by Marni Mann
“You, Frankie,” she said. “It’s you.”
EIGHT.
DEREK
FRANKIE WALKED toward our table, the skinny jeans outlining her perfectly tight frame, the heels making her even taller than I remembered. Her nipples poked through her shirt, begging my teeth to bite them. She demanded my attention. Claimed it easily, in spite of the other women standing near me. I needed to have those legs wrapped around my waist and bury myself in the deepest, wettest, tightest part of her.
“Aren’t you going to finish your lunch?” Julia asked.
I’d only eaten half of what I’d ordered, realizing once again I was hungry for something much more sensual than food. I was done with this meeting and done with Julia, and once my conversation with Frankie was over, I’d be leaving this restaurant. “I’m not interested.”
“Can I order you something else?” she asked, oblivious.
“No.”
My eyes slowly moved up Frankie’s body and stopped on her face. There was something different about her today. She was looser, more confident. I assumed part of that came from the bottle of wine that was on her table. This restaurant was a setting that allowed her to be herself.
I liked what I saw.
Julia noticed I was staring past her and turned around. “What the hell is she doing here?” She said it loud enough for Frankie to hear, even from several steps away from our table.
“Derek,” Frankie said, her hand reaching for mine. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
I shook it tenderly, knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to show her pussy as much restraint. I needed to own every fucking inch of her skin, to work her body until she begged for mercy, until she couldn’t take another orgasm from my tongue, or my fingers, or my cock. “Frankie, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Are you here for business, or just having some fun?”
She smiled, and the blood rushed below my waist. “In our world, Derek, there’s no such thing as ‘just fun.’”
“I bet I could change your mind.” I glanced down at her wrist, at the silver and gold bangle gleaming against her skin. The metal twisted like a piece of rope. “You weren’t wearing that the other day…just the Rolex.” I would have noted it if she had. Wrists were one of my favorite spots on a woman. I took notice, always.
Her cheeks flushed a darker shade of red. I couldn’t blame that on the wine. My thumb brushed over the metal, skimming her skin during each stroke. “No, I wasn’t.” Her eyes fell to my wrist. “You weren’t wearing yours, either.”
She’d seen the thin leather straps that tied around my wrist; a gift Hayden had brought back from her last trip to Colorado. “Are you sure about that?” She was right. I just wanted to hear her answer.
“Positive. I’m observant to a fault.” She held our stare for a few more seconds, then glanced at her side. “Derek, please meet my assistant, Brea.”
Frankie’s hand was replaced by Brea’s. I liked hers far less. She was a pretty blonde with striking eyes, but she lacked Frankie’s sexiness, her beauty, her charm. “Mr. Block, it’s an honor. I’ve been checking you out online and your work is truly magnificent.” She spoke with a slight slur.
“Call me Derek.” I glanced at Julia, who was chewing the inside of her cheek. “I assume you ladies know each other?”
“We do,” Julia said. Her hardened stare shifted from me to Frankie. “This is the first time she’s ever followed me, though.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on mine, her nails so sharp the tips stabbed me. “The agents in this city are like vultures, Derek. They’re dying to get their claws into my clients.” If she thought she could use her claws to claim me, she was in for a rude awakening.
“Your clients?” Brea asked.
Frankie’s expression told me she was as confused as Brea. I needed to fix that. “Let me be clear,” I said, “I’m not anyone’s client yet.”
“Not yet,” Julia said. “But I think it’s very clear who should get to cover your tower.”
Brea snorted.
Frankie’s eyes lit up as she held back her laughter. Her shoulders relaxed, the tension leaving as fast as it had come. The honesty in that steely glare was gorgeous.
Julia had gotten one thing right: the person who deserved the job wasn’t the whore who kept referencing my tower. It was the dark-haired beauty with the gunmetal eyes and the charming personality who was standing in front of me.
I had a rule that I’d never broken: I didn’t sleep with anyone I worked with. I needed the people on my team to help run my business, people I could count on to be there, to be honest without things getting awkward. I couldn’t risk losing them over something like sex, no matter how strong my attraction was. Frankie would be on my team soon, responsible for selling my biggest build-out to date. Once I signed her contract, I couldn’t lose her. But it was taking everything I had not to carry her out of this restaurant, spread her over the hood of my Suburban and bury my face in her cunt.
As painful as it was going to be, I had to wait.
But the moment the last unit was sold, she’d be my reward.
I realized that could be a long time from now, but she’d be worth it.
“Julia,” Frankie said, “Brea and I were here for lunch long before you had even arrived. I’m not in the business of following you—I assure you of that. And despite your accusations, it’s been wonderful seeing you, as always. It’s too bad we have a showing we need to get to because we’d love to sit and hear all the reasons why you think you’re the perfect candidate to work with Block Development.”
Frankie’s gaze glided over to me, her body tilting as well. It was just enough motion to make the top of her shirt dip and reveal her amazing cleavage. I wanted to stick my tongue in the channel between them, lick my way across each mound and clamp my teeth around her hardened nipples, biting the sensitive ends until she withered and moistened beneath me.
“I’m so sorry to see you go,” Julia said.
Frankie laughed. It was the first time I’d heard that sound come out of her. It was more sensual and enticing than I expected. “I’m glad I got a chance to say hello, Derek.”
I reached for her hand. Though a handshake good-bye wasn’t necessary, feeling her skin again was. A longing passed between us, sharpening and growing deeper the more I held on. “You’ll be hearing from me soon.”
“Should I wear a bracelet during our next meeting?” she asked.
A growl began to erupt in my throat. I stopped it. “Please.”
I hated that I had to wait to have her. Despised it. I never deprived myself of any woman I wanted.
But this time, I had to.
She laughed again, her arm still entwined with Brea’s, and they both turned around to walk toward the lobby.
I was left looking at Julia.
She held up her knife and used it as a mirror, smiling into the metal. When she was satisfied, she dropped it on the table, “So…where were we before we were rudely interrupted?” She crossed her legs, the tip of her heel rubbing against my shin. Her eyes let me know it wasn’t a mistake.
Tamra had heard from somewhere that I was shopping for an agent. I didn’t believe Frankie or the muscle-head were likely to have gossiped about it. Julia was aggressive; it wasn’t much of a leap to guess she was the one who had bragged.
I took a drink of my water, wishing it were something different…wishing the smooth, sleek rim of the glass was the lips of Frankie’s pussy. “I think we were getting ready to ask for the check—”
“I remember now! We were about to discuss my idea for marketing your tower.”
I’d been here long enough to appease Will. There was no reason to stay a moment longer. I took out my wallet and dropped a hundred on the table. That would more than cover the two meals and drinks.
Julia looked stunned. “But you can’t be leaving so soon. There’s so much I haven’t told you and—”
“I’ve heard enough, Ms. Hayes.” I glanced over my shoulder as I
walked to the lobby. “My assistant will be in touch.”
NINE.
FRANKIE
HEAT BLEW against my nipple. It felt as if I was sitting in the front seat of a car, topless, with the vent pointed at the right side of my chest. But I wasn’t in a car…
I was in my bed.
A flicking sensation followed the heat, then a sharp sucking as a man’s mouth hungrily kissed my right breast, moving its way across my chest until it reached my left nipple. I couldn’t keep my hands at my sides. They needed to grip, yank, pull with all their strength at the source of all this pleasure. So I reached forward and grasped his thick strands. His mouth began to drag down my navel, stopping at the cleft between my legs.
There was more heat, as if his breath were trying to prepare me for whatever was about to happen…or maybe he was trying to tease me, to make me open my thighs even farther. Couldn’t he tell I was dripping already, that the throbbing in my clit was so intense it was making me quiver?
“If my tongue is what you want,” he said, “then ask for it.”
I knew that timbre…not intimately, and not sexually. But it was familiar. When I lifted my head off the pillow and looked at the space between my thighs, there was only darkness. I wasn’t able to see him. Still, he was there. My fingers were in his hair…
“Please,” I said.
“Please what?”
“Please give me your tongue…” My voice trailed off as his long, wet organ swiped powerfully across my clit, then continued in a relentless lapping that caused the build to flare through me.
“You’re so fucking delicious.” His mouth was full and occupied, his voice muffled, but I could make out what he said. I wasn’t used to the commentary or the compliments. They intensified the flush on my skin. It wasn’t that sex in the past had been silent, it just hadn’t ever been this loud, and it had almost never been about me and my needs.
His fingers moved in and out of me, spreading my wetness, then gliding over my stomach, my ribcage, brushing over the peaks of my breasts. Every spot on my body was being attended to, all ravaged equally.
Who was this man who knew how to make my body bend like this, who could dampen me with just his breath and the softest caress? His face was still in the darkness. I wanted him to move into the light, to see him, to kiss those wet, talented lips.
I slipped my fingers through his hair, through the milk chocolate curls that framed the top of his forehead, and I pulled him forward. His eyes began to emerge from the blackness. Electric blue…
“Derek?”
I gasped, kicking against the mattress to put some distance between us. I pushed so hard, my back slammed into the headboard. My eyes burst open and I gasped again. I covered my eyelids with my palms to shield them from the harsh sunlight.
When my eyes finally adjusted, I found the sheet and blanket on the floor and, aside from me being in it, a very empty bed. Even in his absence, my body was still incredibly worked up from his fingers and tongue. They may not have actually been inside me, but in these dreams, they were becoming more real each time.
My phone showed it was just after six. I wouldn’t be going back to sleep, so I scrolled through my inbox. I tapped the screen to enlarge an email from Derek’s assistant, Will.
FROM: Mullen, Will
TO: Jordan, Frankie
SENT: April 18, 5:57am
SUBJECT: Tomorrow
Derek would like to meet with you tomorrow morning at 7:00, sharp.
-Will
Will had been direct when we’d met initially. His email, however, was borderline rude. Even my higher maintenance clients, whom I’d catered to my whole career, had more consideration for my schedule than this.
I wanted—no, I needed—this account, to prove to my father how competent and responsible I had become and to see how far I could push myself. But I had limits.
FROM: Jordan, Frankie
TO: Mullen, Will
SENT: April 18, 6:11am
SUBJECT: Danishes or Bagels?
Hi Will,
Thanks for the notice. I really appreciate it. Fortunately, tomorrow works for me, so I’ll be there bright and early. I’m sure you and Derek won’t have time to grab breakfast, so how about I bring some coffee and danishes—or maybe you’d prefer bagels and lox instead? Please only reply if you have a preference. If not, I’ll bring both.
-Frankie
I had neglected to check tomorrow’s schedule before replying, so I took a second and did just that. I had a nine o’clock staff meeting, followed by an appointment with one of our vendors. Not knowing how long things would take with Derek, I texted Brea and asked her to free up my morning by rescheduling everything for later in the afternoon. Then I set my phone back on the nightstand, just as the screen lit up again. One word in the message caught my attention: Block.
FROM: Block, Derek
TO: Jordan, Frankie; Mullen, Will
SENT: April 18, 6:14am
SUBJECT: Neither.
Just bring you.
There was no closing, not even a signature. Only those three demanding syllables. I didn’t know how something so short—so unlike the way I was ever spoken to—could excite me. But it did…and then, the fingers that gripped my phone excited me even further.
Something was happening to me, and I was having a hard time controlling it.
***
I’d been sitting in Derek’s office for over an hour. I was on my third cup of coffee, and I’d already finished a bagel and lox, plus a few bites of the cheese Danish he insisted I have. The selection he had chosen for breakfast was no coincidence. But even after all this, we were no closer to signing a contract.
His questions were endless, his face stoic as I answered. There were permanent lines etched into his forehead and on the sides of his mouth, lines caused by raising his brows and smiling. He had done both at the restaurant; if I’d read him correctly, he’d even flirted a little. He wasn’t doing any of that now—his lips were pulled together, surrounded by whiskers that were even longer than they’d been the day before. His brows remained in place, and he was completely professional. I knew he was thinking about me; I just didn’t know in what capacity.
Those electric blue eyes seemed to see straight through me as he spoke. They often pierced me silent. Ordinarily, I loathed wasting quiet spans like these; they were gaps I could use to persuade my listener. But I relished them here, with Derek, and I was intrigued by how much they affected me.
Several more hushed seconds passed before he said, “Tell me about your style, Frankie.”
“My style?”
His face remained blank. “Are you a wait-and-see kind of woman, or do you jump right in and use your hands to work up a closing?”
I straightened my legs and crossed them again. The chair had been surprisingly comfortable when I’d first sat down. Now it was miserably stiff and was making me the same. “It depends. I’ve learned to listen to my gut, anticipate the possible outcomes and move appropriately.”
“What is your gut telling you right now?”
That every time I looked at him, I was reminded of his starring role in my dreams, and the talents he had portrayed in them. I had to forget those and focus on the things that mattered: the sales records we would break; the daily challenges he would set for me; how I would need to find a balance when representing his interests and the buyers’. “That it would be an honor to learn from you.”
His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you interested in learning?”
“Your method of construction, your motivation, your drive. Everyone has a different approach. I want to know yours, as much as you want to know mine.”
The prospect of working so closely with him was nerve-wracking, but the things he would teach me outweighed that. I wasn’t afraid to admit there were procedures I hadn’t yet mastered, especially when it came to the process of construction. Being Derek’s pupil would have multiple benefits, one being that I’d get to experience the reacti
on of his stare almost every day.
The smallest hint of a smile crossed his lips. It only lasted a second. “I want you to surprise me again.”
“Again?” I didn’t know how I’d surprised him the first time.
“Tell me what the outcome of our partnership will be.”
It felt like the temperature in the room had changed. Beads of sweat began to form on my back, my shirt sticking to my skin. I gripped the armrests to steady both hands. “I plan on selling every unit in record time, some before they hit MLS. Others right—”
“No.” His expression finally changed—to boredom. “The outcome of our partnership.”
My first stumble. But I knew how to fix it.
“We’ll be the power team of Boston,” I told him. “Two forces, experts in our domains…we’ll be unstoppable. The result will be explosive.”
His temperament was dark and demanding, but his eyes had lightened and he looked intrigued.
My hands dropped from the armrests and moved to the edge of his desk as I leaned forward, coming closer toward his space. “My goal is to make you so much money you can ditch your investors, fund your own line of credit and pay for your next building in cash. I know what buyers in this market want and what they need. You’ll have direct access to that knowledge—and to me…I’ll be at your disposal through the entire project.” I felt my cheeks start to flush, but I was confident in my answer.
He looked down at his lap as he processed my answer. Maybe I had misjudged his goals. Every artist had a different vision, and developers were no different. They were artistic visionaries who created spaces that entwined their love for composition and living. Some who I’d worked with wanted only to carry out their family’s business; others stayed in the industry because they knew nothing else. When Derek had spoken of his practices earlier in our meeting, there had been passion in his description, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was financially motivated.