Just say it. “I’m falling for you… so fucking hard.”
Her hand grasps the back of my neck and she pulls me down to kiss her. Our lips are still pressed together when she whispers, “I’m falling in love with you. I feel it happening a little more every time we’re together.”
She bends her knees and wraps them around me, pulling me against her. I’m nearly breathless when I press my erection against her slick opening—unsheathed, uncovered, unprotected—and wait for her answer.
She lifts her hips and pushes the head of my cock against her entrance, giving me the permission I seek. I slide inside her bare. Skin on skin. Nothing separating us. “Frankie…” I’m at a loss for words again.
Never felt anything like this.
I move slowly, so fucking slowly, savoring the full sensation of being bare inside her.
We’re heart-to-heart and our bodies feel like one. I’ve never felt closer to anyone in my life. Ever. And I want this feeling to go on and on.
Despite trying to prolong our union, I feel the onset of my orgasm. “I’m getting close. I want to come inside you.”
Frankie tightens the hold of her legs around my body. I don’t think I could pull out if I tried. “Yes.”
“Uhhh…” I grip Frankie’s body tightly and thrust one final time. I spasm and empty myself inside her. But this isn’t only a physical act; it’s also symbolic. I’m filling her with all of the affection and fondness and passion I have for her.
With eyes closed, I press my forehead to hers. Neither of us says anything, but we don’t have to. Our silence does all of the talking for us.
Sex and fun. That’s what we chose to call this.
But this isn’t just sex. This isn’t us having a little fun before she moves to Austin.
We were wrong. So very wrong.
This is more.
14
Frankie Dawson
A white chocolate mocha isn’t the only thing I find on my desk in my new workspace inside Porter’s office this morning. “Oh, look at that. Someone left an arrangement of flowers on my desk. Since you beat me here, you wouldn’t have happened to have seen who that was, would you?”
“I think it was that guy you’re dating.”
“You mean the one I shared an amazing weekend with?”
“I believe that’s the one. But there’s a card. Maybe you should read it to find out.”
I break the seal on the envelope and take out the white rectangle.
I fall a little more every time we’re together.
—WPB
I can’t not smile when I read Porter’s use of my words last night when I told him I was falling in love with him. “What does the W stand for?” I should definitely know the full name of the man I’m falling in love with.
“William.”
I want so badly to go to him but it’s too risky. “Well, Mr. William Porter Beckman, thank you for the flowers and the coffee and the wonderful weekend. I’ll show you some proper appreciation later.”
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Frances Ameline Dawson. And I look forward to your proper appreciation.”
I put the card inside my purse instead of returning it to the envelope. “It’s inevitable that I’ll be asked about the flowers today. What should I tell people?”
“Say whatever you like.”
“Okay. What would my very handsome, sexy, insatiable boss like me to do today?”
“There are so many ways I could answer that question.”
I’m not the only one who has thought about all the things we could do in here behind a closed door.
“Rephrase. What kind of graphic design and marketing would you like me to do today?”
Porter sits on the corner of my desk. “How far did you get on the merchandise?”
“Maybe halfway.”
“I want to see what you’ve done so far.”
Porter has already fired up my computer so I navigate to the merchandise folder. “I came up with another idea when I was lying in bed last night.”
“Me too. That we’d have lunch at my place today.”
“Silly boy. Did you forget what I told you about my period starting today?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
I stop navigating through the folders and look at him to see if he’s serious about what I think he’s suggesting. “Are you into that?”
“I don’t know. Never tried it.”
He doesn’t look repulsed. “Are you wanting to try it?”
“Are you wanting to try it?”
“I asked you first.”
“Well, when I said that we’d have lunch at my place, I meant we’d pick up food and actually eat lunch together. But then you brought up having period sex.”
“I brought it up… and now I’m dropping it.” I open my girly T-shirt designs first. “Ladies cut.”
Porter moves off the corner of my desk and stands behind me, leaning over my shoulder. He’s not touching me but his body calls out to mine. My attraction to him is insane.
“Those are cool.”
“There you are.”
Why does my dad walk in every time Porter gets near me? “Oh, hey, Dad.”
“What’s going on? Why is your desk in here?”
I say nothing, waiting for Porter to take the wheel on this one.
“The separation was making it impossible for me to give Frankie the supervision she needs. I’ve been very pleased with her work and would like to give her some additional responsibilities. But I felt it wasn’t the right thing to do unless I was readily available to guide her.”
Oh damn. He’s good.
“I know Frankie’s learning a lot being under you.”
It’s easy to learn when you stay under your boss as much as I do.
I look up at Porter. “It’s unreal how much I’ve learned being under Mr. Beckman.”
My dad’s brow wrinkles. “Are these flowers for you?”
“They’re from me. Just a token of my appreciation for a job well done her first month at Iron City. She has lifted a lot of burden from my shoulders, so I’m free to work on other things that need my attention.”
“I’m proud that Frankie being here is working out for you. I just wish this wasn’t temporary. I don’t want my little girl moving to Austin.”
I thought my dad might come around about my move. He hasn’t. “Daddy… you act like I’m moving to the other side of the world.”
“You might as well be. But that’s not a conversation for us to have here and now. I’ve gotta clock in and get to work.”
I wait until my dad is gone to look at Porter. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re as smooth as Ex-Lax?”
He chuckles. “You’re comparing me to shit? The man who eats your pussy? And fucks you into oblivion? And gives you mind-blowing orgasms?”
“And makes sweet, passionate love to me after telling me he’s falling for me. Don’t forget that one.”
Porter looks at his office door and then grasps my chin and quickly kisses my mouth. “Yes. That, too.”
Last night was different. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t fucking.
We made love.
And we didn’t talk about it afterward. I’m glad; I think words would have ruined that special moment.
Porter simply held me in his arms until I had to go home. And every second was perfect.
He releases my chin. “I liked the way things went last night.”
“I liked it too. And I’d like more nights like that.”
“That can be arranged.”
Secret embraces. Stolen kisses. Whispered conversations. That’s my daily routine with Porter.
I love my workspace being inside his office. Even when we’re working and not talking, we’re still together. I get to steal glances at his handsome face and hot, muscular body whenever I like.
You’d be surprised how close you become when you spend every day with a person.
Porter hasn’t been in the office much to
day, so I’m happy when he returns after being gone. “You look pleased.”
“I am. We finally worked out the problem with the sweet potato cream stout. A batch is being bottled as we speak.”
“That’s great. I know you’re glad to have that worry off your mind.”
“That’s one of my worries off my mind.”
“Did you talk to your mom?”
“I did. She said she feels okay. Just tired.”
Her second chemo was two days ago. “That’s to be expected. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. Did you tell her you were coming to visit?”
Porter has been feeling so much guilt about not being there for his mom as she goes through her treatments. I’m glad he’s going to see her.
“I did and she’s very happy. Sounded like it really lifted her spirits.”
“I know it did. I’m sure she misses her baby boy.”
“She wants me to bring you.”
Wow. I in no way had expected that. “Really?”
“Yeah. She enjoyed talking with you and would love for you to come home with me.”
“Is that what you want?” I don’t want him to take me if he’s only doing it for his mother.
“I would love to take you home to meet my family.”
“When would you want to leave?”
“Mom wants us to eat dinner with them so I’d like to leave Birmingham by two.”
“And we’ll come back late Sunday?”
“Not too late. I always try to be back by six.”
Looks like I’ll be using Tuscaloosa as an alibi again. “I think I can do that.”
“Do you have another sweet lingerie set you can pack?”
“You want to have sex at your parents’ house?” Hmm. I don’t know about that. Seems disrespectful. Especially with this being my first visit. I sure don’t want them to think I’m a slut.
“Yes. Tomorrow will make five days since I’ve had you. I’m horny as fuck.”
I’ve never gone home with a man to his parents’ house. I don’t know how this works. “What will the sleeping arrangements be?”
“We’ll sleep in my old bedroom.”
I’m the one with the young parents but there’s no way they would let a guy sleep in my bed with me. “Your mom and dad will be okay with that?”
“I’m thirty years old. They don’t care if my girlfriend sleeps with me in my bed.”
Oh, swoon. “You just called me your girlfriend.”
“You enjoy putting labels on us.”
“Excuse me? You’re the one who just labeled me your girlfriend.”
“We’re dating. To me, that makes you my girlfriend.”
“Then I’m your girlfriend.”
“Damn right, you are.”
We made it onto the road by two o’clock but Friday evening traffic was horrid. We somehow managed to end up making decent time nonetheless. Probably because Porter drove like a bat out of hell on the stretches of interstate.
We pull into the drive of an older-style home that has undergone a major remodeling. “This house looks like the finished product on an episode of Fixer Upper.”
“My parents did a lot of work on it a few years ago. Looks nothing like it did when I grew up here.”
Painted brick. Stone accents. Cedar beams. It’s a cozy-looking ranch style. “I love it.”
Porter has already told me that his parents are older and were well established when he was a child. That made me so afraid that we were going to pull up to some kind of enormous mansion, and I was immediately going to feel out of my element. Not the case at all.
The front door opens before we make it there, and Porter’s mom stands in the doorway waiting for us. She’s an attractive woman. Minimal wrinkles. Fair-haired. Warm caramel eyes, the same color as her son’s. I already know she’s in her sixties but I would have guessed much younger. Time has been kind to Mrs. Beckman.
Porter hugs his mom. “How are you feeling?
“A little tired but I’m okay.” She releases him and takes my hands in hers. “You must be Frankie.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Beckman.”
“I want you to call me Kit.”
“I can do that.”
A huge smile spreads across her face, and she squeezes my hands. “You are just as pretty as you are kind.”
What a lovely compliment to give to someone. “Thank you.”
“Come in and drop your bags in your bedroom. Dinner is ready, and everyone is champing at the bit to eat.”
“Everyone?”
“Oh, it’s just Porter’s dad, our other son and his wife, and our daughter and her husband and their two boys.” Lots of ands in that list of people.
I follow Porter down the hall to his bedroom. “Sounds like the whole family is here to see you.”
He chuckles. “Not to see me. They’re here to meet the first girl I’ve brought home in a long time.”
“How long?”
“At least seven years. No… I was probably a sophomore in college so more like ten.”
That’s a reminder of our age gap. “Sheez, Porter. I would have been eleven years old then.”
“I haven’t given our age difference a lot of thought, but that shines a whole different light on it when you put it like that. I’m a fucking cradle robber.”
“What’s a fucking cradle robber?”
We turn at the sound of a child’s voice, and two of the cutest little boys I’ve ever seen are standing in the doorway. Those must be his sister’s children.
Porter uses his finger to summon them into the bedroom. “Come here, you little hell-raisers.”
They run into the room and hug their uncle’s legs. “Boys, this is Frankie. She’s my special friend, and I want you to be nice to her. Can you do that for me?”
His nephews simultaneously nod. So sweet.
Porter taps the taller boy on the head. “This is Bennett. He’s six, and this little monkey is Callan. He’s four.”
“Very nice to meet you.”
“What’s a fucking cradle robber?” Bennett asks a second time.
Porter chuckles. “Those are grown-up words. I shouldn’t have said them for little ears to hear.”
“But what is it?”
“Don’t worry about what it is.” He playfully swats Bennett on his bottom. “Go on to the table and tell everyone we’ll be there in a minute.”
“Vroom vroom vroom.” The boys take off like a pair of cars racing away.
“They’re so cute.”
“Don’t let the cuteness fool you. They’re total hell-raisers. My sister has her hands full with those two.”
“I’m no stranger to a pair of cute but mean-ass boys. Finch and Fowler have been raising hell for eighteen years.” And they’re nowhere near done. They just raise a different kind of hell now.
“I haven’t been around your brothers much. Your dad didn’t bring them to the brewery very often.”
“Probably because he was afraid they’d torch the place while they were there. They’re bad, Porter. Sooo bad.”
“I think all boys their age are.”
I think Finch and Fowler are a special kind of trouble. “They’re worse than most. I think it’s because they’re twins and they grew up competing for everything. Whoever acted worse won the attention, and it has carried over into adulthood.”
“They’ll be okay.”
“I’m so afraid they’re going to do something stupid like get kicked out of school or knock up some girl during a one-night stand.”
“I bet they’re smarter than you give them credit for.”
He hasn’t been around them. “Believe me. They’re not.”
“Well, if they screw up, they screw up. You can’t make those decisions for them.”
“I know. But I can’t help but worry. They’re my little brothers.”
“You’re a great big sister. “He presses a kiss on the top of my head. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting to meet you and I’m starvin
g.”
Porter begins the introductions with his dad, Gabe. He’s attractive for a man in his sixties. Tall and fit. Although his eyes are bright blue and Porter’s are light brown and gold, I see similarities between the two. Both are almond shaped with a slight slant on the outer edge. I hadn’t noticed that about Porter until seeing his dad.
His older brother and his wife are next. Cade is shorter, not as muscular, and has a little gray at his temples. Definitely handsome. The brothers share a lot of the same facial features. I can’t stop looking back and forth between the two, comparing the similarities and differences. It’s a little strange looking at the face of a man who looks so much like Porter.
His sister-in-law, Bethany, is cute as a bug. I have a feeling her face is a little fuller than usual based on the size of her round belly. “And this is baby Beckman. Due to make his or her debut in four weeks.”
“You didn’t find out what you’re having?”
“No, I want it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, fun. I don’t think I would want to find out what I was having either.”
Porter introduces his sister and her husband, Clay, last. Reagan is a small female version of Porter and Cade except she got their dad’s blue eyes. Like me, she’s the only daughter and obviously, a daddy’s girl. Within a matter of minutes, I can tell that she and the boys are the center of her husband’s world.
“These are our boys, Bennett and Callan.”
“I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting them. And they are adorable.”
“Thank you. We think they’re pretty cute.”
Everyone goes to their chair around the table for ten, but I hang back, waiting for a leftover seat. Porter slips his hand into mine and tugs. “Come on. We’re on that side at the end.”
There’s not an empty seat. Reminds me of lunch around my gran’s table.
I smile when I see we’re having breakfast for dinner. Somebody’s mama cooked his favorite meal.
“I hope you don’t mind having breakfast for dinner, Frankie. It’s something we do around here a lot.”
“We do it at my house too. It’s one of my favorite meals.”
Serving bowls and plates pass counterclockwise around the table. Biscuits. Sawmill gravy. Chocolate gravy. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Pancakes. Hash browns.