“You really didn’t have to drive me home,” she says quietly before turning her gaze to me.
She’s right, I didn’t, but I wanted to make sure she made it home safely. And more than that, I wanted more time with her. “I wanted to,” I tell her. A bonus to driving Frankie home tonight is getting the privilege of taking her back in the morning.
“Thank you for tonight, Gunnar. I really had a great time.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and turns her body sideways to face me. “It was the best first real date I’ve ever had.” Her smile is blinding and I return it with my own. A few weeks ago, I would’ve never thought she’d give me a smile like that, but now that she has, I want more. More smiles, more expressions. I want to know her moods and what she’s thinking simply by the look she gives me.
“The date isn’t technically over, you know. I believe there’s a kiss that needs to happen.”
“Oh, so I’m obligated to kiss you just because you bought me dinner?”
“Certainly not,” I answer. “But I am hoping you’ll allow me to show you how much I enjoyed our date by letting me kiss you.”
She bites down on her lip to keep from smiling as she pretends to think about my offer. Finally, she gives me a sly grin and says, “I guess that’d be alright.”
I don’t give her a chance to change her mind—not that I think she would. I reach for her, one arm sliding around her waist while the other hand cups her jaw and pulls her mouth to mine. There’s no testing boundaries like at the farmer’s market; there’s only intense, passionate kissing and I can’t get enough.
It’s as if a switch has been flipped within Frankie.
If she’s this wild while making out in a truck, I can’t wait to find out how she is in bed.
She pushes my shoulders back and moves to straddle my lap. I grab for the lever at the side of my seat, pulling it to move the seat as far back as it can go to give us more room. Once that’s done, Frankie settles on top of me and holy fuck . . . I can feel the warmth between her legs wrap around my throbbing cock and we still have our freaking clothes on. By the way her eyes are glazing over, it’s obvious she feels it too. When my dick involuntarily twitches, she gasps.
This feels like the night I lost my virginity—all the newness and excitement, the fear of blowing a load in my jeans before anything important happens. But it also feels like so much more than that. I’m as turned on as I’ve ever been in my life but all I care about is how Frankie feels, what she’s thinking.
“Can I take your hair down?” she asks, catching me off guard.
I huff out a laugh. “Honey, you can do anything you want to me.”
She carefully pulls the rubber band out of my hair before slipping her fingers through the strands. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” she admits.
The initial urgency of our make-out session has faded, leaving behind a charged energy that’s more controlled but every bit as intense as before. I have to kiss her. So, I do.
Frankie immediately accepts my tongue in her mouth and groans her pleasure when our tongues touch. Eventually, my need to taste her skin overtakes me and I take my time nipping, licking, and sucking my way across her jaw and down the column of her throat. When I reach her collar bone, my hands tighten around her ass and rock her against my length.
“God, Frankie, I want you so bad,” I murmur against her earlobe, just before I suck it into my mouth. She sighs contentedly so I continue sucking on her lobe as my hand travels to where her shirt is raised just a bit. It’s just enough to entice me with her soft, pale skin.
Remember that switch I mentioned earlier? Well, it just flipped again—but this time, in the opposite direction. Frankie’s body freezes and she’s no longer soft and pliable in my arms. She’s rigid and tense and I fear I’ve done something really wrong. I just don’t know what.
“I have to go,” she spits out.
“O—okay,” I stammer, trying to keep up with her shift in moods. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”
I watch, helpless and confused, as she climbs back to her seat, straightening her clothes and taming her hair.
My mind is racing with explanations, but I can’t wrap my brain around any of them. Did I cross a line? Do something she’s not comfortable with?
When she wipes her mouth, I feel my stomach drop. It’s bad enough she won’t talk or even look at me, but to see her wipe away all evidence of us—me—it feels like I’ve been kicked in the gut.
No, worse. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the heart.
“Frankie?” I ask tentatively. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head as she opens the car door. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I have to go.”
Chapter 15
Gunnar
Punching the bag, I let the sweat drip down my face and relish in the burn of my muscles. I need this. I need an outlet for the frustration that’s been building, especially after last night.
Frankie and I had the best date ever. Dinner was awesome. We talked. She started to open up. That amazing chemistry between us was at an all-time high, and when I finally felt like we were finally on the same page . . . wham. Door shut. Walls up.
She just shut me out.
“Whoa,” Cage says, walking down the stairs into the studio. “Save that kind of energy for the ring, little bro.”
Pausing my assault on the bag, the same one that brought Frankie into my life, I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm and take some deep, cleansing breaths.
“What’s up?” he asks, his brows furrowing as he takes me in.
Shaking my head, I catch my breath and let the sweat continue to drip.
“Something is,” he continues. “Spill it.”
Sometimes, I hate how well he knows me. It doesn’t leave much room for privacy. Having four brothers of varying ages and me being the baby has meant I’ve lived my life in the open, never getting to keep much of my thoughts to myself. I’ve been pretty tight-lipped about Frankie, not giving away much information except for what little everyone else in town seems to know about her. The rest of it has felt private, like something she’s entrusted me with. I refuse to betray what little trust she’s given me.
“It’s about the girl, huh?” Cage presses. “Frankie?”
Fuck.
I hate it, and yet, somehow, I love it too. Because I’m out of my league here and I need some advice. Cage has always been my sounding board, the person I can go to, regardless of the situation. Except for relationships; I’ve never needed him in this arena. For one, Cage was never the relationship type until Tempest. And I’ve never been much of one myself, until Frankie.
Two peas in a fucking pod.
“She just keeps shutting me out,” I finally breathe out, hands on my knees. “Every time I think we’re making progress, she brings these fucking walls up that are so thick, I can’t see through them or over them . . . nothing. And last night, things were, well—”
“Heating up,” he supplies, quirking an eyebrow, insinuating far more than what actually happened.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head, because I have no desire to tell him details about that. I definitely don’t need advice in that area. Not to be cocky or anything, but I know exactly what to do with my dick when given the chance. It’s the rest of it that has my mind muddled. “But she threw the fucking brakes on so fast I got whiplash. One minute, everything is fine. The next, she’s walking away and I’m left scratching my head, wondering what the hell happened.”