by S. E. Law
All that matters is her.
Frankie comes again, more easily this time, writhing on the sheets below me, and I’m not far behind. Soon the fire inside me becomes too much, and I groan, shooting inside her in a wave as I buck my hips against hers, savoring the aftershocks.
“Fuck,” I rasp harshly, convulsing with need. “Oh god.”
After a few minutes of hard pumping, the reverberations level off a bit, and neither of us says anything, just staring into each other’s eyes in wonder at what’s just happened. Then I pull out gently, feeling her shiver a little as I do, and lie down on the bed next to her. I take a moment to appreciate the way her curves look in the dim lighting, her face practically glowing with pleasure.
“Well?” I say at last, after we’ve caught our breaths.
Frankie, who’s been staring at the ceiling, turns to look at me.
“That was incredible,” she murmurs at last.
“Yeah,” I agree. “For me, too.”
“Is it…?” she begins, and then her voice trails off.
I eye her for a moment. “Is it what?”
She looks a little sheepish, a blush creeping into her already-rosy cheeks.
“Is it always like that?” she asks. “I mean, is it always that… you know, good?”
I think for a moment.
“Yeah,” I reply after a second or two. “If you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.” I smirk, and add, “Which I do.”
The curvy girl giggles, and I gather her into my arms. It feels right like this, and she nuzzles into my side.
“I can tell,” Frankie murmurs teasingly, and for a while we just bask in each other’s arms, the music from the party downstairs the only sound that trickles up to where we are.
113
Frankie
The late-morning sun shines through my bedroom window, the thin fabric curtains not doing enough to quite prevent it from reaching me. I let my eyes slowly flutter open, stretching a little before nestling back under my sheets.
That was one hell of a dream, I’ll say that much.
I’m just getting ready to drift back off and let sleep take me once again, basking in the bliss of not having anything to do today, when suddenly it hits me: it wasn’t a dream. I jerk awake as memories begin to flood my mind. Jenny’s visit. The house party - no, the swingers party. Meeting that hunky guy, Hunter. And then… My eyes widen as I remember what happened next, and for a moment I almost don’t let myself believe it.
No way. It had to have just been a sexy dream. There’s no way a guy like him would have…
Right?
But as I take stock of my body, stretching out again just a little under the covers, I notice a feeling between my legs that I’ve never experienced before. It’s not a soreness, exactly. It’s more like a sense of exhaustion, like the muscles down there have just had the workout of their lives. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s enough to tell me that what happened at the party wasn’t a dream.
I lost my virginity last night. To a stranger. At a neighborhood play party. Holy shit!
I couldn’t make the idea sound crazier even if I tried. It doesn’t feel like me. It feels like the kind of crazy, off-the-wall story that you’d find in a movie, or hear from one of the wild sorority girls back on the Berkeley campus.
I’m not the kind of girl to do that stuff. I’m the kind of girl who goes to bed at ten p.m. on the dot, and who always turns in her assignments on time. I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t usually drink alcohol, and whose experience with guys - until last night, that is - was limited to soap operas and the occasional uncomfortable date. I’m not someone who goes to raucous parties, who hooks up with strangers, and who… who...
Except you are now, a wicked voice pipes up from deep in my mind. Or maybe you always were, and this is just the proof. No. No way. That’s ridiculous. Is it, though? that voice asks, teasing but sounding aggravatingly rational. Admit it, Frankie. You were turned on by what was happening at that party, and you got in on the action yourself. With a guy who might as well be a male model.
I blush as I think about what happened after we went upstairs. The way his hands glided expertly over my body, the way he fingered me just so, unleashing sensations I didn’t even know existed, the way he kissed me down there… and the way he claimed me. There’s no way around it, because that’s what happened. It was so wrong, but it felt so good. I sit up in bed, quickly realizing that I’m not going to get more sleep any time soon. My cell phone is in my hand before I even have time to think about it, and I quickly dial Jenny’s number, hoping against hope that she’ll be available to let me unload on her. Come on, Jenny, pick up…
The phone rings a few times, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s even going to answer when I hear her voice on the other end, sounding groggy.
“Frankie? Girl, is that you?”
“Jenny,” I say. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Well, here I am. Don’t leave me in suspense,” Frankie says, waking up a little with a yawn. “What’s going on? Actually, strike that - what happened last night? You left before I did. I was a little worried because I was going to give you a ride home.”
“Yeah,” I say, “about that.” I clear my throat, rubbing my forehead, trying to figure out how to break it to her.
“Frankie?” the concern in her voice is turning into curiosity. “Did you get up to something at that party?”
“You first,” I tell her, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“Remember that blond guy with the enormous biceps?” giggles Jenny. “He was going down on that girl in the kitchen… never mind. I did him and he was huge. We were there until after midnight, enjoying one another. Your turn.” Her voice is teasing. “Don’t tell me Frankie Fordham did the horizontal tango with someone?”
“Oh, god, please don’t call it that,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “But yes. In so many words, yes. Okay?”
“Oh my god!” Jenny exclaims, her voice reaching an inhuman pitch. “Holy shit! Really? I mean, I was kind of joking when I asked, but… Oh my god, Frankie! Who was it? What did you do? Tell me everything!”
“There’s not much to tell,” I reply evasively. “There was this guy in the kitchen. I spilled my champagne on him.” I cringe a little at the memory, feeling just as awkward about it the morning after as I did in the moment. “Anyway, we, uh… We started talking, and…” I go quiet, hoping she’ll fill in the blanks herself.
No such luck.
“And what?” Jenny demands, sounding impatient. “Don’t leave me hanging, girl! Out with it!”
“Fine, fine,” I say, clearing my throat. “We got to talking and then he… Well, he kissed me.”
“And?”
“Come on, Jenny-”
“Hey, I told you about my first time,” she protests. “I’m not going to let you dodge the question. What did you do?”
“He took me upstairs,” I reply. “We hooked up.” The words sound strange coming out of my mouth. Did I ever think I would ever make love to a man that gorgeous, let alone in a context like that? No. Obviously not.
“Holy shit,” Jenny says, her voice serious enough to make me laugh in spite of my embarrassment. “Well? How was it?”
“It was…” How was it, now that I think about it? I don’t have anything to compare it to, but then again, my instincts tell me that it doesn’t get better than what I experienced. “Good,” I finish at last. “It was really good.”
“Damn,” Jenny says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Who would have thought? Frankie Fordham is all grown up. So are you going to see him again? What’s his name?”
For a second I fumble, trying to remember what he told me.
“Hunter Martin,” I reply after a moment’s thought. “And I have no idea if I’m going to see him again.”
There’s a long pause, and for a moment I wonder if we’ve been disconnected. Then Jenny’s voice comes back on, sounding
completely thunderstruck.
“Hunter. Martin. Hunter freaking Martin?”
My brow furrows. “Uh… yeah?”
“Wow. I mean, just… wow, Frankie. I never would have… I mean, I heard he might be coming, but I didn’t realize-”
“Wait, why?” I ask, cutting her off. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s, like, famous,” Jenny breathes, her tone becoming conspiratorial. “He’s one of the youngest billionaires in the country. Owns his own business, and I’ve heard he’s really into the party scene. If you get my drift.”
“Did you say billionaire?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah. He’s got his own business empire.”
“Well,” I say slowly, “I guess that would explain the Maserati.”
“The what?”
I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. “He gave me a ride home,” I reply. “He was really nice, actually.”
“OMG,” Jenny gushes, “I’m a little jealous.”
“Don’t be,” I reply quickly. “It’s not like I’m going to see him again, anyway.”
But my friend clucks on the other side of the line.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Franks. You met a billionaire and had a good time with him. Don’t underestimate yourself because you’re gorgeous and these parties often turn out different than you think.”
I make nay-saying noises, but my heart races in my chest. Could Jenny be right? Could billionaire business mogul Hunter Martin possibly want to see me again? I hope she’s right because suddenly, I desperately want to see him once more.
114
Hunter
I sleep in the next morning, not feeling motivated to get up and do much. The rest of my night was nice, sure, but nothing compared to the time I spent with Frankie. I always make sure my dates get home safe, especially the ones I meet at parties, so I offered Frankie a ride home, which she gladly accepted.
She looked like she had stars in her eyes the whole way, and it made me feel good. It made me feel like I was being truly seen for the first time, and to be honest, I’m not used to girls looking at me like that. Usually the ones I hook up with are the adventurous type, and it’s a double-edged sword. They’re down for anything, but these girls have also been everywhere, if you know what I mean. Plus, up until last night, I had never been with a virgin. It was new territory for me too, in a sense, and as I kissed Frankie goodnight, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret that I probably wouldn’t see her again.
But I would be naive to expect anything else. That’s how things work in this scene, and I know that better than anyone.
Dad pokes his head in once or twice to make sure I’m alive. I can’t blame him; I guess in his eyes I’ll always be his kid, even if I’m in charge of a business empire and living on my own now. I think maybe it’s the fact that I’m back home for the summer, sleeping in my old bed. There’s a nostalgia to it.
Eventually I throw my sheets off and get up, but that doesn’t happen until after noon. I’m always tired the night after, and I went hard with the curvy girl. Thinking back, I’m a little surprised Frankie was able to keep up with me. I finger comb my hair and pull on some clothes before heading downstairs to catch up on emails and orders - the boring business stuff that no one talks about. That’s the downside to being in the position I’m in: there’s no getting away from the work, even when I’m on vacation.
I’m not hungover, and this is the type of busy work that I would normally be able to get done in a flash, so I’m a little surprised when I look up at the living room clock to see that it’s almost two p.m., and I haven’t even finished reading my emails yet. My mind just isn’t in it. I keep thinking back to the way Frankie’s body felt beneath mine: so soft, so perfect, almost like we were made for each other. The way her silky brown hair felt in my hands, the way I got lost in her dark eyes, as shiny and dark as oceans…
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m seriously losing it, but the rest of the day is like that. Work that would normally be a breeze feels like a slog. The more I try to put Frankie out of my mind, the more she comes creeping back in. There’s no escaping it. Eventually I decide to throw in the towel, closing my laptop and heading to the kitchen to find a snack.
I have the refrigerator door halfway open when my dad George strides into the kitchen, dressed in a dapper suit.
“Hunter?” He stares at me, brow furrowed. “You’re not dressed yet.”
“Huh?” I look back at him, shutting the fridge. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you forgot.” He runs a hand through his silver hair, groaning. “The dinner? With my fiancée? Did I not tell you?”
Shit. That dinner.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You told me. I just forgot.” Forgot? When do I ever forget things? My head feels like it’s all over the place today. “Let me put something on. I’ll be a flash.”
George nods.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t remind you. Try to look your best, okay? Gertrude means a lot to me, and her daughter’s going to be there too. We Martin men want to make a good impression.”
“Right,” I say, barely even paying attention. I’m kicking myself for having let it slip my mind like this. My dad told me when I first got into town that he’d met someone while I was away. At first, I dismissed it as another fling, one of many he’s had since he and Mom divorced a long time ago. But then he told me that he’d gotten engaged to Gertrude. Maybe I’m still a little pissed off that he decided to go find himself a fiancée so fast. But is my annoyance really over that? Or am I just reeling over what happened last night?
Food forgotten, I hurry upstairs and pull on a dress shirt and slacks. It’s the best that I can manage in a rush. Taking a minute to run my hands through my hair before I go, I tromp back down the stairs to meet Dad, who’s waiting in the entryway. He sweeps me with his eyes and gives me a brisk nod.
“You look nice. Thank you. This is important to me.”
I smile and nod, wondering if he might actually be serious. The truth is, I think I got so used to George being divorced from Mom that the idea of him marrying someone else seems foreign now. I climb into the passenger seat of his Range Rover and we start heading across town to the restaurant. The whole time, I keep reminding myself to put last night’s party - and Frankie - out of my mind. There will be another party sooner or later, another hookup, and I’ll forget all about the curvy girl. Right?
“You seem quiet,” Dad observes as we pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, a little Italian bistro that probably takes reservations several months in advance.
I shake my head, smiling at him.
“Sorry. I’m just a little tired.”
“Another one of your get-togethers?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. At this point I’m past keeping secrets from him, especially when I’m living at home again, but I’ve never gotten around to telling him just what kind of “partying” I’m into.
I chuckle, looking away and changing the subject.
“So tell me about this fiancée of yours.”
He nods towards the restaurant.
“She’s real nice. You’ll like her. Her name’s Gertrude, as I’ve mentioned before, and I met her after my newest development opened.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, “Her daughter’s a little younger than you, I think. Hopefully you two will get along.”
“Yeah, me too,” I agree, brushing it off. It’s becoming clear that I’m not going to be able to concentrate, so I open my door. “Well, I guess we’d better not keep them waiting, right?”
“No,” Dad says, smiling. “I guess not.”
I follow him across the parking lot, hands tucked into my pockets, feeling a little like a kid again. We reach the restaurant, and a smiling hostess escorts us to a table in the back. We’re apparently the first to arrive, so we order drinks and chat for a few minutes, my distracted mind already casting back to last night.
I’m j
ust getting ready to order another wine when I see Dad glance up.
“Looks like that’s them.”
Following his gaze, I see a tall blonde woman following the hostess to our table with a younger girl in tow. Then I find myself freezing, as if a jolt of electricity has gone through me, as I meet a pair of familiar, chocolate-brown eyes.
Frankie. It’s the girl from the party. She’s my new step-sister?
115
Frankie
“Just relax, honey,” Mom says, noticing me smoothing out my skirt for what feels like the hundredth time. My mind is still in pieces over the party, and the last thing I want to be doing right now is meeting her latest boyfriend. Still, I try to force a smile and forget about it. There will be plenty of time to decompress later.
My calm all falls apart the minute we enter the restaurant, following the waitress to a table in the far corner. Sitting there, looking as cool as a cucumber, is Hunter, next to a man I can only assume is Mom’s fiancé. My mouth drops open as my heartrate accelerates. What?
Hunter’s sapphire eyes meet mine for a moment, and I feel my face heat up.
No way, I think. It’s not possible.
Seemingly oblivious to my shock, Mom pulls out a chair next to the stout, silver-haired man at the table.
“Frankie,” she says, turning to me, “This is George Martin, my new fiancé.”
My cheeks flame and I curse internally.
“Nice to meet you,” I mutter, deliberately looking away from Hunter and hoping the look on my face doesn’t betray my panic.
“Likewise,” the older man says, extending a hand to me. I give it a limp shake. This has to be a dream, right? Some kind of strange, sexy dream that’s slowly turning into a nightmare. And still I feel Hunter’s gaze on me, wolfish and perceptive. “This is my son, Hunter,” George continues, turning to Hunter, completely unaware of how intimately we’ve already been acquainted. “Hunter, say hello to your new sister Frankie.”