‘Frankie flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes as the night’s visions poured over her with breath-stealing clarity. She’d dreamt Mark just as she remembered him—hard-bodied, light-fingered, silver-tongued. A generous lover who would spend hours blowing her mind and detonating her body before gently picking up the pieces and putting her back together again, only somehow better, more complete. He’d given of himself so utterly each time they’d made love, it felt as though he’d left a little bit behind, lodged in the secret places only he knew about.
And he’d taken little bits of her in return, from those very same secret places he’d hunted out and claimed right from the start of their relationship. She’d never met a man so intense and focused on getting to know every bit of her.
“Tell me what you like,” he’d murmured the very first time he’d had her naked and laid out beside him on his big bed.
It had all been too new, too overwhelming, for a blushing, self-conscious Frankie to mumble more than a bashful, “you know” while, propped on one elbow, he’d regarded her with unnerving frankness.
But Mark hadn’t been content with her reply. Leaning down, he’d claimed her mouth in a long, leisurely kiss that had left her breathless. “Do you like to be kissed?” he’d asked when he’d straightened.
She’d nodded, disappointed that he hadn’t jumped to do it again right away, but consoling herself with the view of his wide shoulders and the muscled definition of his hair-dusted chest. It had taken her a moment to realise he was waiting for something more.
“Um, yes,” she’d admitted out loud.
“Yes, what?” He’d persisted, running a slow finger down the length of her arm and giving the impression he could play the waiting game all night.
“Yes,” Frankie had all but snapped, shivering as the gooseflesh rose, not nearly so patient herself. “I like to be kissed.”
“Where, Francesca?” He’d smiled at her tone but refused to be rushed. “Tell me where you like to be kissed.”
“On my lips,” she’d replied, a little sarcastically.
“Like this?” He’d bent over her again and swept his tongue over the seam of her lips until they parted on a sigh. Capturing her bottom lip between his teeth he’d sucked gently before releasing it and turning his attentions to the top, tracing her cupid’s bow and curling his tongue up and under to tickle at her sensitive gums. Then he’d taken her jaw in his long, steady fingers and held her while he covered her open mouth with his own, plundering deep, duelling with and sucking on her tongue.
By the time he’d finished with her and looked down expecting an answer, her lips had been swollen and tingling and the snarky attitude had been blown right out of her.
“Ye—” She’d had to stop and clear her throat. “Yes, like that.”
Frankie had floundered, surprised by her own reticence. She’d always considered herself to be an articulate, forthright, woman of the world, but instead found herself crippled with shyness at the thought of expressing her intimate needs and desires so explicitly with a lover. Not a single one she’d ever known had asked such a thing of her before.
Seeing her struggle, the gorgeous, surprising man beside her had taken a measure of pity, kissing her again until her toes curled before saying, “You can just show me if you’re not comfortable saying the words.”
Nodding, she’d closed her eyes, taken a deep breath and pointed in the general direction of her breasts, trusting that he’d get her drift. “Here.”
After a long moment of nothing but heavy silence, he’d said, “Francesca, I need you to look at me.”
She’d done as he asked and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.
“That’s better,” he’d said. “There’s no shame in this, you know. It’s just another part of getting to know each other.” Then, as though he couldn’t resist, he’d leant down to brush another kiss against her lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d told her, voice dropping to little more than a whisper, fingertips brushing the hair at her temple. “I want to make this first time right, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what pleases you. Okay?”
Trapped, speechless, by the sincerity in his hazel-flecked gaze, she’d nodded, convinced she must be dreaming. Men like that didn’t exist outside the realms of romance novels and wishful thinking.
Then he’d traced his fingers over the curve of her breast and proved he was very real, indeed.
“So, your breasts? You like them to be touched?” He’d waited for her nod. “Soft, like this?” His fingers had circled around and around in the lightest of caresses that had her pushing up for more. “Or harder”—he’d caught the erect tip of her nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed as he rolled—“like this?” His eyes never left her face as he’d read every nuance of her reaction to judge what she liked best.
“And we mustn’t forget those kisses.” He’d lowered his head and followed up each subsequent query with a practical demonstration.
“Do you like the brush of my lips, here?”
Oh, she had.
“The flick of my tongue?”
Yeah, that too, most definitely.
“The bite of my teeth?”
Her throaty cry had left no room for doubt.
After repeating the procedure on her other breast, he’d slid back up to her mouth and kissed her again. “Where next?” He’d asked when they broke for air, his voice breathy, gaze darkened with desire, his erection lying thick and hard in the narrow space between their bodies.
Growing bolder as her blood heated, Frankie had raised her index and middle fingers and pressed them to his lips before trailing them down her own body, watching him track their slow progress down the centre of her abdomen, over the dip of her navel, to the curve of her pubic mound, where she let them rest. “Here.”
His eyes had flicked back up to hers and the look in them had been scorching enough to melt her bones. Out of sight, she’d felt the heat of his palm covering her hand as he’d splayed his much larger fingers between her own and pressed into her curls. She’d gasped as the tip of his middle finger found the spot where the split in her labia began, and slipped through the protection of the plump lips.
“Open your legs for me, then,” he’d coaxed, in a voice drawn tight and low with his arousal. “Let me touch you.”
When she’d parted her thighs, he’d slid his hand down between them and slipped his fingers into her hidden folds.
“So wet already, Francesca,” he’d groaned, stroking lightly back and forth. “Is that all for me?”
She’d nodded, squirming beneath the burning intensity of his gaze and the teasing caress of his fingers. Not satisfied with playing the passive part, she’d reached her hand down and wrapped it around the swollen heat of his erection.
The breath had exploded from his lungs.
“So hard,” Frankie had said with a half shy, half cheeky smile, gliding her fist over the velvety flesh towards the flared head of his cock. “Is that all for me?”
His hips had bucked, driving him deeper into her grip and he’d swooped low to nip at her bottom lip. “Every inch,” he’d acknowledged in a sexy growl. “But for the love of God, if you don’t let go of me now, this is going to be over way too soon. You’ve already got me right at the edge of my control, and I badly want to be inside you when I come.”
She’d wanted that too, every bit as badly, so she’d released her hold and watched him slither down her body to position himself between her legs.’