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“Franky,” I breathed as he kissed along my forehead and cheekbones. I flattened my palms against his chest with the intention of pushing him away but balled his shirt between my fists instead.
“I was so worried,” he said, kissing my closed eyelids, then kissing lower, and lower.
You need to make a choice, I wanted to say, but his mouth brought mine to silence.
This isn’t right.It never has been,I wanted to say next, but his tongue got in the way.
I know we said no promises, and I know I swore to myself that I wouldn’t fall in love with you, but we both know things have changed. Thateverythingis changing.I said none of that, though.
I wanted to shout for him to stop kissing me like he’d rather die than to tear his lips away from me. To stop touching me like he wanted to rip my skin away to get to the important parts of me. To stop making me believe that I’m something more than what I am when he gazed at me.
But saying any of that would’ve required the ability to breathe, and right then, my every breath belonged to him.
“Franky,” I said quickly as he yanked at the drawstring of my sweats, loosening the baggy waistband so his hand could dive in. He pretended not to hear me, recapturing my mouth, forcing my head and spine flat against the wall at my back as he tried to kiss me right through the plaster.
I unclenched my fists and shoved at his chest, sending him to his side of the hall, but he launched himself at me with a snarl, shredding my t-shirt between his hands.
Franky slammed the front of his body along mine, hands tightening in my hair until my scalp sizzled, the fabric of his jeans rough on my exposed cock. I pulled at the back of his shirt, tugging until the thin cotton ripped, then swallowed huge gulps of air when he ceased the attack on my lips to tackle my neck.
This was bigger than him being worried about me. Bigger than me feeling empathy for his wife. This was Franky knowing exactly what I’d been about to say and making sure I remained voiceless because of it. This was him understanding that my headache started from a pain in my heart. This was terror and agony on both sides, denial and selfish need.
Franky let me go long enough to get rid of the scraps of shirt clinging to him, and I took the reprieve to dart for the bedroom. He grabbed my arm, swinging me around until we’d switched places. The impact on my back punched the air from my lungs.
He pinned me to the wall by my neck, his lips pulling away from his teeth in warning as he wrangled his jeans open one-handed. His cock spilled lewdly from the opening, fully inflating as my sweats pooled at my ankles.
“Stop fighting me,” he said, catching my hand before it connected with his cheek. He forced his hips into mine, smashing our bare cocks together.
“Shit,” I moaned from the impact of his heat and then we were both fighting to get each other’s pants out of the way.
We were frenzied but focused, determined to get what we were after. The only noise came from our joint panting and the slap of my palms against the wall when Franky roughly spun me away from him and pulled my hips back.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I heaved at the wall, my lips brushing up against paint. I couldn’t think, I could barely see; all I could do was feel, and it all felt like too much.
In a flurry of movement, Franky spit into his palm and kicked my legs wide before catapulting right through me, sending me to my toes on a shout of pain mixed with undeniable pleasure.
He fucked me like the clock was winding down, like the world was coming to an end and he’d be damned if it did so without him claiming me thoroughly one last time.
I welcomed it, loved it even. Because for once I had someone in my life who was torn up by the possibility of losing me, and I relished in the way it felt to see him fight to hold on to me, even if he only fought in the physical sense.
Franky’s thrusts were too swift to keep count, the power he put behind the fucking comparable to being hit by a freight train. He interlaced our hands above my head as he cursed God and praised my cock-taking abilities less than an inch away from my ear. “Fucking you feels like freedom, Leland.” Franky got to be all he could be with me, and I got to reap the benefits of his liberation.
“I need to come, Franky,” I said brokenly as my bones rattled beneath my skin. He wasted no time in reaching a hand around to take care of me.
I came, roaring his name, streaks of cum sprinting down the wall.
Franky’s rhythm increased, shaking me like a ragdoll as he chased down his own release. Too soon he stiffened, his orgasm kicking through me as his heart quaked against my back. I pinched my eyelids shut, recording to memory the sensation of his cum filling me as I internally begged the moisture cresting behind my eyes to return to wherever the fuck it came from.
He rubbed his forehead against the back of my skull, still coming, still holding me to the tips of my toes.
“No,” Franky breathed, pressing his hips in tighter when his softening cock began to slide from my hole. A traitorous tear rolled down my cheek.
He kissed my sweaty neck, then licked his way down my spine, kneading my ass hard enough to bruise as his tongue lashed around in my opening.
Cleanup tended to take longer than the time it took to make the mess, because Franky left nothing on the table. He was arrogantly dirty, his hunger never satisfied, and had a bottomless pit of an appetite.
I gave myself over to it, fucking his face as my tears and sweat created a salty stream down the front of my body.
Once finished with me, Franky used his tongue as a sponge to collect my cum off the wall, then stood and snaked his arms around me, kissing along my jaw from behind.
