Page 11 of Fixed (Spicy Bites #2)
FRANKIE
Friday evening, we get home right before sunset.
I step inside and dump my bag in the entryway.
Seth pauses behind me, keys dangling from his fingers, and breathes in like he’s checking if the air still smells like me.
The look on his face is hungry, like he’s fighting the urge to bend me over the nearest flat surface. Again.
“What are our plans for tonight?” Like I even have to ask.
“Fucking like rabbits.” He reaches for me, and I jump right out of his reach.
He chases me through the living room, down the hallway, and into the master suite. I nearly crash into the wall trying to dodge a sneak attack. When I double back, he’s there, catching me around the waist and spinning me until my feet leave the ground. I shriek and wrap my arms around his neck.
The door slams shut with a heavy thud, and I’m airborne for a split second before my back hits the plush expanse of the California King.
The mattress swallows me whole, soft but firm.
He towers over me now, his shadow swallowing the room, and his eyes are pitch black with hunger.
My body betrays me instantly, a molten heat pooling between my thighs, and I can feel my panties getting soaked, clinging to my slick folds like they’re begging for relief.
“You look fucking delicious,” he growls, his voice rough, raw, and dripping with intent.
He steps closer, his boots hitting the floor with deliberate purpose, and I swear the room gets ten degrees hotter.
His fingers move to the buckle of his belt, and the metallic clink echoes through the air.
My breath hitches, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just run a marathon, and my nipples are already hard, pressing against the thin fabric of my bra like they’re trying to escape.
He yanks the belt free, and time slows down to a crawl.
The leather slides through the loops of his jeans with a soft hiss before he tosses it aside.
His hands move to the button of his jeans, and I can’t stop staring at every deliberate, calculated movement, knowing he’s drawing this out just to torture me.
The button pops open, and I can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers, thick, hard, and massive.
My mouth waters as my pussy throbs harder with every second he drags this out.
He steps out of his jeans, and now he’s standing there in just his boxers.
His chest is broad, sculpted, the kind of muscle that makes me want to run my tongue over every inch.
His abs are tight, defined, and there’s a trail of dark hair leading down, down, down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers.
My fingers itch to grab him, to pull him down on top of me, but he’s not done yet. No, he’s going to make me fucking beg.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice low and gravelly, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“You,” I gasp, my voice trembling. “I want you to fuck me.”
His cocky, arrogant smirk should piss me off, but instead, it sends another wave of heat crashing through me.
“Good girl,” he purrs, and then he’s crawling onto the bed, hovering over me.
His body is so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide, and I’m exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
His fingers brush against the slick fabric of my panties, and I nearly scream from the sheer intensity of it.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he murmurs, tearing my panties off.
The fabric rips with a sharp snap, and then his fingers slide between my folds.
I arch off the bed, and my head falls back as a moan tears itself from my throat.
“So fucking wet for me,” he growls, and curls his finger inside me, dragging against my walls in a way that has me seeing fireworks behind my closed eyelids.
I writhe beneath him, grinding against his hand, desperate for more, but he’s relentless, teasing me, torturing me, until I’m practically sobbing with need. “Please,” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you.”
“Say it again,” he commands, his voice thick with desire.
“I need you,” I moan, louder this time, my body trembling with anticipation.
He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss.
He rips off his boxers, and his cock springs free, thick and hard and perfect.
He lines himself up with my entrance, and I feel the hot, thick tip pressing against me.
He thrusts deep, filling me until I’m stretched to the limit.
My body screams with pleasure as he rotates his hips to the side.
“Fuck.” His breath brushes against the side of my face as he starts moving.
He thrusts into me with a rhythm that’s brutal and possessive, his hips slamming against mine with every stroke.
I’m lost in it. I dig my nails into his back and wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, harder, until I’m teetering on the edge of oblivion.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, and I can feel him everywhere as his cock pounds into me. His hands tighten on my hips while his teeth graze my neck. It’s too much, it’s not enough, and I’m falling apart beneath him. My orgasm builds, threatening to shatter me into a million pieces.
“I’m close,” I gasp, my voice trembling, and he growls in response, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, until I’m screaming his name, my body convulsing around him as I come apart in his arms.
He follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing inside me as he spills himself deep, filling me until I’m overflowing. And then he collapses on top of me, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against mine, and I know, without a doubt, that I’ve finally found my home.