The Worst Best Man(98)
The car pulled up to the front of his mother’s estate. He watched her internally freak out over the opulence. Thick ivory columns graced the front of the house. The circular driveway was made from crushed shells and orbited a large fountain with white statues in various poses of what looked like grief or some kind of extra weird orgy. The cars already here made the driveway look like a luxury sedan showroom.
“Don’t tell me what happens after ‘yet,’” Aiden begged, closing his eyes and willing his body to relax.
“I won’t tell you that I’m going to hold my boobs like this,” she said, pressing her tits together, “and let you fuck them.”
He hissed out a breath and reached for her. But she scooted out of his grip.
“Don’t you dare! Someone is going to open that door in five seconds, and we both better have our clothes on.” She wrapped her coat around her.
“Don’t play with me, Franchesca.”
“Or what?” she asked innocently. “You’ll come in your pants?”
He growled and made another grab for her shapely ass. She was his tormentor, his angel, his enemy.
The car door opened, and Frankie winked at him as she slipped out in front of him.
She’d pay. He’d make sure of it. But for now, he’d be the one to suffer.
He caught up with her on the steps and tucked her arm through his. “Slow down, sweetheart, before you break an ankle.”
“If you fall right now, you might break your dick,” she mused.
“As soon as this is over, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down tomorrow.”
“Promises, promises,” Frankie said airily.
“If I shoved my hand up your skirts right now, are you telling me I wouldn’t find you wet?” he asked.
Her inhale was sharp, and Aiden knew he wasn’t the only one looking forward to the end of the event. They’d be lucky if they made it back to the limo.
“Nice house,” she said, her voice strained. Her coat gapped, and Aiden caught a glimpse of hardened nipple under the satin of her top.
“Tell me you’re wearing a bra.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other?”
“Jesus. Franchesca. How am I supposed to get through two hours knowing the only thing between my mouth and your perfect tits is a scrap of satin?”
She shrugged as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “I guess you’ll just have to think about baseball.”
He backed her up against the red brick of the entry way and flexed his hips into her so she could feel just how hard she made him. She gave a little gasp and cuddled into him.
Aiden reached into her coat and shoved his hand into the top of her dress. Her nipple throbbed against his palm. He squeezed her breast and ran his thumb over the point.
“Fuck, Aiden,” she hissed.
“That’s right, baby. You’re going to be begging me to fuck you,” he promised. “I’m going to ride you until you’re out of orgasms. Until you can’t move. I’m going to ruin you.”
She looked dazed. And Aiden felt like he’d gotten the upper hand again.
“Now let’s go smile pretty for the camera,” he said
She sagged against the wall when he stepped back. He adjusted himself to a slightly less painful position in his pants. His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. He grimaced.
“What’s wrong?” Frankie asked, righting her dress.
“My mother is reminding me that there are security cameras out here.”
“Seriously?” she swore darkly. “She already probably hates me for causing a scene, and now I’m dry humping her son on the front porch!”
“There was nothing dry about that, Franchesca,” Aiden grinned wickedly.
“Evil.” She made a cross with her fingers. “Stay away from me with your magic penis and pheromones.”
He laughed and opened the front door.
Chapter Fifty-Two
His mother had limited the press to a few society reporters and bloggers. The media was confined to the entry hall, a two-story room in soft ivories and beiges with fussy accent chairs and tables.
It was a very civilized press gauntlet on home turf. Aiden kept Frankie glued to his side. His mother had made it very clear to the press that no one would be discussing Lionel Goffman. They suffered through the same questions over and over again. How did you meet? How long have you been seeing each other? And with each round, he could feel Frankie getting antsier.
“My subscribers wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t bring up Dress Gate,” the blogger had thick glasses and pink streaks in her hair and directed the question at Frankie.
“What’s Dress Gate?” Frankie asked.
“The ongoing conversation about you repeating the red Armani dress you wore to dinner at The Oak Leaf and then again to lunch this week.”
“Are you pulling my leg?” Frankie asked, bewildered.
The blogger flashed her a friendly smile and waited.
Frankie looked up at Aiden. She was practically vibrating next to him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. “Oh, I’ve got this one. Don’t you all have more important things to do with your time? It’s a beautiful dress. I like it. I’m going to wear it more than once, not throw it away. Deal with it. Why don’t you ask me about the small business initiative the city is trying to pass or how survival rates with children fighting leukemia are five percent higher at this facility than any other in the country? Or, at the very least, ask Aiden here who he’s wearing.”