Secret Confessions: Down & Dusty — Frankie Page 2

  The flood of words stopped abruptly as one warm finger pressed against her mouth.

  ***

  She’d gone the most adorable shade of red, her blue eyes wide as a doll’s. But at least all those bullshit words had been silenced.

  Because they were bullshit. He’d understood that the moment she’d started telling him she wanted to buy him out and that he had to move on.

  At first he’d been so fucking angry he hadn’t trusted himself to speak, settling for a simple ‘uh-huh’, which was certainly better than hurling his beer bottle at the wall. And then, when he’d finally been able to talk without saying something he’d regret, and had demanded reasons from her, all she’d given him back was more bullshit about her family.

  Because it wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t. He and Frankie worked well together and he thought they made a good team. They’d done some great things for Red Creek after the old man had died, and he’d thought Frankie was happy with the way it was going.

  So he couldn’t think of one logical reason she wanted him out. Except there was one, and that wasn’t at all logical. In retrospect, it was obvious and he should have seen it, but he hadn’t because Frankie was Frankie and he wasn’t supposed to be looking for those kinds of signs.

  But it had all made sense in that moment. The awkwardness that characterised some of their interactions. The way she stuttered sometimes when she talked to him. How she didn’t meet his eyes. He’d thought that was just her being Frankie. Yet she never acted that way with the other station staff, or with the lads when they all went out for beers at the pub.

  No, she only acted that way with him.

  Her lips were so soft beneath his fingertip and her blush had deepened even more.

  Mistake, bro. Huge mistake.

  It probably was, but he’d had to do something to stop her from talking, and leaning over and silencing her with his thumb had seemed the right thing to do.

  No, actually, it was because he’d wanted to do it. He’d wanted to touch her and see if he was right. And he definitely was. There was no denying that blush. No denying the way she’d gone quite still, staring at him. He could see the pulse at her throat and it was beating very, very fast.

  Then that lush little mouth firmed and she lifted her hand, knocking his away. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  He held her gaze. ‘Really? You don’t want me to touch you?’

  Her chin came up, temper flashing in her blue eyes. Which was interesting and intriguing and all kinds of fascinating, because Francesca Woodford never showed her temper, at least not to him. ‘Don’t take the piss, Mac. I’m not in the m-mood.’

  Another stutter. God, she was making him hard. ‘I’m not taking the piss. In fact, I’m deadly serious.’

  ‘Yes, well, so am I.’ That would have had more weight if she hadn’t been redder than a bushfire in January. If her gaze hadn’t kept dropping to his mouth and then to the ink on his arm, then lower before jerking back up again as if catching herself.

  How had he not seen this before? How had he not noticed?

  You never allowed yourself to notice.

  Yeah, that was true, he hadn’t. But now … Perhaps now all of this should come out into the open. Maybe it needed to.

  ‘Seems to me,’ he said slowly, ignoring her display of temper, ‘that there’s a very obvious solution to your little problem. One that doesn’t involve you having to waste money on buying me out, or me having to move.’

  She was sitting bolt upright on the sofa now, her hands in fists on her thighs, that mouth of hers, that had felt so soft and warm beneath his fingertip, in a firm line. ‘Oh? And what’s that?’

  Mac sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and put his hands behind his head. Keeping it casual. Except the look he levelled on her was anything but.

  ‘That we get all this awkwardness out of the way and fuck.’

  ***

  The word fuck shot down Frankie’s spine and detonated somewhere in her pelvis. And it wasn’t even just the word itself, but the way he said it. Dirty and rough and full of heat, and somehow the epitome of every fantasy she’d ever had about him.

  Wait. Does that mean … ?

  She sat there, rooted to her spot on the couch, unable to tear her gaze away from his ridiculously handsome face. Unable to look away from those mesmerising golden eyes.

  He’d said that word, and the way he was looking at her like … he wanted her too.

  Heat broke like a wave inside her, a rushing, swelling fire that made her think of thermometers in cartoons bursting and red going everywhere.

  She’d never thought, never ever in a million years, that he would want her. That he even saw her as a woman. But contrary to everything she ever knew about both herself and him, it appeared that, actually, he did.

  Then again, this could be another Steve situation. He’d been one of the guys she met up with for the occasional beer after work at the pub, just about the only one she could see herself actually doing something with. After about five stubbies of Crownies one night, she’d been desperate enough to casually suggest that they might like to, you know, go out.

  He’d laughed and all the other guys had too, and then there had been the pity in his eyes as he’d seen her obvious hurt. And then he’d said ‘sure’. It had been a pity date and it had been horrible.

  Was Mac doing that to her now?

  Does it matter why he said it? He’s not wrong.

  Because he wasn’t. She could end all this unrequited longing, get rid of her awkward, stuttery behaviour, and finally act like a normal human being around him in one simple step. A way that was a lot less complicated than trying to convince him to let her buy him out.

  Of course, it could mean making things even more complicated, especially considering that sex wasn’t exactly going to help with the whole being in love thing. Then again, if he was really bad in bed, it might.

  Except she didn’t think he’d be bad in bed.

  She swallowed, wanting to grab for her beer and drink the whole bloody thing dry, but stopping herself, knowing that it would give her away. And she couldn’t have that. Not with him sitting there like an arrogant son of a bitch, with those long legs stretched out and his hands behind his head, showing off his powerful biceps. With that smug look on his way-too-handsome face.

  Clearly he liked that he’d shocked her and the fact that she was shocked annoyed her intensely. She didn’t want him to know that. She didn’t want him to know how long she’d been wanting him, longing for him. How pathetic would that be? And, most of all, she didn’t want him to know she was a virgin. That would be way too embarrassing and reveal way too much.

  So with an effort, she forced out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Is that supposed to shock me?’

  His mouth curved, that smile so sexy she could barely breathe. ‘I don’t know, does it?’

  ‘No, of course not. I hear worse from the guys on the station every day.’

  He raised an eyebrow, which somehow made him even hotter. ‘What? They’re offering to fuck you too?’

  And that wretched blush came on again, heating her skin, giving her away. It was starting to piss her off mightily. ‘Yeah, of course,’ she snapped. ‘I get offers all the time.’

  ‘Really?’ He paused. ‘And have you ever taken them up on any of these offers?’

  ‘Yeah, of course I bloody have. I’m not a bloody virgin.’ Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty and she wanted to scrub them on her jeans again, but she held his gaze. Daring him to contradict her.

  But he just sat there, that smug grin on his perfect face, his golden eyes watching her like a tiger watches its prey. ‘Don’t lie, Francesca,’ he said softly, rough heat in his voice. ‘Don’t you know I can see right through you?’

  A flare of anger licked up inside her and before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. ‘I’m not lying, dickhead. In fact, I’ll even prove it to you.’

  The maddening grin lingered around
his sensual mouth. ‘Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?’

  Oh shit. Bluff called.

  Frankie threw back her shoulders and met his gaze. She had absolutely zero idea of what she was going to do or how, but there was no way she was going to back down now. ‘Tell me what you want then,’ she said. ‘Anything. I’ll do it.’

  ***

  Hell. She couldn’t mean it. Could she?

  Mac let his head fall back a little, gazing at her from underneath his eyelids, studying her deliciously pink face with its strong, stubborn jaw.

  Of course she was lying about being propositioned by the guys on the station. He knew an inexperienced woman when he saw one and he was looking at one right now. That blush. That stammer. Not to mention the fact that the lady was also definitely protesting way too much.

  But he knew Frankie and she could be pig-headed when she chose to be. Like now for example, pretending she knew what she was doing when it was bloody obvious she didn’t.

  Unfortunately her pig-headedness just brought out the devil in him. Two could play at that game.

  Now he knew the truth about her, he wanted her to admit it. To admit she wanted him. And he’d do anything to hear those words come out of that delectable mouth. Anything at all.

  Even call that very impressive bluff of hers.

  ‘Anything, huh?’ he said slowly.

  ‘Yes, anything.’

  She had her chin jutted and her shoulders back, and the posture made the cotton of her shirt pull tight across her generous tits. Christ he was getting hard. Her gaze dipped to his groin, then almost immediately lifted again.

  He didn’t think it was possible for her to get any redder, but apparently it was.

  ‘Well,’ he said conversationally, watching her all the while. ‘I could sure use a blow job right now.’

  She blinked. Rapidly. ‘A b-blowjob?’

  The way she said it only made him harder, perverse bugger that he was. ‘Yeah. I mean, you know what that is, right? You must have given them before.’

  There was a moment when he thought she might baulk, the look in her eyes flickering with what he thought was fear, her throat moving as she swallowed. And he was starting to think he might let her off the hook.

  But then her jaw firmed and she said, as if she was explaining to a small child, ‘Of course I know what a blowjob is, Mac. I’ve given them to guys heaps of times.’

  ‘Heaps of times, huh?’ he repeated.

  Her blue eyes met his without flinching and yet he could see another expression flickering through them. There was an element of fear there, no doubt about it. Yet still she didn’t back down. ‘Yeah,’ she said firmly. ‘Heaps.’

  Jesus, she didn’t know when to stop did she? Pushing her was wrong, definitely. What he should be doing was ending this game. Tell her he wouldn’t be selling her his share of the property, no fucking way.

  But he didn’t. What he said instead was, ‘In that case, you’d better come over here and get on your knees, sweetheart.’ He shifted in the seat and sure enough her gaze dropped once more to his lap. ‘Because all this talking you’re doing is making things get a little uncomfortable around here.’

  ***

  Frankie couldn’t seem to get a breath. She couldn’t seem to look away from Mac’s bloody crotch either. Because she’d thought he was lying when he’d said he could use a blowjob. She’d thought he was putting it on. But there was nothing false about the long, thick outline of his cock pressed against the denim of his jeans.

  You’re making things get a little uncomfortable …

  He meant her, right? She was making things uncomfortable. Her.

  Oh, shit, he was getting hard for her.

  And now she stood there feeling like a bloody idiot because if she wanted to continue this dumb charade she’d started, she was going to have go to over there and bluff it out by giving him a blowjob. It was either that or admit she wanted him. Had wanted him for years.

  That you’re in love with him, don’t forget that.

  Oh no. Oh shit no. There was no way he felt the same.

  Okay then, so bluff it was.

  Mac’s smile had turned lazy. The way he was sitting had made his t-shirt ride up, exposing the brown skin of his flat, ridged stomach. She’d seen him on the station with his shirt off, all wide shoulders and narrow hips, and muscles to die for. And at night, in the privacy of her own room she’d—

  Had fantasies just like this one?

  ‘Come on, Francesca,’ he murmured, his voice rough and sexy. ‘Not wimping out, are you?’

  Oh yeah, she’d had fantasies. Lots of them. Him touching her, her touching him. Him taking her, being inside her, loving her …

  He doesn’t love you, but so what? Doesn’t mean you can’t finally make those fantasies a reality.

  Yeah, why the hell not? If she convinced him to sell his half of the station and move out, then he’d go and she’d never see him again. This was her last chance.

  Frankie swallowed and got her to feet. She edged around the coffee table, finally coming to stand in front of him, and looked down. His gaze had gone molten, burning, watching her. There was a faint tinge of red to his cheekbones and she could see the tension in his body.

  Casually, Mac spread his thighs, indicating she was to kneel between them, and somehow she found herself doing exactly that, dropping down in front of him.

  She stared at him, almost in a daze, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, a weird pressure right down low in her groin. An insistent ache that wouldn’t go away.

  The expression in Mac’s gaze had intensified, the gold of his eyes as hot as the midday sun. ‘You sure you want to go through with this?’

  So the bastard was giving her an out, was he? Well, she sure as hell wasn’t going to need one. She didn’t look away from his molten gaze even though her heart was racing and her throat was bone dry. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  And she reached for the zip of his jeans.

  ***

  Frankie drew down the zip of his fly with agonising slowness. She had a look on her face he recognised, the one she always got when she was learning something new and was determined to get it right. Giving whatever she was doing her whole attention and not stopping until she’d mastered it.

  Jesus Christ, was he actually insane? If he let her do this, he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

  Perhaps now he should do the decent thing and let her pull her away. Apparently though, he wasn’t very decent because he made no move to stop her as she opened his fly and spread the denim, her hands shaking a bit. And, oh fuck, the brush of her fingertips against his aching dick was almost more than he could stand.

  He’d waited too long. Wanted her for too many years.

  She was bloody going to kill him.

  Her forehead creased as she reached for the waistband of his boxers, pulling at them awkwardly, the blush on her cheeks now creeping down her neck. It was clear she had no idea what she was doing, which meant he should really stop her. Tell her it was okay, that she didn’t need to do this.

  But those shaking fingers had managed to pull away the cotton and get him free, and now she was staring, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, at where his cock curved up towards his stomach, hard as a fucking fence-post.

  He could feel her warm breath on his skin and the heat of her body leaning between his thighs. Could smell that delicious scent of flowers and earth, and now it had a musky edge to it, feminine arousal. And he knew there was no going back.

  He had to have her mouth on him. He had to have her. Right here. Right now.

  Impatient, Mac reached for her hand and guided it to the base of his cock. ‘Wrap your fingers around me,’ he ordered roughly. ‘Like this.’

  She started to resist. ‘I … I can do it.’

  But that was just more bluffing and he didn’t want that, not now. Not when she finally had her cool fingers around him and her lips were just inches away. ‘It’s my dick, Francesca. I’ll give the
orders.’

  A flash of blue as she looked up at him, her eyes deep and dark as a midnight sky, and oddly challenging. And she held his gaze as her grip on him tightened. As her little pink tongue came out and she licked the head of his cock, delicate as a cat.

  Sensation exploded in his head. ‘Fuck.’ The word hissed between his teeth, almost torn from him.

  And then the gorgeous little bitch smiled.

  And did it again.

  ***

  Somehow she’d lost her nervousness and she didn’t quite know how or where. Maybe it had been when he’d told her what to do and she’d heard the edge of desperation in his voice. Or maybe it was when she’d wrapped her fingers around his cock and felt him tense.

  Or maybe it was when he’d sworn when she licked him, when she’d seen the heat flare in his eyes, like melted golden coins.

  How weird to be on her knees and yet, for the first time in their entire relationship, feel like she was the one with the power.

  He tasted salty and musky and very, very good. Much better than she’d anticipated. And the way he looked at her gave her a heady sense of confidence she’d never had in her entire life. It almost didn’t matter than she didn’t have any experience, that she was a virgin, and that this was the first penis she’d ever touched. That she had no idea what she was doing.

  What mattered was that this was Mac and he was looking at her the way she’d been wanting him to look at her for years and years and years.

  She licked him, watching him as she did so, her nerves and uncertainty dropping away as she watched his face. Guided by the flames in his eyes and tightening of his features, her tongue circled the head of his cock, then licked at that little slit at the centre, the muscles of his thighs gathering tight as she did so.

  His hands came up as she did it a third time, pulling her ponytail out, rough fingers burying themselves in her hair as it fell loose over her shoulders. ‘Suck me, Frankie,’ he growled, low and husky, ‘Do it.’

  He’d never spoken her nickname before. And hearing it now, while she was doing this …