Page 69 of Kiss My Glass
She glances at my shorts. “But you might want to hold your pickleball paddle over that. Spare our fellow diners’ blushes.”
It’s hard to walk casually when you’re holding a paddle over your groin. I remind myself that the day’s humiliations are almost at an end, and long hours of pleasure await as the afternoon stretches on to evening.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Nate.
Ava and Cam staying for dinner.
Fuck. I forgot. It’s my night to cook.
“Uh, Frankie,” I say, as she’s about to unlock the car. “Can we go via the grocery store?”
She gives me a look. “Okay, but if Lil Danny gets over-excited in the dairy aisle, I’ll make you both hitch a ride home.”
ChapterThirty-Seven
FRANKIE
Iguess it’s hard to be subtle about your horniness when you’ve got a body part that goes off like a smoke alarm whenever there’s even a hint of heat in the air. Women get perky nipples and maybe a little flushed in the face, but apart from that everything happens on the inside. You can be walking around a grocery store finding the ingredients forpasta all’arrabbiataand nobody there will be able to tell from looking at you that you’re in a fever of lust. It’s so bad, I’m thinking about slipping Danny’s hand under my skirt for a quick finger bang by the frozen desserts. But that wouldn’t be fair on him. He’s suffered enough today – pickleball plus an abrupt curtailing of our afternoon fun-time because he forgot he was tonight’s chef. You can’t take a rain check on dinner when you’re the one cooking it. On top of that, Ava and Cam are joining us. Poor Danny. He’s holding that bottle of tomato passata like it weighs ten tons.
“Will you eat this?” he says.
“When sparingly applied to the pasta,” I reply. “And not accompanied by mushrooms, anchovies, capers, or olives.”
“Chili all right?”
He’s so sweet. I kiss him on the cheek. “Chili is fine if it’s in flake or powder form,” I say. “But I will spend hours picking actual chili peppers out of any dish.”
“Got it.” He screws up his mouth. “Sorry. Nate reminded me when I dropped him home last night, but by then my brain was fried.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him. “Focus, so we can get out of here.”
By the time we pull up outside Danny’s, it’s five minutes to three. Dinner’s expected at seven-thirty. Okay, so we could swoop in at the last minute, puffed and still sweaty, and ensure everyoneknows exactly what we’ve been up to. Or we could allow, say, thirty minutes for showers and getting dressed, five minutes to drive, and an hour for cooking plus polite pre-dinner conversation. Which would leave us ninety minutes, give or take. I’m a planner, what can I say?
Good thing about both of you being in a fever of lust is that you don’t need to waste time on chat. Soon as the front door is closed, Danny and I are in a clinch, hands shoving away clothing, kissing like we’ve been starved of each other for years. My whole body is humming, desperate for him to be inside me, to touch me in every good place. I can feel his erection straining inside his shorts, pressing against me, so close, yet so far. My knees are starting to jellify. I need us to get horizontal fast.
But Danny starts moving backwards and because I’m basically surgically attached, I go with him. He half topples, half sinks onto one of the wooden chairs, and pulls me down so that I’m straddling his lap.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “Knees were giving out.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “Get inside me.”
“Can’t,” he says. “Condoms upstairs.”
“I am not moving,” I tell him. “So let’s do this…”
Gently, I ease his erection from his shorts so that it’s standing proud. Quick as I can, I slip off my own panties and straddle his lap again. I press my center against his hardness, and start to move, up and down and around. Danny groans.
“Frankie, I?—”
“Shh,” I hiss, urgently. “I’m so close…”
And I’m there. My orgasm is quick and explosive. No surprise, it’s been building since the frozen dessert section. I move against Danny, slower and slower, until it recedes, and rest my forehead against his chest. I become aware that his heart is thumping and whole body is trembling. Took a lot of self-control on his part not to come along with me. For which I’m grateful. Be embarrassing to have to explain how my pickleball dress looked like I had an incident with a jar of mayo.
I lift my head. Danny’s head is tilted backwards, his eyes are shut and his whole face is screwed up in concentration. Probably still reciting his times tables.
“You okay?” I say.
He screws his face up even tighter. That’d be a no, then. I could help him out the way I did before, but I’m too happy sitting here, and even with cushioning, this wooden flooring is very hard on the knees. I could use my hand but I’d need a … how shall we say? … receptacle. Otherwise, this’ll be like Old Faithful in Yellowstone.
