The Worst Best Man(25)

“What are you doing?” she hissed as he covered her body with his. She shoved at his shoulders and froze when she felt his cock twitch against her as it hardened.

He didn’t bother answering her before his mouth crushed down on hers. She wasn’t prepared. Couldn’t have prepared. Not for the rush of heat that washed through her, the electricity that coursed through her. His lips were strong and firm, demanding. But Frankie wasn’t one to give up the upper hand. She gripped his lapels and fought for control of the kiss. When he opened his mouth, it was her tongue that surged forward. Aiden growled low in his throat and stroked into her mouth, tasting and toying.

She felt dizzy with power, with madness.

His erection was thick and hard against her center, and Frankie opened her legs so he could settle between them. When he grinded against her, Frankie’s world went black. She could come like this, dry-humping a billionaire on a beach.

She should have been embarrassed, should have had better judgment. But before those thoughts could take hold, Aiden trailed one large, capable hand down over her breast and surged against her again.

She murmured meaningless words against his mouth. This. Now. Here. She didn’t care.

“Fuck,” he whispered, before diving back into the kiss. Her blood had gone molten. Lava flowed through her veins now. More was the only word left in her vocabulary.

Aiden abandoned her breast, and when Frankie moaned her disappointment, he made up for it. That hand was now shoving the skirt of her dress higher. Her body sang to the heavens. If he didn’t shove a part of him inside of her in the next thirty seconds, Frankie knew she’d die a slow and agonizing death.

He was grinding against her thigh now, prodding her with what felt like a painful erection.

“More, Aide,” Frankie whispered. Begging. She never begged. But in this second she was happy to plead her way to orgasm.

“Hang on, baby,” he murmured against her lips. “I want you so fucking bad.”

This was not the ice-cold man she’d met in the ballroom. Or the game-playing chauffeur from the airport. No, the man whose hand danced over the satin of her thong was a sinful lover, all heat and dark promises.

“Fuck,” he whispered again when he pressed the tips of his fingers to her center.

She cried out, softly, brokenly as he started one of those tiny circles he’d worked his way up her thigh with under the table. He knew how to touch her. Whether it was instinct or obscene experience, she didn’t give a good damn.

“You’re so damn wet, Franchesca. So wet for me.”

Frankie bucked against his hand. “Touch me,” she demanded. When he looped two fingers under the seam of her underwear, when his knuckles brushed her soft folds, she reached for him.

He grunted his approval when she gripped his hard cock through his pants. “I want your hands on me, your mouth,” he growled.

“Right back at you, Kilbourn,” Frankie murmured.

His knuckles brushed her again, and she melted under him.

“I’m going to fuck you, Franchesca. Not that surfer, not Davenport. Me.”

Her body thrilled at the words while her mind reeled at the possession in his tone.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

His fingers were poised at her entrance, her tongue buried in his mouth when Frankie found herself squinting into a blinding light.





Chapter Fourteen


Aiden contemplated killing the security guard with his own two hands. If the man continued to shine his flashlight in the direction of Franchesca’s nipples that were trying to cut their way out of her gown, Aiden was going to break his fucking neck.

Franchesca stood full of fury, hands on hips. He’d forgotten himself, forgotten where they were and why they were here. He’d heard the guard’s approach and had gone with the lovers out for a romantic stroll-slash-fuck story. Touching her? Tasting her? It had wiped out all instincts besides the need to take her.

He could tell by the way she refused to look at him that she thought he’d taken advantage of her. And he had, or at least he’d taken advantage of the situation.

Now, he was going to kill a security guard, and then Franchesca was going to kill him.

“Look, sir,” Franchesca said, her cheeks still flaming. “We just slipped away from the party and got carried away.

Aiden stepped in front of her. He couldn’t tell exactly where the guard’s gaze was falling, but he imagined it had to be somewhere around Frankie’s heaving chest.

“It’s my fault. I got carried away,” he said, offering the man a chagrined smiled. “I’m sure it’s not the worst you’ve seen tonight.”

The guard stared blankly for another moment. Aiden felt Frankie grab the back of his jacket with both hands.

“I just caught two girls skinny-dipping in the lobby fountain ten minutes ago,” the guard announced. “Go on back to the party, and keep your clothes on.”

“Will do,” Aiden promised. Frankie’s eyes were as wide as big screen TVs as they hurried past the guard onto a path that led to the crowded terrace that served as a dancefloor. “Well that was easy,” he said. He reached up and picked a leaf out of Frankie’s hair. He was starting to wonder if he was obsessed with her hair. The thick, dark curtain that fell in curling waves. He wanted to bury his face in it.