Muffin Top (Page 30)

He just grinned up at her when she glared at him. “And what am I doing with you in this fantasy?”

Too many images assailed her at the same time to try to pick one. “Everything.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” He punctuated his demand by blowing against the stiff peak of her nipple poking against her tank top.

Of course, that’s all it took for one of her many fantasies about being with Frankie to rush to the forefront.

She swallowed her embarrassment at admitting she fantasized about him. It would be worth it if he’d just make her come now. “I’m riding you. My hands are on your shoulders. Your hands are on my hips, your grip is tight, and I’m rocking against you.”

She could picture it. His muscular chest, the sprinkling of red hair that formed into a happy trail. The feel of his fingers digging into her flesh with just the right amount of pressure to urge her on. Tension built in her body in response to Frankie’s touch and the movie playing in her head. She raised her hips, needing more and needing it now.

Her eyes closed as his thumb moved against her clit again, and she was there, right fucking there, on the edge of exploding. She was so expecting him to stop touching her the closer that she got that she just fell into the fantasy and let go of everything else.

“I want to see that,” he said, slipping two thick fingers inside her. He pumped them in and out while pressing against her clit. “I want to see those tits of yours bounce and feel you wet and slick against my cock.”

“Oh my God, Frankie,” she cried out, unable to stop herself.

It was like having an orgasm in slow motion or watching a wave go out, knowing it was going to crash back down on the shore with double the force. Her whole body vibrated all the way down to her toes. It moved upward slowly, inching up to her ankles, then her calves, and her knees.

By the time it got to her thighs, she was holding on to Frankie like he was the only thing keeping her from taking off like a rocket. But she did anyway, the orgasm hitting her hard and wrecking her as she came, riding what seemed like a never-ending wave of pleasure.

She refused to let the heat now clinging to her cheeks lessen the moment. She’d deal with that in a minute.

…

Feeling Lucy come all over his fingers and watching her blissed-out expression as she came down from her orgasm was the best and worst thing Frankie had ever experienced.

The best because Lucy wasn’t wrong. Being with someone when it was about more than just getting off was different—and better. The worst because he couldn’t just observe and respond like he usually would. This was about more than just getting his rocks off—and he had to convince her of that, which meant she was the only one coming tonight.

“Don’t think,” she said, her voice husky as she reached for the button of his shorts, “this is done.”

Ignoring just how bad he did not want to move, he did anyway. They were going to do this, and they were going to do it right, meaning he wasn’t going to fast-fuck her on her dad’s couch like they were back in high school.

Confusion wiped out the last of the lingering satisfaction in her expression as she watched him pull back until he was once again standing a few steps away from her on the couch. Hurt flashed in her eyes for a millisecond before she shut it down. His chest tightened at her expression. Fuck. He was fucking it all up.

After sitting up, she smoothed her skirt down, turned so she was facing the TV, and reached for the remote.

“I stand corrected,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “This is done.”

For a man who always knew the right thing to say to a woman, he had no clue how to express what was going on inside his head about her, about them. He’d run into the burning house without a plan, and now he could feel the flames licking at his back. It was a rookie mistake.

“Lucy,” he started, but she stalled him by holding up her hand.

“It was a thing—an awesome thing, but a thing. I understand. Close proximity and all that. We don’t have to talk about it. No big deal.”

She was wrong. This was a very big deal. He took a step toward her, hoping like hell that the right words would come out of his mouth when he opened it. But he didn’t get the chance.

Lucy stood up and clicked the power button on the remote. “In fact, I’m going to head off to bed.” Then she strode in the opposite direction from him, tossing a single word over her shoulder. “Goodnight.”

Fuck-nutters.

That had gone exactly not how he’d wanted—except for the Lucy’s orgasm part, that had been fucking phenomenal. However, he’d flubbed it hard-core after that.

But they had the entire day together tomorrow.

All he had to do was figure out how to convince her that this wasn’t about proximity. It was about a helluva lot more than that.

Chapter Twelve

Frankie was off for a run by the time Lucy made it down to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. Gussie and her dad were waiting for her though and, judging by the fact that the big coffee pot on the counter was down to one cup, they’d been there for a while.

This didn’t bode well.

Who was it that said a person could never go home again? They were wrong, because you could do it, but that didn’t mean a person should. It was sort of like the too-tight jeans in every woman’s closet they refused to get rid of—she might be able to button them, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t regret wearing them. Maybe that’s why Lucy mostly wore empire waist dresses like she was now.

“Waiting for me?” she asked, snagging a cup down from the cupboard and filling it with the last of the coffee.

Her dad folded the morning paper and set it down by his breakfast plate, empty except for a dollop of syrup. “Seemed like a good idea after last night.”

Playing dumb was the last resort of someone who had no clue what else to do, which pretty much described her before her first cup of coffee, since her dad never had Mountain Dew in his fridge. “Why’s that?”

“I came home earlier than expected and quickly went upstairs. Not that either of you noticed,” her dad said. “He seems nice enough.”

Oh yes. Here it was. The Midwestern passive-aggressive advice framed as help when it was actually an invisible switchblade knife to the kidneys. She took her mug and sat down across from her dad, steeling herself for what was going to come next.

“But,” he went on, “I don’t think he’s interested in being just friends, so if that’s all you want then you should probably tell him.”

Okay, that was not what she’d been expecting—especially not after last night, which had been all about letting off some sexual steam and nothing more. Not with him. Not when it came to her. Still, she was so tossed off-balance by the sincerity in her dad’s voice that she just sat and blinked at him while he took a sip of his coffee.

He set the mug down and let out a deep breath. “It’s not nice to lead someone on.”

Her dad spoke from experience. After the divorce, her mom had married a Greek tycoon, yes, an actual real-life one. After that, neither of them had seen much of her—unless Lucy’s new stepdaddy had picked up a new mistress. These women had never lasted long, but while they did, her mom always came back to Antioch to visit her sweet baby and see dear friends, her mom had always said. In reality, she’d come for the ego-buffing that only Lucy’s dad could offer.