Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Frankie ignored her friend and buttoned her coat. They were halfway to the door when she stopped short. Pru ran into her back. “Hey,” her friend muttered.

  Frankie pointed at what had caught her attention. Tucked into a quiet corner in front of the window were Elliot Kilbourn and Margeaux the Dragon Lady.

  Elliot had Margeaux’s face cupped in his hand and was moving in for what promised to be an NC-17 kiss.

  “Gross,” Pru hissed. “Go before they see us!”

  They hurried out of the restaurant, eyes straight ahead. And didn’t stop until they were halfway down the block.

  “Well there’s a match made in heaven,” Frankie said dryly.

  “You said it, sister,” Pru agreed. “An evil wench and her henchman. We should give them a couple name. Elgeaux? Margel?”

  Frankie shuddered and clutched the apple pie to her chest. Nothing good could come from a union like that.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Aiden rested his hand on Frankie’s bare thigh in the darkened back of the limo. She’d chosen a short dark purple number with a tempting halter neck that made his fingers itch to untie it. All that stood between him and Frankie’s naked, begging body was two hours at his mother’s fundraiser and a short speech. There was also the ride home from Long Island to Manhattan, but with a privacy screen and condoms stocked in the small compartment under the bar, that wasn’t necessarily a hindrance.

  “Do you like your dress?” Aiden asked, skimming his fingertips over her inner thigh.

  He watched her open her knees a little wider to accommodate his touch.

  Since her lunch with Pru earlier in the week, Frankie had declared herself cured of any worry about what a bunch of strangers with cameras and gossip blog subscriptions had to say about her. Which meant she hadn’t heard anything about what the paparazzi had dubbed Dress Gate.

  “It’s very beautiful,” she said, playing with the tulle of the skirt. It nipped in at the waist before flowing into a full skirt reminiscent of 1950s elegance. She looked stunning, fuckable, regal.

  “Do you like my hair?” she asked, pushing a pin back in place. It was pinned up in a curling mass leaving her neck bare.

  “Very much,” he admitted.

  “I watched a YouTube tutorial,” she said proudly.

  “You did it yourself?” he asked, his eyebrows winging up.

  “I didn’t have time for the salon today.”

  “What will society say when they find out you do your own hair?” Aiden teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what they say. It’s stupid to drop a couple hundred bucks once a week just to have someone else stab pins into your head. Besides, you’d think they’d have more important things to worry about.”

  “You’d think,” he agreed.

  She was one of the few people in the world who could be completely immune to the crush of disapproval orchestrated by the media. She’d survived the attention over the Goffman incident, though he doubted the news would let it drop, especially after today.

  But she could survive it. Franchesca Baranski didn’t care what a stranger behind a computer screen had to say about her style. And it was refreshing. He’d seen stray negative blog comments destroy entire weeks of the lives of women he’d dated before. “How could they say she wore it better?” “That’s photoshopped,” they’d howl at the screen while dialing their publicists.

  It came with the territory of being considered important.

  Frankie couldn’t be bothered to care enough to read the drivel in the first place. People could have been singing her praises or tearing her down, and it wouldn’t have interested her either way.

  What remained to be seen was how she would feel about him going to bat for her. Aiden reached into his jacket pocket and produced the check.

  “Here,” he said offering it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked peering at it in the dark. “Twenty-five hundred dollars? Aiden, I told you I’m not taking your money.”

  He tapped the top of the check. “It’s not my money.”

  He watched her as a slow smile spread across her face. “Lionel Goffman. And how did you manage that?”

  Aiden cleared his throat. There was a lot they had to talk about. But the car was easing up his mother’s drive. “We’ll talk about it later,” he promised.

  Frankie tucked the money into her clutch and leaned down to adjust the strap of her stiletto. Her breasts pressed against the fabric of the halter top, begging to be released.

  He shifted uncomfortably as his dick hardened. Would he ever stop having that reaction to her?

  Oblivious to his lecherous gaze, she sat up and reapplied her lipstick. Dark, sexy red. He wanted to see those lips wrapped around his dick, her big eyes staring up at him as she took him to the edge of reason with her magic mouth.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, snapping her compact shut and shoving it back in her bag. “You’re not getting a headache now are you?”

  “More like a cockache.”

  Not satisfied to take his word for it, she palmed his hard-on through his trousers.

  “Damn it, Franchesca! You’re not helping.”

  “Do you pop little blue pills for breakfast? You’re hard twenty hours a day. I didn’t even do anything to you… yet.”

  The car pulled up to the front of his mother’s estate. He watched her internally freak out over the opulence. Thick ivory columns graced the front of the house. The circular driveway was made from crushed shells and orbited a large fountain with white statues in various poses of what looked like grief or some kind of extra weird orgy. The cars already here made the driveway look like a luxury sedan showroom.

  “Don’t tell me what happens after ‘yet,’” Aiden begged, closing his eyes and willing his body to relax.

  “I won’t tell you that I’m going to hold my boobs like this,” she said, pressing her tits together, “and let you fuck them.”

  He hissed out a breath and reached for her. But she scooted out of his grip.

  “Don’t you dare! Someone is going to open that door in five seconds, and we both better have our clothes on.” She wrapped her coat around her.

  “Don’t play with me, Franchesca.”

  “Or what?” she asked innocently. “You’ll come in your pants?”

  He growled and made another grab for her shapely ass. She was his tormentor, his angel, his enemy.

  The car door opened, and Frankie winked at him as she slipped out in front of him.

  She’d pay. He’d make sure of it. But for now, he’d be the one to suffer.

  He caught up with her on the steps and tucked her arm through his. “Slow down, sweetheart, before you break an ankle.”

  “If you fall right now, you might break your dick,” she mused.

  “As soon as this is over, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down tomorrow.”

  “Promises, promises,” Frankie said airily.

  “If I shoved my hand up your skirts right now, are you telling me I wouldn’t find you wet?” he asked.

  Her inhale was sharp, and Aiden knew he wasn’t the only one looking forward to the end of the event. They’d be lucky if they made it back to the limo.

  “Nice house,” she said, her voice strained. Her coat gapped, and Aiden caught a glimpse of hardened nipple under the satin of her top.

  “Tell me you’re wearing a bra.”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other?”

  “Jesus. Franchesca. How am I supposed to get through two hours knowing the only thing between my mouth and your perfect tits is a scrap of satin?”

  She shrugged as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “I guess you’ll just have to think about baseball.”

  He backed her up against the red brick of the entry way and flexed his hips into her so she could feel how hard she made him. She gave a little gasp and cuddled into him.

  Aide
n reached into her coat and shoved his hand into the top of her dress. Her nipple throbbed against his palm. He squeezed her breast and ran his thumb over the point.

  “Fuck, Aiden,” she hissed.

  “That’s right, baby. You’re going to be begging me to fuck you,” he promised. “I’m going to ride you until you’re out of orgasms. Until you can’t move. I’m going to ruin you.”

  She looked dazed. And Aiden felt like he’d gotten the upper hand again.

  “Now let’s go smile pretty for the camera,” he said

  She sagged against the wall when he stepped back. He adjusted himself to a slightly less painful position in his pants. His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. He grimaced.

  “What’s wrong?” Frankie asked, righting her dress.

  “My mother is reminding me that there are security cameras out here.”

  “Seriously?” she swore darkly. “She already probably hates me for causing a scene, and now I’m dry humping her son on the front porch!”

  “There was nothing dry about that, Franchesca,” Aiden grinned wickedly.

  “Evil.” She made a cross with her fingers. “Stay away from me with your magic penis and pheromones.”

  He laughed and opened the front door.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  His mother had limited the press to a few society reporters and bloggers. The media was confined to the entry hall, a two-story room in soft ivories and beiges with fussy accent chairs and tables.

  It was a very civilized press gauntlet on home turf. Aiden kept Frankie glued to his side. His mother had made it very clear to the press that no one would be discussing Lionel Goffman. They suffered through the same questions over and over again. How did you meet? How long have you been seeing each other? And with each round, he could feel Frankie getting antsier.

  “My subscribers wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t bring up Dress Gate,” the blogger had thick glasses and pink streaks in her hair and directed the question at Frankie.

  “What’s Dress Gate?” Frankie asked.

  “The ongoing conversation about you repeating the red Armani dress you wore to dinner at The Oak Leaf and then again to lunch this week.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” Frankie asked, bewildered.

  The blogger flashed her a friendly smile and waited.

  Frankie looked up at Aiden. She was practically vibrating next to him.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. “Oh, I’ve got this one. Don’t you all have more important things to do with your time? It’s a beautiful dress. I like it. I’m going to wear it more than once, not throw it away. Deal with it. Why don’t you ask me about the small business initiative the city is trying to pass or how survival rates with children fighting leukemia are five percent higher at this facility than any other in the country? Or, at the very least, ask Aiden here who he’s wearing.”

  It occurred to Aiden that Frankie might be dangerously close to breaking another nose.

  He slid his arm around her waist. “I have very fond memories of the first time she wore it. I hope I get to see it many more times in the future. And speaking of the future, I hope your questions for my girlfriend reflect both her intelligence, her sense of social responsibility, and her involvement in the business community.”

  He dragged Frankie away before she could add anything further.

  “What the fuck? Dress Gate? Are they serious?” she hissed.

  “Aiden! Franchesca!” Cecily Kilbourn, dressed in head to toe silver, glittered her way toward them.

  “Mom,” Aiden said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

  “I’m glad you two were able to make it inside,” Cecily teased.

  Frankie turned scarlet, and Aiden pulled her into his side and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Sorry about the R-rating,” he said, not feeling remotely sincere in his apology.

  “I’m happy to see you happy,” Cecily said, winking at them both. “Now, let me introduce you two to some people.”

  * * *

  It was the last time he had his hands on Frankie. She was dragged away for introductions and wine while Aiden made his own rounds. His mother had opened up the library, dining room, and grand hall for the event. He tried to stay in the same room as Frankie, but when Pruitt and Chip arrived, he felt like he was constantly chasing her from room to room.

  He found her easily in the crowd when he got up to make his speech. He spoke of family and community and the responsibility they felt for providing for a better future. But he thought of Franchesca, naked and bucking under him.

  She smiled up at him from her chair. Those red lips curving sinfully.

  It was an obsession, her mouth. Listening to the words she would scream or pant or plead while he was inside her. Watching her wrap her lips around his cock as she took him to her throat. That dirty, smart, funny mouth.

  He’d given up trying to anticipate exactly what she’d say. She was quicker with a jibe, wittier with a reply than anyone he knew. His Franchesca had the brains that made her even more appealing than her goddess-worthy curves did.

  It wasn’t just sex. It never had been with Franchesca. He loved watching her. He loved their late-night calls to catch up. He loved knowing he was going to see her and enjoying that painful edge of anticipation. He loved… her.

  The thought echoed in his head, resonating like the chime of a bell. Resonating like the truth.

  People were applauding, but only Frankie existed to him.

  He stepped down from the riser his mother had positioned at the end of the grand hall and zeroed in on her. Ignoring the attempts to grab his attention, he reached her and tugged her from her chair.

  “Come with me,” he ordered, pulling her from the room into the empty hallway.

  “Aide, slow down,” she said breathlessly behind him. He slowed his steps so she could keep up.

  “What’s going on down there?” she asked, eyeing his crotch.

  Aiden reached down and adjusted his erection that was threatening to tear its way out of his pants.

  He turned on her. “This is what you do to me, Franchesca. You eviscerate a reporter, you cross those long, beautiful legs, you order a fucking pizza, and I’m hard.”

  “Too bad we’re surrounded by a hundred people who didn’t come to watch a porno,” she said. And then she made a mistake. She reached between them and cupped him through the material of his pants.

  He grabbed her by the arm, hard. “Don’t tease me, Franchesca.”

  He saw that spark in her eye and recognized it. The woman loved a challenge almost as much as he did. Maybe even more.

  “Or what? You’ll punish me?” She dragged her knuckles over the ridge of his cock. “You’ll fuck me? Where would the keynote speaker drag me off to—”

  He didn’t let her finish the sentence. He wouldn’t have survived it. Aiden kept his grip on her arm and dragged her down the hall.

  She was jogging to keep up with him, her short steps on those heels made her tits bounce against their confinement. If he didn’t find an empty room in the next six seconds, his drycleaner was going to have a serious issue to deal with.

  The kitchen and morning room were too open. There was too much traffic. The library was where the bar was and usually drew a small crowd over the course of an evening. But the music room with its glass doors and dark interior? That would work.

  He pulled her inside and kicked the door shut behind him.

  “Are you gonna lock it?” Franchesca asked, her voice husky.

  “There’s no lock,” he said, drawing her across the darkened room to the white Chesterfield sofa. “So, if someone comes in here they’re going to see me fucking you on this couch. They’re going to see your tits bounce every time I drive my dick into you.”

  That excited her, that potential for exhibitionism. He saw it in the gleam of her eyes.

  She always managed to surprise him.

  He balanced her on the rolled arm of the sofa. Aiden reached u
p behind her neck and in one swift tug untied the halter neck of the dress. It was exactly why he’d bought it for her. That quick access. One hard pull, and her breasts were tumbling into his hands.

  They were heavy and caramel tipped, the nipples already budding at just the thought of his mouth on them. He skimmed his thumbs over them and listened to her hiss of breath.

  Yes, this was love and need and everything in between. He backed her against the couch and dipped his head to feed, first at one breast and then the other. She clawed at him, slipping her hands under his jacket, raking her nails over the fabric of his shirt.

  “I don’t have a condom, Franchesca,” he said, unbuckling his belt.

  “I don’t fucking care, Aiden.”

  “Be sure,” he warned her. “Because I’m not going to stop.”

  Her answer was to grip his cock through his pants with one hand while wrestling with his zipper with the other.

  He was hard enough that his cock escaped the confines of his pants on its own and hung heavily toward her. He was going to feel her tonight. Every sensation would be magnified. Every squeeze of her pussy he’d experience with nothing between them.

  He wouldn’t give her foreplay or finesse. Not here. But he would finish her in the room in which he’d suffered through summer time music lessons. He’d pour himself into her and brand her from the inside.

  Aiden pushed the skirts of her dress up until his fingers found wet satin. “So ready for me, baby. Aren’t you?”

  Frankie nodded wordlessly, her eyes glazed over as Aiden slid his fingers inside her delicate little thong. She was already spreading her legs for him. He tugged the satin down to her knees and let them fall the rest of the way. He took a moment to stroke his begging cock while Franchesca watched hungrily as his fist closed around his shaft. As he stroked, moisture pooled at the tip like tears of delayed gratification.

  “You are so fucking perfect,” he praised her as he guided the head of his cock between her legs. “I’m going to fuck you standing like this so I can watch you when you come on me.”