“We have the rest of the evening to do anything we want. What are you thinking?”
“We don’t get to date like a real couple. I’d like to go out to dinner. Maybe go to a club and have some drinks and dance. You never get to see me dressed up. I’m always wearing shorts or jeans and a T-shirt.”
“True, but you look mighty fine in them.”
“As you do but I’d like to see you in a button-down and dress pants.”
“You’re going to see me in that for the next four days.”
“And it may turn me on so much that I drag you back to the room every day.”
“I wouldn’t complain about that.”
“Can we go dancing at a club tonight? I want to dress up and look pretty for you.”
Does this girl not know she looks gorgeous every day regardless of what she’s wearing? “Dinner and dancing. Done.”
I’ve been waiting on the sofa in the living area for like an hour when Frankie finally comes out of the bedroom. She’s wearing a tight short black strapless dress and mile-high red fuck-me pumps. Her makeup looks vintage with thick black lines on her upper lids. Reminds me of a sixties model. “Damn… girl. You look hot.”
I’m going to have a ton of fun peeling her out of that dress later tonight. But the shoes… those fuckers are staying on.
She twirls, and a huge smile spreads across her face. “I guess I clean up all right.”
I get up and she comes to me, wrapping her hand around my body and squeezing my ass. “Me likey this shirt and these pants on you.”
“A bit different than jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Mm-hmm. I love this look on you.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll soon be back to wearing my workingman attire and smelling like hops and yeast.”
“Because you’re a hardworking man. I find that highly attractive.”
“You know what’s attractive to me? You in this dress and those shoes.”
“Glad you think so.”
“Come on. We need to go before my dick convinces me to peel you out of that dress now instead of later.”
I feel like the luckiest man alive walking through the lobby with Frankie on my arm. I see some other men who share the same belief based on the attention she’s catching.
This is our first time being dressed up and going out on the town together. I’m accustomed to the jeans-and-T-shirt Frankie, and although that version is absolutely beautiful, it doesn’t gain the same attention that black-dress-and-heels Frankie garners.
“While you were taking ten years to get ready, I looked at restaurants in this area.”
Frankie elbows me in the ribs. “Asshole.”
“The hotel steakhouse has some good reviews. Want to give it a try?”
“I’d never turn down a meal in a steakhouse.”
We’re seated and looking at our menus when Frankie giggles. “I just thought of something. Last weekend we ate fried catfish and you bent me over a muddy four-wheeler. Here we are a week later and you’re buying me a sixty-dollar steak and having your way with me in a five-star suite. You are an incredibly diverse man, Mr. Beckman.”
“You’re never bored with me.”
“Definitely not.”
Dinner is delicious and romantic. I find it nearly impossible to keep my eyes off Frankie in this setting. Such a different experience from the ones we’ve shared in Birmingham. And that makes me sad. Angry at myself. She deserves to be taken out on the town, taken out on dates to nice restaurants. Not hidden away in my condo.
“Don’t make plans for next weekend. We have a social engagement.”
“We do?” Her eyes widen.
“It’s Oliver’s thirtieth birthday. Lawrence is having a surprise birthday party for him.”
“Oh, that’ll be fun. You said we have an engagement. Are we going together?”
“All Iron City employees are invited. I guess you’d probably come with your parents.”
“Oh.” Her tone is flat.
“I wish we could go together. But you know why that’s not possible.”
“I know. It was a little bit exciting in the beginning to hide this relationship. I sort of liked sneaking around, but now it’s a pain in the ass. I’m liking that aspect less and less all the time.”
“Are you wanting to come out?”
“I’ve considered it, but I think we’re beyond that point now since I’m only here for six more weeks.”
Six more weeks. I hate those three fucking words.
This began as a ten-week affair. In the beginning, it felt like it would last forever. Like I’d probably be glad to see her go when our time was up. But now I don’t want to see this end in six weeks.
There’s more to asking Frankie to stay than simply saying the words. I’d be asking her to change her plans. Her life. That’s not something I can do lightly. Not without having my own plan for what would happen afterward.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah. I’m done. I don’t want to be too full for drinks and dancing.”
“Any idea where you want to go?”
“Dirty Sixth.”
“What’s Dirty Sixth?”
“There are three sections of Sixth Street. West, East, and Dirty. Dirty is the bar scene with lots of live music. We can pub crawl.”
“Pub crawl. I haven’t done that in a long time.” I chuckle because it’s a reminder of how much older I am than her. And how much busier. She’s been a college kid having fun for the last three years while I’ve been building a company.
“You work all the time. It’ll be good for you to have fun.”
My girl may not know it, but I used to be the king of a good time. No one out-partied me. “I’m game. Let’s do it.”
We catch a taxi to Dirty Sixth from our hotel. We’re not that far from it and I could easily walk it, but I doubt she could in her fuck-me pumps. “Are you going to be okay in those shoes?”
“These are my clubbing shoes. They’re broken in.”
We hold hands as we walk the strip looking for our first stop. “This one is crowded, and the band sounds good. Want to give it a try?”
“Anything you want, baby.”
Lights flash around us in the dark club and it’s packed shoulder-to-shoulder. The band is playing “Play That Funky Music.” Classic club song. I’m sure that’s right up Frankie’s alley since it’s old as fuck.
She grabs my hand and leads me to the area around the stage where all of the dancers are gathered. She blends into the crowd and moves to the song like it’s something she’s done a million times.
“You do this a lot, don’t you?”
“Used to. Not so much since I moved back to Birmingham and got myself a hard-ass for a boss.” She grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me in for a quick kiss. “But I like him anyway. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot and fucks me like a champ.”
She turns her back to me and grabs my hands, placing them on her hips, and rubbing her body against me as she dances. The little vixen knows exactly what she’s doing. She has to be able to feel the evidence against her ass.
We’re packed like sardines on the dance floor with little room to move. Everyone here is in his or her own little world, paying us no attention, so I slide one of my hands from her hip down to her lower stomach. I grip her body tightly and pull her against me while thrusting my hard cock against her ass. She leans against my chest and turns to peer at me over her shoulder. “You are being so bad.”
“Did you really think you could rub your ass on me like that and not get a reaction?”
“I knew what I’d get from you.”
The band plays “Hurts So Good” and Frankie lifts her arms over her head, and leans deeper into me. I rest my chin on her shoulder and she snakes her hands around the back of my head and neck. From this angle, I can see inside the top of her dress. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
“Nope.”
Fuck.
We dance until I have d
ry mouth, and we’re both sticky with sweat. “Want to get a drink?”
“Yeah, my throat is starting to hurt from yelling over the music.”
She waits in the corner while I grab a couple of beers from the bar, and I’m not a bit surprised to see that a guy has approached her while I was away.
“May I help you?” Yeah. I sound like a dick, but I don’t care.
The guy holds up his hands. “Got it. Not looking for any trouble.”
I pass Frankie her drink. “They had hard cider.”
“I’ve never tried that brand.” She turns the bottle up and takes a big drink. “Wow, that is good. Want a taste?”
“Nah. I’m not much of a cider drinker. Too sweet for me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Frankie leans in and kisses me open-mouthed, her tongue rolling against mine.
“Mmm. I’ve never tasted a more delicious cider.”
We finish our drinks and bounce back onto the dance floor but this time the tempo is much slower. Romantic. “I don’t know this song.”
“It’s Climax Blues Band.” She wraps her arms around my shoulders and moves close. “‘I Love You.’ That’s the name of the song.”
Fuck. Me.
There was a fraction of a millisecond where my brain thought she was saying she loved me. And I liked the way it sounded coming from her mouth.
We’ve told one another we’re falling for each other. That’s different from coming right out and saying those three words.
“It’s a good song.”
“Total classic. I can’t believe you don’t know it.”
“I’m not a music head like you.”
“You’re not, and we need to work on that.”
The next few songs are fast—and I’m able to name all of them. Not a great accomplishment, considering most of them are some of the most famous songs ever recorded. Going three for three, I grin. “‘Stayin’ Alive.’ Bee Gees.”
She nods and we move to the beat of the music, dry humping on the dance floor. Fuck, I can’t wait to get her back to the suite. And I’m going to give her a taste of what’s in store for her.
I move my hands down her sides to grip her hips while I lower myself and drag my mouth down the front of her dress. I don’t stop until my face is level with her pussy. And that’s when I look up and lick the fabric of her dress covering her groin.
She pushes her fingers into the top of my hair. “Oh fuck. That is hot.”
I rise slowly, dragging my face up her dress on the way up. I grip her ass in my hands and pull her close. “I’m going to make you come so many different ways tonight.”
“You’re doing a great job working me up for the first way.” Frankie’s smile evaporates as she stumbles toward me—not for the first time tonight with the crowd on this dance floor, but this time she’s wearing a peculiar expression. And I know why when I look behind her.
Some fucker is dancing behind her. On her. Thrusting his cock against her ass.
And all I see is red.
I don’t think. I only react.
“Get the fuck off her.” My first move is to shove his shoulder—push him away—but he doesn’t budge. The asshole has wrapped his arm around her waist and is grinding even harder.
This isn’t a friendly dirty dance because you’re drunk. This guy is assaulting her.
I take one look at the fear and disgust on her face and uppercut the guy in the nose, sending him down onto the dance floor. One punch isn’t good enough for what he did to my girl, so I deliver another blow while he’s still down.
“Shit, Porter. We need to get out of here. Now.”
Frankie grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd toward the door. We speed walk down the sidewalk, not looking back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’m not so sure about that guy. You knocked the shit out of him. Twice.”
“I wanted to do more than that.” I was so tempted to kick his face in.
Frankie grasps my right hand and brings it up for inspection. “You’re bleeding. Can you move it?”
I fist and flex my hand. “Yeah, but it hurts like a motherfucker.”
“It needs ice.”
We’re quiet in the taxi on the way to the hotel. Have I pissed her off? Scared her? I don’t know.
She grabs the ice bucket when we enter the suite. “Go wash your hand while I get some ice.”
Shit. It’s swelling and hurts like hell, but I don’t regret hitting that fucker. Not even a little.
Frankie comes into the bathroom with the ice bucket liner filled with ice. She wraps the bag with a towel and inspects my hand again. “The cut doesn’t look too bad, but it’s swelling. I hope you haven’t fractured it.”
“It’ll be fine.”
She places the towel-wrapped ice bag on top of my hand and sighs. “Thank you for getting him off me.”
I shake my head as I recall the fury I felt when I realized what he was doing to her. “I didn’t like seeing another man touch you.”
“I didn’t like being touched by him. It made me sick.”
I look up, and our eyes meet. “The thought of anyone else touching you or having you makes me crazy.”
“I don’t want anyone but you.” The words are barely out of her mouth before her lips are on mine.
Our kiss is hungry. Passionate. Loving.
“Bedroom,” she whispers.
Her hands work to unfasten the buttons of my shirt en route to the bed. Unsatisfied with the slow progress, she reaches for the bottom and pulls it over my head while it’s still buttoned.
She unfastens my pants and slides my zipper down, putting her hand inside my boxer briefs. Her hand grasps my cock, and she glides it up and down with long strokes. Damn, this girl gives an awesome hand job.
Our kiss is fervent while her hand pumps me. I’m close to coming, so fucking close, but she doesn’t let me. It’s as though she knows the exact moment to stop before pushing me over the edge.
She flattens her palms on my chest and pushes me down on the bed. “I want you inside me when you come.”
Her dress comes over her head, and she shimmies her panties down her legs while I get out of my clothes. She climbs one knee at a time onto the bed and straddles me before leaning down so her chest is pressed to mine.
My tip is at her wet entrance, but she doesn’t sink down on it. She’s rocking her hips back and forth, teasing me. “You don’t want anyone else to have this? To have me?”
“No, Frankie. No one else can have you. Only me.”
“Show me that I’m yours.”
“Can’t do that from the bottom.” I rise and flip us so she’s on her back. “I’m going to make love to you until you come and shatter into a million pieces.”
She flattens her palms against my chest and rubs my pecs, causing my nipples to harden.
“I belong to you, Porter. You can do anything you want to me.” Her voice is nearly breathless.
I feather kisses down her chin and throat until my mouth finds one of her nipples. I take my time with both breasts before dragging my face and mouth down the center of her body to reach her hipbones. I kiss each of them and everything in between before dragging my nose over her groin. I will never tire of her scent.
I lick straight up her center. “Ahh.”
She squirms beneath my mouth before finding a steady rocking motion. “I love your mouth on me.”
Mmm, I love the way she tastes.
My fingers glide up her thighs and find her hands. She laces them with mine as she lifts her head to watch me. Our eyes meet for only a moment before she throws her head against the pillow and arches her back from the bed. She lifts her hips closer to my mouth and squeezes my hands tightly as her entire body stiffens. “Ahh, Porter.”
Her body trembles and then goes completely lax, panting as though trying to catch her breath. “You are a master Jedi at that. The Force is strong with you.”
I crawl over her body, kissing my way up until I hov
er above her. She adjusts her hips until my tip is positioned at her entrance. “I need you inside me.”
Nestling between her legs, I look at her baby blues. Everything in this moment feels different, as though we’re the only two people in this world.
I groan when I push myself into her slick opening. She tightens her muscles around me as I move in and out with methodical slowness, savoring the full sensation of being inside her unsheathed.
I watch her beautiful face as I move over her. I’m certain I’ve never felt closer to anyone in my life. Ever.
I make love to her the way two people in love should. Slow. Deep. Significant. The affection I have for her is overwhelming: I love this woman with all my heart. She owns me, body and soul.
I bury my face against her neck and push deeply within her body, holding steady when I spasm, filling her with a part of myself. She locks her arms around me and squeezes her legs tighter.
“I fucking love you, Frankie,” I whisper against her ear as I spill every part of myself inside her.
She tightens her grip around me. “I love you, too.”
I still when I’m finished coming and press my forehead to hers. “You’re mine and no one else’s. Say it.”
“I’m yours and no one else’s.”
There. It’s done. There’s no taking it back now.
And that’s exactly the way I want it.
18
Frankie Dawson
Four days in Austin. Four nights in this luxurious suite. Four mornings like this—waking with Porter’s body curled around mine like a vine, his arms wrapped tightly as though he may never release me.
Because he loves me.
Our relationship has changed during this trip. Transitioned into something very different. So much more.
“I want to talk about September.”
I’ve been wondering if this conversation would come up. “What about September?”
“Don’t go to Austin.”
Don’t go to Austin. There isn’t a lot of wiggle room for misinterpretation, but I need to know that Porter and I are on the same page. The same paragraph. The same word. “Be specific about what those words mean to you.”
“Stay in Birmingham… with me.”