Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [81]
Jess might not have a whole lot of experience in these matters, but even he knew better than to push for more. That’d be a good way to make Frankie rethink the whole thing.
So even though it cracked his heart a little every time he got that subtle push out the Garret door, he didn’t say a word. He wanted to hold on to everything Frankie would give him, for as long as he could. Jess resolutely did not think words like “love,” “forever,” or “partner.” Even “boyfriend” felt like a stretch, so he mostly steered clear of that one, too.
It was like an ephemeral Uelsmann dreamscape—too strange and beautiful to exist in the harsh light of the morning.
Now, as Frankie pushed him against the wall beside Chapel’s door, Jess began to suspect another advantage to the bar’s downtown location. On the Lower East Side, no one batted an eye. At anything. Other parts of the city, he and Frankie would have to be circumspect. Hide what they were.
Things might have gotten cleaned up a tad during the last mayor’s reign of terror, but this close to Alphabet City, that infamous rabbit warren of dilapidated buildings housing hookers, pushers, users, and other disaffected youth, the citywide revitalization project wasn’t as obvious. Jess felt fairly certain that in Chapel’s ’hood, a little innocent smooching wouldn’t ruffle any feathers. Even if said smooching occurred between two guys.
Besides, everyone he really cared about hiding from was inside.
So he didn’t protest when Frankie closed the distance between them, sliding one sharp knee between Jess’s legs. The contrast between Frankie’s heat and the cool air was dizzying. Jess’s head spun when Frankie immediately targeted his favorite slice of Jess’s anatomy, the sloping, slender rise of collarbone peeking out from his shirt. By now, days after that first hot lick by the bar at Market, Frankie’s soft kiss to Jess’s sternum was like “hello,” a warm, exciting taste of things to come.
Frankie set his teeth lightly, testing the resilient flesh, the hard bone. Jess’s knees wobbled.
“I saw you from the stage,” Frankie whispered, his voice a hot puff of air against sensitized skin.
“Oh, yeah?” Jess gasped. “What was I doing?”
Frankie chuckled. “Watching me like a right groupie, all starry-eyed.”
Jess’s mouth dropped open and his whole body went rigid with sudden embarrassment. Frankie snickered again, and Jess relaxed enough to put his arms around his shoulders.
“Shut it, you,” Jess grumbled.
“No, I liked it,” Frankie protested. “Liked seeing your big blue eyes all wide, staring up at me. Your whole sweet body responding to me, just like you always do, but this time from ten feet away. Nearly drove me round the twist, not being able to touch you right then and there.”
Jess shuddered and one hand moved to cup the back of Frankie’s head as it nudged gently up his neck and across his jawline.
There was no one in the world like Frankie Boyd. At moments like this, Jess had a hard time remembering his personal moratorium on the L-word.
“The things you say to me,” Jess muttered, feeling soft lips mouthing his chin, the scrape of teeth against his jawbone.
“The way you look at me,” Frankie countered. “Ought to be criminal, the way you tempt a poor, law-abiding citizen like meself.”
“If I were really so tempting, we’d have done more than kiss and grope by now.” The words were out before Jess could censor them. He cringed inwardly, wishing he could call them back. Sound like a slut, much? Which wasn’t actually what he meant by it at all.
Frankie arched his devil’s brow, looking like a mischievous minion of Satan in the shadows of their alcove.
“Eager for more, is it? And not very appreciative of the Herculean restraint