“Henry,” she murmurs against my mouth in invitation.
Franki’s hands slide up my shoulders, then into my hair, undoing in seconds what took me several minutes to force into restrained compliance.
“This is absurd,” she whispers with a laugh.
“You love ‘absurd.’” I kiss along her jaw.
“Yes I do,” she says fervently.
Rock-hard behind my zipper, I tug the top of her dress and the cups of her bra down to frame her breasts and palm them, then flick and suck her nipple.
She reaches to free my erection. “This is where suspenders really are useful. We can do this without your pants getting dusty on the floor.”
I groan at the feel of her soft hand. “If you’re still thinking about logistics, I’m not doing my job.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
“Fine is unacceptable.” I back away, turn her, and press her torso down against the table. Then, I gather the hem of her dress up around her waist, exposing black lace covering the most glorious ass on the planet.
“Fine is a challenge.” I draw the fabric down her thighs, my mouth watering with anticipation. Crouching behind her, I spread her with my hands and find her clit with my tongue, flicking, then withdrawing. “Take it back.”
She clutches the edge of the table, her cane clattering to the stone floor. “Take what back?”
I suck, then lash her with my tongue. “Your ‘fine.’”
“What happens if I don’t?”
I groan and laugh. “I suppose I have to work harder.”
Somewhere above us, muffled through stone and timber, there’s a distant thump. Then voices. Then more thumps.
I ignore them.
Franki freezes. “Henry.”
“Someone probably dropped a tray,” I murmur.
Another thump sounds. Louder. Closer. Followed by a distinctly irritated voice. “Why is this locked?”
“Henry,” Franki hisses.
“He’ll go away,” I reassure her.
Another voice filters through the door. “I don’t understand. Where is the key?”
Franki pushes herself upright. I close my eyes and grit my teeth.
As the voices outside our haven continue, I rise, pull her clothing into place, and retrieve her cane for her.
Franki turns to face me, her cheeks and chest flushed red, and rearranges the top of her dress.
I tuck myself away, an uncomfortable and somewhat dangerous feat, then rest my forehead against Franki’s, breathing her in. “We were very close,” I say mournfully.
She snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep quiet.
Through her fingers, she whispers, “We can’t go out there when you still have that.” She indicates the erection clearly tenting the front of my pants.
Outside the door, voices multiply.
