Page 50 of One Last Verse

“What about—?”

His thumb pressed to my swollen lips to shut them up before I finished my question. “I gave everyone the day off.” He waggled his brows. “Today the house is all ours.”

I leaned back, and my eyes ran along the breadth of his shoulders. He wasn’t allowed to take the sling off during waking hours for another four weeks.

“We’re going to have to get very creative, baby.” I brushed his chin with my index finger. “That couch right behind you looks comfortable.”

Eyes hooded, he glanced over his shoulder. The corners of his lips curled up in a subtle smile.

“Why don’t you sit down and relax?” I whispered. Anticipatory shivers rolled down my spine. My panties dampened from the lust gathering between my legs.

Frank did as I asked. He lowered himself to the couch and slid a pillow behind his back. Wanton excitement lit up my body. I rushed over to the iPod station and skimmed through his music catalogue, glancing at him mischievously. My lover was about to get an iconic treat à la Kim Basinger. Or, at least, I was going to do my best. And definitely without the hat. Hats weren’t allowed in this house anyway. We were boycotting Dante.

Frank shifted and readjusted his cock that was clearly straining against his jeans as I flipped my hair and docked the iPod, a pleasant buzz fogging my head. The Christmas lights swirled across the artwork-studded walls and the sheer-shaded windows of the living room.

My pulse quickened. Desire set my flesh and blood on fire.

I watched Frank’s expression change from lax to heated as the jazzy, mid-tempo tune blared from the speakers. He bit his bottom lip and rested his hand on his erection. His eyes shone with a sinister glow.

I moved across the room slowly, swaying my hips to the tempting beat of the song. My dress was a knee-length wrap with a zipper on one side. There wasn’t much to work with, but I’d worn a pair of sexy pumps and a lace lingerie set and I wanted to show off. I wanted to strip and I wanted to ride Frank in the most inelegant way.

His breath hitched as my fingers began to play with the skirt, dragging the light fabric up my thighs. He parted his lips to suck in more air through his teeth. A grin of satisfaction spread to his stubbly cheeks. Men truly needed so little to be happy. It was almost too easy.

I stopped front and center to ensure Frank had the best view and whirled on my heels. My heart thrummed along with the music. Potent and tasteful, the melody became my pulse. I felt its erotic beat in my temples and dripping between my thighs. Dizzy with lyrics, my head continued to spin. My hair whipped across my face and I couldn’t see anything but the blurred lines of Frank’s silhouette splayed over the white upholstery of the couch.

He breathed hard. His lungs couldn’t catch up with his want. This craving that filled the empty space between us was a deadly case of passion. Hips rolling, I inched closer and pulled down the zipper of my dress to reveal some more skin. Frank’s hooded gaze followed my every move, his hand squeezed his erection. He was a goner.

Satisfied with the results, I wrestled the silk off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

He released a strained moan. “I’m going to come in my jeans if you keep this up.”

“Is that a challenge?” I laughed, taking a step forward. My hair fell down my back and over my breasts in messy cascades of black.

Frank tore his hand from his bulge and reached out for me. “Come closer, doll.”

I obliged. He ran his palm along the curve of my waist and to my bare hip. His thumb slid beneath my lacy panties.

“Patience.” I slapped his knuckles lightly and retreated.

He let out a groan, and his eyes grew darker.

The song reached its peak and the ragged rhythm galloped through my body, twisting and bending me like a willow tree. I was raw and undone between my legs and parts of me needed Frank to put out the damn fire he’d lit. Other parts of me were enjoying the torturous look on his face.

My hands moved around my back to unhook my bra. Cupping my breasts, I swayed to the music. The unsteady click of my heels meshed with the leisurely beat of the drums and the rough grit of the vocals.

Frank patted his thigh invitingly and I strutted toward the couch to take the space between his legs. Gliding my hands over my skin, I peeled off my bra and it dropped across my shoes.

Face flushed with delight, Frank snaked his arm around me and palmed my ass. His gaze danced a lustful path up my body.

I could tell he was torn between touching me and touching himself, and part of me felt bad that he only had one good hand, but I was dead set on making him forget about his injuries. I was a girlfriend on a mission. And the mission was to give my man an orgasm.

Dropping to my knees, I reached for his zipper and freed his cock. He was beautiful, hard, and ready for me to suck him. Fingers tangled in my hair, Frank tossed his head back. A ravaged growl lingered on his lips for a few seconds before he released it into the music.

I took him into my mouth slowly, wetting him and relaxing my throat. His hips bucked. His body stiffened. The tip of him slid in deep, salty precum blending with my saliva.

“Fuck, baby.” I heard him mutter under his breath as his hand pushed against the back of my head slowly and carefully. My belly squeezed at the guttural sound of his voice. He was the epitome of masculinity—tight, sensual, and writhing under my touch. Every part of me ached for him after seven nights of absolute loneliness in my bed, but I wanted to grant him his pleasure first.

Inhaling deeply through my nose, I slid my mouth around his length, all the way down until there was no room left.

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