Page 73 of The Worst Best Man
Frankie stumbled. “Your brother kidnaps someone in some whack job power move, and your daddy takeshis allowanceaway?”
Aiden wasn’t about to tell her he’d had a similar reaction when his father had meted out the punishment. It was private family business.
“My father felt that was what the situation called for.”
“And what do you feel like ‘the situation’ called for? Keep in mind your answer will determine if you get past the gelato portion of our evening.”
“In that case, I’d like to bring back tarring and feathering.”
“You’re learning, Aide. You’re learning,” she said, eyes twinkling. It was a victory sweeter than any in recent history. And without thinking, without maneuvering her into it, Aiden pulled Frankie against him.
“Do I get to kiss you anytime I want now that we’re dating?”
She looked up at him, hooking her fingers into his lapels. “Within reason, I suppose.”
He saw the heat in the narrowing of her eyes, the parting of her lips. And when he brought his mouth to hers, he tasted that victory again. Franchesca Baranski had submitted, temporarily. She was his to kiss, to fuck, to tease. And he wasn’t going to waste a second of their time together.
She was backing up, and he followed her until her shoulders met the cold brick of the building. Holding her there, Aiden cupped her chin in his hands and seduced her mouth. Her lips were full and oh so soft. He remembered them sliding over his dick, remembered them going round in the shock of her release. And now they were feeding hungrily on him.
Her hands moved from his chest inside his coat to his hips. She pulled him against her and groaned when she felt his erection.
“How married are you to gelato?” she asked, breaking free of his mouth.
“I hate gelato.”
“My apartment is three blocks from here.”
“I have condoms in the car.”
“I have some at my place.”
His father’s warning to his teenage son echoed in his head. Rich kid rule number seventeen. Never use a woman’s condoms. She may be trying to trap you by getting pregnant.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three blocks felt like miles when her clit was swollen with need and there was a sexy man holding her hand who could do something very efficiently about it. They barely spoke, the tension between them skyrocketing by the second.
Every brush of his body against hers put Frankie further on painful, needy edge.
Would it be as good as it had been in Barbados? Would it be better? Would she survive?
There was only one way to find out.
She fumbled with her keys at the door, nerves visible in the way her fingers shook. Aiden took her keys from her and unlocked the door. It was the last civilized thing he did for the rest of the night.
Frankie dragged him inside and shut the door behind them before Mrs. Chu could stick her head out into the hallway and offer them snacks or sex advice. Aiden was already shedding his coat and suit jacket by the time she slid the chain on the door.
She joined him, shucking layers and shoes until they had the barest of essentials between them.
“Come here,” he said, his voice a gravelly order.
She could have sauntered to him, making him wait, keeping the upper hand for a bit longer until he stole it from her with those sinful lips and magic cock that was straining to escape the confines of his sexy, tight red underwear. But she didn’t. Frankie launched herself at him. Aiden, to his credit, didn’t buckle under her weight.
He picked her up, lifting her by her ass cheeks, and settled her against his hard-on.
She was beyond grateful that she’d dressed with the potential for sex on the mind. For once, her underwear matched her bra. Black and lacy were about as sexy as she got effort-wise. And they seemed to be doing the job.
