3
Mark
Francis Goode is holding me.
He has his big arms wrapped around me and his head is pressed to mine.
He smells like pine trees and he’s so, so, so damn warm.
My poor brain kept churning out this play-by-play because I couldn’t seem to process the reality of the situation—not because I’d bumped my head, but because, despite the pep talk back at the bakery, I really hadn’t expected that this would ever come to pass.
Miraculously, though, here I was, being my awkward self and blurting shit out.
And there Fran was, cradling my face in his hands and studying me like I was a piece of precious artwork and he wanted to catalog my every brushstroke. He pressed a gentle kiss to the center of my forehead and to each of my eyelids before finally, finally moving down to kiss my mouth.
Holy fuck. He tasted like mint and surprise andFran—a unique and indescribable flavor I hadn’t known I remembered until I tasted him again. His kiss was tentative at first, like he was as uncertain as I was that this was really happening… but as soon as my tongue touched his, the worshipful hesitation changed to bold passion, and I wasconsumed.
My hands roamed over his back and shoulders, feeling his muscles through his heavy cable sweater, pulling him tighter into me. I wanted to take him into my body and fuse us together.
He broke the kiss, panting, and ran his lips over my cheek, then lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my neck and jaw. His beard was longer than it used to be and it chafed just a little against my skin, but I welcomed it. I welcomed the way his fingertips dug into the small of my back, too. Every tiny pinprick saidthis is real. This is actually happening.
Finally he pulled back to stare at me, assessing.
“Fran,” I moaned. “God. Please don’t stop.”
“Mark, you hit your head. Maybe we…”
“I amfine.” My temple throbbed a little when I stopped to think about it, but I’d never been more clear-headed in my life, and I needed this so damn badly.
For four years, I’d needed this.
“Shit. I’m not…” Fran ran a hand through his hair, then held it out in front of him. “I’m shaking. I feel so out of control, and I want to be careful. I don’t want to hurt you—”
“The only thing that would hurt me right now is if you pulled away.” I wrapped my arms more tightly around him, letting my hands roam up under his sweater to touch his skin, just as I’d dreamed of doing. “Please.”
I sounded desperate and I didn’t care because Iwas.
He shuddered at my touch, and in the next breath, he fused our mouths together again, pulling me against him even tighter than before. His cock rubbed against my stomach and mine against his leg, setting off little shockwaves of need that ricocheted around my body.
The wet denim of my jeans did absolutelynothingto dampen my desire for him. In fact, if I got any warmer, I was likely to start steaming, or crackling like the logs in the stove. I wanted his mouth on my neck. My nipples needed friction so badly I could scream. But I never wanted him to stop kissing me, either.
“I want you,” I breathed when he broke away again. “Want you so much.”
It had been like this before—the aching, trembling want, the overwhelming thrill of him—but the clawing need was new. The two brain cells in my skull still capable of rational thought understood why: being apart had made me appreciate being together that much more. It was like finally gasping oxygen after being submerged, or feeling the warmth of the sun after a long winter. I wanted to take great, greedy gasps of him.
“You have me,” Fran said, running his hands down my shoulders like he was soothing a wild creature. “Youhaveme, baby. Now let’s get you out of those jeans, okay?”
He took the quilt from my shoulders and knelt to spread it on the floor in front of the wood stove just as the first big gust of wind hit the house.
“Storm’s coming,” I whispered as he reached for my waistband.
“Let it come. We’ve got all we need in here. Unless…” He paused and looked up at me. “Do you have someplace else you need to be, Mark? Someone who’s been waiting for you?”
“What? Oh, gosh no.” I shook my head. “No one’s been waiting for me.”
The side of Fran’s full lips quirked up just a fraction, almost imperceptible beneath his beard unless you were watching him as closely as I was. He lifted his eyes to mine, so full ofwantthat my stomach flipped. “I think you’re wrong about that.”
I inhaled a shuddery breath and helped him push my jeans down, then kicked them so far, they landed near Phoebe, who lifted her head with a jangle of tags and looked around.
