“I came so hard to the sound of you I saw stars, Frankie. And then I did it again. And again. Couldn’t stop. Still can’t.”
I take another step forward, and her back hits the edge of the drawers.
“I’ve been obsessed with you since the first goddamn night.”
She exhales shakily, blinking fast. My eyes coast slowly over her face, and I reach a finger out to loop a strand of her red hair.
“You gonna be resilient now, sweetheart?” I whisper, my eyes falling to where her hands twitch against the edge of the drawers. “Or you gonna show me what I’ve been missing?”
Her chin lifts like she’s about to spit something cutting, but her eyes say otherwise. They dart down to my mouth, my chest, then to my fingers fondling her hair.
When they raise back to mine, they’re furious and feral.
I smirk, and that’s all it takes.
She lunges, and I catch her.
Our mouths collide hard, her fingers tangle in my shirt, and the blanket falls to the floor as I haul her flush against me.
Her thighs wrap around me, heat blazing through the thin cotton of those tiny sleep shorts as she grabs my face with both hands and kisses me.
It’s weeks of frustration, silence, and tension snapping loose. Her tongue swipes across my lip and I groan, twisting her until her back hits the wall beside the bed.
She gasps, then bites my lip.
“Fuck,” I mutter, fingers sliding under the hem of her tank top. “How are you real.”
“I’mright fucking here.”
She tugs my shirt up, and I help her rip it off. Her breath stutters when I lean in, hips grinding just enough to make her whimper.
She fists my waistband, voice cracking. “Off. Now.”
“Say please.”
She scoffs. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’resoaked.”
Her breath catches as I glide my hand between her thighs. Even over the material of her shorts I can feel the heat and wet already there.
“Mmm, so wet for me, Red.”
The second that name leaves my mouth, something shifts.
Frankie stiffens, and the haze in her eyes flickers. Her body stills beneath my touch, all that molten heat cooling in an instant.
Shit.
She shoves me back. Not hard or dramatic, but enough to put space between us. Her expression doesn’t twist or flare, it just shuts off.
“I’m going to bed,” she says, already moving.
“Frankie—”
“I’m tired.” Her voice is cool and clipped, and she grabs the blanket from the floor and tosses it at me without looking back. “You can take the couch.”
She nudges me backward, and the bedroom door closes with a clean, intentional click but springs slightly open again. She doesn’t fix it, just makes her way to the bed.
