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He crawls up my body again, his mouth at mine, and he kisses me, cock bumping against my entrance, swirling through me. I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, and he groans, grinding down so my wetness soaks him. When he breaks away, I’m gasping, holding onto his shoulders and pulling him closer.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Annabelle?”
The way he uses my full name makes my eyes flutter closed. “Yes.”
“I could have made you come,” he says, voice low, as he thrusts against my clit, providing delicious friction even though he’s not where I desperately want him to be. “I could have tasted you until you fell apart on my tongue.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because you’re going to come on my cock. After this long, that’s what I want. I want you to feel me deep inside that pussy and know that’s what’s bringing you pleasure.”
I manage to take a breath and open my eyes. “There’s that arrogance again,” I say, needing to be on the same playing field as him, let him know that I can hold my own.
“Maybe,” he says, lining himself up with the entrance to my pussy, “but you knew this was going to happen when you let me come over here.”
Blood rushes to my face. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” he says, and he thrusts in. I cry out, in pleasure, in pain, and in memory. God, I’ve forgotten how big he is, how he can drive himself in to the hilt and it feels that he’ll never come back out. I’ve forgotten how he can thrust into me with confidence and force that I’ve never felt with anyone else.
I’m remembering now.
This is all or nothing. We both feel it, and Frankie doesn’t hold back. He fucks me. Every thrust is so deep I can feel it in my gut, and our bodies slam together, pleasure spiraling hard and fast from every movement. “Yes,” I say, and I say it again. “Yes, yes, yes.” Until I’m screaming it, saying his name over and over.
Frankie is grunting with every thrust, and his orgasm is building with mine. I know because I know how he sounds when he comes. My own pleasure is almost there, sinking from my gut deeper into my bones and spiraling outwards, and then it’s there. Holy fuck, it comes in a wave, driven by Frankie and the way he’s fucking me and the way he doesn’t stop.
I let myself go, falling into fireworks and perfect, searing pleasure. I scream it out, wrapping my legs up and around his back, and holding on while he fucks toward his own climax. And then he’s there too, growling in my ear as he spends himself, thrusting deep once, again, and a third time before holding himself deep. His cock jerks inside me and I squeeze down on him, eliciting another groan from him.
We come back to each other, breathing heavy, foreheads together, trying to recover. That was something we both needed, raw and hot and wild.
Frankie kisses me again, softer this time. He’s still inside me, and I don’t want him to move. It feels too perfect and I don’t want to break the moment. Because I know the conversation that we have to have and I desperately want to think that everything can work out between us, but I don’t know how. And so I’d rather stay here, wrapped up with him.
There’s a knock at the door, and we both jump. “Mailman,” the voice comes, and Frankie pulls out of me. I feel the loss of him, and I don’t like it. It’s like losing just a little bit of him all over again. Which is silly, but I can’t help the splinter in my gut.
“Just a minute,” Frankie says. He cleans himself up and zips his jeans while I pull my shorts back on. He answers the door—without putting on a shirt—and he has a package when he closes it.
“Oh my God,” I say. “The whole town is going to know that we just fucked.”
He grimaces, sliding the package onto the kitchen counter. “I honestly didn’t even think about it. It’s easy to forget.”
I shake my head, and turn off the stove, which has been slowly burning a single pancake in a pan. Then I pour Frankie a cup of coffee. “Believe me, no one here will ever forget you. You’re their hero. So I guess they’ll be happy if they think that we were back together even for a little while.” It’s not that funny, because in my life, I’ve had more than enough of people in this town knowing my business, but I still can’t help laughing.
Then Frankie’s laughing too. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think twice about it. But I could always find the mailman and pay him off. Maybe make him retire.” It’s a joke, but I can also tell that he’s willing to do it if I ask him to.
