Page 18 of Tempting Frankie
We settle on the plush chairs, plates loaded in front of us. I pulled the other chairs away from the table and only left one right next to me. I spread my legs wide, cock resting heavilyagainst my thigh. Francesca tries not to stare, but I catch her sneaking glances.
“See something you like?” I tease, reaching down to give my shaft a lazy stroke.
She swallows hard. “You're conceited.”
“You love it,” I counter, taking a huge bite of eggs Benedict. Some of the hollandaise sauce drips down my chin, and I wipe it away with my thumb before sucking it clean. Francesca's eyes darken, following the movement.
I lean closer, voice dropping low. “You know what would make this breakfast even better? If you were on your knees between my legs, that pretty mouth wrapped around me while I eat.”
She nearly chokes on her coffee. “We're eating.”
“So? Protein's an important part of a balanced diet,” I drawl, waggling my eyebrows suggestively.
Francesca huffs, but I can see the way her nipples have hardened beneath the robe. Her body can't lie to me, especially now.
I set my empty plate aside, patting my lap. “Come here, baby girl. Let Daddy feed you a sandwich.”
“Oh my god,” she mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Is that why there are all those sandwiches?”
I chuckle darkly. “Just following the shirt as requested. Gotta keep you well-fed. Next time we'll be at my place, and I'll make you a goddamn sandwich myself. Right after I eat you.”
“Bold of you to assume there'll be a next time,” she says, arching an eyebrow at me while licking the corner of her mouth. “Maybe I'm a one-sandwich kind of girl.”
“There will be, there will be many next times. Finish your breakfast, sweetheart,” I order. “Then get dressed. We've got places to be.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me. That sassy mouth I can’t wait to fuck curling into a smirk. “Oh really? And just what am I supposed to wear? That red dress from last night is a cum-stained disaster, thanks to you.”
Before I can retort, there's a sharp knock at the door.
“Perfect timing,” I growl, striding over buck naked.
I throw open the door, not giving a single fuck about my state of undress. The bellhop's eyes go wide, darting anywhere but my swinging cock.
“The, uh, items you requested, Mr. Steele,” he stammers, thrusting a handful of bags at me.
I snatch them up, tossing a handful of bills his way.
Kicking the door shut, I turn back to Francesca with a wolfish grin. “Problem solved.”
I toss the bags onto the couch, contents spilling out. Designer labels peek out—La Perla lingerie, a slinky Versace dress, sky-high Louboutins.
“Jesus, Alexander,” Francesca breathes, fingering the delicate lace of a bra. “This stuff costs more than my rent, by like a lot.”
“I like options. Take your pick so we can go.”
Chapter 8
Francesca
He grabs one of the bags, pulling out items clearly for himself and I’m just left here looking at a year’s worth of rent. We are from two different worlds and I’m wondering if I just blacked out about it when I was dating his son.
That’s the only logical explanation.
Fingering all the soft, expensive items in front of me, I quickly dress because this may be the only time I get to wear something like this.
Wasting no time, he has us out of the hotel room and down to the lobby as if we’re on some rigid schedule.
I slide into the plush leather seat of the town car. Alexander settles in beside me, his muscular thigh pressing against mine. The scent of his cologne—spicy and expensive fills the enclosed space.
