but your Rookie of the Year, MVP status remains unchallenged.”
A laugh rumbles out of him, as he meets my lips for a tender kiss. “I feel like this is all we should be doing. Like I want to quit my job and spend the rest of my life doing this with you.”
“Guess what?” I whisper.
“What?”
“That’s what off-season’s for.”
A warm, mischievous smile brightens his face. “And there goes all incentive to win the series.”
* * *
I used to find the morning after I slept with someone cringey. Mostly because it was always a mistake. It was never my intent to stay over, to be small spoon, a man’s muscly arm my pillow as I slept. But as with everything when it comes to Ren, each morning since our first night has proved deliciously different.
I woke up to a hand slipping between my legs. Hot, warm kisses painting my neck. Another time, gently laid on my back. Others, turned on my stomach. Always a warm mattress beneath me, gentle hands massaging my stiff joints. An eager, already expert mouth and fingers and body spiraling me to glorious orgasms, sending light exploding beneath my eyelids just like the sun cresting the horizon.
That’s the first—and my favorite—part of our routine. The second is a morning walk, at least while the weather is warm enough.
I stroll along the sand, watching the ocean breeze whip Ren’s hair into a mad fury of sunrise-copper waves. I hold his arm to steady myself, and I feel my body loosen, my joints open with each step across firm, cool sand.
“I was out cold last night when you came home,” I tell him.
Ren glances down at me and smiles. “Oh, I know. I heard you snoring the moment I came in.”
I glare at him. “I’m congested.” His face tightens in concern. “Allergies, Zenzero.”
“Hm.” He glances away.
“How was Shakespeare Club?”
I almost died of the cuteness last night. I got my quiet night, curled up on the couch with Pazza, but first I got a goodbye from the sweetest dork that lives. There he was, a well-loved mass-market of As You Like It shoved in his back jeans pocket, massive tray of baked goods from Viggo tucked in his arms. And a secretive, delighted glint in his eye that I’d never seen before.
As if the universe is set to prove me wrong, Ren peers down at me, cat eyes crinkled with that same conspiratorial sparkle. Leaning to press a soft kiss to my temple, he murmurs, “It was fun.” The words buzz softly against my hair, before he straightens and glances ahead.
Pazza tears off after a gull, barking madly, and when it soars into the sky, she drops glumly to her haunches.
Watching her, I’m distracted from where I step, so when I hit a dip in the sand, my leg buckles, pitching me toward the water. Just before I anticipate an icy wake-up swim, I’m yanked back, a warm hand wrapped around my waist and hoisting me upright.
“Oof.” I bump into Ren’s chest, my hands reflexively fisting his shirt. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and rather than meet his eye, I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You okay?”
I nod, but a stupid tear rolls down my cheek. It’s the first time I’ve tripped like that in front of him, and it feels exposing. Indecently vulnerable.
Holding me close, he wraps both arms around me tight. Like he knows I need a minute.
“I’m tough,” I whisper.
He nods. “I know you are.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You have,” he says. “You still do. You always will. I’ve just joined in, too. Now we take care of each other.”
I hiccup a stifled cry and press my forehead to his sternum. His chin fits exactly over my head. I feel his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“Frankie?” he says quietly.
On a sniffle, I say, “Hm?”
Sliding one hand from my back, slowly down my arm, he holds out my hand, and interlaces our fingers. “Dance with me?”
I rear back enough to meet his eyes. He’s grinning, but there’s a blush on his cheeks. A look, I’m starting to learn, that he wears when he’s nervous. “Okay?”
Tucking me close in his grasp, Ren brings our joined hands to his chest. As he sways us, he hums softly in my ear. It’s warm and low. No melo
dy I recognize, but it doesn’t matter. It’s beautiful all the same.
“You got ahead of me,” he says quietly. “Trying to do a dip before I’ve even asked you to dance.”
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. “Søren.”
“Yes, Francesca.”
A long, silent moment holds between us as an unfamiliar force churns from the core of my body. A powerful, surging, unstoppable something, it roars through my chest, tearing through my heart. A lock slipping into place, it settles with a small, quiet, irrevocable click.
The door of my heart swings open, and out tumbles the most terrifying handful of words. Inside me, the irrefutable truth that clatters into place.
I love Ren.
That knowledge makes me feel free, weightless, as if Ren let go of me right now, I’d catch on the sea breeze and float serenely to the sky.
“What is it, buttercup?”
I turn my head enough to playfully sink my teeth into his pec. “You’ve got me all tied up. No nicknames when I can’t defend myself.”
He smiles down at me, slowing our dance until we’re still but for the wind that swirls around us, whipping our hair and clothes.
Ren dips his head and kisses me. A soft, searing sweep of his lips. Gentle and cherishing.
“I love you, Frankie.” Those wintry eyes search mine as he holds me close. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I know maybe that’s not how you feel, and that’s okay. But I needed you to know. This. You and Me…” He sweeps back the hair tangling across my face. “It means everything to me.”
I nod, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in my throat. But all I can manage, as I cling to this man is the faintest, tear-choked, “Me, too.”
* * *
Three subsequent games. One more at home, two in Denver. Zero wins. Lots of great sex. Lots of cuddles and talks, sneaking into hotel rooms, and lounging on the couch. But the team’s mood is somber, and mine’s not much better.
There’s a tickle in my throat, an ache settled in my joints. My body’s warm and slow. I’m either preparing for the flare of the year or I’m coming down with something. Which, I’ll be damned if I tell Ren about.
Sitting on the deck, Ren rubs his forehead as he reads the sports page on his phone. His brow is knitted, his jaw tight. And for some reason I feel responsible.
“What if I jinxed you?”
Ren glances up from his phone. “What?”
“Since we started sleeping together, you’ve lost three in a row.”
Ren chuckles to himself and takes a sip of coffee. But when he sees my face, he sets down his cup with a clunk and leans in. “You’re serious? Practical, rational Frankie, is blaming her sex life for a team that’s just not having its best playoffs.”
I shrug and bite into my bagel. “I don’t know. I mean you guys suck. Bad.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
Setting my hand on his massive thigh, I squeeze affectionately and glance out to the sand where Pazza bolts toward the water, barking at the waves.
“Not you, specifically, Zenzero,” I say quietly, pulling out a tissue and blowing my nose. Ren and Rob are basically the only thing holding the team together. Maddox is still out sick—not that he was playing spectacularly—but he also took down a few other key players, too, with whatever contagion gave him a lung infection.
Ren glances over at me, rests a hand to my forehead, then cheek. “You started sniffling in your sleep last night. You haven’t stopped this morning.”
“I’m fine.” I brush his hand away lightly and sip my coffee. “Seasonal allergies.”
He makes a noncommittal noise. Turning slightly to face me, Ren sets one leg on his knee and rests an arm along the back of my chair. His hand slides around my neck and massages.
I hiss at the pain-pleasure of his touch. I ache everywhere, and while I don’t have a fever, I’m thinking it’s only a matter of time. Not that Ren knows that. Because if he did, he’d tuck me in and insist on staying home and taking care of me. That’s not happening, not when tomorrow’s game five of the series, and if he doesn’t show to practice today or the game tomorrow night, Coach will disown him, and they’ll definitely lose.
When Ren slides his thumb up my neck toward the tender base of my skull, I almost cry uncle and confess how shitty I feel, but for once, my mother’s number lighting up my phone to FaceTime is a welcome interruption.
“Gotta take this,” I mutter, leaning out of his grip.
Ren makes no move to leave.
I lift my phone and raise my eyebrows. “You mind?”
He smiles, settling back into his chair with his coffee. “Not at all. Please take it. I’d like to meet her.”
Sputtering, I nearly drop my phone. “I. What? Ren—”
“You’re going to miss her call, snickerdoodle.”
I roll my eyes and swipe to answer her. “Hi, Ma.” Ren’s mouth quirks. I smack his chest. “My New York comes out when I talk to her. Don’t you dare make fun of me.”
“Love bug, I would never.”
I practically growl at him.
“Frankie?” my mom yells. She’s staring down her nose through her glasses, walking through the kitchen.
“Ma. Sit down. You make me nauseous moving around like that.”
“Nice to talk to you, too,” she says. “Glad you’re alive. It’s been a while.”
Ren lifts an eyebrow in censure. I stick my tongue out at him.
“Don’t stick your tongue out at me, young lady—”
“Ma, it wasn’t for you. It was for him.”
“Oooh,” she croons. “A man? Finally. I told Gabby I thought you were going for that friend of yours with all the fancy piercings, but she told me you don’t bark up that tree.”
“Gabby would be correct. Besides, Lorena’s way out of my league.” Sighing, I swivel the phone so the camera faces Ren. “Ma, this is Ren Bergman. Ren, this is my mom, Maria Zeferino.”
He waves hi and her jaw drops. “Jesus,” my mom whispers.
Ren glances nervously from me back to her.
I lean toward him and grin. “Where do you think I got my love of gingers, Zenzero?”
Ren turns a brilliant red. Clearing his throat, he smiles at her. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Zeferino. Frankie’s said wonderful things about you.”
Like hell I have. I dig my heel into his bare foot, but he doesn’t seem to care.
Ma cocks an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you, Ren. But I doubt that highly. I drive her crazy. It’s why she moved a country away from me.”
I roll my eyes, bringing the phone back to facing only me. “I moved cross-country for a kickass job and mellow weather.”
She waves her hand. “How’s your health?”
“It’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You exercising? Taking your meds? Getting your bloodwork and X-rays—”
“Ma. I said it’s fine.”
She squints at me. “You look thin. And your nose is red. Are you sick?”
Ren makes a disapproving noise. “See?” he whispers. “I told you.”
I glare at him. “And I told you,” I hiss back, “that I don’t need another fussy mother. So, back off, Ren.”
He sits straight, eyes narrowed. On an abrupt stand, he sweeps up his coffee and goes inside. Guilt settles in my stomach. I shouldn’t have snapped at him, but damn, is it aggravating to be talked to so paternalistically. I’m a grown woman. It’s my body to manage.
Or mismanage.
And tough shit. I warned him this would be an issue, that it was a sensitive and unwavering boundary for me.
As I hear him through the open screen door, banging around in the kitchen and muttering to himself, my stomach tightens in unease, weight presses on my chest that no deep breathing resolves. I’m definitely getting sick. Just with what, I’m not sure.
Tell him. Trust him.
I can’t. Because I can’t trust him to be objective. He’ll toss aside his responsibilities and then down that terr
ible resentment road we’ll go. I’ll drag him, he’ll go along happily…until he’s miserable, and I’m left with someone who has to choose between me and a fulfilling life. I won’t. Fucking. Do it.
“You done?” Ma says.
My head snaps down as I peer at my phone. “Sorry. My mind wandered.”
“Tell me where it went.” She leans in and sets her cheek in one hand. “I’ve got all day.”
Searching her eyes, I bite my lip in hesitation. I love my mother. And before I was always a checklist of health issues, I felt like we were close. Has time whittled away that barrier between us? Can I open up to her and unburden myself?
Her eyes are like mine, and they brighten as she smiles. “I know I can be overbearing,” she says. “But I called because I miss just talking. That’s all. I trust you to take care of yourself, okay?”
Oh, the guilt.
“I won’t nag or poke you about anything health related,” she says. “I promise. I’ll just listen. And we can talk about other stuff.”
With a glance over my shoulder, I see Ren wandering the kitchen, presumably cooking breakfast. Regret tugs at my heart. I just pushed him away. I’ve become a bit of an expert at that, haven’t I? As if I need further proof, I peer at my mother, the woman who loves me imperfectly, but loves me, nonetheless. Who after our mutual hurts and blunders, I’ve slowly, systematically withdrawn from.
Leaning close to her image on my phone, I clear my throat, searching Ma’s eyes, the ones she gave me. “I miss you,” I tell her, unsteadily.
Her gaze softens behind her glasses. She sniffles. “I miss you, too, honey. But you look like sunshine and seventy degrees almost year-round suits you. So that makes missing you a little easier, knowing you’re happy where you are. You are happy, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I am.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ren, at the window, eyes down. As if he senses me watching him, he glances up. Our eyes lock. I offer him a tentative, apologetic smile. He gives me one back, then turns and disappears deeper into the kitchen.
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