by Marni Mann
Reed pointed at Derek. “Is this why you left the bar last night? To be with that?”
Derek crossed his arms over his chest and laughed.
“Reed,” I said, not bothering to dignify his comment, “it’s time for you to go.”
“Are you really asking me to leave?”
I nodded.
The muscles in Derek’s chest tightened as his hands dropped and clenched at his sides. “Take your smug-ass grin and get the fuck out of here,” Derek said.
“You’re nothing,” Reed yelled.
“Maybe to you I’m nothing, but I’m the nothing who has command of Frankie’s attention, and much more than just that. I’m not the one who shows up the morning after…I’m the one who was invited the night before.”
“That can’t be—”
“Ask her if you don’t believe me.”
Heat filled my face as both men stared at me. The tension in this room was becoming too much. An ugly web had been woven, based on lies, betrayal and blood, and I was at its center. I wanted it all to come to an end.
“When she realizes who’s best for her—and she will realize that—she’ll come to me willingly. No commands necessary,” Reed said.
Derek’s smile fell away. “Will she catch you in bed with another woman this time, too?”
There it was: the question I had feared, about the subject I dreaded. I knew how vulgar Derek could be, how many different ways he could have worded it. His sister was involved, so he’d kept it clean. But his anger at Reed was so apparent.
Shock and fury washed over Reed’s face. I believed it was from knowing that I’d told Derek about our situation. I hoped there might be a little guilt in there, too.
“Keep the coffee,” Reed told me. “It’s your favorite, made just the way you like it, something I doubt he’d bother to learn about you.” He turned and stalked to the front door. “We’re not finished, Frankie. And Derek…neither are we.” Then he slammed it behind him.
I tightened my robe and dropped onto the couch, staring at the coffees and thinking about what had just taken place. As much as I tried, I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” Derek said. He sat next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
It shouldn’t have happened—not first thing in the morning before I’d had a chance to even know what was going on, and certainly not while things between Derek and me were still so undefined.
I folded my arms over my stomach and looked at him. “What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry for losing my temper, and that you had to hear all that…that you felt like you had to put yourself in the middle of it.”
“I am in the middle of it, Derek.” Of what, I had no idea, but it was definitely me standing between the two of them.
“Let me finish, Frankie.” He tucked a chunk of my hair behind my ear. “I know now what that bastard represents to you. I wish he hadn’t showed up to make trouble, but I’m glad I was here when he did, because had he touched you…” He paused, his expression full of rage, “I wouldn’t be sorry for what I would have done to him. I know that doesn’t make it easier for you…and neither does embarrassing you, but I couldn’t stop myself from putting him in his place.”
There was something bothering me even more than all of that.
“You said you’ve got a hell of a lot more than just the command of my attention,” I reminded him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
His brows furrowed. “I mean that I hope I’m more important to you than he is at this point.” He was. Much more important. But I didn’t have to give him that answer because he immediately asked another question. “How often does he show up here unannounced?”
“Almost never. I saw him last night at the bar that Brea and I were at. He asked to come home with me so we could talk. That obviously didn’t happen, and I left without saying good-bye. And because I’ve been so preoccupied with you, I haven’t returned any of his calls…apparently, there have been several.” There were more than that, actually…more than fifteen as of this morning. “He must have come over because he was worried.”
Derek scoffed. “He doesn’t need to worry.”
“Okay.”
“You’re fine, and I will make sure you stay that way.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of, Derek.” I tucked my legs into my chest and wrapped my arms around them. As nerve-wracking as it was, I wanted him to tell me what was happening between us. I knew how I felt, and how it had started to change, but I couldn’t be constantly wondering if he was feeling the same. “You’ve got to give me something.”
“No, you don’t need to be taken care of, Frankie, but I want to.” His eyes narrowed. “As for giving you something, I think I gave you a lot of me last night.”
“You did,” I agreed. “But I need more than your tongue, or your dick.”
I watched him as he thought about my question. I imagined the things he wanted to say, that he was holding back because of the distance he was trying to keep.
“Our night at the hotel was different for me,” he said finally.
“Different how?”
“This…” He ran his fingers over my cheek, along my mouth and into my hair. He combed the strands and tugged at the ends. “This is different, too—me being here. Spending more time with you. It doesn’t happen this way. Ever.”
Having a second night with me was rare for him. As rare as me having any night at all with him. I wasn’t the only one who had built a box around myself.
Block. It was fitting.
“Then tell me what that means,” I said.
“It means I want more of you.”
I took a deep breath. “How much more?”
His eyes didn’t give me an answer either. “More.”
“More…okay.”
“Just okay?”
“I…” My voice trailed off; I didn’t know how much I would allow myself to say. This part, I wasn’t good at. I struggled with sharing my feelings. It had been easier to push Derek away after our night at the hotel than it was to answer this simple question because nothing about my emotions were simple or easy to verbalize.
But his eyes demanded an answer.
And I wanted to give him that, to be truthful. But the words weren’t there. I felt them; I knew they existed somewhere within me. But it was too hard to say them.
My silence lasted too long.
He stood from the couch, bent down to lift me, and threw me over his shoulder. “Derek!” I squealed, his firm muscle pushing into my stomach. “Where are you taking me?” I felt so light, so small against his sizable frame.
“I’m getting what I want out of you.”
I clutched his back to keep from sliding. “And what is that?”
“A goddamn answer.”
SEVEN.
DEREK
FRANKIE DIDN’T PURGE her desire like Julia, or whine about her need like Tamra. She locked up like a goddamn vise. That was something I understood; it was what I had done since ending things with my ex all those years ago. Ending…more like her running off, which was equally painful. But understanding Frankie’s silence didn’t mean I was going to accept it. If this thing between us—whatever the hell this was—was going to work, she would need to tell me what was happening inside her.
And if she wasn’t going to answer my question willingly, then my tongue was going to make her talk.
I threw her on top of the bed, pulling the string that held her robe together and spread it open to reveal her naked body. Then I knelt on the floor and yanked her toward the end of the mattress until her pussy met my mouth.
“Ooooo…” she moaned as I blew over her clit.
“Tell me what you want from me, Frankie.”
She squeezed the blanket in her hands. “I want your tongue.”
“You’ll get it.” I licked her quickly. Then I stuck the tip of my tongue into her hole, driving it into her a
gain and again before I dragged it all the way up to her clit. “But if you want more than this, you have to tell me how you feel.”
“I feel incredible.”
“Now tell me how you feel when my tongue isn’t inside you.”
Her toes curled around the edge of the mattress. “I…can’t.”
My finger ran up and down her clit. I stuck it inside her—not deep, just up to the first knuckle. I felt her tightness, the warmth that I wanted my dick to be sunk into. Then I pulled it out, and she released a long, deep exhale. “Then tell me how you feel when it is inside you.”
“Desired.”
“And?” I brushed her clit.
“Insatiable.”
“And?” I did it again.
“Extremely obedient.”
It was no secret I was teasing her into admitting that. She enjoyed my tongue whenever I gave it to her, and I would make sure she enjoyed it again—but not until she submitted to me. And not just with her body.
I wanted all of her now.
I dove back in, flicking her clit from side to side. She clenched her fists and pulled at the blanket, her knees bending and straightening.
“How does my presence make you feel, Frankie?”
She looked at me as I gazed up from between her legs. “Different.” Her eyes closed and her head tilted back as I gave her another lick.
“Different how?” I asked.
“Different from how I felt with Reed…” I inserted my finger all the way, circling inside her and pulling out. “…different from how I’ve felt with anyone.”
I pointed my tongue again and brushed it over the length of her clit. I felt no relief when I ate her pussy, but watching her body build and buck at the constant flicking of my tongue was so fucking delicious that it was almost as good as coming.
“When I’m…” She paused. She was trying, I had to give her credit for that. My tongue had been on her for minutes, and she was still fighting against giving me an answer. “When I’m not with you, I want to be,” she said finally. She pushed her legs together to urge more movement from me. I forced them apart…and gave her none. “I care, Derek.” She angled up on her elbows, her body as restless as her mind. My mouth was making things even worse for her. “I care about you.”
“Then tell me what you want, Frankie.” I held her thighs open, but kept my face several inches back and locked eyes with hers so she could see me, take all of me in. So she would know exactly what she was getting when she finally said it out loud.
“I want more of this.” She slid her legs down on the bed, curled them over the edge of the mattress, and rubbed her hands over her thighs. “More of you.”
I didn’t know how this would work. I wasn’t used to anything beyond one night, one morning with a woman, and I certainly wasn’t used to having an attachment that couldn’t be resolved with my dick. But I knew I cared, too. And I felt the same as she did: desired, insatiable. It was so fucked up. And the most fucked up thing of all?
I felt full when she was in my arms.
I took her face in my palms and pulled her to me, and I gave those lips everything they deserved. She relaxed under my grip—melted, even. She allowed me to take her face as close as I could get it, even with my whiskers scratching her skin.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t balk.
There were emotions, words, explanations she couldn’t express yet. I had to give her something in return. I had to give her something more than my body. “I want more, too,” I told her. “Much more.”
I released her face, dropped back between her thighs and brought her pussy to my mouth. There was no fingering this time, no probing her hole with my tongue. All I did was lick, because it made her feel incredible, and making her feel that good made me feel powerful. It was easier for me than speaking, or sharing, or admitting. I knew how to take care of a pussy, and I was excellent at it. The other stuff—relationships, emotions, opening up and making myself vulnerable—I was shit at.
When Frankie moaned that she was close, I licked faster; when her back arched off the bed and her hands reached for me, I licked harder. When she asked me if she could come, I slowed down and only flicked with the tiniest point of my tongue. It was enough to keep her there, but not enough to send her over the edge. Once we passed that point, there would be a chance for her to ask questions and make demands—the same as I’d done to her.
I wanted none of that.
I wanted more of her pussy, more of her grunting. I wanted a whole lot more of her fucking wetness. So that was where I stayed, avoiding the bridge we were crossing. And everything else—the begging to come, the quivering in her navel as she neared—was just a reminder that my tongue was suited for one thing, and one thing only.
EIGHT.
FRANKIE
“GIRL, YOU’RE SERIOUSLY GLOWING,” Brea said, her fork hovering over her salad. We had just finished a showing and had stopped for lunch on our way back to the office. “Whatever he’s doing to you, he’d better not stop.”
A wave of heat passed over my chest. “I hope you’re the only one who can see that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want my sex life written all over my face. It wouldn’t be good for business, and it wouldn’t look good in front of my father either.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, showing me a mouthful of carrot. “It’s far too late for that.” Then she dipped her fork in for another bite. “I can see the multiple orgasms all over you, and the redness on your chin from grinding it into the mattress.” I felt my cheeks blush as she glanced at my hands. “And where he bound your wrists…”
“Oh God.” I touched my chin, feeling for a mark. I didn’t find anything, so I checked my wrists, moving the bracelet I wore on the right and the Rolex on the left. There were no marks on either, which meant there was no way she could know. “You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am.” She watched me closely. “But I’m right, obviously…you freak!” She let out a noise that was a mix of a sigh and a moan. “Explain something to me: how were you able to get ready for work this morning?”
“How?” I was confused by her question. “Well, I got up, and took a shower…” That had been the first shower I had taken alone since Derek had come over. The other two had been much more memorable. During the first, his tongue had teased me to an orgasm, and the second we’d had sex against the stone wall. “Then I straightened my hair and found something to wear.”
“No, I mean how did you leave him this morning? If Mr. Block were in my bed, I’d be calling in sick to work. Every day.”
She’d been encouraging my involvement with Derek since the day she’d witnessed our chemistry, and I appreciated that. But her comment was exactly what I’d feared all along. There were moments last night when Derek was covered in me—his hands, his mouth, his dick. Those had been the only things that had mattered. And to be truthful, I had contemplated calling in sick, asking Brea to take my clients to the scheduled showing, and staying in bed all day. If he hadn’t gotten up before me to meet with Will, I might have tried to convince him to do the same.
I couldn’t make sense of it, or of myself—the voracious sexual deviant I had become.
Running Jordan International wasn’t just a career goal or a family business birth right; it was a desire so strong, so motivating, there were times I could think of nothing else.
My father may have been the controller and the face of the company, but I was the mortar that held it all together. It wasn’t only him depending on me; it was Brea too, and our team of over one hundred agents, plus all the office staff. But my feelings for Derek were starting to trump my professional passion. I wondered how I had let it happen, and how I would make it stop, or at least slow it down so I could get a grip on both.
“Frankie?”
I glanced up when I heard my name. I had been staring blankly at my wrists. “Yes?”
Brea was glaring at me. “So why are you he
re with me instead of there with him?”
I grabbed my glass and swallowed half the water in it. “Derek had a meeting, so he left before me.”
She leaned in and wrapped her fingers around my hand. “He hasn’t put a ring on it. Relax. You’re just having some fun. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
The waitress appeared with a pitcher of water and refilled my glass. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
“A bottle of pinot noir, please,” I said.
“With two glasses?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll bring that right out,” she said and left our table.
My attention turned back to Brea. “I forgot to ask, do we have more showings this afternoon?”
She shook her head. “We have a conference call in a little bit. Then there’s a closing downstairs that you need to stop by, and a traffic meeting after that. You’ll be fine. And honestly, if you hadn’t ordered the wine, I was going to.”
“The closing isn’t with Reed, is it?”
“There’s no broker. It’s a cash sale.”
Relief passed through me. “That’s good news.” I couldn’t take any more Reed at the moment. I definitely needed to discuss his showing up unexpectedly and barging into my home. That conversation would inevitably lead to the one we’d never had…about the future we would never have together. Once I found him with Hayden, everything between us had been thrown up in the air. Only our business relationship had landed intact. We needed to talk about all of it, and we would. I just wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
The screen of my phone lit up with an email, a note from the assistant of the international client to whom I’d shown several units last week.
“Something good?” Brea asked.
“Fernando wants to buy two units at Timber Towers. One of the penthouses for himself, and a unit on a lower floor as an investment. He wants me to put together a written offer for both.”
“What does he want to pay?”
I continued to skim the email. “Full price for the penthouse; twenty-thousand under asking for the second unit.”