Page 17 of Tempting Frankie
I chuckle, carrying her into the massive bathroom. “Not a chance, pretty girl. Daddy's got plans for you.”
Setting her down on the cool marble counter, I turn to the oversized tub and turn on the faucet. Steam rises as I adjust the temperature, making sure it's just right.
“Get in,” I order, gesturing to the tub. “Relax those muscles. I wore your pretty ass out last night.”
Francesca flushes, but doesn't argue. Good fucking girl.
“I've got some calls to make. Don't fall asleep and drown. I’d very much like you alive. Fucking corpses doesn’t do it for me. I leave that shit to Robert Blackwood’s bat shit crazy sons.”
Twenty minutes later, I enter the bathroom again. Francesca's just stepping out, water droplets cascading down her curves. My dick hardens instantly at the sight of her clean and bare, still pink and swollen from last night.
“Well, well,” I drawl, drinking in the sight of her. “Looks like my timing is impeccable.”
“Enjoying the view?” she snarks, reaching for a towel. There goes that vicious little tongue of her, finally awake and ready to lash me.
I snatch it away, crowding her against the counter. “Very much,” I growl, palming one of her cheeks and dipping my fingers into her crack. She shudders but stays suspiciously quiet.
My hands roam over Francesca's silky skin as I work the towel down her legs. I take my sweet fucking time, savoring every inch of her. When I reach her feet, I lift each one, carefully drying between her toes. My dick throbs, imagining those pretty feet wrapped around it.
“Turn around,” I command, rising. “Lean over the sink. Gotta make sure I get every. Last. Inch.”
Francesca hesitates. “This is weird, Alexander. I can dry myself.”
I reach up and grab her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Did I fucking stutter? Bend. Over. If you’re going to be mine, you’re going to learn how to obey first.”
Her eyes widen, pupils dilating with arousal. She may protest, but her body can't lie. Slowly, she turns and bends over the marble countertop, her lower body on full display.
I grab a fresh towel, soft and plush. Spreading her ass cheeks wide, I drink in the sight of her puckered hole and glistening pussy. “Fuck me, that's a pretty sight,” I growl. “Both your holes look good enough to eat.”
I drag the towel slowly between her legs, making sure to apply extra pressure. The fluffy fabric rubs roughly against her clit, and she gasps, squirming. I smirk, knowing exactly what I'm doing to her.
“Hold still,” I order, voice low and dangerous. I continue my merciless assault, grinding the towel against her most sensitive spots. Her legs start trembling and I can see her pussy getting wetter by the second.
“Alexander,” she whimpers, voice breathy.
“What's wrong, sweetheart? Just drying you off,” I say innocently, though there's nothing innocent about the way I'm working that towel against her slit.
Her hips start rocking, desperately seeking more friction. I pull the towel away abruptly and she whines at the loss of contact.
“All done,” I announce, giving her cheek a sharp smack. “Now breakfast is here, so let’s go.”
I watch Francesca scurry to grab a robe, her breasts bouncing deliciously with each step. Fuck, I'd rather eat her for breakfast.
“Really?” I scoff as she wraps the fluffy white fabric around her curves. “Trying to hide your body from me now?”
She rolls her eyes. “Unlike some people, I prefer not to dine in the nude.”
I shrug, strutting past her bare-assed. “Your loss. Nothing beats the freedom of letting it all hang out.”
We enter the suite's lavish sitting area, and I've got to admit, the kitchen staff outdid themselves. The mahogany table is covered end-to-end with silver platters. The aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon fills the air.
“Holy shit,” Francesca breathes, eyes wide. “Did you order the entire menu?”
“Damn straight,” I reply, lifting silver covers at random. Eggs Benedict, check. Towering stack of French toast, check. And there, on the far end, a platter piled high with every sandwich known to man. “When I say jump, they ask how high.”
I grab a plate and start loading it up. Francesca hesitates, eyeing the spread warily.
She flushes, grabbing her own plate. “You're impossible.”
