by Lucy Score
“Would you have felt the least bit bad if your brother had ruined their wedding?”
“Of course I would have. And he will pay for what he did with more than just a broken nose.”
“Is it really broken?” Frankie asked hopefully. She’d thrown more than her fair share of punches, growing up with two brothers that lived to torment her. And when she sprouted boobs, those same brothers wanted to make sure she could fight off any guy not good enough for her.
“Definitely,” he said. His hand cruised over her back until it met bare skin.
She ignited. She never wanted something that she wasn’t sure she’d survive before. She didn’t like it.
“I need some air,” she breathed, pushing out of his grip. What she needed was more tequila. A bottle of it. And a flight home. She couldn’t afford to play with the rich and famous anymore. She wouldn’t get out unscathed.
He let her go, but she felt the weight of that hot stare on her until she jogged down the steps and disappeared onto the sand. The moon glimmered over the water, another perfect slice of paradise.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” she murmured, stalking toward the ocean. Was there a friggin’ cupid mosquito down here that she wasn’t aware of? She’d had sex before. Plenty of it. She liked it. But one look from Aiden and her underwear melted off of her body. “Stay mad,” she coached herself, pacing down the beach. It was safer. Maybe Pru was feeling forgiving, but that didn’t mean she had to.
Someone had to keep their wits about them.
She felt him before she saw him emerging from the shadows. Frankie’s breath caught in her throat as Aiden walked toward her.
“I’ve never chased anyone, Franchesca.” The moonlight played over his perfect face, shadowing the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He had his hands in his pockets, deceptively relaxed. But there was no doubt that he was a hunter and she was the prey. Another challenge.
“Why do you want me, Aiden? And don’t give me some bullshit about me being beautiful and special. I already know I am, just like I know that I’m not your type. So ask yourself why it’s me you’re chasing and not some high society princess who’d beg to be ass up in your bed.”
“That is exactly why it’s you and not Margeaux or Cressida or whatever the fuck the other one’s name is. I want that smart, wicked mouth of yours wrapped around my cock as you take me to the back of your throat. I want to hear my name from that mouth when I make you come with mine. I want the challenge, the chase. I live for it. You’ll make me work for it, earn it. And I’ll worship you for it.”
Frankie blew out a breath and bent at the waist. “Well, that was at least honest.”
“I’m not offering forever. It’s not on the table. But what I can give you is time that we’ll both remember.”
“Fondly or ‘I spit on your grave’ memories?” Frankie quipped.
Somehow, he was in front of her, moving like a ghost. He threaded his fingers through her hair, and she shivered at the contact. “I’m not going to stop until you give me what I want. You need to understand that. I’ll push your buttons, manipulate you. Whatever it takes. I won’t fall for you. But I’ll be good to you.”
“Oh, I’ve seen how the Kilbourns do business,” Frankie snapped back.
He was a breath away. She could smell him, feel the heat pumping off of him. His presence drowned out the steady roll of the surf behind her.
Aiden didn’t know, couldn’t know, that he was waving a red flag in front of an enraged bull. He wasn’t the only one who loved a challenge. She bet that if they tangled, she could get in a few shots of her own. Maybe even make him fall just a little.
“So, I agree to be your shiny new plaything, and you give me—”
“Anything and everything you want.”
“And what do you get out of it?”
“You.”
She wanted to laugh, to make a joke. This didn’t happen to Franchesca Baranski. She met nice guys in coffee shops and offices, and they went to plays and bars and had fun, energetic sex. This happened only in the dog-eared novels on her bookshelf. Billionaire sweeps regular girl off her feet.
God, she at least hoped the orgasm count of fiction would come true.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Frankie slapped a hand to his chest. “Uh-uh. You’re going to kiss me when I say you can kiss me. I’m not a ‘submit to the alpha’ kind of girl. I’m a ‘kick him in the balls and take what I want’ woman.”
“What do you want?”
“To break you.”
She caught him by surprise. That much was clear when her mouth met and took his. He stilled beneath her lips, her hands, for the span of a heartbeat. And then the beast was out of its cage. His hands on her felt so right. He pulled her into him, and she felt the heat, the hard of his body.
There was nothing soft or gentle about him. And she didn’t want him to be.
She wanted to jump off that jagged edge of pleasure they’d been dancing on. She wanted to throw herself to the wolves. The wolf. Aiden’s teeth raked her lower lip, and she whimpered. He used it to gain access to her mouth, his tongue sweeping inside, claiming new territory.
She shoved at his jacket, needing far fewer layers between them. Then it was her hands splayed over the thin material of his shirt. She felt the steady thrum of his heart under her hand. It gave her a little thrill to know that he was nearly as revved as she.
With one hand, he dove into her hair, closing his fist around her curls and pulling. The pain at her scalp should have been a warning to slow down, to back off. But it only heightened her craving. He growled into her mouth, and the sound went straight to her belly.
Frankie’s nipples were begging to be released, to be stroked and tasted and sucked. And her panties were so wet there was no way they could catch fire now.
“Don’t play with me, Franchesca,” Aiden said, leaving a millimeter between their mouths. “Don’t torture me.”
“Shut up and kiss me, Aiden.”
“Tell me I can have you. Tell me you’re mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aiden kicked open the door to his room so hard it bounced off the wall. But he pushed them through the doorway before it flew back to hit them. He shoved it closed behind them and felt blindly for the lock without breaking from Frankie’s mouth. Her mouth, God, that mouth.
Everything she did with those lush lips and wicked tongue drove him insane. They should have talked. The expectations should have been made clear before this.
Frankie slipped her hands between the buttons of his shirt, her fingers flexing on the fabric.
“You’re rich, right? You can afford a new shirt?”
“Oh, yeah,” he breathed.
It was all the incentive she needed. She yanked, sending buttons flying in all directions. One stroke of his chest, and she sent her busy fingers to his belt.
“Franchesca if you don’t get out of that dress now, I’m going to destroy it.”
“You bought it for me,” she reminded him.
“Right. I’ll get you another dress and me another shirt.”
He didn’t destroy the entire thing. Just ripped one of the straps and ruined the zipper trying to get his hands on her faster.
She worked just as quickly, just as impatiently. She had his belt off and his pants unhooked before he got the dress to her waist.
He’d thought of little else since he’d seen her in that strapless bra and gossamer thin panties before the ceremony. And now she was his for the touching, the taking.
One more shove and her dress pooled at her ankles. She was curvy like a goddess. So different from the waiflike size zeros he usually took to bed.
Her body made him salivate. She was made for sin, and he was happy to oblige.
He wanted to stop, to enjoy the view. Aiden wanted to stroke and kiss his way over every inch of her beautiful body. But his pants were sliding
down his thighs, and she was wrestling his throbbing dick out of his briefs.
“Let’s see what we’re working with here,” she said, dropping to her knees.
The picture of Franchesca on her knees in front of him, staring at his cock, nearly leveled him. It was so much more than any fantasy. And if he thought about it for one second longer, he was going to come before her red lips even parted over his cock.
“Fuck.” He needed to reel it in, to take control. He didn’t let anyone dominate him. Ever.
It was a rule.
She was looking up at him, a submissive vixen with fingers curled loosely around his erection. “Nice equipment, Aide,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
He nodded, incapable of words. Every ounce of his focus was on not coming on her face, in her hair.
Jesus.
“You okay up there?” she asked. “You having a stroke or something?”
“You and your fucking mouth,” he groaned. And then she was using that fucking mouth on him.
She knew, had to know, how close to the edge he already was. When she took him to the back of her throat, it was slow and teasing, giving him precious seconds to get used to the drag of her tongue, the glorious wet of her mouth.
Those eyes. More green than blue now, stared up at him triumphantly as she licked and sucked him. She was a witch, and he was her victim. He fisted his hand in her hair and regulated her strokes. Keeping them slow and controlled. But there was nothing he could do about that tongue. Those incredible noises at the back of her throat. He wanted to do this and nothing but this for the next year, watch her like this, feel her like this.
She could break him, he realized. With nothing more than that smart mouth, she could break him and make him grovel.
It was that thought and that thought only that had him hauling her to her feet by her hair. She licked her lips and made his cock twitch against her stomach.
“I was just getting started.”
“So am I,” he promised. He stepped out of his pants, kicked off his shoes. “Bed. Now.”
She didn’t move fast enough for his liking. So he picked her up, draping her long legs over his hips. Her breasts taunted his mouth. “Take off your bra,” he said, crossing the living room.
By the time he hit the bedroom, he had one of those caramel nipples in his mouth, and she was begging him loudly to fuck her.
“Aiden!” She swore at him when he dropped her on the mattress. But he followed her, not wanting to be away from the body that tempted him like he was under a spell. He slapped at the lamp on the bedside table and reached into the drawer. Thank fucking God he never traveled without condoms. He wouldn’t have survived the hunt for one. And it would have taken zero convincing for him to drive himself into her bare. Something he’d never done in his entire life.
Kilbourns didn’t father bastards.
But Frankie could have batted those long-lashed eyes at him, and he would have happily shot his load inside her, thanking his lucky stars.
She was fucking beautiful, sprawled across his mattress, her hair spreading out beneath her, her nipples swollen and straining. She still had her sandals and underwear on, and Aiden planned to remedy that.
“You gonna look all day, or are you gonna make me come, Aide?”
“Just taking in the view, sweetheart. If I don’t get myself under control, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Challenge accepted.” She rose up and grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him down to her. She kissed him like he was the only man in the world, and it was a heady thing. His cock was weeping with the need to bury itself in her. Precum leaked from the tip.
“Fuck,” he rescued himself from the kiss and slid down her body pausing to worship both breasts with their perky, needy nipples. She hissed in pleasure as he closed his mouth over each one, sucking until she writhed under him.
This wasn’t a woman faking her way to a picture-perfect sexual experience. This was a goddess chasing an orgasm that would eclipse the sun. And he would give her what she wanted.
“Finally,” he said, settling between her legs. He let his lips graze her inner thigh and watched her tremble. Aiden dragged those air-thin panties down to her thighs. He left them there. The final barrier prevented him from just ramming himself into her wet pussy. He wanted to torture her the way she had him.
“Aiden if you don’t do something right this second, I’m going to take matters into my own hands,” Frankie threatened. He grinned. He didn’t know what love was, but he sure liked Franchesca Baranski more than any woman he’d ever taken to bed.
He took two fingers and traced them through the soft wet folds.
“Oh God. Oh fuck. Aiden!”
He held out for his name and then thrust his fingers inside her.
She cried out, and he nearly came on the sheets that touched his cock. He fucked her with his fingers, and when she started to grind her hips up, he leaned in and slid his tongue through her slit.
Rather than the scream he’d hoped for, she went deathly silent. He peeked and saw her, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent O. “You okay up there? Are you having a stroke?” he quipped.
“Aiden, talking is not what I want you doing with your mouth right now!”
He licked his way to her center. His tongue and fingers working her clenching pussy and her sweet, little clit. She rode his hand, his mouth, determined to steer him toward her orgasm. But he could get there without the road map.
He added a third finger and traced his tongue down to her tight asshole and back to her clit again and again. She was sobbing his name. Everything else was incomprehensible.
He felt her walls tremble against his fingers and then the first pulse squeezed against him. He licked and fucked her through every contraction of that beautiful release. She clenched his fingers with those slick muscles, pulling him in as deep as he could go, and he wanted more. He wanted her coming on his cock, wanted those hungry squeezes to milk his own orgasm out of him.
“Aiden!”
He ground his hips into the mattress, desperate for the friction.
Her orgasm went on forever, and by the time she went limp beneath him, he was afraid he might black out if his brain lost any more blood. There was a pulse hammering in his head.
He raised up onto his knees and fisted his hard-on to roll on the condom.
“Franchesca,” he snapped. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”
She did, hazily at first. But when she saw him, fisting his dick between her legs, her gaze sharpened.
“What are you waiting for?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Tell me you want me. Tell me I can have you.”
“Take me, Aiden.”
“Are you mine?” He didn’t know why he was asking. He wasn’t possessive about women. But he wanted her to say it, say the words. And then he’d know he won.
“You get me for tonight. Don’t fuck it up.”
It was enough for him. For now. He spread her thighs and gripped her hips and had the satisfaction of hearing her voice break on his name when he pushed into her. She was so fucking tight, even after the warm up he’d given her. He buried himself to the hilt, pinning her to the bed with his hips.
Something snapped. Something he didn’t understand triggered, as if he were one man a second ago and now a brand-new one.
Her eyes, so bright and glassy, stared into him, into his soul. And she could see into his. Into the emptiness there that he was never free of.
But he wasn’t so empty now. They were connected. They were one. He could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm tremoring around his cock. He could read her thoughts if he tried hard enough.
He wouldn’t last long. Not with her eyes glazing over like that and those round tits tempting him. “Franchesca,” he whispered her name as he finally began to move in her.
She brought her hands up and stroked over his shoulders, down his arms. A gentle, soothing touch. I
t felt like something had broken inside of him and now there was light getting in through the cracks.
She had bewitched him. Or he had contracted some kind of tropical fever.
She cried out, and he saw tears in her eyes. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails carving into his skin. He’d treasure the marks, hoped they’d stay.
He was done thinking. Done doing anything but feeling because she was getting tighter around him and he was swelling impossibly thicker in anticipation of a release that could wreck him.
Franchesca’s breath was coming in short bursts, and he felt sweat dot his skin. It was heaven, moving in her, being surrounded in her heat. He leaned down and closed his mouth over one pert nipple.
She arched against him, and all sweetness, all tenderness, was gone. They were animals in heat, clawing at each other, blindly scrabbling for a pleasure too intense for words. He released her breast and grabbed her hair, burying his face in her neck. She hiked her thighs up around his waist drawing him in deeper, and when he bottomed out in her, when she screamed his name brokenly, he felt it.
The detonation.
His own orgasm was on a hair-trigger, and when she closed around him, he exploded inside her. Pump after pump, he couldn’t stop coming, and neither could she. Every thrust, every hot rush of come, she met him, squeezed him, pleaded for just one more.
He emptied himself into her welcoming center, but he felt anything but empty now. There wasn’t cold, calculation at his center. No. There was something warm and bright and dangerously real.
He felt wetness against his shoulder, heard Franchesca sniffle.
His gut tightened. “Franchesca? Frankie? Are you okay?” He was still inside her, and she was fucking crying. It gutted him.
“Oh, my God. I’m so embarrassed.”
He wiped a fat tear from her cheek with his thumb. “What is it? Did I hurt you?” What had he done?
“No. I think it’s just because the wedding, and I was stressed, and those were the two most powerful orgasms of my entire life. And now I’m blabbering and embarrassed and holy fuck, Aiden. What was that?”