Burning Down the Spouse

by Dakota Cassidy

  He ran his tongue along her lower lip, eliciting a shiver of anticipation from her. “I would never brag. Not over sliders, anyway. Maybe peach pie. That always makes me give it up. “

  Frankie let her arms slip under his, wrapping them around his waist with more giggling. “Fine, then. Do what you will with me,” she said on a mock sigh, fighting to hide the shudder of need rippling through her.

  Nikos’s laughter was gruff when he pushed her back against the wall and popped open the button on her jeans. Jeans that now fit the way they used to thanks to some Antonakas love. He slid them over her hips with slow hands, caressing her skin as he went.

  Frankie’s head fell back against the wall when he kissed his way along the side of her hip and down along the inside of her thigh. Her heart almost stopped, much like it always did, when he reached the most intimate place on her body.

  Nikos relieved her of her panties and jeans, lifting her feet to pull her ballet slippers off. His hands were hot, untamed, running over her thighs, down along her ankles, and back up again to rest at her waist. His groan was unbidden, muted against the tender skin of her belly. He used a single digit to take a long draw of her swollen flesh, dragging a whimper of a plea from her lips.

  The world tilted when his tongue sunk deep into her, swirling the aching bud of her clit with the tip. Her hips bucked against his mouth, hot and all encompassing. The silken glide brought her fingers to knead at his shoulders as his hands pulled her flush to him, kneading her ass in a circular motion.

  Her nipples beaded, painfully tight and hard against her sweater, the delicious friction of Nikos’s mouth bringing the white-hot flood of heat she’d begun to allow herself to crave.

  When he slid a finger inside her, thrusting it into her with a force that left her gasping, she cried out, her chest heaving forward, her shoulders pushing against the wall as she rose on her toes to consume every last lick of his raspy tongue.

  Frankie drove down hard against Nikos’s lips, writhing with blissful pleasure when climax, sharp and sweet, began its upward climb. Her hand gripped his shoulder, the other wound into his hair, gripping the back of his head to keep his mouth as close as she could.

  Her orgasm was a flash of brilliant white light behind her eyelids and the molten grip of sweet relief. She gave a final violent shudder before collapsing against him, boneless and replete.

  Nikos shimmied up along her frame while clothes were discarded and breaths of need rang in her ears.

  Their bodies met, naked, hot, heaving against each other, their skin sticking and pulling apart as they ground together. Like so many times in the past month, Frankie instinctively raised a thigh, curling it around Nikos’s waist. She reached between them, grasping his cock, silken and straining against her hand.

  His groan, throaty and low, made her smile, much the way it did when she recalled it when she was alone. The sinful pleasure that single sound brought her left her feeling feminine and empowered as she dragged her body along his to kneel in front of him.

  His hiss of pleasure when she cupped his tight sac and enveloped him in her mouth made her sigh around him. She’d just begun to learn what brought Nikos the most pleasure, what brought him as close to the edge as possible. Drawing the tip of his cock against her tongue, Frankie began the slow downward spiral, letting her lips drag over his hot shaft.

  Nikos’s hands found her hair, clenching fistfuls of it, thrusting into her mouth until his hiss of need and the tug on her shoulders had her once again, back against the wall.

  A condom came from somewhere, sliding onto his cock with skill, and then he was above her, taking her lips, devouring her with the thrust of his tongue.

  Her hands were frantic, pulling him close, hiking her leg around his waist until she felt the hard tip of his cock against her slick entrance. A single drive upward, and Nikos was filling her, groaning against her mouth until he took all focus away but the need to find fulfillment.

  Each second, each grind against one another, each crash of their hips sounded out in the small space. Their breathing became rapid, heaving in and out until Frankie’s teeth clenched together from the building pressure.

  Nikos cupped her face with one hand, using the other to keep them fused. His mouth pulled from hers to settle on her cheek, his warm breath fanning it as he drove upward.

  Frankie could no longer bear the electric current sizzling along her veins, the slap of their flesh, the aching-sweet pleasure he wrought from her. With her breasts scraping against his chest, her nipples hard and aching, she came in a rush of colors and sounds.

  Nikos bucked, too, groaning long and low, stroking her hair, kissing her lips.

  Frankie shivered against the shelter of his chest, fighting that swell of completion she harbored each time he smiled, when they made love, when he rested his chin on the top of her head.

  Her internal battle for complete emotional independence from anyone or anything warred with the onslaught of this deep-seated need she had for Nikos. The safety his embrace brought her was one she’d never fully experienced with Mitch.

  Yet, nothing frightened her more than losing all the ground she’d gained. She never wanted to allow the expectation that someone else would always take care of her to overrule her common sense.

  But Nikos drew those very feelings from her, from deep inside her where they were no longer cast aside in favor of sensibility.

  “So where’s the Tiger Balm?” he teased, withdrawing from her and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  Frankie snuggled deeper against him, rubbing her arms. “Forget the Tiger Balm. I’m starving. Feed me, Seymour.”

  Nikos stopped to gather some of their clothes, wrapping his sweater around her shoulders. She burrowed into it, catching the scent of his cologne and doing that secret-smile thing. “You want me to cook or you want to go out, mistress?” he teased, grinning at her when he handed her her jeans.

  Frankie loved to watch him cook for her. It wasn’t like watching Mitch cook. Nikos didn’t care if crumbs fell on the floor or if egg yolk spattered his ceramic stovetop. It was, instead, a completely relaxing experience, one enjoyed over a bottle of red wine, with her sitting at his small breakfast bar watching while they talked and she skimmed the paper for a part-time job. She cleaned up, sometimes with Nikos’s arms wrapped around her from behind as she rinsed dishes. “I’d love for you to cook, but we lack the basic essentials. You know, food. I haven’t shopped. Not to mention, I don’t have any pots or pans to cook anything in.”

  Nikos shook one of the wrapped packages on her floor that Maxine had brought over. “I think you probably have a whole kitchen here.”

  Slipping on her jeans, Frankie smiled. She was so grateful to have found these people who’d dragged her out of her sinkhole of depression and made her choose to not just survive, but to live—really live.

  And eat awesome meatloaf.

  Her brand-new cell phone, the one she and Voula had shopped for, rang to the tune of “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s. Nikos glanced at it, then frowned. “It’s Mitch. Again.”

  Frankie’s sigh was exasperated when she took the phone. Mitch had approached her about possibly helping him create some recipes for Mitch in the Kitchen’s last three or four shows of the season.

  Since he’d asked her, she’d avoided his phone calls when she was with Nikos due to what was occurring right now: the old jaw clench Nikos had perfected to beat back his jealousy whenever the subject of Mitch came up, and unfortunately for her, he came up often—mostly on TV, and ironically, almost always when she and Nikos were together. Though Nikos said nothing, Frankie knew Mitch’s constant contact was a bone of contention between them.

  Her glance at Nikos was an apologetic wince. “I’ve been avoiding him for about a week. I really think I should take this, and then we’ll hit the Stop & Shop and utilize my mad coupon-clipping skillz. Whaddya say?” Frankie tacked on a sweet smile, flirtatious and cute for good measure.

  Nikos’s eyebrow rose wi
th a cynical slant to it. Yet he voiced not a single jealous word. “I’ll go look for coupons.”

  With a deep breath, she flipped open her phone. “Hi, Mitch. What’s up?”

  He coughed into the phone. “I really need you, honey.”

  Bristling at the word “honey,” Frankie narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  His moan echoed in her ear. “I feel simply awful, and I really need to give the producers something that resembles a recipe to keep them off my back. Please, sweetness?”

  “Have you told the execs what’s going on with you? I’m sure they wouldn’t be angry with you, Mitch. You have cancer, for God’s sake.”

  Nikos coughed his displeasure from his place on her lone folding chair, rooting in the big yellow coupon holder Gail had given her.

  “No!” was his quick reply, followed by another cough. “I don’t want anyone to know anything. You know what the press is like, Frankie.”

  Oh, the irony. “Uh, yeah. I kinda do. Remember the headlines, ‘Celebrity Chef’s Wife Wreaks Wreckage With Wire Whisk’?”

  Mitch paused, sending a grating sigh through the phone. “I really could use your help, Frankie. That’s all I’m asking. Is it too much?”

  Fuck. The pity card. Well played, Sensei. Since her chat with his doctor in the emergency room, and despite the urging of Gail to check the validity of Mitch’s pending doom, Frankie had decided she had no right to dig around in her ex-husband’s affairs. Legally, she was no longer entitled to that information anyway.

  Yet each time someone brought up the possibility that Mitch was lying, her doubts gave her gut a good, hard twist. Frankie shoved that notion aside in favor of a “better safe than sorry” attitude. She’d never be able to live with herself if she was wrong. “When do you need the recipes, Mitch?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I have been trying to tell you that for a week, Frankie,” he scolded with the tone one used for a ten-year-old who’d left the light on in the hall yet again.

  “Mitch, some of those recipes took me weeks to figure out! How am I supposed to come up with three in one night?”

  “If you’d just called me back . . .”

  She ran her fingers over her temple and gave Nikos a sheepish look. “Okay. I’ll be there in an hour, providing traffic doesn’t prevent it. I’ll call you on the way with a list of things we’ll need for test runs. Can Juliana pick up the items for me?”

  His voice instantly lightened. “I’ll make certain of it.”

  With a click, she turned off the phone, wincing when she caught sight of Nikos’s dark gaze. “He is dying, Nikos.” It really was the best defense around. How could anyone ever say no to someone when they were dying? What request was too much?

  He shook his head, rising from the chair, his handsome face resigned. “I know, I know. I get it. This is me trusting you. You go tend to Mitch and his kitchen, and me and Kik will make up a list of things you need from the grocery store.” Kiki hopped out of her princess bed and stood on her hind legs to lean on Nikos’s calf, stretching against him. He scooped her up and planted a kiss on her nose.

  God, he really did have some gush-worthy moments. “You don’t have to shop for me. I can do it . . .”

  “When, tomorrow? Your shift starts at seven, Frankie. It’s already three. By the time you get there and create and get back here, you’re going to be dead on your feet. You go. I’ll take Kik for the night if you don’t make it home by eleven, okay?” He gave her a quick peck on her lips. “Go. It’s okay,” he emphasized with a reassuring pat on her backside.

  Taking Kiki from Nikos, Frankie gave her a quick snuggle before handing her back. She squeezed Nikos’s arm and shot him a smile before grabbing her coat and purse and running out the door.

  As she headed out of her apartment complex, she smiled again when she remembered his body pressed to hers.

  And then she blushed because she was having carnal flashbacks she neither regretted nor didn’t want to repeat. A. Lot.

  Add in the fact that while she knew Nikos wanted to throttle Mitch, sick or not, he didn’t object to her going. The clench of his jaw and the flash of irritation in his eyes had told her he wasn’t happy about it.

  But that he had, in fact, not made a big stink of it, and even offered to take Kiki for the night, meant he was beginning to trust her.

  Like a flash of lightning, it hit her: Nikos’s trust in her had become very important.

  She smiled.

  To herself.

  Like time number two million and two.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  From the “red-eyed, snot-dripping-from-her-nose” journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: Recipe for Disaster equals one part dying ex-husband, two parts enraged new boyfriend, and a pinch of paparazzi with telephoto lens. Oh, and Hollywood Scoop is the debil, and all the people who work for that fucking show are ass-licking, debil worshippers. I have to go now, because I need another tissue and some ointment for my raw nose. And the want ads. In that order.

  Frankie glanced at the clock and yawned wide. Wiping her hands on the apron Mitch had provided, she untied the strings and laid it on the countertop, looking in Mitch’s direction. “So I think you’re good to go. This should get you through to the next-to-last taping and keep the execs happy. I’ll email you one more recipe before the end of the week to finish it up.”

  Mitch’s eyes, still so youthful despite his fifty-eight years, crinkled at the corners. “Do you think it could be that meatloaf recipe from the diner?”

  Her head cocked. “I told you, that’s an Antonakas family secret. End of discussion.”

  His charm turned up a notch. “You know, you’re a lifesaver, Frankie. The powers that be would have known something was up if I didn’t produce. I just couldn’t come up with anything. I can’t seem to focus with . . .”

  Right. Who could focus with their head in a guillotine? She brushed her hair from her face, ignoring the mess they’d made in favor of digging out her purse from the pile of computer paper on the marble countertop. “I’m an exhausted lifesaver. As it is, I won’t get back until almost six, and then I have to go to work. And you should be in bed.” Mitch didn’t look sick. In fact, he looked better than he ever had. Maybe all that colonic garbage he’d given a thumbs-up to really was the answer: youth in an enema.

  As they’d worked, she’d been hesitant to ask too many questions about the doctor he was seeing or his course of treatment for fear he’d consider her interest more than just humane. Too much of the evening, and the intimacy Mitch injected into every other word, had left her feeling uncomfortable.

  Though, tonight had been a milestone. No matter how many times Mitch brushed her arm with his, no matter how many warm smiles he shot her way, no matter how many frickin’ times he’d cornered her against a counter—he just wasn’t Nikos.

  Wee and doggie to growth.

  Wiping his hands on a linen towel, he cornered her again. “Why don’t you just stay here, honey?”

  Frankie backed away. “Because I have an apartment I’d like to spend my first night in, not to mention, work in two hours.”

  “Right. The diner.” Oh, the sarcasm those words dripped.

  “Yes, Mitch. The diner. I know it’s beneath you because the label isn’t five-star, but I love it there. I love working there. I love the people there.”

  “And that Nikos. Do you love Nikos, too?”

  “Did you love Bamby?” she countered.

  “Not like I loved you.”

  Hookay. They were traveling into the muddy waters of lying and so much bullshit. She was out. What was the point of arguing when he had much bigger issues to consider at this point in his life? “None of that matters anymore. I have to go.”

  But he took her by the arm, pulling her to him, his body still quite obviously in peak condition due to his personal trainer Gustav. “Don’t you miss me, Frankie? Don’t you miss us? Like we were tonight? Cooking together, l
aughing?”

  Laughing? Had there been laughter? She’d made it a point to keep this get-together strictly business minus laughter. Frankie pulled back, letting her arms hang loose. “Us? Us? Do you even know what that word means?” She shook her head, trying to remember that the man with the grip of steel was sick. “Look, let’s not do this. You’re not well.”

  “Of course I know what it means, honey, and I’m well enough to know I miss you. We had some good times. Great times.”

  “Before or after I became your bitch?” The words slipped out before she was able to stop them. That Mitch was diagnosed with a terminal illness didn’t change the facts. The facts were these: he’d done something awful to her. Then he’d left her broke and a YouTube sensation. But she was letting her old anger surface when it was of the utmost importance she keep it in check.

  So checked.

  He trailed a finger down her nose. “That’s unfair, Frankie. You asked for something to do.”

  Frankie sucked in a deep, calming breath. “I don’t want to have this conversation, Mitch. I want to go home. Let go of me, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “No. I deserve to hear this. Let’s clear the air before I leave this earth.”

  She softened a bit, cringing at the bold acceptance of his fate. “We don’t know that you’re leaving anything.”

  “But if I do, I want to know you had your fair shot. Now, go on. Give it to me. We’re adults. You asked me for something to do. I gave you something to do on the show, didn’t I?”

  “Right. Something to do—I didn’t ask you to do someone. I didn’t ask to become someone you battered with constant demands and endless complaints until exhaustion set in all while your minions fanned you with palm fronds and hand-fed you grapes. I was your wife, Mitch. Not your slave.” Wow. Talk about unload.