His hands slide onto my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, anchoring me to him. My arms are around his neck, fingers stuck in the tresses of his hair, tangling with the warm, thick silk. His breath is hot in my mouth, his tongue wet as it slips passed my lips, then my teeth, and meets eagerly with mine.
We're bound together so tight it almost hurts. Still, it doesn't feel close enough.
I wrench at the hem of his shirt and try my best to get it off him, but he won't lift his arms to assist me.
Instead his hands are on my cheeks, holding my face steady. His mouth is insistent, his kisses hard, desperate. I think of his worry that he'd frighten me, but I'm kissing him with the same sort of harshness, the same desperation. I hope his fears have melted away, if they haven't, I hope to thaw them soon.
I feel my heart against my ribcage, and it feels like a fist against a piece of weakened wood, battering with too much strength. My bones are not enough to contain this ridiculous organ of mine, which has convinced itself it no longer belongs to me.
"Nevaeh," he groans, words spilling onto my lips. "We don't have to-"
"Shut up," I say, and finally get room between us to strip him of his shirt. "I don't want to hold back," I insist, so close my nose bumps his. His eyes are bright, his lashes black as coal, the flush in his cheeks red as cherries. "I want all of you. I love all of you."
His breathing spikes, and his bare chest swells, and he laughs quietly.
"I still don't think this is real," he murmurs, and his forehead settles against mine. He squeezes his eyes closed, speaks against my cheek. "I'm sure I'm dreaming."
I kiss his jaw, then his cheek, then his mouth. "Your imagination isn't good enough to conjure me," I say against his heated skin, "And if you love me, I'm the one that's dreaming."
He snorts, shakes his head, and his mouth shifts, and I'm kissing him again. Crushing my mouth to his, and my chest to his, and my arms around his shoulders. I want to drown in him.
My hips shift, and I can't help it; I rock against him. Grind down, desperate and searching. He groans, and grunts, and I gasp as he thrusts up against me. The considerable, hard length of him nudges between my spread thighs, and I gasp again.
He wraps one arm around my waist, and I wrap my legs around his hips, and I hold on as he rocks up onto his knees, lifting me.
I assume we're heading for the bed, and I'm okay with that, but he lowers me instead to the floor. Onto all those scattered, carefully arranged pieces of paper, which crinkle and crunch under my spine. He's already pushing at my shirt, hands sliding up my stomach, over my ribs.
"Frank," I say, attempting to pull my mouth free. "Your-" he interrupts, "You idiot, your work-"
His lips smother the words, but he half-listens, doing a broad sweep of his hands under me, shoving the papers aside. They rip and crumple, floating up and away.
"They're all about you, anyway." He mumbles, but I barely catch the words.
I'm too busy grappling at the waistband of his trousers, conveniently black jogging bottoms, so there's no buttons or zips to get in the way.
His hands grab my wrists, "Not yet, you absolute menace, not until-"
He balances on his knees, poised just above me, and strips me of my shirt. My legs are around his hips, but now my torso is bare, and his gaze is so intense.
"Frank-" I flinch, and lift my hands to cover as much as they're able.
"The fuck are you doing?" He catches my wrists, pins them over my head. In doing so, his torso covers mine, and our faces are levelled, and I'm spared his scrutiny.
"I know-" I frown, because he's staring at me, expectant and confused. "I know I'm not... Pretty. You don't have to undress me."
He reels back, flinching harder than I did. "Are you being serious?"
"Scars aren't exactly nice to look at." I glance down at my exposed skin, at the pink and purple and silver marks. There are slashes, and scrapes, and mottled, warped areas of flesh. Burns and tears, violence and damage. And of course, there is Alissa's stab wound, spider-webbing over my pale skin, black and ghastly.
Frank pulls back, up onto his knees. I move to sit up too, to close the distance between us, but his broad hand against the pane of my stomach keeps me flat on my back. I'm left bare and exposed to his gaze. Which is... Dark and hungry. His cheeks are scarlet, his breathing uneven.
"I'd find that funny if it didn't make me so mad," he murmurs, and his fingers scrape over my skin. From the unyielding pane of my stomach, to the sharp jut of my hip, along the curve of my waistband. I'm finding it hard to breathe. "I've never met anyone so obviously beautiful in all my life. It's distracting and it's annoying. I can barely think about anything else when I'm around you."
"Fuck off," I try to put some force behind my words, but they're a breathless exhale.
His fingers are sliding over my ribs, and he's drifting, with purpose, towards my chest.
"And the first time I showered you, when we were on the bus and you could barely stand," he speaks like I didn't, and he's looking at my face - hot with embarrassment - and at my breasts. "I felt like a fucking monster, because I wasn't supposed to be looking at you like that. You were bleeding and exhausted, and all I could think about was where I'd put my mouth if you'd let me."
"Shut up, Frank." I demand, mortified, but I can't move. I'm pinned by his gaze, by the light, gentle scrape of his fingers. One hand grips my waist. The other slides onto the hill of my breast and circles, tortuously slow, around my peaked nipple.
"And at Stonehenge," he continues, and his voice is hushed and almost reverent. "I was so caught up in the moment, I didn't even undress you properly. I was astounded and confused, I couldn't bare to take it slowly. I was fucking desperate to just-... Consume you, I guess."
"And now?" I prompt, and I almost want to shut my eyes against the wild passion in his gaze.
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and he smiles. "I still want to devour you, love. Now I've got time to enjoy it."
Heat floods my lower stomach. My muscles, my insides, everything goes too taut. I have to jam the heels of my palms into my eyes, just for a small reprieve to the intensity of it all. I bask in the dark, and I hear his chuckle from a long way off, and then he puts his mouth on my chest, and I have to smother a groan.
"Careful," he murmurs, and the word ghosts over my throat. "Everyone will think we're fighting in here."
I couldn't give a shit what they think, not when Frank is peeling my leggings down, yanking my underwear off with them.
His mouth trails from my chest to my stomach, and he lifts my knees onto his shoulders, and he lowers his face to press his mouth between my thighs.
I gasp, and make an effort to quiet myself, but the pleasure that floods through me is immediate and overwhelming. Heat gathers in my chest, and sweeps down into my lower belly. Pressure builds as he kisses at me gently. Warmth and wetness gathers as he licks, and then sucks hard.
"Frank-" I mutter, hand sinking into his hair.
He hums, and it thrums all the way up into the base of my spine, and I arch.
"Frank, I want-" I insist, because I'm impatient, and I want more than his mouth.
"Shut up," he replies, and turns his head to sink his teeth into the inside of my thigh. I gasp, and swat at his shoulder, and he looks up at me with a grin.
When he buries his fingers inside me, I have a hard time swallowing the noises that rise in my throat. His movements are teasing, speeding up and sucking hard one moment, but easing off in the next, reducing the contact to small, brief kisses. The pleasure roars up, shuddering through me, then drops, hovering somewhere between a low ache and a breath away from pain. Not because it hurts, but because I need more.
He manages to keep my orgasm at bay for an impressive amount of time. Teasing it to an almost peak, then drawing back, biting again at my thighs, at my stomach. Only when I've stopped breathing hard, stopped twitching, does he turn his focus back to where I want it.
But eventually, he lingers for a moment too long. My body shoves me over the edge out of sheer impatience, and my hips buck and my stomach aches, and I go hot all over, and I shudder and shake as Frank carries me through it. He prolongs the pleasure until I have to physically twist away from his mouth, groaning and too-sensitive.
I collapse on my back, and sweat dampens the valley between my breasts. I feel like I'm full of warm liquid. It's like languishing in a patch of sunlight. Every place he has spent time touching throbs, and aches, and prickles.
He kisses up my body, humming the entire time. My thigh, my hip, my stomach, my sternum, the swell of my breast, my throat. Golden light, each brush of his mouth. Warmth and adoration.
I open my eyes in time to see him suck his wet fingers into his mouth, and my stomach swoops at the sight.
"You okay?" he murmurs against the shell of my ear.
I hum, and hook my legs around his hips. Thrust upwards. He grunts, then shudders.
"Monster," he accuses, but there is awe in his eyes, and I don't feel the word like a blow. "Fuck-" he wrenches his trousers down, jostles me as he kicks them off his feet. As he takes himself in his hand. He's at my entrance, coating himself in my slick, and when he sinks inside me in one sharp thrust, I think we both see stars.
"Sorry," he breathes, hovering so close his mouth brushes mine.
"No problem." I chuckle, scraping a hand through his hair.
He seems to make an effort to take it slow, or, well... Slower than last time. I don't really mind how fast we go, as long as it's happening.
But this time is... More intimate. Intense, because we're focused on each other and not lost in our own pleasure. There is no shock, no desperation. Everything is hot, everything is careful, like an exploration. Full of wonder and full of love.
"Do not give me a fucking hickey," I hiss, shoving at his jaw so his mouth leaves my throat.
"My bad," he grins, and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of my chest instead.
And when we are both slicked with sweat, and breathing hard, and his face is scarlet and his hair is damp, and I have tumbled again over the peak of an orgasm, he grips my hips and drags himself out of me, and buries his face in my neck as he shudders through his own finish.
"Good fucking god," he gasps as he collapses next to me, our arms and hips brushing.
"I agree," I mutter, pulling my heavy hair out from under my sweaty back, twisting it up and over the carpet. I languish on the floor, staring at the ceiling, weak sunlight haloing us, prolonging the warmth from Frank's body.
"We're going to have to look into a more effective form of birth control," Frank mutters, as he twists to grab a towel, which he swipes over my stomach, looking guilty.
"I have the coil in," I assure him.
He raises an eyebrow. "Like an IUD?"
I'm surprised he knows what it is. "Yeah. Mum had me young and didn't want any grandchildren in her thirties. The first time I mentioned a boy, she booked the appointment."
"Which was when?" He lays next to me, propped up on his elbow, head in his hand. His other hand drifts over my stomach.
"It would have been..." I squint, "Three years ago?"
He's looking thoughtful, "And it lasts how long?"
"If there's no complications?" I shrug, "Ten years." He's surprised at that, "Mum thought twenty-six was a good age for babies, but no earlier."
He grins, hazel eyes full of wicked amusement, and when he kisses me I feel his smile against my lips. "When I get to Heaven, I'll be sure to thank her. From the bottom of my heart."
I smack him.
***
It's kind of fun to sneak around with him.
He slips into my room at night, smothering me with his mouth as we slide under my quilt and into each others arms. He steals back to his own room in the mornings, kissing me before he goes. We spend the days together, not touching, distance between us when everyone else is around.
But the atmosphere of the whole house shifts, and everyone notices that something has lightened between us. The arguments cease immediately. The animosity disappears. The tension drifts away. Of course, there's still bickering to be done, but it's all playful.
"You are literally out of your goddamn mind if you think Top Gun was a better movie than Interview with a Vampire." Frank throws up his hands.
I throw the tea-towel at his face, and he splutters under the fabric. "I'm not saying it was better, you buffoon. I'm just saying that the cultural impact-"
"-Was nothing compared to the sheer drama of Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise as vampires." He rolls his eyes, and throws the towel back at me.
Ray and Alissa are watching silently from the kitchen table, eyes darting between us. Waiting, possibly, for this to escalate into nastiness. But there's none of that in my chest - only laughter at his wrinkled nose.
"The conflict in Top Gun, and the moral question of teamwork vs individual pride, was so much more interesting-"
"You are literally delusional," Frank tips his head back to laugh, and passes over the bagel he's been busy making for me. He starts to construct his own - much more complicated than what I prefer. "Louie was contemplating the strength of the soul-"
"Louie was a drag." I scoff around a bite of bagel, and I open a packet of crisps, and tip half onto his plate. "That bitch was given immortality on a plate and he's still cut up over his humanity like two hundred years later? Come on."
Frank's eyes narrow, and he faces me as he takes a bite of his own lunch. "Maverick killed Goose."
I gape, "He was cleared of any fault."
"You know it still counts," Frank smirks. "You only prefer Top Gun because you're a military brat," he accuses.
"Louie killed Kirsten Dunst," I shoot back, "Twice." I hold up two fingers, "And you only prefer Interview with a Vampire because you're melodramatic and obsessed with homoerotic subtext."
Ray coughs into his coffee cup, and Alissa starts giggling as he comes up choking.
Frank stares at me, and I stare at him, and there's laughter in his eyes even if his mouth is pursed with annoyance. I take a bite out of my bagel, innocent.
"You're both dumb," Ray says, voice a little croaky as he smacks his fist against his chest. His eyes are watering. "Legend is obviously the best Tom Cruise film."
I blink, and Frank's eyebrows flick up, and Ray - as usual - is right. Frank huffs, and sweeps up his food.
"That's the last time I'm making you lunch," he threatens, and I make a face, and he pinches my hip on the way passed.
Ray picks up his plate and moves to the sink. He takes my empty plate without comment.
"You two seem to be getting on better," he comments thoughtfully, over the noise of the running water.
I swallow the last mouthful of my bagel, but it feels too dry and brittle now. The change must feel drastic if Ray has bothered to say something. He's a firm believer in minding his own business.
Alissa, of course, is not. "It's almost like you two like each other now, or something."
I force my face into a scowl. "Well, near-death experiences will do that to people." Ray winces, but Alissa doesn't seem moved.
She opens her mouth, and I twist around like I didn't see it, and leave the room before she can get the words out.
Ducking into my room, I twist immediately to shut the door. Eyes closed against the nervousness. Maybe we should just-... Tell them. I don't know what's stopping me.
Arms slide around my waist, and I feel his chest against my shoulder blades. My stomach swoops as I feel his mouth against the the curve of my neck, and I almost groan when he reaches around me to twist the lock on my door.
"Scared you." He murmurs, and his breath is hot on my skin, and his arms are strong as they band around my stomach.
"Hardly," I mutter, and I'm mortified to find my voice breathless.
Frank chuckles, and the noise resonates through my skin and down my spine. One of his hands cups my jaw, grip firm but not painful, and his palm presses against my throat. He tilts my head to one side, stretching the skin of my throat beneath his mouth. His other hand settles against my lower stomach, spread wide, pulling me back against him, anchoring the curve of me into the cradle of his hips. I gasp at the contact, and brace one hand on the door in front. My knees knock against the wood.
"I'm glad we're not angry at each other anymore." He says, voice hushed. He's pressing damp, lingering kisses into my skin. They leave my flesh cold when he pulls away. "But fuck, Nevaeh, I do love arguing with you."
"I think that makes you a masochist," I reply, tilting my head back until it's on his shoulder.
His hand is on my neck, and his grip tightens. My heart stutters, and thumps harder.
"Maybe," he allows on a huff of laughter, "But I'm pretty sure it's got nothing to do with me, love."
I don't really want to know what he means. What I want is - My face burns, because what I want is him inside me. I try to twist, try to muscle myself round to face him. His hands tighten, and he won't allow it. Laughs quietly as I hiss with frustration.
"So eager," he hums. I gasp as his teeth sink into my throat, and my breathing labours as the hand on my stomach drifts downwards. Beneath my navel. "I don't suppose you know what you look like when you're angry." He says, pressing himself against my behind. "When you argue; you don't get loud. You go quiet, and still. You don't blink, you don't flinch. You're calm and cold as ice. It's like watching a fuckin' lion, or something. Like you're an animal, and you're waiting for the best moment to lunge." The words shudder through me, settling in my gut. He doesn't sound afraid, he sounds... Awed.
"Frank," I murmur, and rock back against the hard edge of his arousal. He grunts, and stumbles, and we both fall into the door.
He steadies, and doesn't rush, though I hoped he'd lose some semblance of control. He hauls me back into place against his chest.
"Stop teasing," I beg, and my voice is ragged.
Maybe it's the desperation in the roll of my hips, or maybe his hold on his control isn't as secure as he'd like, but he moves at my words. Thrusts his hand below the waistband of my trousers, into the warmth between my legs. I buck, and gasp, but he's not gone beneath my underwear. He presses the tips of his fingers against me, slow and hard. He works his fingers in a small, tight circle.
Heat leaks outwards. My stomach tightens, and aches, and my lungs squeeze.
"Of course, that's when you're really angry." He continues, like I'm not about to shatter. "And even though I'm usually so mad I can barely see straight, and I'm the one that gets loud and explosive, I'm still shocked every time at how goddamn tempting you are." His mouth is on my jaw, his tongue and teeth too. "You've no idea how many times I've almost grabbed you in the middle of an argument."
The words make me laugh. I wonder if I'd have allowed it - if I'd have grabbed him right back. Then again, I let him into the shower with me. I initiated it at Stonehenge, so... Statistically, chances are I wouldn't have stopped him.
"But before you go still, and calm, and quiet," he says, "You're all... Playful. You go pink, and you're a bit jittery, like the back and forth excites you." He kisses my cheek, properly. Not to drag a reaction out of me, but to press affection into my skin. "Your eyes light up with laughter, and your eyebrows raise like you can't believe someone would argue with you, and your mouth..." He kisses me, and it's just a whisper away from my lips. "It's this smirk that you have. It's not smug, it's... Goading. It's a dare. I can't imagine how furious that smirk makes someone when they're already mad at you."
"It doesn't make you furious?" I check.
He snorts, and thrusts his hips against my ass, and I groan. "Do I seem furious?"
"No." I mutter.
He pulls his fingers away from my centre, lifting his hand. He's... Sliding under my underwear.
"It fucking ruins me," he whispers, right into my ear. It tickles, and my stomach knots, and I'm so overwhelmed with feeling. "It's embarrassing, how much it affects me. How much you affect me. I should be embarrassed." He kisses the spot beneath my ear, and the heat against my flesh makes me ache, and his fingers press hard against me, and I barely smother the cry that tries to rip out of me. "We argue over fuckin' Tom Cruise films, of all things, and you give me one fuckin' smirk and I'm desperate for you."
And then he thrusts his fingers inside me, and my knees buckle, and everything goes sharp and tight and breathless.
But he must not have been expecting - he must be shocked, because... Because I'm absolutely drenched, and I'm warm and soft and I'm ready and aching, and as quickly as he sank his fingers inside he wrenches them out again.
I stumble as he pulls me around, as he seizes my cheeks with his wet fingers and covers my mouth with his. His tongue is in my mouth, and I'm lightheaded but desperate to kiss him back, panting into his mouth as we careen away from the door and into another wall. He's got one arm around my waist, the other shoves at my trousers. They fall, and I kick them off, and we trip over them as we hit my bookcase, and my shoulder blades holler, but I shrug off the pain. It's swallowed as Frank presses me into the gap between my bookcase and the adjacent wall.
I yank at his shirt, wrestling it off with too much enthusiasm. My fingers scramble over the buttons of his jeans, and we shove at the waistband together, and he gets them down around his thighs before he knocks my hands away and steps in close. His palms slide against the rounded flesh of my ass, and his fingers dig in, and I almost whimper-
But he can't stand any more delays, or teasing, or waiting. He lifts me, hands under my knees, settling me atop his thighs, nestled into his hips, and my legs are around his waist. I hold myself up with my arms around his neck, and he anchors me against the wall at my back.
When he pushes into me, I've got to jam a hand over his mouth to cut off a shout. But then he keeps pushing, and smacks into me to the hilt, and his palm settles over my mouth as I fight a literal squeal.
I wonder when we'll calm down enough to do this gently. He thrusts into me hard and fast, and I leave red, swollen marks across his chest where I bite at him, and his fingers dig into my hips and my thighs and my ass.
He kisses me hard enough to bruise. I moan into his mouth and pull on his hair. He shoves into me faster.
My muscles clench, and my insides ache, and my legs shudder, and I gasp and moan as he thrusts inside and grinds there, scraping against that bundle of nerves. I bury my face in his neck as I shudder, as I buck, as my pleasure builds, and climbs. Frank grunts, and thrusts his tongue into my mouth, and thrusts himself inside me again, and I finish. Heat rushes outwards, and my stomach heaves, and my limbs tremble. Throbbing wildly, fighting for breath, Frank fucks me through it. Fucks me for another long desperate minute as I clench and pulse around him. I dig my nails into the small of his back, and sink my teeth into his throat, and he buries himself inside me and shudders there.
The strength and the tension goes out of him, and when he sinks to the floor, I go with him.
His knees hit the carpet, and his arms loop around my hips, and his forehead hits my shoulder. I'm still on his thighs, feet on the floor to take some of my weight.
I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling too heavy and too warm and sticky with sweat. It takes a long while for the breath to come back to me.
"Next time," he murmurs into my chest, "I'll control myself long enough to make it last a while."
I chuckle, and scrape a hand through his hair. "Nothing about that felt quick, Frank." I reassure, kissing his temple. "I'll be aching for the rest of the day."
He snorts, "Thank you for stroking my ego."
I smirk, and clench my legs around him. "Happy to stroke anything that large."
He groans, and his hands tighten on my hips, and he puts some space between us by falling backwards onto the floor. His cheeks flame red as he scrubs at his sweaty face.
"Prick," he flings at me.
Laughing, I cover his body with mine. Knees on the carpet beside his hips, elbows either side of his face. My nose ghosts over his cheek, and I kiss his closed eyelids. He's fighting a smile.
He rubs his hands down my back, and opens his eyes on a frown. He pulls at the material of my shirt.
"Don't let me fuck you without taking your shirt off, next time." He says it casually, like he's asking me to remind him about an appointment.
I roll my eyes, "Sure thing."
He grins, and stretches up to kiss me, and this is sweet and gentle but still breath-taking.
"I don't find it embarrassing, by the way." I murmur against his mouth. He drops back to the floor, frowning. Eyes golden in this light, hair a dark, snarled halo around his head. His cheeks are still flushed. I... Adore him. "What you said before. It's not embarrassing."
The pink deepens to scarlet, but his expression smooths, becoming smug. "Because you feel the same?"
I arch an eyebrow. "No. Because it's no less than I fucking deserve."
Outrage flickers over his face, wrinkling his nose, and his fingers dig into my sides. "Prick." He curses again.
I do ache for the rest of the day; there's no denying it. I catch him watching me more than once, expression heavy and dark and tempting, and while that makes me ache too, I manage to stop myself from slipping into his room.
We're being watched too closely for it, anyhow.
They don't know they're doing it, I'm sure. But Gerard is watching for odd behaviour, and Alissa is actively looking for drama or developments. Natalie watches the space between Frank and I like a hawk. Ray and Mikey... Mind their business, but they know that something has shifted, or stopped, or changed, and so they pay attention too.
So we try to keep our distance during the day, and wait until everyone has gone to bed to see each other at night. We spend those moments quietly, reading or writing or watching films. Existing together, content and at ease. There is no weight on my shoulders, and there is no worry in his eyes.
Sleep comes easier too. I feel better rested and less irritable. More energetic. Alissa doesn't annoy me nearly as much. My surliness is easier to bare, and if I descend into foul moods, Frank is quick to chase the rain clouds away. If he grows irritable and glum, it doesn't take much effort for me to convince him into a better attitude.
The sex is... Constant, despite our attempts to keep our secret. Not that I mind.
He yanks me into his room if he catches me in the corridor. I slip into his showers if I know he's the one in the bathroom. It only takes a glance to convince him to follow me out of the kitchen. It only takes a smirk to convince me to drift out of the living room. I grab him as much as he grabs me. He's insatiable and I'm ravenous. Our needs and wants and urges are matched.
"Look at the fucking state of me," I hiss one evening, eyes narrowed.
I'm sat in my armchair, legs extended in front of me. Knees apart so I can inspect the blue, purple and black splotches on the insides of my thighs. All made by his mouth.
He's reclined on my bed. Book on his chest, head propped up on my pillows. He glances over, raises an eyebrow at the mess.
"You're one to talk," He snorts, unsympathetic. "Have you seen my chest? And my stomach? And my back, for that matter?"
I purse my lips and swallow my retort. I tell myself I'll be more gentle every time I notice a red mark on his smooth, pale skin. But then he grabs me, or I grab him, and I'm just so eager...
When I look up from my thighs, my gaze finds his. His eyes are dark in this light, not amber or hazel but chocolate brown, darkened by his crinkled brows. There's pink in the swell of his cheekbones, and his eyes glisten with hunger, and with eagerness.
"Want me to kiss them better?" He asks, voice hushed. He's already put his book aside, and sat up, and he crosses the floor to kneel between my thighs.
His fingers slide against the backs of my knees. Pries them open.
"Surely you've had enough of me today," I say on a breathless exhale.
Frank doesn't seem to hear me, too busy yanking my ass to the edge of the armchair. He's already kissing at my thighs, as promised, but inching higher. Kissing his way to my centre, over the thin material of my underwear. Wet, open-mouthed kisses that have me immediately aching.
His palm slides over my ass, up my hip, against my waist, settling on my stomach. He pushes, and I fall back. I'm almost horizontal on the seat of the old, soft armchair.
I shudder as he licks at me through my underwear. Dampens the material. I've had to change my underwear twice today - his fault. His fingers slide under the material, dipping into the warm slick.
Groaning, Frank can't tease any longer. He tries his best to linger, intent on torturing me every time, but as soon as he finds I'm wet and ready, he can't ever stop himself.
He yanks my underwear down my legs, and the elastic snaps and rips, but he's already latched his mouth onto my centre.
I gasp, and arch, and I have to press my palm against my lips.
Frank licks at me, tiny, gentle, teasing licks. I bury my fingers in his hair, scraping my nails against his scalp. My chest heaves, and I fight the noises that try to curl out of my throat. He licks upwards, wraps his lips around me and sucks hard. I jolt, and gasp, and he digs his fingers into my hips to keep me still.
Only when I have started to beg does he push his fingers inside me.
His free hand slides up my shirt. My eyes slide closed as he squeezes and pinches and massages my aching breasts.
His fingers curl inside me, stroking, expertly, against my insides. He sucks hard, thrusts hard, then eases off. Gentles his touch; licking at me, kissing me, stroking rather than thrusting.
He urges my pleasure to an almost peak, waits until I draw in a ragged breath, and when my stomach trembles, he withdraws. Moves back, dark eyes watching me tremble, watching me catch my breath. When I settle, he plunges his fingers inside and rocks forward to suck my flesh into his mouth.
Unbelievably, infuriatingly, he does this three more times.
By the time I actually finish, I'm half-crying with relief. When I shudder and shake and gasp, I feel him chuckle against me. The tension dissipates, and my muscles relax, and I breathe with my eyes closed. He presses a messy kiss against me as a farewell, and even that sends a jolt into my spine.
He straightens up but drapes himself over me, leaning down to kiss at my throat, my jaw, my cheek. My mouth, eventually. His torso is on mine, his weight welcome.
"Asshole." I curse, because I'm aching and spent.
He kisses my closed eyelids, lips damp. Everything feels fuzzy. My muscles hum, the insides of my thighs especially.
"Is that any way to speak to the man you love?" He asks, a whisper against my ear, nose nuzzling into my hair.
"I'm starting to rethink-" I start, but he pushes his fingers into my mouth. They're wet with my slick, and he slides them over my tongue. I gasp, and my eyes fly open, and we're nose to nose. His obsidian hair curls against his forehead, framing his face, and he's grinning, eyes bright and full of laughter.
Stomach gurgling, I wrap my lips around his fingers and suck them clean.
"You're an animal," I hiss, when I've yanked my face away and he's out of my mouth.
"You were being rude," he shrugs, and pushes his face into my throat.
I snort, and smooth my hands down his back, and turn my head to kiss his temple.
"Do you want-?" I reach for the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms.
He catches my wrist with a groan, and muscles my arm up and over my head. Pinning it against the back of the chair. "That's okay. You don't need to."
"What if I need you inside me?" I murmur, and turn my face into his neck. I sink my teeth into his skin.
He gasps, and pulls back, and his black eyebrows are high. "Could you even come again?"
I do a mental check of my body. Of the sensitivity between my thighs. I shrug, and offer him a smile. "I could try."
His mouth drops open, and then he sighs, in a long-suffering sort of way, and dips his head to kiss me. This kiss is heavy, and hard, and his tongue delves past my teeth to brush against mine.
He growls against my lips, "You are such-"
"Be nice," I warn.
"A fucking villain," he settles on, and kisses me again. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
"Why would that be my goal?" I roll my eyes, and smooth my palms against his cheeks. "When I love you?"
His expression softens, and the smile that graces his face is sweet and aching and full of awe. "Tell me again." He orders.
"So bossy," I chuckle, and I push him back so I can sit up. He's on his knees between my thighs, and I loop my arms around his neck. "I love you, Frank."
"And I love you." He replies, and kisses me.
Grinning, I cup his chin. "Now are you sure you don't want to fuck me? Because I'm going to shower, and I'm going to be very mad if I come back in here clean and you dirty me up again."
"Your language is sinful," he shakes his head, eyes sparking. "But no, you can shower."
"And you're not going to accost me when I get back?" I narrow my eyes.
"I am more than capable of controlling myself, Nevaeh." He says, offended. I raise an eyebrow. He sniffs, "Whatever. I'll keep my hands to myself, promise."
Grinning, I kiss him quickly. He makes a playful grab for my bare legs as I slide past, but retreats as I gather my toiletries. He's still smiling when I slip out of my room, reclining again on my pillows to read his book.
I shower quickly, soaking under the near-boiling water. The temperatures are still low, but there's no ice outside anymore. Spring will be here soon, and we can stop bundling up in the house. Rain will be near constant, of course, but I don't mind that if it means snow becomes an impossibility. It makes venturing outside almost painful.
My hair is a heavy, wet curtain when I wrap a towel under my armpits. I've not got any healing wounds, but a few rogue bruises on the swells of my breasts from Frank. They don't hurt, of course, but they will be mortifying if anyone catches sight of them. I angle the towel as high as it will go without flashing my bare ass, and slip out of the bathroom to head back to my room.
The corridor is dark - we turn all the lights off in the house when we go to bed, and cover all the windows to stop any light escaping into the outside world.
I've got my fingers on the handle of my door when a square of light brushes against the floor beneath my feet.
Turning, I find Mikey directly opposite, leaning into the slither of his opened door. The yellow light at his back throws his face into shadow.
"Mikes?" I frown, "You okay?"
"Could you..." He coughs, then shakes his head. "Could I see you for a sec, Nevaeh?"
"Sure," I take an automatic step towards him, then register the scrape of my towel against my legs. I wince, "I'll just get changed. Give me a minute?"
"Yeah, yeah." He nods quickly, and starts to retreat. The light hits his face, and it is slicked and shiny with sweat, and far too pale. "Take your time."
His door clatters shut, and my eyebrows go high, and I rush for my own door.
If Mikey wants my help, it must be bad.