But a parent doesn’t have to be perfect to give a child a good life. Quantifiably, my parents are not perfect people. They made mistakes, but they loved us and they worked hard to give us what we needed. They were enough.
It’s too much to talk about now. I lay Franki on the bed. She removes my glasses and sets them on the nightstand beside her.
Decisions can wait. I trail the backs of my knuckles over her cheekbone and down the side of her neck where her pulse beats strong and steady.
When I wrap my fingers gently, so gently, around her throat, she arches beneath me and thrusts her fingers into my hair, pulling my mouth to hers.
I explore her, as though she’s an unopened gift that I’m removing the paper from, careful not to tear the wrapping.
My cock pushes, hard and aching, against my zipper. I trail my hand down the length of one slender arm, curl it around the curve of her hip.
When she tugs my shirt from my waistband, I kick my shoes off and crawl over her, bracketing her beneath me, my forearms propped on either side of her head.
She twinkles up at me, her whiskey eyes sparkling. “Hello, Henry.”
I take her mouth in another luxurious, carnal kiss, then lift my head to smile down at her. “Hello, Franki.”
I love her. Love this. The history between us. The consistency. How will we change if we go from a couple to a family?
She tunnels beneath my shirt, her palms and fingers hot against my skin. With one hand, I unbutton her loose white linen blouse, revealing her perfect breasts cupped in white lace. The fabric slides easily to reveal her nipples, ripe little berries under my fingers and tongue.
She writhes as I work my way down her body. When I get to her waistband, prepared to slide the fabric down, she slows me with a hand in my hair. “There are people and a dog waiting for you in the hallway.”
I lower my head to her stomach, dropping a kiss just below her navel. “I don’t want to go.”
“We’re not fast enough for this.”
I laugh against her skin. “A challenge. I can work with that.”
“I didn’t mean—Oh.“ She loses track of her words when I drag everything below the waist off her in one smooth motion, throw her legs over my shoulders, and wrap my lips around her clit like it’s my only purpose in life.
She gasps and bucks. I know her body. I’ve studied it. She orgasms harder when I take my time. The buildup matters. But I also know how to get her there quickly. How to close the deal. I fill her with first one finger, then a second, and massage her G-spot with a rhythm that works for her. It’s not about experimentation or exploration this time.
I hold eye contact, one hand tweaking her nipple as I work her through it with my mouth and fingers. It doesn’t take long before her entire lower body quakes with her orgasm. I don’t stop until she tugs at my hair.
“That was . . . wow,” she says.
“Fast. I know. I’ll make it up to you later. I’ll send Oliver back in to keep you company. I love you.” I drop a kiss on her lips, then rise.
“Wait, what about you?” she asks.
I shake my head, regret swimming in every cell of my body. “No time, remember?”
“That’s not fair to you,” she says.
“The delay increases anticipation. The wine cellar may not have been the best choice, but I promise you, I have a plan for later.”
She pushes herself to a sitting position. “Today will be even busier than yesterday.”
“We’re going to celebrate our friends getting married, and we’re also going to find time for us, love.”
She swallows hard and nods. “For us.”
8
Man I Need
Franki
