Page 7 of Tempting Frankie
He turns, giving me a once over. “Sure am. The booze is good, and the eye candy is even better, if you know what I mean.” He winks, gesturing toward the area where Francesca vanished.
In one fluid motion, I grab his wrist and twist, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp.
“Listen closely, you worthless piece of shit,” I growl, my voice low and menacing. “If I ever see you lay a finger on one of the waitstaff again, I'll break every bone in your hand. Then I'll use my considerable influence to destroy your sad little life. Are we clear?”
His face goes pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Y-yes, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean?—”
I increase the pressure, feeling the delicate bones of his wrist grind together. “I don't give a fuck what you meant. Keep your hands to yourself or I'll cut them off. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
I release him, and he scrambles away, cradling his wrist. Goddamn pathetic.
I watch that sniveling fuck scurry away like the cockroach he is, nursing his wrist. Let that be a lesson to keep his grimy paws off women.
My eyes snap back to the doors as Francesca emerges, looking flushed and a bit flustered. That blush on her cheeks makes my cock twitch, imagining how she'd look sprawled across my bed, panting and begging for more.
She's got a fresh tray of drinks, moving with a grace that makes my mouth water. I want to kneel at her feet and bury my face everywhere I can reach.
But I restrain myself, content to watch her work the room for now. My eyes never leave her as I mingle, making small talk with the usual crowd of socialites and trust fund brats. I nod and smile at all the right moments, but I couldn't give less of a fuck about their inane chatter.
All I can think about is Francesca's soft skin under my hands, the way she'd moan as I spread her legs and slide my thick cock inside her tight little pussy. I'd fuck her so hard she'd feel me for days, claiming her as mine inside and out as I put the baby she begs me for deep inside her.
The night drags on, a blur of fake laughs and bullshit small talk. She's professional as always, but I catch her stealing glances at me when she thinks I'm not looking.
The gala begins to wind down, the crowd thinning as drunken patrons stumble toward their waiting cars. Francesca starts gathering empty glasses, her movements slower now.
I slip out of the ballroom, making my way outside, and finding a spot near the employee exit where I can wait unnoticed.
Finally, after what feels like hours, the door swings open.
My mouth goes dry as she stretches, and I can picture her stretching just like that but on her back and in my bed. She starts unbuttoning her top, revealing inch after glorious inch of soft skin.
“Fuck me,” I mutter as she peels off the shirt entirely.
Underneath is a small crop top that barely contains her breasts. But it's the cheeky text that makes my cock jump.
I'm fat because every time I fuck your dad he makes me a sandwich.
I can't help the predatory grin that spreads across my face. Such a dirty girl.
I have to stifle a groan as she stretches again, arching her back in a way that makes her breasts strain against the fabric dangerously. I imagine cupping them in my hands, feeling their weight before I suck her nipples into my mouth, one right after the other.
I'm going to fuck her so hard she won't be able to walk straight for days. I'll make her scream and beg and cum over and over on my cock until she's a trembling mess.
And then I really will make her a fucking sandwich, because she's going to need the energy for round two.
She starts walking toward the parking lot, and I can't take my eyes off the sway of her hips, the jiggle of that ass with each step. My mouth waters thinking about spreading those cheeks and eating her ass until she's begging for me to slide right in.
I step behind her, my voice low and rough. “Nice shirt. I'm curious what your favorite sandwich is.”
Francesca whirls around, those brown eyes going wide. “Jesus Christ, Mr. Steele! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Let me guess. You like it hot, messy, and stuffed full of meat?”
She snorts, pushing against my chest. “You're ridiculous.”
“And you're wearing a shirt advertising how much you love fucking dads. Quite the pair we make.”
Her eyes narrow, that razor-sharp wit coming out to play. “At least I'm not some creepy old man stalking young girls in parking lots Mr. Steele. Hello 60 Minutes, I’d like to report a new special for you.”
