“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” I pressed my thighs against the barrier and stretched my neck to get a better look over the edge. The cliff shot straight down into a ravine lined with jagged rocks and hungry scavengers.
I turned my head toward the man bound at wrists and ankles by my side. “I asked you a question.”
Beady peepers blinked at me and he nodded a “yes.”
“Do you like the suit?” I asked.
He mumbled through the gag in his mouth.
“I’m happy you like it.” I turned to him, straightened his tie, and brushed lint from his collar. “It’s a good suit to die in.”
Wallace bounced up and down on his toes, a pathetic scramble for freedom. The poor bastard didn’t have an athletic bone in his body and fell hard to his knees.
I sighed and squatted to help him up when, from behind, someone grabbed my shoulder and stopped me.
“Let me do the honors.” Franklin stepped around me, yanked Wallace to his feet by the lapels and hoisted him to the edge of the cliff. He turned to me, nodded, and stepped back. “He’s all yours, darling.”
“Why thank you, you handsome devil.” I pinched Franklin’s cheek and sauntered to Walter’s side, threw out my hip and bumped him over the edge. I regretted not pulling the gag from his mouth first. It would’ve been much more satisfying if I could have heard his screams.
I wiped the hangover haze from my eyes and yawned. Now I’d drawn Franklin into my morbid dreams. Poor guy. I pressed my nose into the soft pillow. It carried a hint of Gendarme and a whole lot of Franklin’s male sexual spiciness. Cocooned in a heavy comforter, I struggled to sit up. A tall glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen sat within reach on the floor, along with a note.
I snatched up the yellow piece of paper. The handwriting was barely legible, but I got the gist of it. Franklin had shit to take care of—top secret, no doubt. He ordered me to drink the water and help myself to a shower and breakfast. He left a key on the kitchen counter for me to lock up when I left and said he’d meet me at my house later in the afternoon. In caps, he ordered me to check my phone throughout the day. That was it. No signature. No I can't wait to see you or have a good day.
I tossed the blanket over the back of the couch and smiled when I looked down at myself. In place of my skirt and blouse were a pair of navy sweats and a faded Pearl Jam T-shirt. I had no recollection of changing clothes, or being put to bed. Although, I wasn’t technically in bed. If he went to such trouble to make me comfortable, why leave me on the couch?
I padded to the kitchen. The clock read ten thirty-four AM. Wow. I hadn’t slept that late in years. A note was taped to the coffee pot instructing me to push the start button. I did, and within seconds, the aroma of dark roasted bliss filled the small space. He’d thoughtfully placed a red mug next to the machine.
I headed down the hall to find the little girls’ room. There were three closed doors for me to choose from. Door number one was a large closet. Door number two, locked. Number three opened to a quaint bathroom with hardly enough room for the pedestal sink, commode, and glass-encased shower. It was clean. I didn’t expect a bachelor’s washroom to be so fresh and shiny. Of course, I snooped through his medicine cabinet. It was as empty as the rest of his apartment. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, bottle of pain reliever and shaving tools. Nothing snoop-worthy. Except for his smell permeating the air, the place didn’t feel lived in.
I rested my hip against the sink and in my half-alert state attempted to unravel the mystery that was Franklin. Something was off. I strolled back into the kitchen and finished half a cup of kickass java before I figured out what it was. Franklin’s apartment was void of any personal items. There were no photos of family or friends, no mail, no music or video collection to give me a clue to who this man was.
Then it dawned on me the locked door must be his bedroom. Why lock me out of his room? What was he hiding? He wanted me to trust him, but it was clear he didn’t trust me.
I finished another cup of joe and started to fold the comforter when I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine outside. My skin prickled, and I tiptoed to the one small window in the living room. I peeked through the heavy blinds, careful not to wiggle them. Parked next to my car was the man from the bar, sitting on a shiny black Harley. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but his face was covered by the hood of his sweatshirt and dark sunglasses. He tilted his head to look around. I could make out a square jawline dusted with stubble, but not much else. He pulled a black rose from inside his jacket and laid it across my windshield.
“Son of a bitch,” I spewed. I wanted to jump out the window and pounce the asshole, but I was three stories up, so that wouldn’t have ended well for me.
Lucky for him.
Instead, I grabbed my cell and texted Franklin, like any good little girlfriend would do.
stalker creep is outside your apartment
I paced and chewed my lip. In less than thirty seconds my phone vibrated.
lock door bolt, don’t leave coming home.
I sprinted to the front door and slid the lock into place, certain my heartbeat could be heard miles away. I slunk back to the window for another peek. The ass-wad leaned against my car and tapped at his cell.
I peed myself a little when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown caller.
u didn’t drive home last night slut
didn’t think u were that kind of girl
playing hide n seek?
Blood sluiced ice cold through my veins, my extremities numbed, and I barely found the courage to lift my eyes from the screen. When I did, man and motorcycle were halfway down the alley. Again, I failed to get one digit off his license plate. And I worked for a detective agency? Perhaps it was time to consider a new career path.
Eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Franklin pounded on his door. “It’s me, Tate. Open up.”
I unbolted the lock and threw myself into his arms. Over-dramatic? Probably. Didn’t care. He hugged me so tight I think a rib cracked, but I didn’t complain. I was ecstatic it wasn’t a one-sided gesture. He held me for a long moment, then stepped back and eyed me up and down.
“Did you get a good look? License plate, description, anything?” he asked, anger evident in his tone.
I hung my head in shame. “No.”
“How about a picture with your phone?”
Shit. “No.” Obviously, my brain ceased to function under pressure.
I slapped my cell into his palm. “He has my number. The asshole has my number. He sent me a text.”
“Son of a bitch.” Franklin read the message, then proceeded to smash my cell against his brick wall. It didn’t survive the assault. Pieces of it came close to hitting my face. “When I find out who the fucker is, he’s dead.” He stomped back and forth the small distance between me and the wall.
“Like my phone? What the hell?” I squatted and picked up the larger pieces. “You didn’t have to kill my phone. I just got this one.”
He mumbled something that sounded like “He’ll beg for mercy.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
His brows pinched, the wrinkles in his forehead deeper than I’d ever seen. I wanted to kiss them away, but he didn’t look in the kissing mood.
He offered a hand to help me up. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m sorry about your phone. I lost my temper. Shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”
I stood and he took the broken pieces from my hand, avoiding eye contact. He walked to the kitchen and dropped them on the table.
I huffed. “It’s time to get the police involved. It’s not just roses anymore.”
“He sent you a text, which means we have his number.” Franklin’s glare traveled the length of my body, rested on my breasts, then met my gaze. “I should be taking care of this, not the SPD. But fuck, you’re the worst kind of distraction. I’m off my game.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“What you do to that shirt is downright sinful.” Stepping into my personal space, he tugged on the hem, then slid his hands under the worn cotton to grip my waist.
He didn’t answer my question, but I was unable to voice my objection. He rubbed his thumbs in soft strokes up and down, then slid his hands around my back, down to my ass and squeezed. “You fill these out well.” He kissed me, pulled the waistband of the sweats and let it snap. “No greater ass in the world than yours.”
“I can think of one.” Uh, huh. His rock-hard gluteus maximus was as perfect as they came. I knew because I’d seen him in the buff. Even though I could count the real live naked rears I’d viewed in my lifetime on one finger, I couldn’t imagine anything more splendid than his. I massaged his keister, or tried anyway. It was impossible to administer a good squeeze to something that had no give.
Franklin groaned. It came from low in his chest. The sound touched somewhere deep in my bosom. He nibbled my earlobe and whispered, “I want nothing more than to fuck you crazy right now. But we have to go.”
Huh. What? Prickles of disappointment jetted across my flesh. “Go?” I asked.
“I’m getting you out of here. Away from the crazy shit.” He kicked a piece of my cell across the floor. “We’ll get you a new phone on the way. I’ll be right back.” He jogged down the hall and I heard the rattle of keys as he unlocked a door.
It took every bit of self-restraint not to run after him and get a look-see into his top secret lair. I was a good girl. Besides, I was still stunned by his announcement. Where could he be taking me?
He came out seconds later with a duffel slung over his shoulder and scooted me toward the door.
“Wait. I don’t have shoes. I’m not dressed.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.” Franklin squatted, grabbed me below my hips and tossed me over his shoulder like I weighed little more than a sack of potatoes. It was uncomfortable and totally unsexy, but I let him carry me down the stairs and stuff me into his SUV.
“I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” I protested.
He chuckled, slammed my door, and tossed his bag in the seat behind me.
My insides warmed when he slid into the vehicle and grabbed the steering wheel with his masculine hands. There was something so arousing about a pair of strong, thickly-veined male hands. My heart skipped a beat when his leg shifted to press the brake and his thigh muscle bulged underneath the tight denim of his jeans.
I lost my breath when he turned to me, eyes blazing, and ordered me to buckle up. God, what he did to me. It was unnatural, unbelievable, unfair. If I were that kind of girl, which I wasn’t, I would’ve torn off my clothes right there in the parking lot and begged him to ravish me.
I needed a distraction. “Franklin Reed. I demand to know where you’re taking me.” I pretended to pout.
He pretended to smile. It was fake, because the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled for real. There wasn’t so much as a crease. “Top secret.” Franklin paid more attention to the rearview mirror than the road ahead of him.
“Are we being followed?” I teased and turned to look behind me.
“I don’t think so. I’m circling around a few times, just to be sure.”
Oh. He was worried about a tail. My stalker, no doubt. A pang of guilt squeezed my chest. I sunk into my seat and tried to stay upbeat.
“Seriously, I’ve got no shoes. Where are we going?” I asked, wiggling my toes.
“A place where no one can touch us. You won’t need shoes. I’m going to spend the rest of my weekend memorizing every nook and cranny of that delectable body of yours.”
A furnace lit behind my cheeks. My brain voided itself of any witty retorts or sassy comebacks.
Franklin laughed. A real laugh with a genuine smile. “Holy shit. This is a first. Tatum Wood silenced. I never thought I’d see the day.”
I laughed, too, on the outside.
On the inside, well, I was a hot mess of raging hormones and giddy schoolgirl.
* * * *
We headed south for an hour, east for a short trot, then deep into the mountains for another thirty minutes. The paved highway morphed into a winding, pothole-littered, narrow roadway that resembled a walking path. It grew steeper as we trudged forward, and sunlight dissipated through the thick of trees.
The farther from civilization we traveled, the more Franklin’s facial features softened. We reached a modest cabin, and he parked right next to the front stoop.
A blast of cold, clean air hit me as soon as he opened the door. It burned my lungs like winter wind. He scooped me up and carried me to the worn wood porch.
“It’s open. I’ll grab our bags.” Planting a kiss on my forehead, he set me down on the first step.
He pulled a suitcase from the back of his Toyota with a cocky grin on his face. He shook his head and mumbled something to himself that sounded like, “I’m going to burn in hell for this.” That made no sense. I was sure I heard wrong.
I entered the cabin. For being in the middle of nowhere, its modern amenities and decor surprised me. Stainless steel appliances, an oversized, deep-seated leather couch, matching recliner, flat screen. An ornate stairway led to an open loft that, from my vantage point, fit a queen-sized bed and not much more. There was a frosted glass door beneath the stairs I assumed led to the bathroom. It was small, cozy, and perfect.
Franklin carried our luggage up the stairs and laid it on the bed. He hopped back down and grabbed two grocery bags from outside the door.
I grabbed one of the sacks. “Is that why you left this morning, to stock up for my kidnapping?”
His proud smile made my heart drop to my gut and bounce back up again.
“You packed clothing for me?”
He set a bottle of wine on the counter. “I did. Even shoes. Not that you’ll need them.”
I started to unpack the groceries and nearly choked when I pulled out a box of condoms. “You know, you’ve already gotten into my pants, you didn’t need to go to all this trouble to bag me again.” Oh dear, was this finally going to happen?
He grabbed the carton of Trojans and tossed them on the couch. It bounced off the cushion and landed on the floor. “I’m going to fuck you properly. Out here, there won’t be any distractions.” He sauntered across the room, opened the sliding glass door, retrieved his cell from his back pocket and dropped it outside.
“Wow. You mean business, don’t you? No phones, no stalkers, a year’s supply of condoms. This better be one hell of a romp-fest, buddy, ’cause you’ve piqued my interest.”
Eyebrows raised, he shot a glance at my chest, where two pesky points threatened to rip through the thin cotton. “That’s not all that’s peaked, is it?” He turned to close the door, then prowled my direction.
My cheeks burned hot. My pulse pounded louder than a bass drum through my ears. God, I wanted this man, needed his hands on me, longed to be smothered with his scent.
I wiggled my eyebrows at him, grabbed the hem of my shirt, well, his shirt, and pulled it over my head. I reached back, unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. Franklin’s eyes widened and he paused, losing his confident demeanor for the briefest moment before pulling me to his chest and crushing his lips against mine. “Not wasting any time, are we?”
I slid my hands around his waist, under his shirt, and caressed his warm skin. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”
Franklin tucked his thumbs into the waistband of my sweats and yanked me against his erection. Holy crap.
“Yeah, love, too much time,” he groaned, then devoured my mouth with a kiss that left no room for doubt of his intentions, and hot damn, they were naughty. His assault on my lips reeked of desperate longing, a primal urge to assure me he was mine. He trembled, then kissed me harder while he tugged my sweats down my hips. I finished the job by wiggling and kicking them off.
Never breaking contact, he guided me to the couch and let go only long enough to get rid of his own clothing. He cupped the back of my head and nudged me down across the cold leather. With his other hand, he cupped my breast, massaged, explored, tugged my nipple then blazed a trail to my sex. He brushed his fingers softly through my tuft of hair, lingering at my opening before pushing two inside me.
“Fuck.” Franklin stopped kissing me but didn’t lift his mouth from mine. “So warm and wet. I’m out of my fucking mind for you right now.” He lowered his head to pull a nipple into his mouth.
I bucked my hips into his hand, arched my breast against his mouth. Ripples of pleasure tore through me, forcing my eyes closed. Franklin reached down and snatched the black box off the floor. He fumbled with the packaging but eventually managed to free a condom from the pouch. My heart beat a hole through my chest as he rolled it on. To watch, while he touched himself, was almost too much for my delicate senses. Oh, God. Why was I so hot? Was the room on fire? He laid over me and pushed a thigh between my legs. His erection bobbed against my skin.
“I need to be in you. God, I’ve waited so fucking long,” he groaned. His thick, husky voice enraptured me.
My vision blurred, pulse raced, thoughts spun. I needed him with an indescribable desperation. I needed him to fill me, dominate and claim me. In that moment, that slow-motion, foggy-brained, lust filled moment in time, nothing mattered but Franklin.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, dug my fingers into his shoulders, and begged him to take me. “Fuck me. I need you, please.” Never, in a million years, would I have envisioned begging a man, especially using those words, but I did. Who was this lust-crazed beast inhabiting my body?
He lifted his head from my chest, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, which only made me hotter for him. Then he raised his hips, guided his sex through my folds and impaled me in one slow, steady stroke. I cried his name and choked back a sob.
Franklin tensed. He buried his face in my neck and took a deep breath. It burned, the way he filled and stretched me. To be honest, it hurt like hell, and I fought the urge to push him off. Thank God, he didn’t move right away. It was perfect, painful pleasure, but I needed that small space in time to catch my breath and push through the discomfort.
He studied my face, eyes dark with concern. “Am I hurting you?” he asked through labored breaths. “Fuck. You’re so tight, baby.”
I shook my head no, fearing if I spoke, he’d hear the pain in my voice—and I didn’t want him to stop. I never wanted this to stop.
Franklin kissed me softly, then buried his face next to mine in the cushion. Moisture tickled my cheek. I wasn’t sure if it was his tears or my own. He whispered in my ear, “So fucking long. Jesus. You’re finally mine.”
His words didn’t make sense, but penetrated the most guarded parts of me. He raised his hips, withdrew nice and slow, then filled me again. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out. How could something hurt so bad and at the same time feel so perfect, so right?
“Don’t stop. I need you inside me. Fuck me, please,” I pleaded.
He did. He fucked me on the leather couch in the cabin hidden from the world. He rocked his hips gently until I relaxed and started to move with him. He kissed my mouth, my neck, licked my tears. Whispered words that broke my heart over and over. “Beautiful angel. My everything. I don’t deserve you. Saved me. Need you so fucking bad. Never leave. Please. I’ll die without you.”
His thrusts deepened and my body coiled. I dug my fingers into his ass. When he buried his face in my neck and muttered, “I’ve loved you for so long,” I lost my bearings and exploded. The orgasm was excruciating and beautiful, and for a moment, I feared I might die from the flood of emotion swelling inside me. When my insides tightened around him, he lost it, too.
“Fuck, Tate. Fucking hell.” He pumped furiously and I lifted my hips to meet his. His body tensed, arms trembled, breaths blew heated and ragged into my ear. He collapsed on top of me and murmured, “My sweet, beautiful angel.”
* * * *
I woke some time later, wrapped in a layer of naked male and a heavy wool blanket. Awake, Franklin was a sight to behold, but asleep, holy heaven above, the man was downright angelic.
His full lips were slightly parted and still moist. His thick lashes fanned against his cheeks. No stress wrinkles. He appeared so much younger when he slept.
I stretched my neck and kissed him, savoring the softness of his mouth. He smiled, blinked his eyes open and sighed. “It wasn’t a dream.”
Was he for real?
His arm tightened around me, smashing my breasts against his chest. A whole new set of fireworks exploded in my gut.
Franklin let me go, sat up, and wrapped the blanket around me like a burrito. He turned to look at me with a smirk on his face and a smile in his eyes. “Romp-fest, huh?”
I smiled and batted my lashes.
“I’m down with that.” He brushed a finger across my cheek. “Let me start a fire. Gets cold in here at night. You hungry?” He rose off the couch, pulled his jeans on, then tugged his shirt over his head.
Food? I was pretty sure I’d never have to eat again. There wasn’t a thing in the world that would satisfy me the way Franklin did. “No. I’m not hungry. Can I help?”
He shook his head no.
I studied the fine male specimen moving about like a caveman, gathering wood, making fire, grunting from time to time. I could’ve watched him forever. Oh my, his form, his expressions, the way he dominated the room was more than a girl could handle.
“Is this your cabin?” I asked.
He poked at a log then glanced over his shoulder at me. “It’s mine. Do you like it?”
I sat up and pulled the blanket tight around my body. “I do. It reminds me of my dad. He loved to get lost in the mountains. At least twice a year, he’d sneak away to his hunting cabin for a week or so. I was never allowed to go with him. He said hunting wasn’t for girls.”
Franklin turned back toward the fire. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “You miss your father?”
“Every day,” I whispered. I wanted to tell him how much he reminded me of Dad, but I didn’t.
“You two were close, weren’t you?” With a loud crackle, the fire roared, outlining Franklin’s body with a warm orange glow.
“He was a freakin’ superhero in my eyes. Overprotective as hell, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. How about you? Were you close with your father?” Since we were getting personal and stuff, it seemed a good time to dig.
“No. My dad disappeared when I was young.”
I tried to picture Franklin as a child, but failed. I could only see the virile, protective man who’d stolen my heart. “I’m sorry. Was it hard not having a father?” I cringed after asking the question. There was personal, and there was too damn personal. I feared I’d crossed the line.
Franklin remained silent while he stoked the flames, then rose and came to sit by me. “My mom struggled, didn’t date after my father left. Except for one man. I still remember the first time she brought him home. I was eight, I think. The guy was huge, and I didn’t know how to act around him. But, you know what? He squatted down to my level, made eye contact, held out his hand, and introduced himself. Showed me respect. We were the best of buds after that. He and my mom didn’t work out because she never got over the loss of my dad, but the guy stepped up and took me under his wing, mentored me. I’ve never met a better man.” Franklin’s eyes twinkled with unshed tears. Most men would be ashamed to cry. Franklin held my gaze until the emotion faded.
“I’d like to meet him someday.” I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“He passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
So Franklin and I had something in common. We’d both lost the most important man in our lives. He was lucky. Not many men would step in to help a single mother raise her son, especially an ex-girlfriend.
Franklin’s chest rose and fell. Then he turned, lifted me onto his lap, and pulled the blanket off my naked body. “Let’s get back to that romp-fest, shall we?”
I laughed. “Can we try the bed this time?” I pried myself from his grip, stood, and offered a hand to pull him up.
He traced my body with a hungry gaze, his eyes resting between my thighs for an uncomfortable spell before finding my face. “You’re bleeding.”
Horrified, I looked down. It wasn’t time for my period.
A heated blush spread from my cheeks to my toes. “I told you, I haven’t been with anyone.”
This time, his face reddened. “Haven’t been with anyone in a long time, or haven’t been with anyone?” he asked, clasping his hands over the top of his head. “You told me you’ve had two sexual experiences.”
Oh crap. We were gonna have that conversation. I suppose I should’ve been more honest with him the first time. “What I said was, two sexual experiences with fumbling idiots who didn’t know what they were doing.”
“Meaning?” he asked with an irritated bite to his tone.
“Meaning, I didn’t actually have intercourse, per se.” I’d never felt more exposed in my life. Standing naked in the middle of Amish country with an I’m no longer a virgin neon sign flashing over my head would’ve been more bearable.
The cabin was dark, save the glow from the fire. Heat radiated against my backside but didn’t repel the cold. Franklin’s icy glare raked my body again and again. My muscles ached with the restraint it took to keep from running away. What did I do wrong? My sexual past, or lack thereof, should have absolutely no bearing on Franklin’s feelings for me. Right? Shit.
I held my palms up and shrugged my shoulders. “Look who’s speechless now.”
Unblinking, he shook his head.
The firelight danced in his retinas. I snapped my fingers in his face. “You okay?” I asked.
Franklin huffed, pushed himself off the couch, and scooped me over his shoulder as he stood.
“Are you a freaking barbarian? For crying out loud. Put me down.”
He smacked my bare ass. “Let’s shower.”
We squeezed through the tiny bathroom door and he plopped me on the cold tile floor. He shed his clothing and reached around me to turn on the water. I shuddered, not from cold, but the sight of his back as he stretched, the roll of his muscles as he moved. Yum. Yum. Yum.
“Does this place run on a generator?” I asked, realization dawning on me a little too late. I’d turned into a horror movie cliché—naive girl, dark woods, middle of nowhere, a man too good to be true. If that wasn’t a set up for a B-movie murder scene, I didn’t know what was.
He pulled me into the small space and chuckled. “We’re not that far from civilization. It just seems like it because it’s so well hidden. We have electricity.”
Franklin lathered the soap. As if he’d done it a thousand times before, he pressed his hands to my skin and washed me. It was more an exotic massage in a steamy, tiny, tiled room than a shower. He left no part of me untouched, unexplored. When it came time to wash between my legs, the place he saved for last, he knelt, paused for a deep breath, then lightly brushed a finger up and down my labia.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered, raising his eyes, but not his face to me. “And don’t lie. Don’t ever lie to me again.”
Gulp.
“It hurt. But it was a good hurt, if that makes sense.”
He continued to stroke me with tender caresses. I slapped my hand against the wall to brace myself. His touch alone nearly brought me to my knees.
“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head. “I can’t take care of you, or protect you if you’re lying or telling me half truths.”
I rubbed my free hand over the top of his head. He closed his eyes and leaned into my palm.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It happened so fast, I didn’t have a second to think about it. And to be fair, this is your fault.”
My knees buckled when he slid a finger inside me.
“My fault?” He grinned.
“If you weren’t so damned overwhelming, I might be able to think straight once in a while.”
He retreated, then pushed inside me again, rubbing and teasing with his gentle touch. Every part of me down there was tender. Franklin never stroked too hard. He worked with such precision, my body prepared for another joining with his. Then his lips latched on to my clit. Franklin didn’t mess around with foreplay. He sucked hard on my nub and curved his finger inside me. My body coiled then exploded in waves of excruciating pleasure. My muscles turned to mush, my bones to wet noodles. My legs trembled and threatened to buckle. Franklin removed his hand from between my thighs and gripped my hip to support me. His lips remained where they were, sucking, pulling, drawing every last quiver from my body.
I grabbed his head. “Stop. Please, stop. It’s too sensitive.”
He let go, kissed my belly on the soft spot above my patch of hair, and stood. With one arm around my shoulders and the other my waist, he pulled me against his slick body and pressed his erection between us.
I lifted my chin to taste his mouth. He kissed me soft and tender, not with the territorial ferocity I’d come to enjoy. Cupping my cheeks with both hands, he held me still and explored my lips, my tongue, my chin, then my nose. He cherished me with kisses that reflected love, not just lust.
I could feel his desire before, but now there was something more. The kind of something that led to a frilly white dress, a little yellow house with a white picket fence, and a party riddled with pastel baby decorations. For the first time in my life, I believed I could be one-half of a ninety-year-old couple helping each other along the sidewalk in super slow motion. I’d have the walker, and Franklin would carry the cane.
I relaxed into him, inhaled his breath, reveled in the flavor and scent that was so innately masculine and powerful.
Then Franklin shocked the shit out of me. He wrapped his arms around my head and neck, pressed my face into his chest and cried. At first, I’d mistaken his spasms for laughter. But no, he sobbed.
I coiled my arms around his waist and tried to breathe. It wasn’t easy with my face smashed between a solid pec and an iron hard forearm. Somehow, I managed to draw oxygen into my lungs. I’d never seen a man cry, nor imagined myself trapped in the arms of a naked man while he wept. But there I was, completely clueless. What was the proper etiquette for such a situation? I squeezed his middle, stroked his back, and waited for the convulsions to stop.
His words from earlier bounced to and fro in my head like a game of Ping-Pong.
God, I’ve waited so fucking long… You’re finally mine… I’ll die without you…
Had he actually said those things? Or had I been so sex crazed that his words jumbled in my head?
The things I know would blow your mind.
I didn’t know this man at all, did I? He could have brought me deep into the mountains to slice me into pieces and roast me with potatoes and a sprig or two of rosemary. Not a single being on earth knew where I was or whom I was with.
Not even me.
Silent and aloof, Franklin turned off the water, dried me, then himself, and led me to bed.
“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” I asked, irked by the unnerving quiet.
“I want to. Just need to find the right words, okay love?”
Love? That was the third time he’d referred to me as “love.” It pissed me off to no end that it made me feel soft and fuzzy every time—and I’d kept a tally.
I laid my head on his shoulder and twisted my fingers through the tuft of hair on his chest. The silence in the remote location, the place I would likely become a main course to a one-man meal, gnawed at my nerves and fueled my over-stimulated imagination. I concentrated on the loudest noise I could distinguish—Franklin’s heartbeat thumping into my brain, soothing and seductive.
I counted the beats, focused on the rhythm, then fell asleep craving juicy steak, roasted potatoes, and red wine.