by Lucy Score
“Yeah, okay, so that part didn’t actually happen. But thanks to you, Aiden and I are,” she swallowed compulsively, “a couple.”
“I have the perfect way for you to thank me.”
“I just made it up to Aiden under his desk. What the hell do you want from me?”
Pru pointed at Frankie. “Oh, Christian! My friend here needs something done with her mop.”
A man dressed in head to toe black with a shaved head—irony of ironies—magically appeared behind her.
“Babe,” he said plucking a curl and holding it between his fingers. “We can do so much better.”
Places like this charged four-hundred dollars just for planting your ass in the chair, Frankie thought. She tried to stand, but Christian had some muscles under that tight black t-shirt.
“It’s my treat,” Pru sang out.
“You know I don’t like when you do this,” Frankie reminded her.
Christian whirled a cape around her and tightened it at her neck. “Now, what are we thinking?” he asked, holding her hair at varying lengths and glaring in the mirror as if looking for creative inspiration.
“We’re thinking a nice little trim,” Frankie said, snatching her hair out of his hand.
He just grabbed another fistful. “A trim?” he scoffed examining the ends. “You have what? Eight months of damage.”
“Don’t you think she’d be gorgeous with some highlights?” Pru suggested.
“That tin foil is messing with your brain waves,” Frankie shot back.
“Don’t mind her, Christian. She’s not usually this surly. Also, she’s from Brooklyn,” Pru said.
Christian spun her chair around and caught it by the arms. They were inches apart. “I need you to trust me. I do not do bad hair days. I do not deliver subpar cuts. If I give you highlights, you will wish you would have been born with them. I will make your hair into a miracle, but I need you to trust me.”
“Do it!” Pru hissed in a stage whisper.
Frankie pointed an index finger at him. “If you fuck up my hair, months from now when you’ve forgotten all about me, when you’re complacent, I’ll wait for you in the alley, throw you into a dumpster full of human hair and perm chemicals.”
“And if I make you look like the kind of woman who doles out whiplash from second glances, you’ll come back and let me touch up your highlights,” he bargained.
She offered her hand. “Deal.”
“Her boyfriend likes it long and wavy,” Pru added helpfully.
“Oh, so I have a boyfriend now, and I need to wear my hair to please him?” Frankie shot back.
Pru and Christian rolled their eyes heavenward in the mirror.
“I’ve got this,” Pru sighed. “Look Frankie. When you’re in a relationship, you don’t live your life to please your partner. But you sure as hell don’t figure out what they like and then run in the opposite direction to maintain some semblance of independence.”
Christian shoved his fingers into her hair like he was hand washing laundry in a river, turning her head this way and that. “One of the greatest gifts to give in a relationship is something very small that costs you nothing.”
Well, it was costing Pru four-hundred dollars.
Awesome. She was getting her hair cut by a Manhattan fashionista version of the poet Pablo Neruda.
She closed her eyes and let him do his worst. Flinching at the snips of the scissors and the tugs of the comb. She couldn’t stop thinking about Aiden’s face when he found her behind his desk. He’d lit up like Times Square. As if her mere presence was a gift.
She’d been holding on to the thought, the hope that Pru had been wrong. That she and Aiden were just having fun as they’d agreed. That he wasn’t looking for more. That she wasn’t secretly hoping he’d just disappear so she could be right. Would right have soothed her bruised heart if she’d succeeded in pushing him away?
She wasn’t a cruel, callous person. She wasn’t someone who crushed a person just because she could. Yet, she’d been so determined to keep Aiden at a distance she’d rejected him every step of the way. And he’d stuck.
Seeing him see her? Unguarded joy. And if he was willing to be that vulnerable, the least she could do was meet him there.
After what felt like hours of fussing, she felt her chair spin around.
“Okay, open your eyes and take in my genius.”
She opened one skeptical eye, prepared to see a purple Mohawk or something equally garish. But it was her own hair. A few inches shorter, curls more defined and certainly shinier, but it was her.
“Are those caramel highlights?” she asked, turning her head.
Christian scoffed. “Caramel highlights are for amateurs. “Those are macchiato lowlights.”
She looked sleek, put together yet still herself. No longer did the static electricity of winter rule her head.
“Damn it, Christian. I really wanted to throw you in a dumpster.”
--------
“Aiden is going to drag you somewhere dark and semi-private within five minutes of seeing you in that,” Pru guessed, poking her head into Frankie’s dressing room. For an upscale boutique, there was a surprising lack of security in the dressing room area.
Frankie turned to the side to look at her ass in the scarlet red dress. It hugged her curves, dipping low at the breasts and skimming over her waist and hips.
“It’s February. I can’t wear sleeveless,” she argued. Besides, this freaking swatch of fabric cost just under a grand. Aiden had slipped a credit card into her hand on the way out and ordered her to use it. But it felt… weird. A blow job and a credit card? They’d happened too close together. She needed to make it clear to herself that she wasn’t Vivian from Pretty Woman.
“You’ll have a coat, and I requested a table by the fireplace. You’ll probably be sweating by the end of dinner,” Pru predicted, sashaying around in a sleek black sheath.
“Why aren’t your boobs on display for the world to see?” Frankie asked, glancing down at her own overflowing cleavage.
“I’m a married woman and a B cup, babe. There isn’t much to display. And you’re insane if you don’t buy that dress.”
Frankie studied herself in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. The hair, the dress, the diamond and—God, was that platinum?—bracelet that she’d just happened to have in her bag.
“You know what we need now?” Pru asked.
“I’m hoping you’re going to say froyo, but I have a feeling it’s shoes,” Frankie sighed.
“Shoes!”
When Pru ducked back into her own fitting room, Frankie checked the price tag on the dress again. It made her feel ill.
She pulled out her phone.
Frankie: When you gave me this credit card, what kind of budget were you thinking?
Aiden: I doubt very much that there’s anything you’d buy that would cause me to so much as blink.
Frankie looked down at the dress again. Wanna bet?
Frankie: I’d feel better if you could give me a number to stay under. I found a dress, but there are more digits than I’m used to. And Pru is chanting “shoes, shoes, shoes,” one dressing room over.
She could picture him chuckling to himself at his backwoods girlfriend panicking over pennies.
Aiden: I love seeing you treat yourself. And I love it more that I can be part of it. How about keeping it under fifty grand for today?
He had to be fucking with her. Frankie couldn’t begin to imagine a world in which fifty grand was blow money. Of course, knowing Aiden, he’d named a sum lower than usual to appease her.
Frankie: Oh, so I can’t get this seventy-five thousand dollar dress? Too bad.
She added a disappointed meme.
Aiden: Maybe if you’d send me a picture of the dress, I could make a judgment call.
His playfulness eased her tension the tiniest bit. And maybe she could give him some tension of his own.
Aiden: I’ve never gotten an erection in an analyst meeting before. This is interesting.
Frankie laughed. She didn’t know if he was kidding, or if he really was texting her during a meeting. Either way, she felt lighter. And if he thought fifty-grand was an acceptable level of spending, then her pretty dress and a pair of shoes wouldn’t kill either of them.
“Okay, Pru. Where are we going for shoes?”
Chapter Forty
Frankie spent more time prepping for this double date than she had her senior prom and the two weddings she’d been in combined. She had been plucked, glossed, lotioned, and smoothed and was starving to death by the time their car pulled up in front of the restaurant.
Chip and Pru extracted themselves from the permanent embrace marriage seemed to have sewn them into.
“Aiden’s here,” Pru said, pointing at the limo in front of them. All limos looked the same to her, so she took their word for it.
Frankie felt her blood sing. She wanted to see him here on his own turf. See what she’d been missing out on. She wanted to watch his pupils dilate when he got his first good look at her in this damn dress. She wanted him to be proud to have her on his arm.
And she wanted to eat some goddamn dinner.
“Just two photographers,” Chip said, glancing out the window. “They must not have seen Aiden yet.”
Frankie gulped. “Why? Does he get a lot of attention?”
Pru and Chip exchanged a look. “You’ll be fine. Just be you,” Chip said, patting her on the knee. He exited the car first and held a hand out for Pru.
Frankie saw the flash of a camera and rolled her eyes. Who in the hell in their right mind would camp out in front of a restaurant in February just to snap a few pictures of people?
She stepped out next and immediately forgot about the photographers. There on the sidewalk in front of her was Aiden Freaking Kilbourn, and he was closing in on her like a lion on a slow, fat gazelle. The look in his eyes told her he was hungry, too. Just not for dinner.
Frankie felt a cold rush of air and realized she’d forgotten to button her coat. Aiden noticed too as the wind opened the cashmere, parting it.
She swore he licked his lips, and then his hands were on her and then his mouth. His touch ignited every nerve ending in her body as if they’d been waiting for this exact moment. It was chemistry, biology. Something hardwired into them both, and Frankie couldn’t get enough of it.
He kissed her hard, licking into her mouth to stroke his tongue against hers, leaving no doubt to any witnesses exactly who she belonged to. Laying claim to her.
She didn’t like being on display. Didn’t like the attention. And she would have told him so if she hadn’t been so busy clinging to him like a vine.
“So, we’ll just go get some drinks then,” Chip said, pointing toward the restaurant and dragging the grinning Pru after him.
“Meet you crazy kids inside,” Pru called after them.
“We’ll be back,” Aiden answered without looking away from her. There were flashes of light, and Frankie was dimly aware of questions being hurled at them both. And then Aiden was tucking her under his arm and guiding her back to his limo. He opened the door and ushered her inside.
“Drive until I say so,” he ordered tersely and then raised the privacy glass.
“What about dinner?” Frankie asked, sliding across the bench seat to accommodate him.
“We’re having dessert first,” he breathed, freeing her of her coat. His hands cruised her dress, stopping reverently just beneath her abundant cleavage.
“Do you know what happened after you sent that picture today?”
“What?” she breathed, needing him to touch her. Afraid that when he did, she’d cease to exist. She ran her palms over his thighs.
“I had to excuse myself from the meeting to jerk off in my bathroom.
Her breath was a shiver. “Did you think of me?”
“Gorgeous, I’m always thinking of you.” He reached down and palmed his hard-on through his pants.
Frankie was instantly wet. “In a limo?” she hissed. She hated to admit it, but limo sex was on her bucket list.
“It has to be now, or I won’t make it through dinner. Not with you in that dress.”
His blunt honesty was just as attractive to her as the predatory look in his eyes.
Game, Frankie slid a leg over his lap, leaving enough room that he could free himself from the confines of his pants. His thick length fell heavily into her hand. He was already leaking, and Frankie felt a thrill of power. Steadying her on his lap, Aiden reached around her into a compartment and produced a condom.
He’d probably had sex in this car a hundred times, Frankie thought. But she’d be damned if this wasn’t the only time burned into his brain forever.
While he rolled the condom on and stroked himself gratuitously, she inched the skirt of her dress up until it bunched around her hips. She shoved at the wide v-neck until it slid off her shoulders down her arms. The material hanging precariously from her breasts.
The low rumble in his chest was her reward.
He leaned over and pressed his face to her breasts, his beard rough against her skin. Frankie moved closer so the powerful strokes of his hand brought his cock in contact with where she needed him most desperately.
“It’s going to be hard and fast, Franchesca,” he warned her. “Once I’m inside you, I’m not going to stop until you’re coming on me.”
“Fuck me, Aiden,” she breathed. It was an order, a plea.
He gripped her hips, positioning her with his tip probing her center, just outside her weeping entrance. With one hand, he yanked her thin-as-air underwear to the side.
His chest was heaving, his jaw clenched, and he hadn’t even started fucking her yet. Aiden Kilbourn over the edge was a heady sight.
It was her last coherent thought as he thrust his hips up, driving into her with brutal force. He didn’t give her a moment to get used to him, to relax around him. He jackhammered into her and used one hand to free her breasts from the dress. It had a built-in bra, so there was nothing left separating him from her heavy, needy tits.
“Aiden,” she hissed when he closed his mouth over one nipple and sucked it hard. His thrusts never ceased. He growled into her breast, his hands gripping her hip so hard it made her cry out again.
It only made him fuck her harder.
He was out of control, suckling and thrusting, driving her completely mad. Frankie dug her hands into his shoulders and held on for dear life.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She could only take what he was giving her. Life. Fire. Desire.
“So fucking perfect,” he murmured against her flesh.
This dress had been the best extravagant purchase of her life.
She felt him thicken inside her, heard his breathing go ragged, and knew he was close. Aching to orgasm. Hanging by a thread.
He held her against him, shortening his thrusts to grind against her. It was beautiful, primal.
He released her nipple with a pop and moved to her other breast, his eyes bright and hard on hers. She watched him take the tip in his mouth, felt his tongue stroke over her. She had molten gold flowing through her veins. Her world went white hot and brilliant as her orgasm exploded without warning.
“Aiden!” She sobbed out his name as he thrust in to the hilt. His moan was low and guttural as he emptied himself into her. Even through the condom, she could feel him pulsing inside her, releasing his seed in a never-ending climax.
She came again, or still, as he rode out his orgasm. And when he finally went still beneath her, Frankie collapsed against him.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, pressing her breasts against his crisp shirt. He stroked her bare back with soothing sweeps of his hand. The praise he whispered in her ear made her blush. Her boyfriend w
as one dirty talker. And that was coming from a woman whose second word as a child was “fuck.”
She felt like he’d taken her apart and put her back together again. There was nothing like feeling Aiden inside her. Even now, after an orgasm that had hollowed him to the core, he was still semi-erect.
“Thank you for the dress,” she whispered, her throat too raw for any volume.
He laughed softly against her hair. “Thank you for you.”
Chapter Forty-One
Aiden clearly had clout at The Oak Leaf. The host didn’t even blink when the limo pulled up in the alley. He merely led them through the kitchen, past the bar, to their table where Chip and Pru were arguing over tapas.
Frankie tried to ignore the curious glances in their direction. He was the most recognizable Kilbourn in the family and a permanent bachelor. There was bound to be interest.
Frankie slid into the booth first, and Aiden followed her, his hand clamping on her thigh under the table. She picked up the menu and pretended to peruse it, ignoring the expectant weight of Pru’s stare.
“How are the clams here?” she asked innocently.
“Uh, hi. How was your limo sex?”
Frankie looked up at Pru who was resting her chin in her hands and grinning smugly.
“It was nice. Right, Aiden?” Frankie said haughtily, looking at him. His hair was mussed, but it could pass for purposeful styling. His tie was crooked. And the rest of him was, of course, flawless. She, on the other hand, looked as though someone had run a vacuum cleaner over her and then bit her in a few key places.
“Very nice. Highly recommended,” he said, reaching for his water goblet and downing half of it.
He squeezed her thigh and moved his hand a millimeter higher on her thigh.
Teasing him, she hooked her shoe over his shin, opening her knees.
No one else would know just by looking at him, but he was already displaying his turn on tells. There was the flush at the neck, the flaring of his nostrils. She wished she could get a look at his crotch, betting money he was sporting wood again. The man was a freaking marvel. His orgasms probably had orgasms.