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I wrap my arms around his waist and press the side of my face against his chest and hug him.
His muscles flex, and his breath catches. “Frankie?” he asks seconds before hugging me back. I sink into his warmth and let out a sigh of contentment. He curls around me, his head resting on mine, his entire body encapsulating me in his hard planes and tattooed art. “Angel.” It’s a prayer whispered into my hair and wraps around my broken heart. It’s power threatening to heal and mend what I never thought possible.
“Thank you,” I breathe into his neck. I don’t want to make it weird, but I don’t think he’ll ever know how much last night meant to me. How much I owe him for the past few weeks. He may be Mr. Asshole much of the time, but he’s given me a soft place to land by offering up his home, by taking care of me even when he was the last person I thought I wanted, by showing me I’m not nothing to him.
As if he heard all of that, he kisses my neck and squeezes me tighter. “Anything for you.”
…and for the first time in a long time, I believe in a man who’s giving me more than he’s taking.
IWANDER THROUGH THE HOUSE. IT’Snot that big of a place, but my Angel disappeared a half hour ago, and I haven’t seen her since. The ache in my chest warns me I need to ensure she’s safe. After checking all the usual places, I stop in the laundry room doorway, finding her folding clothes.
“I have a woman who comes and does that for me.” Granted, I haven’t had her come since Frankie has been staying with me. I didn’t want even Mable invading our space.
Frankie jumps and squeaks out her surprise, clutching a towel to her chest. “Jesus, Gabriel, for a man your size, you’re entirely too quiet.”
“I’ve been told.” I come up behind her, gripping her hips, and kiss her behind the ear. “Why are you doing laundry?”
“Because I needed clean clothes.” She continues to fold the stack in front of her.
“But these aren’t yours.” By the stacks of clean clothes, towels, and sheets, she’s been at this for a while. “When did all of these get washed?”
“I’ve been doing it on and off all day.”
WTF? How did I not notice? “You don’t need to do my laundry.”
“I don’t mind.” She places the folded towel in her hand on the tower of towels.
“Where are your clothes?” All I see are mine.
“In the dryer.” She points to the rack in the corner. “Except for those.” What seems to be every shirt she has with her is hanging up, air drying.
“Mable wouldn’t mind doing yours too.”
“I wouldn’t feel right about that. Plus, this way I’m assured my tops don’t get dried.”
“Hmm.” She’s wearing one of my black V-neck t-shirts. My hands travel up her waist and then down to investigate her bare thighs. When I don’t find what I’m looking for, I have to ask, “Where are your panties?”
“Drying.” She leans into me, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, her butt shimmying against me as she rubs her thighs together.
My girl needs me.
I turn her away from the folding table, keeping her back to my front. “Place your hands on the washing machine, Angel.”
Stepping back to take in the visual of her leaning forward enough for her ass to stick out, barely covered by my t-shirt, I pull mine over my head and discard it on the floor. She’ll be wearing it later.
I slough off my workout pants, boxer briefs, and cozy up behind her, clasping her hips and grinding against her. Her sigh of appreciation isn’t lost on me, but I force myself to go slow. The last time she had a man saddled up behind her, he hurt her. That won’t be happening here.
I slide one hand around her front and between her legs, running my fingers through her folds—testing the waters. She must have been thinking of me to already be this wet. I trail my hands up her stomach to her bare tits under my shirt. God, I’d nearly forgotten what real breasts feel like, how they respond, how much I love their supple peaks in my mouth, against my tongue. My Angel has great tits, round and full with dark rosy nipples and sensitive as fuck.
“I’ve thought of this all day, Frankie.” I flex against her ass as my fingers knead her breasts and tease her nipples.
She’s trembling. I need to be sure it’s in anticipation and not fear.
Kissing up her neck, thankful she’s got her hair in a messy bun, I still at her ear. “You okay, Frankie Angel?”
She curls her head into me, rubbing it back and forth. “I’m good.”
“Good.” I pinch her nipples. She whimpers and bucks. I bite her neck and lick away the sting. My cock aches to bury itself deep inside her heaven. “You trust me?” I explore her ass to her pussy and back.
