The Worst Best Man(55)

Frankie cried out into the pillow on a particularly masterful crook of his fingers. She was going to explode and take the entire apartment building down.

Aiden groaned, low and guttural. “I feel you getting ready to come.” He leaned down and bit her on the shoulder.

That quick slice of pain was all it took to snap her like a guitar string. She let go and hurtled into the orgasm. This? This was otherworldly, and Aiden was her new universe.

Chanting praise, he continued to pump his fingers and thumb into her and she shuddered and trembled through her release.

Aiden played her body like a maestro.

She felt his weight shift behind her, sobbed out a plea when he pulled out of her. And then she heard the foil wrapper.

He stroked himself against her, priming his cock, and Frankie spread her knees just a little wider, inviting him in. It took nothing more.

Aiden notched the crown of his dick against her, gripped her hips, and drove into her.

Decadently full, Frankie welcomed the invasion. The noise he made at the back of his throat drove her wild. Frankie reared up, arching her back.

He closed his fist around her hair and used it to hold her still while he began torturously slow, measured strokes. She was so glad she hadn’t insisted on gelato.

His other hand was never still, stroking and squeezing her flesh as if he wanted to explore every inch of her body. Aiden’s grip on her hair disappeared, and when he gripped her by the hips, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at him.

He looked like a god lost in the throes of passion. His jaw was clenched. The cords of his neck stood out against the strain. His eyes were hooded.

“I love when you look at me like that,” he gritted out the words.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the center of your universe.”

That connection, gaze to gaze, held them prisoner. His pace quickened imperceptibly at first before speeding up, faster and faster. His thrusts were so powerful they were forcing her forward until finally she was flat on her stomach accepting his full weight on her back.

“Aiden!” she called out his name. The climax building again inside her was terrifying.

He grunted softly into her ear, lost to the wild rhythm. Take, his body told hers. And Frankie was only too happy to obey. He was crushing her to the mattress, giving her no room to move. All she could do was take the pleasure he was delivering.

Aiden slid his hand between her legs, cupping her exactly where she needed his touch. “I’m coming, and I need you with me,” he told her.

He slammed into her—once then twice—and, on the third thrust, held as he shouted victoriously. She met him there, her walls closing around him as her body fell into spectacular freefall. “Fuck, Franchesca. Baby,” he groaned against her ear.

It only made her come harder. His cock pulsing inside her, his labored breathing against her neck, the weight of him on top of her. Her fingers were white knuckled on the sheets even as the waves began to mellow.

He fucked her until she was done and vibrating beneath him, and then he collapsed on top of her.

“I know I’m crushing you,” he said, “but moving is not an option right now.”

“It’s fine. I’ve accomplished all I’ve set out to do sexually. Dying like this is totally acceptable,” Frankie said into the pillow. “My mom will be so proud.”

“Speaking of your mother—”

“Aiden, you’re still inside me. I don’t like where this is going.”

He laughed softly against her neck. “Am I still invited to Sunday lunch?”





Chapter Twenty-Nine


Frankie hadn’t exactly meant to let him spend the night. But lounging in her bed with naked Aiden Adonis wrapped around her was too decadent to put a stop to. Plus, the heat that his ridiculously perfect body pumped off was more than enough to keep her warm in her Arctic breeze apartment. The windows were drafty, and the building’s furnace had been on its last legs for years. But the rent was affordable, and it was close to her parents.

So she dressed in layers and piled blankets on her bed. The bed that Aiden had dominated last night with his large frame. The bed that he’d been too polite to complain about with its lumpy mattress and sagging box springs. It was on her list of things to replace when she was finally done paying for grad school. Sure. She’d have some student loans, but for the most part, she’d shouldered the burden up front, paying as much of her tuition as she could out of pocket.

Frankie poked her head out of the bathroom and eyed the damage a vigorous night of lovemaking caused while she brushed her teeth. Her blankets were in a pile on the floor, and at one point, someone’s foot or arm had swept the nightstand clean. It looked as though she was going to need a new lamp.

Worth it.

Aiden had pressed a kiss to her forehead on his way out at the ungodly hour of five.

He had early meetings and needed to get home to shower and change.

She, on the other hand, had lounged about in her bed on sheets that smelled like him until her alarm sounded two hours later.

She’d showered, leisurely, and then decided to treat herself to a coffee—the expensive kind—at the hipster café on her way to work.

“Good morning,” Frankie said as she breezed through the glass door of the office. Brenda, the receptionist and part-owner of the Brooklyn Heights Small Business Development Center, shivered at the draft of winter air that followed Frankie inside and huddled closer to the space heater under her desk.