Love Hurts

by Mandi Beck

  “Oh my God, I have no idea what your fucking deal is, but you're really starting to piss me off, Deacon!”“

  The madder she gets, the harder I get.

  “Princess, don’t get pissy with me. I like it too much.”

  Smirking at her, I take another step closer, bringing our bodies flush, her having to lean back to look up at me. I reach out and finger the diamonds at her throat, diamonds that I put there, diamonds that she loves because I know her.

  “Don't marry him, Frankie,” my fingers still playing over her necklace. I haven’t taken my eyes off of my hand, watching it stroke back and forth.

  “W-why shouldn't I marry him, Deacon? Why wouldn't I marry him?” I watch as she swallows nervously. “You're not making any sense, are you drunk?” she asks me in confusion.

  I finally raise my eyes and meet her confused ones. She’s searching my face, my eyes, trying to read me, trying to figure out what the fuck I am getting at. She huffs out a breath that tickles my lips and that's all it takes to push me over the edge. Before either one of us knows what’s happening, I have her backed up against the wall, my hands gripping her hips, pressing my rock hard cock up against her.

  “Call it off. Call it off and give him back that ugly, goddamn ring.” My words are nothing short of a demand.

  Her hands fly to my chest to steady herself from my abrupt assault. I don’t give Frankie time to do anything else, swooping down and taking her mouth. There's no other way to describe it. I take, and after a second’s hesitation, she gives. I trace her bottom lip with my tongue, nipping it, making her gasp, and giving me the opening I need to deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue into her mouth. The sound that comes from her then is part moan, part sob, and it undoes me. At that moment, that one little sound, all of the years of me wanting this woman and not being able to have her, all of that want, that need, bubble to the surface and take over. She slides her hands into my hair and drags me closer at the same time I grip the back of her thighs and lift her up against the wall, her legs instantly wrapping around me, her pink, fuck-me heels digging into the small of my back, making me even harder, if that were possible.

  Groaning as I press into her, pinning her even tighter against the wall, I drag her bottom lip between my teeth, kiss across her jaw and down her neck. I lick and taste, inhaling her scent—coconut and lime mixed with a smell that is just Frankie. I kiss my way back up to her mouth.

  “Tell him you can't marry him. Tell him you can't be with him. Tell him, Frankie. I'm done waiting,” I pant against her mouth, punctuating my words with kisses, not giving her a chance to argue.

  I pull back enough to look at her and take in those beautiful, blue eyes, glazed over with want that I’m sure mirrors my own.

  “Waiting for what, Deacon?” she asks in a shaky whisper.

  “For you, for us. I've kept my mouth shut trying to do what I thought was the right thing, but I can't anymore. I won't. I want you, you belong to me, and you always have, Frankie,” I say vehemently.

  She looks completely dazed and rightly so. I am coming out of left field with all of this shit. I've been sitting on it for so long, I’ve lost the ability to ease her into the idea of us. I’m just putting it all on her and hoping she doesn’t freak out on me.

  I press my lips to her temple, working my way down to her lips already swollen from my kisses. Now that I've tasted her, I don’t want to stop. I am already addicted. I lick into her mouth, softly burying one hand into her hair and tilting her head, allowing me better access, letting me deepen the kiss. I can feel the heat of her pussy pressed against my stomach through my shirt and it is killing me. I rock into her, letting her feel how hard I am, swallowing her moan. I’m ready to push her dress up and rip her panties right off when I hear someone calling her name. No, not just someone. Andrew.

  “Francesca, are you up there?”

  It takes me a second to realize that she is pushing against my chest, scrambling to get down. Fuck me, I need more time. I need for him to not be here. Frankie is too good a person to hurt anyone intentionally. Me? I could give zero fucks if he walked in on us right now. In fact, it would make shit a whole lot easier for me if he did.

  “Deacon, put me down, please. He can't find us like this,” she says a bit frantically.

  I look at her and the panic in her face convinces me to lower her. She tugs her dress down over her perfect ass and legs, but not before I catch a glimpse of the tattoo high up on her left thigh. The lacy garter that does nothing to help with my raging hard on. That tattoo on her thigh is my favorite. Feminine and sexy as hell, even though I hated watching Cage, my tattoo guy, with his hands in between her legs laying ink.

  The second she is straightened, she dashes into my bedroom which is connected to the office. One deep breath is all I manage to get myself under control, because about three seconds after I hear the door to the bathroom snick closed, Andrew is standing in the doorway.

  “Have you seen Francesca? I've not seen her in a bit and Indiana is ready for the cake.”

  “I ha—”

  “What the hell is that?” he fumes, cutting me off and pointing at the fireplace wall.

  “A fireplace?” I mock, knowing that can’t be what has him all huffy like a little girl.

  “Don't be daft, Deacon. Why do you have a naked picture of my fiancée on your mantel?” he spits.

  Naked picture? What the hell is he tal--…Ohhh, that naked picture. I glance over my shoulder as he starts stomping toward the frame that does indeed hold a naked-ish picture of Frankie. Before he can reach it though, I’m able to snatch it off the mantel. I don’t want him touching it, as crazy as that seems. It’s an incredibly intimate picture. An intimate moment between Frankie and I, and I don’t want to share it with him, with anyone really. The only reason it is on display here is because no one ever comes in here except for me, the Princess, and my assistant, Carter…and he’d much rather see a half-naked picture of me. I don't think that Frankie has ever even seen it and if she has, she’s never mentioned it.

  I look down at the picture, remembering that day. It was when I took her for her first tattoo. I had been home on leave for Christmas and was just about to leave the gym to get into some kind of trouble, preferably the kind with tits, but a bar would’ve done too, when Frankie called me into her dance studio.

  “Hey, Princess, I didn't know you were here,” grabbing her hand and flipping it, planting a kiss on her wrist while she talked.

  “I just stopped in to grab some paperwork when I saw you come out of the locker room. I want to show you something and get your opinion. Do you have a minute?” There is never anything more important to me than Frankie, especially not a random piece of welcome home ass.

  “Absolutely, what's up?”

  She looked a little nervous which was unusual for her, always so cool and sure, nothing ever seeming to get to her. She walked into her little office at the back of her studio and pulled something up on her computer.

  “What do you think of that?”

  I leaned over her shoulder to look at the artwork she has on the screen. It’s a delicate ribbon of lace with flowers and simple vines stemming from it in places. “What is it?”

  “It's a tattoo that I want to get on my back. Well, it will start on my shoulder and go across my back to end on my hip.

  She ran her hand from my shoulder diagonally down my back to my opposite hip to show me. It took all my strength not to shiver at her light touch. I steeled my jaw and looked back at the computer. It’s really girly, elegant, and totally her. Just the thought of her getting ink made me hard.

  “I think it's perfect for you.”

  She gave me an excited peck on the cheek and clapped her hands together. “Yay! I'm so glad you like it! Will you take me while you're home? I don't want to go by myself and this is totally your thing,” she said laughing.

  Nodding in agreement, “Ab-so-fucking-lutely! Let me call Cage and see if he can squeeze you in.”

 
“Today?” she squeaked, sounding a little panicked.

  “Whenever would be great, but yeah, hopefully today.”

  Cage was able to squeeze us in that day. I remember thinking it was hilarious that it was five below zero out and I’d told her to put on one of her bikinis instead of a bra and panties if she didn't want to be laying there completely naked. In the picture, she’s lying flat on her stomach on the table, the top to her string bikini completely untied and only one side of the bottoms tied together. Cage is working at her hip and I’m sitting at her head. She has her forehead against my knee and both of her hands grip my jean clad thighs in pain. One of my hands covers hers and the other’s stroking her hair, a small smile on my face. I had given my phone to the shop girl to take pictures with so that we’d have documentation of her first tat. I had no clue that the girl was actually a photographer in her spare time and that she would capture such honest and raw pictures of Frankie and I. They were my absolute favorite pictures of her, of us, for so many reasons.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Drew. Jealousy doesn't look very good on you.”

  He’s glaring at me and sputtering when Frankie comes back into the room, which is probably a good thing, since he doesn’t notice that she came from my bedroom.

  “Andrew, what's the matter? You look angry.” She places a hand on his forearm to try to calm him.

  “Why does he have naked pictures of you in his office, Francesca?” he asks in a biting tone.

  The hand not holding the frame curls into a fist. Gritting my teeth, I try to shake it off. Motherfucker better lock that shit up. I’m fighting the urge to hit him as it is.

  “Naked pictures? What are you talking about?” Her head snaps to look at me questioningly.

  “You're not naked, calm down,” I tell her soothingly, before turning back to the troublemaker. “She's not naked, Drew, and it was a long time ago, long before you, that's for sure.”

  Frankie looks down at my hands where I am still holding on to the frame, shielding it from his view. She closes the distance between us and holds out her hand.

  “May I see it, please?” she asks in a low, breathy voice.

  I look her in the eyes and hand the picture over, never looking away. Her blues widen a bit when she gazes down at the framed photo and then soften as she runs a slightly shaky finger along the image.

  “How? Who took these? I had no idea anyone was taking them.”

  Shrugging, I reply. “It was Stephy. I handed her my phone when Cage started and asked her to take pictures to remember it by.”

  “The receptionist? She took these with a phone?” she asks a little in awe.

  “Oh, for the love of…so, not only do you have naked pictures of her, but they were taken without her knowledge?” Andrew fumes.

  Right as I am about to tell him to shut the fuck up, Frankie speaks.

  “Andrew, I'm not naked and it's not like he's a peeping Tom. I'm glad she took them. I'm glad he thought to ask her.”

  He just stares at her with a stunned look on his face, almost like he can’t believe that she is challenging him even slightly. She looks down at the picture again and then walks over to the mantel to put it in the only empty space there, where it was obviously taken from. She lets her gaze touch on the rest of the photos that cover every inch of the mantel. I know what she sees. She sees the story of us, from family holidays, graduations, proms, deployments, fights…it’s all there and as permanent, ingrained, and meaningful as the ink etched into our skin.

  “If you're finished with this little trip down memory lane, Indiana is ready to do the cake,” Andrew grits.

  That seems to break the spell and brings her back to the here and now.

  “Let’s not keep her waiting then,” she tells him with forced enthusiasm.

  They make it to the door before I call out to her. “Frankie?”

  She stops but doesn’t turn around to face me, and unfortunately he stops as well. “Go ahead, Andrew, I'll be right there,” Frankie reassures him.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I'm sure. Tell Indie to light the candles. I'll be right down.”

  He looks at her for a beat before deciding to leave her with me, the big bad wolf. She still hasn't turned around. I run my fingers through my hair, yanking on it, trying to gather my thoughts.

  “I know that I've thrown a lot at you tonight, and I really am sorry, but I'm not sorry about finally coming clean. I've been sitting on it for so long I'm used to the thought of being in love with you, but I know it's got to be overwhelming for you. I never intended to tell you like this. All of these years, I thought about the day I'd actually tell you how I felt, and none of the scenarios ever played out like this.”

  She turns around at that and stands there, head down, still not meeting my eyes. “What do you mean ‘all of these years?’ How long have you been in lo—…felt like this, Deacon?” Her voice is so soft I almost can’t hear her. I notice that she can’t say the word “love” though.

  I laugh without humor at her question and shrug my shoulders. “Forever. At least that's how long it seems. I honestly can't remember a time that I wasn't in love with you, Frankie. Like I said though, I know it's a lot to take in.”

  She still hasn't looked at me and just stands there wringing her hands, staring at the wood flooring, biting the inside corner of her bottom lip like she does when she’s thinking.

  “Princess, look at me.”

  Finally, she looks up, but never stops torturing her poor lip.

  I speak, hoping she’ll stop chewing on her damn lip. “It's a lot and I'm not asking you to decide on anything tonight.” I see some of the tension leave her on a sigh at my words. “I'm not asking you to choose him or me this very moment. I'm not asking you to choose me at all. Until you don't,” I say in a low, gravelly voice.

  “Deacon, I don't know what to say, I don't know what to think. You're my best friend. I can't lose you and I feel like I am,” she tells me with tears in her eyes.

  I take a step toward her. I want to reach out and touch her, but know if I do, I won’t stop and I'd have her up against the wall again in an instant. It’s as if as soon as the words left my mouth, I had absolutely no control over myself. My need to touch her, protect her, own her only intensified. I pride myself on my control— it's one of the things that makes me a good fighter—but I am losing the battle right now. One more step in her direction and I have to force myself to stop, shoving my hands deep into my pockets.

  “That will never happen. Never. No matter what. You can't lose someone that makes up a part of who you are. We are a part of each other, Princess. That’s never going to change.”

  She looks down at the floor again briefly as my words sink in, before our gazes collide and lock. I see the flash of anger in hers and I’m not surprised really. This is who she is. Fiery, passionate, fierce…and I have a feeling that she is about to unleash all of that on me.

  “Why? Why now? All this time you’ve felt this way and you’ve said nothing. Nothing, Deacon!” Hands on her hips again, her voice raised, she rages, “You decide that today of all days is a good time to bare your fucking soul?” Glaring at me accusingly, she goes on, “This is unfair, Deacon. So very unfair and selfish. You can’t just do this and expect me to drop it all and come running. Where the hell have you been all…you know what? Never mind. I better get back down there before he comes looking for me again,” resigned and still obviously pissed.

  I shake my head in frustration. The muscle in my jaw pulsating in time with my heart at the thought of her running to Drew’s side.

  “Fuck him. Don’t leave. Don’t go down there. Don’t go to him,” I say forcefully. “Stay here. Be mad at me, whatever. You want to fight? Let’s fight it out then.” Heart racing, my eyes don’t leave her face as I wait for her to give in. I can see the mad in her eyes, the frustration in the way her mouth is in a straight, unforgiving line. My hands are balled so tightly, it’s painful. Without another word she b
reaks eye contact, slowly turns and walks away, leaving me alone as she goes to him.

  Two months since I called Carter and had him get me the hell out of Chicago and away from Frankie. Two months without a word, without hearing her voice. Fine. I can work her out of my goddamn system or die trying. I’m winning my fights, I’m on top of my game, and running on pure adrenaline for these past two months. I’m training like a machine, but not taking care of myself, and I know that my brothers are worried. I have a couple fights coming up back to back, and I’m partying all the time, and for the last month, fucking anything in a skirt just as long as she isn’t blonde. I’m a hot, fucking mess over a woman for the first time in my life and I hate it.

  We’re in St. Louis, and tonight's fight will be the last for the next few days. It’s the shortest break I've had in a while, but these last couple haven’t been qualifying fights, so I didn’t have months off in between like I normally would. Four fights in two month’s time isn’t what I’m used to, but I welcome the distraction. Mav left yesterday for home to work on promo shit for the next string of fights, so it’s just Sonny and I, thank fuck, because one of them is more than I can handle right now.

  I’m sore as hell. My face is already bruised and puffy. I took more than a few good hits tonight, just good enough to let the physical pain overtake the emotional pain that has been a constant. I welcome it. Anything is better than the mindfuck I’m putting myself through.

  I’m slipping my key card out of my back pocket when Sonny swings the door to our suite open to let me in. His eyes narrow as he takes in the bottle of vodka in one hand and the redheaded Amazon in the other. She is everything Frankie isn’t— tall with fake tits, skanky clothes, too much perfume, and no class. All these differences make her perfect. By the barely veiled look of disgust on Sonny's face, I don't think he agrees. “You gonna let me in, brother?” I ask him with a little laugh. He steps to the side, barely.