Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [82]
Jess ducked his head to hide his flaming cheeks against Frankie’s shoulder. “No,” he said in a muffled voice, “I do appreciate it. How slow we’ve gone. It’s just . . .” He breathed in the heady smell of tobacco and clean sweat from Frankie’s T-shirt. For courage.
“I know it must be annoying for you,” Jess continued, “waiting around for a fraidy-cat little virgin to be ready.”
Frankie clucked his tongue and raised Jess’s chin on his fingers to look him straight in the eye.
“None of that,” he said firmly. “I won’t have you shaming yourself into doing more than feels right and good. Ah, sweet Bit. Don’t you see? It’s only about what feels right and good to you in the moment. That’s all that matters. But you have to listen to yourself, to the beat of your heart and the throb of your blood, to know how you truly feel.”
Jess did a little wriggle, wanting simultaneously to get even closer and to back up and hide from this conversation that was making him feel so naked and exposed.
“But how do you feel?” he pressed, desperate for the answer. “I mean, I know you’ve been with lots of people. Not just guys, either.” Jess felt the corners of his mouth pull down unhappily. “I can’t believe you’re not bored to tears with me.”
Frankie’s eyes burned into his as he pressed deliberately forward into the cradle of Jess’s hips. The taut bulge of denim between Frankie’s thighs shoved into Jess’s lower abdomen, igniting a fire there that took him completely by surprise.
“Does that feel like boredom to you, Bit?” Frankie whispered silkily in Jess’s ear.
“No,” Jess agreed, sucking in air. Frankie’s sinful hips swiveled once in a slow, sure rub. Jess was so hard he thought he might die.
“One look at you does it to me,” Frankie muttered against Jess’s cheek. “One brush of your shoulder or flash of a smile, and I’m done in. You think this kind of reaction is ordinary everyday humdrummery for me? Not likely. It’s been an age since I felt anything like this, and I plan to savor it for as long as it’s on offer. Take your sweet time, Bit. I’m in no hurry at all.”
Jess panted. Maybe Frankie wasn’t in a hurry, but Jess was starting to be. He tipped his head back against the building and stared blindly up at the sky while Frankie made a leisurely exploration of the area behind Jess’s left ear.
Time seemed to slow down and speed up at odd intervals. It was like a slideshow—flash of Frankie’s long, tapered fingers dropping to Jess’s waist and burrowing under his shirt to stroke the ticklish skin there—flash of thighs moving together in a deep rhythm, like dancing in place—flash of Frankie’s blue-black hair waving in the breeze, and the sudden soaring realization that Jess could touch it if he wanted, which he did—flash of kiss.
The kiss stopped the show. Everything racked focus down to the meeting of mouths, cropping the rest of the sidewalk, the noise from the bar behind them, the cars honking from the street, right out of the picture.
The kiss wasn’t fierce, it wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t demanding. It was . . . searching. Tender. It said things to Jess, things maybe Frankie didn’t even mean him to know, or maybe had been trying to tell him for days without saying the words.
That kiss, that sweet slide of tongue and breath and lip, convinced Jess right down to his soul that he was wanted. And not only wanted, but cherished.
Jess’s heart beat with such wild happiness that he almost missed the last frame of the night’s slideshow.
Flash: an ugly snickering laugh from the sidewalk where a couple of college-aged guys stood watching, shoving each other and pointing at Jess and Frankie.
The tension in Frankie’s shoulders said he’d heard them, too, but he didn’t make it obvious. He withdrew his mouth from Jess’s with one last luxurious swipe of tongue across his bottom lip, refusing to be hurried.
Frankie pulled back far enough to catch Jess’s gaze. Framing Jess’s chin in one hand, Frankie said, “All right, then?”
Doing his best to ignore the hooting, name-calling pair of hoodlums not six feet away, Jess nodded. He