#this is getting too long anyways send post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ak-vintage · 2 days ago

Text

This is Personal

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Prompts: Frankie Morales | Established Relationship | As Quiet as Possible | Orgasm Denial | Talk Them Through It

Summary: While on vacation with his friends, you can’t resist the temptation to test Frankie’s limits. Written for the PPCU Smut Writing Challenge hosted by @mushgloomz. (I know I am a week late to this party, but I hope you enjoy anyway!)

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Post-canon. Established relationship. Dual POV. Second-person POV. No use of Y/N. Guest appearances by Will, Benny, Santiago, and Yovanna. Definitely a PWP – the framework of the plot exists only to enable the smut (teasing, mild exhibitionism, semi-public acts, getting caught, orgasm denial, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, P in V sex, filthy dirty talk, pussy pronouns, trying to stay quiet, switch-y vibes from both Frankie and Reader).

Word Count: 11.6K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Read on AO3 | Main Masterlist

“Thought you’d be in the shower by now.”

You glance up from your nook in the hot tub where you have been lounging, half-asleep behind your sunglasses in the late afternoon warmth. A broad-shouldered shape has blocked out your sunlight, sending flares of gold around tanned, freckled skin, leaving you in shadow. The form crosses its arms, shifts its weight to one leg, leaving the opposite knee to bend, the stance full of attitude, refusing to be ignored. Bringing one hand up to shield against the glare, you meet its eyes, finding the dark, squinting gaze of your boyfriend staring down at you.

Offering him a lazy smile, you drop your head back on your neck, letting the bowl of your skull rest against the edge of the bubbling, foaming jacuzzi. “In a bit,” you reply easily. “Too relaxed right now to move.”

And you are. It’s been a long time coming, this trip to Key West with Frankie and his close-knit group of friends. It isn’t the first time you’ve met them; on the contrary, even in the relatively short amount of time that you and Frankie have been together, you have already spent a significant amount of time in their presence. Nights at their favorite local dive bar, barbecues at Santiago and Yovanna’s house, beers shared ringside at Benny’s fights – it hadn’t taken Frankie long to start inviting you, folding you into his life as easily as if you had always been there. You could see how someone else in your position might have found it intimidating, but in truth, it brought you nothing but comfort. It told you Frankie was serious about you, about your relationship, and fuck, you were serious about him, too.

Frankie is the best thing that’s come into your life in a long time, so when he first broached the topic of taking you away for a week to an oceanfront, beach house rental – fully equipped with a stretch of private beach, a pool, a hot tub, and more bedrooms than you would need even as a group of six – you hadn’t been able to say yes fast enough. Today had been your first full day here, having arrived here yesterday afternoon after a lengthy drive from Tampa, and you can already feel all of the tension melting from your bones and muscles after a day in the sun and sand.

“It’s a good look on you,” Frankie says, his voice low and rasping, worn after spending most of the afternoon shouting back and forth with the other guys over a game of beach volleyball. His eyes sweep the exposed length of your neck, across your collarbones, down to the soft pillow of your breasts bobbing gently just below the frothing surface of the water, and you feel his stare like a physical thing against your skin.

Unlike you, he holds himself rigidly. Even from your sunken vantage point in the hot tub, you can see the tightly-strung pull of his traps, keeping his wide shoulders near his ears. Your eyes follow the clench of his jaw, the feathering of the tendons there, the way his prominent brow knits and furrows beneath the brim of his Standard Oil Company baseball cap. It’s as you expected. He has been strung out since you left his apartment early yesterday morning, the stress rolling off him in waves like those crashing against the shore. At first, you had thought that perhaps the travel was wearing on him. Now that you have been at your destination for a full day now, able to enjoy all of the distractions and amenities the Keys have to offer, you aren’t so sure.

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should follow my example and come join me,” you prod teasingly. “You need to unwind.”

Frankie’s lips quirk upward, the corner of his mouth tucking into his cheek in an expression that reads as something between playful and accusatory. “Do I?”

Scoffing, you straighten up a bit in your seat, choosing instead to drape your arms along the edge of the sunken tub as you peer up at him. “Are you kidding? You’ve been wound tighter than a two-dollar watch since we got here.”

“Can you blame me, hermosa?” He uncrosses his arms and brings one of his thick, broad-palmed hands up to scratch at the patchy stubble of his beard. The sparse strands of silver there glint in the golden glow of the sun, catching your eye, making you smile. You catch the moment he notices your dreamy, enamored expression – he shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his lips as though to silence a chuckle. “You’re driving me crazy,” he confesses, so quiet you can barely hear him over the tub jets.

“Me?” you gasp. “What did I do?”

At that, he finally relents and approaches the edge of the hot tub, directly across from where you’ve been lounging.

“Don’t act all innocent with me,” he grumbles. Lowering himself slowly into the steaming water, step by step, one hand on the railing, he fixes you with a glare so fiery it has a wave of heat rushing up the back of your neck. He gestures vaguely in the direction of your torso and adds, “You’re the one who’s been wandering around in that piss-poor excuse for a swimsuit since we showed up.”

That startles an incredulous laugh from you, and you don’t miss the way his dark brown eyes drop almost instantly to the swell of your breasts that bounce with the sound. “It’s a bikini, Frankie! It’s supposed to be a little skimpy.”

With a sigh, he settles himself onto the bench that runs along the outer perimeter of the tub, and you feel the firm, hairy warmth of his shin brush against the tips of your toes. At first, you attempt to draw your legs in, not wanting to encroach on his space if he really is serious about relaxing here with you, but you don’t make it very far before one of his hands darts below the surface of the water, snags itself around your ankle, and hauls you bodily out of your seat and across the narrow diameter of the tub.

You squeal and let out a shrill giggle, the sound deadened only mildly by the roar of the jacuzzi jets. “Francisco!” you yelp as your hands fly out to steady you, to keep you from capsizing like a dingy in the surf and toppling under.

But your boyfriend is immune to your protests, turning a blind eye to your struggle to stay afloat as he grips your thighs, your hips, your waist, pulling you limb by limb onto the bench next to him, tangling his legs with yours beneath the water.

“And yesterday,” he continues, uninterrupted, as though the kicking and splashing and giggling of the last few minutes had been less than a blip on his radar, “on the drive down, sunning your bare legs on the dashboard of my truck like you didn’t know what that would do to me? Could barely keep my eyes on the road.”

“That’s what that was?” Laughter in your voice, sugar on your tongue, you keep up your squirming, fighting to get out of his clutches even as you tease and taunt. “I just thought you were tired!”

Quick as lightning, those special forces reflexes make themselves known once more as Frankie ensnares one of your flailing hands, dunks it beneath the roiling surface of the water, and molds the meat of your palm to the seam of his swim trunks. You gasp at what you feel there in spite of yourself, the sound ripped from your throat as if you hadn’t expected exactly this reaction from him, as if you hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t spent all day thinking about it as you lazed beneath the summer sun. He was straining there, the heat of him detectable even in the swelter of the hot tub, thick and throbbing and growing more insistent by the minute.

“This feel like ‘tired’ to you?” he groans. His voice is hoarse, his jaw tight as his words grit out from between his teeth. Under the water, unseen but still so very present, his cock pushes against you, seeking your touch even through the layers of fabric that separate your skin from his.

God, but you love him like this – a little raw, a little desperate, strung out and needing you in a way that speaks directly to that deep, low, hollow place inside you that never quite stops craving him. It’s delicious, and it sends a bloom of heat to the apex of your thighs just thinking about it.

“No, Frankie,” you reply, all sweetness and false contrition with your wide eyes, your teeth sunk into the pillow of your lower lip.

He nods, and the brim of his ballcap casts a shadow across his dark eyes with the motion. “No, it fucking does not. This is all your fault, and you know it. You been teasing me.”

Under your hand, you feel his hips shift, arching up off the bench to grind into your touch. His eyelids flutter as the thick, spongy head passes over the heel of your palm, distinguishable even through his trunks, and you feel answering goosebumps erupt across your skin in spite of the heat.

“I’m sorry.” The response comes automatically, thoughtlessly, and the quickness of it has Frankie huffing a laugh under his breath.

“I don’t think you are,” he counters. “I think you been doing it on purpose.”

Pulling your gaze from his, you glance down, the faintest hint of self-consciousness starting swell in your chest at the intensity of his stare, his words, his touch. “…maybe just a little,” you admit bashfully.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Frankie’s grim, set mouth softens and morphs instead into a knowing smirk. His free hand, dripping with pool water, tucks itself under your chin, gripping the tip of it gently between his thumb and forefinger. The pad of his thumb leaves a damp trail across your skin as he strokes you there, and you are overwhelmed by the scents of the beach – salt, sand, sunscreen, man.

“Just a little, huh?” he rasps. “You like knowing how fucked up I get for you, hermosa? How I can’t stop thinking about you, watching you?”

His words are taunting, almost angry, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes bely his amusement as he watches you squirm in his grip. You know he can feel you beneath the water, shifting in your seat, squeezing your bare thighs together, brushing your knees against his in evidence of what his words do to you. Beneath your palm, still held fast by his other hand, his cock pulses and twitches in sympathy. You tighten your grip on him all on your own, no encouragement from his hand needed.

“Mm hm.” Your response, nothing more than a hum, comes out soft and closer to a whine than a word.

Frankie’s dark eyes are sharklike in the shade of his cap, black and hot and predatory as he smells blood in the water, senses the tides turning in his favor as your heartrate picks up behind your ribs. “You like knowing I been half hard since you rolled up to the truck yesterday wearing my hoodie and those little shorts?”

Nodding, you can only reply, “Yeah.”

“What about when we got here, and you couldn’t get out fast enough?”

That question takes you aback, and you instinctively try to pull your hand out from under his grip as your eyebrows reach your hairline. “What do you mean?”

“You let every single one of my friends put their hands all over you,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard your question, felt your protest. He grips your hand harder under the surface of the water and spreads his thighs wider so he can move your hand further down to cup his balls. The feel of them under your fingers, delicate and so warm, has heat rising in your cheeks. “Don’t you remember? All of them hugging you, kissing your cheeks? How do you think that felt, watching Benny swinging you around like that? Or Pope putting his mouth on you?”

For the first time, you feel the lightness of the easy flirtation, the soft arousal begin to falter in your belly. Instead, it is eclipsed by swelling intimidation. “I-It was all innocent, Frankie. Just friendly,” you insist.

Had you truly upset him? Was this perhaps a side of Frankie you hadn’t seen before? You had thought that your antics were all in good fun, and yet –

“And then last night, when I’d been climbing the walls all day, and I was ready to put you through the mattress, what do I find when I come to bed?” The hold he has on your chin tightens, drawing you closer. His breath is hot on your cheeks, and your eyelids flutter in overwhelm as he growls, “You were already asleep.”

His voice rolling over your skin like thunder, the deepest parts of you throb at the sound. You can feel yourself starting to leak wetness into the gusset of your swimsuit, slick and warm and entirely different than the heat of the hot tub.

Frankie has always been so tender with you, so gentle and kind. In the past, when Will or Santiago accused Frankie of being a bit of a hothead, you had rolled your eyes and brushed it off as simply friends giving each other a hard time. In the months that you had been together, you had never once witnessed anything even remotely resembling a temper out of him.

Now, trapped in this jacuzzi with him in broad daylight, the stifling heat already starting to make you a bit lightheaded, you find yourself trying not to swoon at this sudden display of jealousy, of possessiveness. You don’t know what it says about you that it turns you on to have such an effect on him, but you do know that you’re finding it difficult to hold his eye contact now.

You want his mouth on yours. You want his big, rough hands on more of your exposed skin. You want his thick, throbbing cock between your legs.

You want him to fuck his frustration out on you while you simply…let it happen.

“Nothing to say for yourself? Eh? Mírame.”

You startle out of your reverie, eyes flying wide as you scramble to reply. “I was tired. From the trip,” you explain lamely.

“Uh huh.” Frankie doesn’t buy it, but he lets it slide, instead allowing his mouth to drift closer to yours. You swear you can feel the soft brush of his pouty lower lip against yours, and your pussy trembles and clenches at the tease. He tastes like the ocean, savory on your skin. “But you’re not tired anymore, are you, nena?”

Breath short and gasping, heart beating thickly against your sternum, you shake your head, and then his lips are on yours, and you couldn’t stifle the whimper that burst from your mouth if you tried.

It’s been less than a handful of days since he last had you, and yet the hunger with which Frankie devours you has you feeling like it’s been months. He’s always been a passionate kisser – eager to be close to you, to taste you, to feel any part of you he could with his lips and tongue – but there is a fierceness to the way he dives in, the way his hands fly to the dip of your waist, the way the curve of his prominent nose digs into your cheek as he presses you close. The grit of his facial hair scrapes across the delicate skin of your chin, and the hard brim of his beloved ballcap knocks into your temple as he deepens the angle of the kiss. It takes mere seconds for his tongue to beg entrance, hot and slick against the seam of your lips, and you eagerly surrender to the onslaught. You’re his – every secret and tender part of you is his to enjoy, his to claim; you couldn’t even think to resist.

So lost are you in your surrender that you hardly notice his hands traveling from your waist to your hips to the swell of your ass under the bubbling surface of the water. When he seizes you there, wrapping his fingers under your cheeks and hauling you into his lap, you pull away from his kiss with a breathless gasp of his name.

“Frankie!”

He does not deign to reply with words; instead, he settles your knees on the bench on either side of him and uses his grip on the meat of your ass to press you down onto him, driving his clothed cock into the soft cradle of your core.

“Oh, my god,” you moan, eyes falling shut once again, head lolling on your neck as though suddenly too heavy to hold up on your own. Fuck, he is so hard. You had known he was, had felt it swell beneath your hand as he teased himself with your touch, but feeling it in your palm and feeling it hot and thick against your aching pussy are entirely different experiences, even through both of your swimsuits.

“That what you wanted?” Frankie asks. The strain in his voice has you opening your eyes and meeting his gaze once more, and the wrecked look on his face inspires a fresh swell of confidence and satisfaction even as he grinds you down onto his lap. “That what you been after this whole time?”

The press of your suit against you keeps you wet, keeps your slick from being washed away by the tumultuous water as you slide against him again, again, again, the length of him nestled between your lips, the tip of him catching the swell of your clit on every downward stroke. You’re gone for him – you have been since he first put his hands on you – and yet the power of driving him to this kind of desperation is like a drug, overtaking your own need, bringing a sly, breathless little smile to your lips. Dragging your hands up to toy with the damp curls poking out of the bottom of his hat, resting your forearms along his shoulders, you nod your agreement.

This is exactly what you wanted. And he is giving it to you beautifully.

Your insolence earns you a growl from deep in his chest, and you barely have enough time to gulp a breath into your lungs before he is grabbing onto the side of your face and pulling your mouth back against his.

Thumb wedged into the sensitive muscles of your jaw, Frankie opens you up, his tongue delving behind your teeth with an eagerness you match. Beneath the water, his other hand creeps to the edge of your bottoms, his fingers tucking under the flimsy elastic waistband, seeking your skin. You let loose a soft moan into his mouth at the feel of that calloused palm against your softness. He touches you with such attentiveness, such urgency. It would be enough to make anyone swoon to be touched like this by a man like him – competent, steadfast, and strong.

Breaking the kiss, you trail your lips along the scruff of his jaw and run the tip of your nose against that soft, vulnerable patch of skin just beneath his ear. “You’re so hard for me,” you whisper sweetly, and you watch as goosebumps flood his damp skin.

Beneath you, Captain Francisco Morales trembles.

“Damn right,” he admits. The words sound like they have been pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, raw and ragged and gasping. “You’re k-killing me, baby. Me vuelves loco.”

You smother a smirk against the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. His skin is hot there, darkened by the day in the sun. “Think that’s your fault.” Your fingers tug at his hair as you plant kisses where you’ve landed, soft and wet and gentle against each and every freckle in your path. “Could have had me anytime you wanted. You know that.”

He hisses when your tongue darts out to trace a delicate line along his collarbone. “Too many people around,” he grits out, jaw tight, fingers digging hard enough into the flesh of your ass to threaten bruises.

Making your way back up his neck, you draw the soft lobe of his ear between your teeth and nibble on it gently. Beneath you, Frankie’s hips stutter, pulling a whine from you. You speed up the drag of your hips in response, the edges of your control beginning to fray.

“Not right now,” you pant. Your fingers tighten in his hair, every thrust of your hips sending bolts of white-hot pleasure down your spine. The sensation pools in the low cradle of your hips, slick and molten and pulsing as it winds itself deeper, hotter, tighter. “We’re all alone out here, aren’t we? Let me help.”

The former special forces pilot lets out a hiss and drops his head back, his fucked-out gaze pointed toward the sky as though seeking divine intervention. “Help?” he echoes weakly. The sharp bite of his ferocity is beginning to calm, and it is leaving only throbbing, desperate need in its wake.

So you do not reply with words. Instead, you allow your hands to slip below the surface of the water and wedge themselves between your two bodies.

You keep your eyes on his face as you work the drawstring of his swim trunks loose, as you pull the elastic of the waistband out away from his body, as you carefully drag that waistband down to tuck underneath his balls. From the surface, your view is so obscured that the shape of his cock bobbing in the narrow gap between you could be anything. But you don’t need to be able to see him to make him feel good – your body knows your way around his by now. With gentle fingers, you take hold of the length of him and set a slow, steady pace.

Frankie’s eyes slam shut at the sensation, and you watch as his throat bobs thickly against the sound of a groan threatening to burst from his chest. “Fuuuuuck,” he whispers, hoarse and low, the sound drowned almost immediately by the persistent noise of the tub jets.

Leaning forward on your knees, you continue to stroke him as you drop a soft, wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. The plush, swollen head of him bumps against your stomach, and you feel a shudder pass through every muscle and fiber of his body. His hips hitch, the move frantic and uncoordinated, dragging the tip of his cock against your soft skin again, and you can’t help but smile.

“You feel so good, Frankie,” you say as you allow your thumb to brush against the sensitive underside, catching droplets of precum before they are quickly washed away by the water.

Your praise has him finally abandoning his grip on your ass, instead cupping your head in both palms and dragging your mouth to meet his. The kiss is wet and needy, tinged with desperation in place of the fury of just a few minutes prior, and goddamn it, you love him like this. You’ve always been of the opinion that there is nothing hotter than a man who needs, and Frankie needs like no one you’ve ever met before. Beneath the cover of the water, in between the tight press of your bodies, you speed up your strokes, taking him harder, faster, twisting your wrist on the down stroke, playing with the head on the upstroke. He twitches in your grip, unable to hold his hips still, and you absorb his every tremor with the meat of your thighs.

Around you, the steaming hot tub water churns with more than just the power of the jets, splashing up onto your heaving chest, your neck, the patio around you. So lost are you in one another, neither of you catches the sound of the back door opening and closing, nor the rhythm of approaching footsteps on the concrete.

“Fish? Hey, Fish!” A pause, the sound of low conversing, and then, “Well, well. What do we have here?”

The sound of Benny’s smug, taunting voice might as well have been lightning with the way it strikes you both, and you are quick to yank yourself away from Frankie’s kiss as a wave of mortification rips through you. You still your hand under the water, ducking to press your forehead against his shoulder to hide your burning face. Beneath you, your boyfriend hisses a string of curses, a seamless blend of English and Spanish, and while he wraps one arm around your back protectively, the other he uses to cover his eyes.

“The fuck do you want, Benny?” he barks. You can feel his body growing stiff and rigid again against you, all the comfort and ease of moments before evaporating like chlorine-scented steam.

But instead of Ben’s hearty baritone, it’s Santiago’s voice that answers. “At ease, Catfish. Not our fault you and your lady can’t keep it confined to your room like the rest of us.” You can hear his smarmy grin even over the sounds of the hot tub, and you resist the urge to curl yourself into an even smaller ball. “Just wanted to see if you’re good to be one of the drivers tonight.”

Frankie groans, and you echo the sound of exasperation. That was all this was about? That was the question that couldn’t have waited another 15 minutes for the two of you to make your way inside? The group of you weren’t due to leave the house for your dinner reservation for at least another 45 minutes.

“Sure.” His voice is flat, unenthused. “Me and who else?”

“Will volunteered,” Pope replies.

Ben chuckles deviously, sounding to you like a boy who has managed to sneak an extra piece of dessert. “We broke out the tequila a little early.”

“No kidding,” Frankie scoffs.

“Hey, we’re on vacation, man!”

Pope interjects before an argument can ensue. “Be ready at 1900 hours,” he says, directing his instruction to Frankie.

“Understood.” You feel certain that if he hadn’t been effectively pinned beneath you, he would have sent his friend a mocking salute. “Now, get the fuck out.”

That earns a laugh from Santi, good-natured and warm. “Fine, but only if you promise not to contaminate the hot tub. It’s the only one we’ve got, and I am not calling the property owner out here to treat the water because you jizzed in it.”

“Pope, I swear to god – ”

The sound of both Benny and Santi’s raucous laughter echoes off the walls of the house, momentarily drowning out both the sound of the tub and the racing thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

“All right, all right, keep your shorts on.”

“1900, Fish!” Ben repeats, and one of Frankie’s arms flies out, flinging water up onto the patio as he flips the younger man the bird.

“Fuck off, Benjamin!”

Laughter continues to reverberate around you until the sound of the opening patio door reaches your ears. You wait until you hear it swing closed and latch into place once again before you risk pulling your face out of Frankie’s flushed neck. Sitting back on his thighs, you pull yourself upright to lock eyes with him, finding his face and chest to be just as heated as your own. You hold his gaze for a beat, the both of you catching your breath as your mouths twist into flustered grins.

Knocking your forehead gently against the brim of his cap, you snicker, “That was a close one.” You have let go of his dick at this point, but the way it bobs in the gap between your bodies tells you that, in spite of the interruption, Frankie’s arousal has not dimmed.

Still, he groans in complaint, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Couldn’t have been any closer,” he admits, and you stifle a giggle behind your lips. You really shouldn’t laugh, you know, but you can’t help it. You may not have planned for Santi and the younger Miller brother to barge in during the middle of your first moment of alone time since you arrived, but regardless of the heartbeat-synched throb in the depths of your core, hollow and aching and frustrated, you can’t say that you are too disappointed by it.

There’s just something about the way that your boyfriend gets when you make him wait.

When you draw it out a little. When you make him work for it. His eyes go all soft and hot and unfocused, and sweat gathers in the dark brown hair at his temples, in the dip at the base of his throat, in the dimples in the small of his back. You love the sounds he makes, how fucking desperate he gets for you. Just the thought of it has you squirming in his lap, unintentionally dragging the skin of your lower stomach against the underside of his cock.

Frankie lets out a soft whine, low in pitch but edging into neediness regardless, and then his hands are on you again, hooking around the swell of your hips and urging you against him once more. “Now, where were we?” he pants, leaning back into your space, eyes slipping shut, seeking your mouth with his.

Before his lips can connect with yours, you draw back and instead brace both of your palms against his bare chest.

“Actually, you know what,” you say, watching with no small amount of amusement as his eyes pop open and he stares at you incredulously, “I really should go start getting ready for dinner. And so should you, Mr. Designated Driver.”

Frankie blinks back at you, deep brown eyes like a baby cow’s, all wide and disbelieving. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You slip off of his lap and adjust your bikini bottoms discretely below the surface of the water. “I don’t want us to make everybody late. We could miss our reservation.”

He stares at you for another second or two then seems to come to a decision. Reaching beneath the frothy water to tuck himself back into his trunks, he gets to his feet, suddenly all business. “Fine. We’ll finish in the shower,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re halfway out of the hot tub by the time you process his words. Once you do, you turn back around, peeking at him coyly over the curve of your shoulder as you hover on the steps. “No way. I have to shave.”

Frankie’s dark, prominent brows disappear into the shadow of his Standard Oil cap, and the sheen in his eyes takes on a naughty glimmer as he smirks. “Shave? Shave what, muñequita?” He reaches for you, fingertips catching on the edge of your suit, dancing around the swell of your hip to seek your heat through the fabric. “Maybe I could help.”

Arching a single eyebrow, you hit him with a pointed stare. Your voice is firm, uncompromising as you reply, “No. I’ll let you know when the shower’s free.”

“You’re really going to leave me like this?” His incredulity returns, swift and shocked, and you are unable to stop yourself from glancing down at the thick, hard, unmistakable swell of his cock straining against the front of his trunks, visible just above the waterline now as he stands. The sight draws the corner of your lips into a smirk.

“It’s like you said, you’ve been holding out for a couple days already, right?” Flicking your gaze back up to meet his, you send him a teasing wink. “What’s a few more hours?”

The heat of Frankie’s stare as you step out of the hot tub is like a physical thing, scorching your skin with more ferocity than the sun had managed even after hours of exposure. You feel it tracing from the back of your neck, to the space between your shoulder blades, to the tie of your bikini top, to the plush of your ass, and down the length of your legs as you collect your towel from a nearby lounge chair. And it follows you even as you make your way across the patio and into the house.

You’re going to pay for leaving him unsatisfied.

You can’t wait.

Frankie is going insane.

He has to be, he’s sure of it. Either that, or he has fallen ill, come down with some manner of virus that makes his blood boil and his hands tremble and his brain pulse behind his eyes. All he knows for certain is that whatever ails him, it must have originated with you.

Taking you away had been a big step. Your first trip together was a relationship milestone, one that he had been eager to share. He has wanted so badly to get it right – to take care of you the way you deserve, to give you an experience you would remember, to show you off to all of his closest friends in a way that felt permanent, felt real. After all, this is the kind of thing people only do with a serious partner, someone they saw a real future with. And that is certainly how Frankie sees you.

But then you had rolled out of bed on the morning of the trip, looking all soft and warm and delicious, tugged on a pair of sandals and your favorite hoodie (which had once belonged to him, of course), and sat yourself in the front seat of his truck looking like a goddamn angel, and suddenly that anticipation morphed into torture.

Had you meant to tease him with the way you slowly shed your layers to get more comfortable throughout the course of the drive? Had you intended to draw his gaze away from the road and onto your soft, supple, perfect legs as you propped your feet up on the dashboard, skin gleaming in the summer sun, little manicured toes bouncing to the beat of the radio? Surely you must have been doing it on purpose. No one could be that tempting, that seductive and have no intention behind it.

From where Frankie had sat, white-knuckling the steering wheel with sweaty palms, jaw clenched tight enough to ache, throat dry and jeans tight and blood hot and rushing through his veins, it had felt as though you had designed the entire trip down to the Keys as an exercise in restraint. Then the two of you had arrived at the beach house, and just as he thought he might finally get a bit of relief, you had to go and exacerbate the issue by springing out of the truck cab, eagerly darting over his friends, and throwing your arms around every. single. one of them.

Even now, a full day later, the images remain burned into the backs of his retinas, refusing to grant him any reprieve. Ironhead’s thick arms crushing you to his chest, heavy hands molding to your spine. Benny snatching you out of his brother’s grasp and quite literally sweeping you off your feet to spin you around with a boyish laugh. Pope pressing his shadowed cheek to yours, dropping kisses to each one…

Even Yovanna, Pope’s girlfriend, who you had only met once before, hadn’t been able to resist your magnetism. In particular, the way she had toyed with your hair, commenting something or other about the color or the style, had made Frankie’s vision blur red at the edges.

There had been a moment when he thought he might finally be able to satiate this need, this hunger – in the hot tub, the two of you finally alone, finally in each other’s arms again after so many excruciating hours of teasing, tempting, inviting. But even that had been thwarted, and then you had gone so far as to deny him, and that…

Well. That was when Frankie had felt something within himself snap and fray, and now he is certain that he must have left his sanity behind in that steamy jacuzzi tub.

Dinner is torture. The soft scent of your hair catching in the breeze on the restaurant patio. The glisten of your wet, pink tongue darting out to lick away the salt from the rim of your drink. The teasing flash of your gaze each time you glanced his way or laughed at one of his jokes. The flutter of your delicate, flowy dress brushing against his legs as you tucked up close to him during dessert. He has been throbbing behind the oppressive zipper of his khakis all night.

When Pope suggests heading back to the beach house for a nightcap around the firepit, Frankie gets to his feet so quickly its dizzying. With any luck, he will be able to get away with only finishing a beer or two before he is able to make his escape with you.

If you happen notice the stiffness of his shoulders, the tension of his hands, the twitching of his brow on the drive back to the rental house, you make no comment on it. To Frankie, it seems like you are lost in your own world as you bask in the balmy breeze floating through the open windows. You keep your eyes fixed on the ruddy sheen of the sunset throughout the short journey, a gentle smile softening the curve of your lips, and although he cannot deny how enchanting you look painted in streaks of rose and gold, the fury simmering just below the surface cannot help but thrum with resentment.

How are you so…calm? So unbothered by everything you have put him through over the last two days? How are you not ready to burst out of your skin at the slightest provocation?

Somehow, Frankie manages to navigate back to the beach house without incident, Will pulling up in his extended cab truck just behind his.

“I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable,” you say as you swing open the passenger door. “Would you mind grabbing me a Modelo when you go sit down? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

You don’t really even wait for his response before you slip out of the truck, the delicate skirt of your dress flouncing behind you as you go. A gust of wind picks up a waft of your perfume, and he has to press the heel of his hand over his mouth to smother a groan at the fragrance. Amber and musk, something deep and warm and ever-so-lightly spiced. Hints of sweetness offset by the salt of sweat, unavoidable in the Florida heat.

You smell like sex, and it makes him want to die.

When you finally arrive at the firepit, mere minutes later but an eternity to Frankie, you have swept your hair up on top of your head and traded your elegant dress for a pair of cotton shorts and a soft, open-knit sweater. The neckline of that sweater droops casually off of one shoulder and leaves miles of soft neck and collarbone on display, and he could swear that you glow in the flicker of the firelight. You take the open bottle of Modelo from his hand wordlessly, offering him only a grateful smile in return, but still, your fingers brush against his, and even that meaningless touch is enough when he is on a hair trigger like this. Goosebumps break out along his arm, and he suppresses a full-body shiver.

Frankie goes somewhere else as you settle in beside him, your well-cushioned patio chair angled toward his, the sound of your laughter melding and harmonizing with Yovanna’s, Pope’s, Benny’s. This was everything he had wanted when he invited you to come along – his friends adore you and you them. You fit so seamlessly into his life, like a puzzle piece that he hadn’t realized had been missing, and it’s never been more apparent than it has over the last two days that you are exactly what he has been needing. He hopes you feel the same, hopes you feel this ease and this sense of rightness that vibrates all the way down to the marrow of his bones. But even as his heart clenches behind his ribs at the perfection of his moment, the gentle softness and the love he feels for you do nothing to drown out the soul-deep hunger that he swears is going to eat him alive.

If anything, the tender sentiments only make his appetite sharper.

Frankie is going insane, and with every hour that passes, he becomes more and more convinced that the only cure is your skin under his tongue.

“All good over there, Catfish?”

It’s Ironhead’s voice that finally pulls Frankie out of his own mind, and with a subtle blink, he realizes that he somehow has nothing but a single swallow left in the beer bottle clutched in his hand. As for you, you have long since finished yours; the Modelo bottle sits abandoned on the concrete surface of the patio at your feet, bone-dry.

Thank fuck.

“Actually,” he replies, “think it’s about time I turned in.”

He gets to his feet amid a chorus of protests, ribbing from his Delta Force brothers and a playful whine from Yovanna, but he pays them no mind. Instead, he tosses his bottle and yours into the nearest trash can, dusts of his palms against his pant legs, and then holds out a hand to you.

“Hermosa?”

He can tell that at first, you think he’s joking with you, that he isn’t serious about taking the both of you to bed so uncharacteristically early. It’s dark outside now but only barely, the summer sunset long and late, and Frankie watches as your gaze darts from his hand to his eyes then to his friends, all of whom are staring at the two of you with bemused smiles. Once it becomes clear that he is, indeed, waiting for you to take his hand, your lashes flutter demurely, and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“Ooookay,” you sigh, slipping your hand into his and allowing Frankie to pull you to your feet. “Guess I’m going, too. Night, guys.”

Just outside of his field of vision, Yovanna snickers. Her tone is warm and knowing as she says, “Sleep well.”

He doesn’t allow the two of you to stick around long enough to hear any of the guys’ comments. Instead, fingers wrapped tightly around yours, the pilot tugs you along behind him as he retreats to the beach house and your shared bedroom within.

So focused is he on his destination that he makes it about as far as the stairwell before the sounds of your laughter and your protests finally reach his ears.

“Frankie. Frankie!” Your exclamations come in short bursts, breathless and happy and deeply incredulous, like you cannot believe what is happening and yet cannot bring yourself to do anything to stop it. “Slow down! What’s gotten into you?”

He pauses on the stairway landing and turns to face you, meeting your gaze in the dim lighting, hitting you a hard stare. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?” he snaps, short-tempered, nostrils flaring with the heaving breaths surging through his lungs.

A look of realization descends over your features, and Frankie watches as the laughter leaves your eyes, as your mouth takes on a twist of contrition even as you draw your lower lip between your teeth. “I guess not.” Your voice is quiet, tinged with remorse even though he thinks he sees a faint glimmer of satisfaction lingering in the dimples of your cheeks.

The soft, full pillow of your lip shines in the low light, and before he can think better of it, he closes the scant distance between you and takes hold of your jaw, firm but not unkind. Pulling that lip loose from where you have bitten it, he watches with dark intensity as it springs free – plump, lush, ripe for tasting with his tongue. Instead, he swallows thickly and asks, “You know what’s about to happen?”

Within his grip, you nod. “Yes, Frankie.” You’re all sweetness now, syrupy and pliant under his touch, and the shift in your demeanor seeps into his pores like a balm, like a drug, hot and heady and soothing.

“You know why?” His voice is low and rasping now, intimidating even to his own ears, but you do not flinch away from it. Instead, you receive it with a blown-pupil gaze and a subtle nod.

“Yes, Frankie.”

“Good girl,” he groans, and he drops a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, get upstairs.”

You take the remaining stairs two at a time, Frankie close on your heels as you dart down the narrow hallway to your shared bedroom. He doesn’t touch you, but you feel his presence just the same – impossibly broad and looming, the heat of his skin, his need emanating off of his body like a mirage on asphalt in the middle of summer. A part of you wishes that you could pause this moment just so you could bask in that warmth, luxuriate in it like a cat in a beam of sunlight, but the heavy, swollen ache between your thighs has become too great for you to ignore. You’ve been gathering wetness in your panties for hours now; the thrill of knowing precisely what you had done – were doing – to your boyfriend was simply too delicious.

Because you knew what all of your teasing would get you in the end. You knew what delectable torture you had been incurring for yourself all evening, since he had first drug your hand across his bulge beneath the obscuring surface of the hot tub. You had been counting on it.

For all his steadiness, all his softness, all his introversion, there is something deep inside of Frankie that burns. Something a bit angry, something a bit vengeful. You haven’t had the opportunity to see it often, but on the few rare instances where something managed to provoke the beast within him to the surface, it had been…enthralling. It spoke to a primal part of your own psyche that had rarely been acknowledged, and god, now that you had tasted what it could be like with him – when you drove him to that place, when you pushed him just the barest measure over the edge – you couldn’t seem to stop craving it.

You know precisely what you are in for tonight, and the mere thought of it has you soaking your shorts before he can even slam the bedroom door shut behind you.

The lock sliding into place is barely audible over the sound of your own thundering pulse, your own panting breath, but it hardly matters. You won’t be disturbed here; Frankie won’t allow it. Giving no thought to the presence of your friends, still just outside on the patio, you melt the moment his hands touch your skin.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, one big, calloused hand coming up to cup your face as the other slinks around your waist, to your hip, to the swell of your ass. He grips you tightly there, tongue hot and slick and begging for entrance as he hauls your hips up against his own, and fuck, you can feel him already – even through his khakis, even though you’ve hardly touched him. Hard. Warm. Unbearably thick. You swear you can feel him pulse at the friction, at the drag of your body against his, and the sensation pulls a faint whimper from your throat.

His tongue tastes like beer as his hands attack your clothes, stripping your sweater and your well-worn cotton bralette over your head in a single swipe. Groans of satisfaction reverberating through his mouth into yours, he goes for your shorts next, and you nearly trip over the bundle of fabric as he bears you back toward the bed. The last remaining scrap of fabric on your body as you collapse onto the crisp, white sheets is the pink lace thong you wore to dinner, flimsy in the best of circumstances but now visibly sheered through by the drip of your arousal.

“Frankie,” you gasp breathlessly, your head spinning as you fumble with the deep brown leather of his belt, the only bit of him you can reach as you lay on the mattress. Thankfully, he seems to understand exactly what you want in spite of your inarticulate protests. Brushing your trembling hands aside effortlessly, Frankie unbuckles his belt with quick, economic movements. He leaves it threaded through his belt loops, instead shucking his belt, his pants, and his charcoal gray boxer briefs all in one clean jerk.

A low, eager sound escapes you as you watch his cock spring forward, deep red and glistening with precum, the tip of him brushing just along the hem of his button-down shirt and leaving a streak of dampness in its wake. You watch as a shiver trips down his spine at the sensation, and then he is lifting one hand to the back of his shirt collar and ripping the offending thing off over his head in a single swoop.

Goddamn it, he is so beautiful. Wide, sturdy shoulders, long limbs, strong arms and thick thighs and a soft give to his belly that never fails to make you blush. Tanned skin made even deeper by a day in the sun, with delightful freckles sprayed across his chest and a dusting of dark hair leading down from his bellybutton to his groin. His cock stands at attention, familiar and yet perfect – thick, curved, temptingly heavy. You imagine that you can feel the stretch of him just by looking at him, the way he will fill you so completely, the way he will press so perfectly against all of the places that long for the weight and the drag of him. Your deepest muscles clench at the thought, and without any further consideration, you reach for him, all soft palms and open lips.

However, just as you are about to wrap your fingers around his length, he steps back and meets your doe-eyed gaze with one that is almost scolding.

“You think I’m gonna give you my cock that easily?” he growls, a dark, prominent brow arched. “Uh uh. You’re gonna have to earn it, nena.”

Frankie drops to his knees, the thud of it muffled slightly by the pale blue area rug that decorates your bedroom floor, and then his hands come up to wrap around your ankles, just as they had in the tub earlier that evening. With a swift yank, he drags you across the surface of the bed, hooks the soft bend of your knees over his shoulders, and buries his face in your cunt.

“Oh, fuck me,” you whine, hands flying to the back of Frankie’s head, fingers threading through his loose, dark brown curls, so rarely available to your touch without the scratch of his well-loved ballcap. Your nails trail along his scalp, and he practically purrs at the sensation, the vibration traveling through his lips and tongue into your tender wetness in a way that has you squirming.

That purr turns into a muffled chuckle as he processes your exclamation, and he pulls just far enough away from you to quip, “That’s the plan.”

He’s back at it again in no time, though, his fingers spreading your lips apart so his tongue can access every inch of you. He is thorough, soft and wet and perfectly firm in his exploration, and like he has since the very first night you ever spent together, he knows precisely how to take you apart. No partner has ever eaten you the way Frankie does – with such single-minded focus, with such eagerness to please, as though he got just as much enjoyment out of tasting you as he did fucking you. Frankie sinks into the act like he wants to get lost in it, to get lost in you, and the thrust of his tongue and the drag of his hard, hooked nose against your clit is enough to make you want to let him.

“Goddamn,” he groans, his lips still pressed to your folds, his warm breath dancing across your wetness and drawing a shiver across your nerves. He sounds like he’s in pain, and when you glance down at him, you can see his brows drawn tight, his eyes squeezed shut as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Best thing I ever tasted. Pussy’s so fucking sweet.”

His words have you throbbing, and you feel those same muscles deep inside you tremble and clench, begging for more. “Frankie, please don’t stop,” you whimper, hips writhing in his grasp, thrusting, seeking more of his tongue. “I need – ah! Please!”

The low rumble of a chuckle buzzes through your nerve endings, skating across your clit like a livewire. “Sé lo que necesitas, hermosa.” Dancing the very tip of his tongue around your quivering entrance, he teases as though about to thrust it deep inside you where you need him most. You arch up into him on instinct as your fingers clutch onto his hair, and though you’re certain you’re hurting his scalp by now, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“She needs something inside, doesn’t she?” Frankie murmurs. His nose traces across your swollen bundle of nerves as he speaks. “Something to bear down on when she comes. Isn’t that right?”

Delirious, you’re nodding before he can even finish the question.

“Ask nicely, baby.” Soft, wet lips seal gently around your aching clit, and he suckles at you so gently that your back bows up off the surface of the bed. “Ask me to stretch this tight little pussy out with my fingers.”

A wave of heat rises up the back of your neck at his words, the sound of his voice, gritty and raw and yet gentle, patient, as if he suddenly has all the time in the world now that he has the taste of you on his lips. With weak and wobbly arms, you bring yourself up onto your elbows and risk a glance down at him. A pair of deep brown eyes meets yours from between your spread thighs, and you feel your mouth drop open involuntarily as you take in the curl of his disheveled hair, the shine of his lips and chin, the way the tip of his nose disappears into your damp curls as though scenting a bouquet of flowers. He looks drunk, loose and fuzzy but somehow determined, and the sight is enough to have you nodding once more.

“Please, Frankie,” you beg. “Please give me your fingers. Let me come on them. I need it so bad, please.”

Between your legs, your boyfriend smiles with deep satisfaction. “Why didn’t you say so?” he taunts, and before your hackles even have the chance to raise, his middle and ring fingers sink all the way into you, all at once, and your protest dies on the back of a moan.

“Thaaaaat’s my girl.” The pads of his fingers press deep inside you, seeking that soft, spongy spot he knows so well, the one he found so quickly the first time you were together, it stole the breath from your lungs. You melt beneath his touch, his other arm coming up to brace across the span of your hips as he holds you in place. You’ve started to buck against him, but you get nowhere with that band across your belly. “Let me feel you come for me, and then I’ll give you my cock. How’s that sound, huh? That what you’ve been after this whole time?”

“F-Frankie – ” You can hardly speak, can hardly think, the press and the thrust and the stretch of his fingers driving you so quickly toward the edge that you can’t seem to string any more words together besides his name.

And then his tongue descends on your clit, and even his name is too much for your frayed mind to hang onto. It doesn’t take long after that.

When you fall, it’s with a long, whimpering shout. Your belly floods with heat as the coil that has been winding tighter and tighter within you suddenly springs free, and you swear you are launched out of your body and into the stratosphere as your cunt throbs and clenches around his fingers, as your clit pulses beneath his tongue. Your whole body shakes with the force of it, your hands pressing down on the back of his head to keep him in place as you ride out your high, then to quickly push him away the moment it becomes too much for your tender nerve endings to bear. Sweat breaks out along the insides of your thighs, the backs of your knees, the base of your spine, and while you are still too weak to protest it, you feel him dragging his tongue along your skin to collect the salt of you on his tastebuds.

“Fuck,” you sigh, joints loosening, muscles melting into the bed. “God, Frankie, that was – ”

But you do not get to finish your sentence, for one moment you are basking in the afterglow of a spine-melting orgasm, and the next, Frankie is surging to his feet, taking hold of your hips, and flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Scoot up the bed, muñequita,”he commands. “Hands and knees.”

You’re so tight like this, Frankie swears it’s going to make him go cross-eyed one of these days.

Hotter than that damned jacuzzi out on the patio, absolutely melting around the length of him, your wetness has gone thick and creamy with your pleasure. It’s sticky and lewd and so fucking sexy he could die as he watches it gather at the base of his cock, watches it slick the dark, dense hair there with every thrust. He’s got one hand open wide, splayed across your lower back, the other molded against your spine as you arch deeply into him. Your arms gave out beneath you after less than a minute of this, and now they fold beneath your head like a cushion as you present yourself to him.

The way you bend, ass high in the air, knees spread enough for him to kneel between… The swell of your hips, the small of your waist, the miles of soft, irresistible skin all on display, all just for him… It’s like art, like poetry. He is hypnotized by the way you meet him there, elegant and smooth, like it’s easy, the most natural think in the world. He’s captivated by the soft, generous ripple of your ass cheeks every time he sinks into you. He could watch the way your pussy spreads for him, the way your body gives way to him for an eternity, and he would never tire of it.

If you weren’t choking the life out of him with that pussy, that was.

“Ah! Ah! Frankie – ”

You’re getting loud now, forehead pressed to your forearms, hair disheveled and sticking to your sweating face as it springs from your ponytail. The sound of your pleasure takes root at the base of his spine, searing his nerves, tightening his stomach. You’re so delicious like this – hanging on by a thread, utterly wrecked, all for him, because of him. It makes that fierce, possessive part of him preen to know that he can do this to you, that he can reduce you this.

Rolling eyes. Open mouth. Dripping cunt.

But as much as he would like to continue pulling every whimper and cry from your lungs, he can’t pretend that he didn’t hear the patio door opening right as he flipped you onto your stomach. He can’t pretend that the sound of Ironhead and Pope rooting around the refrigerator for more drinks or the sound of Yovanna and Benny’s laughter hasn’t reached his ears.

For the briefest moment, he considers ignoring it. He considers allowing you to continue to plead and moan and curse regardless of his friends’ presence in the house. If he keeps going like this, they will surely hear you eventually – if they haven’t already – and Frankie would be lying if he said there wasn’t a certain appeal to that. Then everyone would know how hot you sound, how well you take him, how perfectly he gives it to you. The idea sends a molten shiver across his nerve endings, has hot coals settling in the pit of his stomach.

But no. This is for him. The clap of your ass, the pitch of your whines, it’s all his. No one else gets to experience you like this. He’s so greedy when it comes to you. He’s not ready to share.

So instead of speeding up, of tugging your hips harder, faster into his, he pulls out and bears you down onto the mattress. You whine at the loss of him, one of your hands flying back to grip onto his hip. Nails digging into his flesh, you pull ineffectually, trying to coax his cock back into the clutch of your body, but he ignores your pleas. With soft, gentle shushes, he widens the spread of your legs and settles into the plush cradle of your ass.

Slipping the head of his cock down between your lips, seeking the heat and the wetness of you once again, Frankie braces himself over you and drops a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Can’t have you making all that noise, nena,” he murmurs against your skin, tongue darting out to taste the sheen of sweat coating your back. “Everybody will hear.”

Beneath him, he feels you shiver, your muscles trembling as you tilt your face to the side. Your hair obscures your eyes, but he can still catch a glimpse of your puffy, open lips. You’re panting, breathless, but you nod your acknowledgment all the same.

“Think you can be nice and quiet for me?” he asks. His hips tuck down and then up, dragging his swollen tip across your entrance, a torturous tease for both of you after he had just been so deep inside you. “Think you can hide all your pretty noises in the mattress?”

Weakly, you nod again. “Mm hm.” You’re so quiet now, your voice high and quavering. Completely fucked out.

Frankie feels a grin, salacious and slow, pull at the corners of his mouth. “That’s my girl,” he says, and then he drops his hand down between your legs to guide his cock back where it belongs.

He pushes until he bottoms out – one smooth, slow thrust until he reaches the root of you – and then you’re letting out a gasping moan, and Frankie hears the distant commotion from the floor below pause, suddenly silent.

So he does the only thing he can do given the circumstances. He threads his fingers into your tangled hair and turns your head himself, forcing your face into the cushion of the mattress.

He might as well have poured liquid fire down your spine. Beneath him, you melt, all of your muscles loose and pliant in your surrender as you release a series of muffled whimpers and curses into bed. You tilt your hips up as much as you can, pinned down as you are, and the deepened angle has Frankie growling into the back of your neck. It’s so much – almost too much. He can feel your pussy fluttering around him, drawing him deeper, sucking him in.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans into your ear, soft and low, his hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles go pale. “Feel so good – like she’s trying to milk me dry.”

Plastering himself against your back, he revels in the heat of your body, in the slick slide of your skin against his as he pounds into you. He can feel you panting, your lungs struggling to expand beneath the weight of him, beneath the force of his thrusts, but you take it all, never once asking him to stop, never once attempting to throw him off. He babbles about just that into the bend of your neck, his head spinning as he growls a whispered take it, take it, take it, as he drags his teeth across the tendons there, as he presses his forehead to the space between your shoulder blades.

All you can do is sigh and moan into the mattress, the sounds coming out weak and thready, near-silent as you bury your face deeper into the padding.

When you start to squirm beneath him, when the walls of your pussy begin to tighten down around him, he lets out a huff of a laugh. His hot breath stirs the hairs clinging to your sweaty neck as he taunts, “You getting close, huh? Gonna come for me, muñequita?”

You attempt a nod, forehead scrubbing against the sheets, and as quickly as he can manage, Frankie shoves one of his hands between your hips and the mattress. His fingers quickly find the apex of your thighs, a sticky wet patch evident there on the bed against the back of his hand, but he pays that no mind. Instead, the tips of his fingers dip down to seek your slick, swollen clit, and he circles you there, fast and focused.

A squeal forces its way out of your throat, deadened by the softness of the mattress, and for the first time, you buck your hips as though to fight off his touch. But Frankie simply digs in harder, driving you into the bed with his full body weight and every ounce of army-honed strength.

And that’s all it takes. One more swipe of his fingers over your clit, one more devastatingly deep thrust of his cock, and you’re gone. Utterly silent, too overcome to make any noise now, you shudder and shake and writhe beneath the press of his body, a fresh wave of wetness dripping down the length of him as your cunt squeezes, squeezes, squeezes, a rhythm that has become so familiar to him over the last few months, it’s almost comforting.

But still, just as it always does, it pulls him right to the edge of his own pleasure, and just as you’re beginning to soften and soothe, the tight coil of heat at the base of Frankie’s spine springs loose, and over the edge he falls. Hips losing their rhythm, fingers gripping your hip, your shoulder, your hair, he spills himself within the hot clutch of your body with a smothered grunt.

After, you are both utterly spent.

Boneless, sweating, and trembling, Frankie collapses onto your back at first, then eventually works up the strength to roll off of you. You remain on your stomach, feeling like a pile of gelatine as you breathe shakily into the mattress. Between your legs, your slick mixes with his cum, dripping from your body onto the sheets, and you make a mental note to check the hallway closet for extra linens. You have a feeling now that the tension between the two of you has broken, this won’t be the only set of sheets you and Frankie ruin on this trip.

Downstairs, the night continues on as you would expect from this group – someone is digging around in the fridge again, and someone else has hooked their phone up a Bluetooth speaker, the distinct rhythm of reggaeton drifting up the stairwell telling you it’s either Yovanna or Santiago. The sound of laugher accompanies it all, and you find yourself grinning. If any of them are aware of the debauchery that just happened one floor above them, they make no indication of it. Instead, you hear the clack of pool balls and cues, and you know that you have at least an hour or two before any of them start filtering upstairs for bed.

Turning onto your side, you take in Frankie’s silhouette – long, loose, and completely at ease, head sunken into the downy pillows, arms thrown up toward the headboard. His dark eyes are closed, but you can tell by the cadence of his chest rising and falling with each breath that he is still awake, just basking, luxuriating. Like you. Your gaze traces the outline of his profile, his unruly curls, prominent brow, hooked nose, strong jaw. His scruffy cheeks are flushed, and sweat cools on his hairline. He’s so fucking pretty, you could die.

Brushing your hair out of your eyes and folding your arms beneath your head, you offer him a soft smile and murmur, “Feel better?”

“Depends.” Frankie grins, eyes still closed. “You gonna keep wearing that fucking bikini?”

You snort a laugh and shake your head fondly. “Oh, Francisco. I brought a whole suitcase full of them.”

Tagging a few friends who expressed an interest:

@half-moon16 @sunshinehaze1 @peepawispunk @80ssong

#PPCUSmutChallenge #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fics #ppcu smut

82 notes · View notes

jackactuallywrites · 2 days ago

Text

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 23

Rating: Mature (phone sex)

Summary: Ghost is deployed so you know what it’s time for? Phone sex! And then some emotions afterwards because post nut clarity

Word count: 1,755

ao3 link

Was this the reality of dating a soldier?

You had liked it initially, the well-built body, the casual confidence, the no-bullshit attitude, even if you had reservations about the imperialistic role of the British military overseas. But this part of it, the waiting at home while he was over there risking his neck? It sucked. You would never ask him to give up that part of his life, but it would be a lie to say it didn’t constantly play on your mind.

The texts had been sporadic at best, and you knew that Ghost was trying his hardest, but as the days went on, the gaps between messages grew until you were going whole weeks without hearing a word from him. At that point, you’d had to stop watching the news; you were seeking out information about soldiers almost obsessively, as though a simple Google would give you access to top-secret military intelligence. So, you just did your best to go about your life as usual, going to work, going on nights out with the girls, cuddling up with Soap and having film nights with him, having Roach curled up at your feet.

It had been a month of silence before you got a text from Ghost, a single sentence at 03:46.

‘Ghost: Are you awake?’

You hadn’t been, but you’d had his texts on loud, unwilling to miss a single opportunity to talk to him. It was impossible for you to put in text how much you missed him, and you weren’t about to waste any time sending long paragraphs.

‘You: Yes! Everything okay?’

Practically the second you sent the text, your phone screen lit up with his caller ID. You picked up immediately.

“Si?”

“You’re up late.” The exhaustion in his voice was palpable, and you heard a rustle of fabric as he shifted. Was he in bed?

“So are you. Or are you? Is it morning or evening where you are?”

He responded with a yawn, “Makes little difference, ‘m up all hours anyways. How’s you? How’s Soap ‘n Roach?”

He was always quite tactful in avoiding giving any information about where he was in the world away. You’d read about that in your googling, OpSec, operations security, and by God, Simon was a master of it.

“All quiet over here. Soap’s asleep in his bed, and Roach is sleeping under the sofa again. Think he misses you.”

“Aye? What about you, darlin’, you missing me too?”

“Of course I am. Barely a day where I’m not thinking about how much I miss you.”

“Oh yeah? You thinking about me every night?”

You pulled the phone away from your ear, looking at the screen as though he could see you on the other end. Was he talking about what you thought you were talking about? You shifted in bed, getting more comfortable.

“Yeah, I think about you every night.”

“Not found some young stud to replace me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. He was insecure? You hadn’t expected that.

“What? Dickhead. Of course not.”

“Still happy with your older man?”

“Older man? I don’t even know how old you are. You’re very secretive.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before he answered, “Thirties.”

“Thirties?”

“Late thirties.”

You shrugged before remembering again that he couldn’t see you.

“You’re not that much older than me. Is that what’s bothering you?”

There was fabric rustling on the other side of the phone again before he answered, “Just never had a missus waiting for me back home, is all.”

“Never?”

“Didn’t seem fair, considering how much I’m away and all. ‘Specially ‘cause I can’t say how long I’ll be or where I’ll go, or even if I’ll come back.”

“It’s new for the both of us.”

“Never shagged a soldier before?”

“Never dated one.”

He snorted at that.

You shifted again, wondering whether there was something deeper he wasn’t saying.

“You alright, Simon? Everything okay over there?”

There was a heavy sigh before he answered, “Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine. Just knackered.”

“Busy day?”

“Like you can’t even imagine. First time I’ve had a good sit down in weeks.”

“And you chose to call me?”

“Needed to hear your voice.”

You could feel the butterflies in your chest at that. He was somewhere in the world, exhausted and no doubt in fear for his life, yet he needed you. It was impossible for you not to feel touched. So, of course, you avoided expressing how deeply that touched you by making a joke.

“Spoken like a man who wants to get his dick sucked.”

That earned a laugh, “Christ, dirty bird.” There was a moment of pause, before he continued, “You’d do that, would you?”

“Would it make you come home earlier?”

“Fuckin’ might do. Jesus. You, uh, you into this? On the phone and all?”

The excitement in his voice was palpable, and it was impossible not to be a little excited yourself.

“Phone’s all we got. I’ll take what I can get.”

“Right. Alright then. Gaz’ givin’ us a dirty look, give us a second.”

Jesus wept; you’d forgotten about the fact that Simon was very likely to be bunking with half a dozen other soldiers, and there you were, talking dirty. Ah well, it was his shame, not yours.

After a minute’s silence, his voice came back on the phone, “Still there, darlin’?”

There wasn’t a chance in hell that you were going to miss this opportunity, so you’d pinched yourself to keep awake.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“So, uh, you were telling me?”

You stretched and then got comfortable in bed, idly thinking about getting your vibrator out of the drawer, “About me sucking your dick if you come home safe?”

He groaned, “God, the image of you, those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

“You like thinking about my tongue wrapped around you? Getting me on my knees?”

“Jesus fuck, you dirty bird, yes.”

You stifled a yawn, trying not to sound too tired, not quite horny enough to be fully awake, “Might even swallow if you’re lucky. Let you cum down my throat or on my tits if you like.”

“Fuck, I don’t give a shit, wherever you let me.” His voice was breathy now, and you had no doubt that he was wanking in some toilet or broom closet. It was impossible to not be a little aroused by that, and you reached over to grab your vibrator, clicking it on the lowest setting and holding it to your clit. It didn’t take long for the pleasure to begin rolling through your body, and you let out a tired sigh, “You want to hear me getting off?”

“Oh, fuck, love, God yes.”

You pressed yourself against the vibrator, enjoying the sensations rolling through you, allowing yourself to moan, letting him hear your pleasure. He groaned in response, your name hot and heavy on his breath, his words turned to muttered pleads, “Need to hear you come, love, please, please come for me.”

You pressed the vibrator harder against yourself until you felt your core tighten, clutching your phone as though it was him, your thighs tightening, grinding desperately until you finally finished, moaning his name. He grunted, “Fuck, love, I’m, fuck-“ his words turned into a strained moan as he finished, no doubt desperately stroking himself in some hellhole across the world.

You clicked off your vibrator and tossed it to the side, sighing as you relaxed back in bed, closing your eyes and resting your head more comfortably on the pillow. Simon let out a heavy sigh, and you could hear rustling on the other end of the phone, no doubt him tidying himself up.

It was hard not to fall asleep now, but you did your best to keep your eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, your mind idly wandering,

“Where are you?”

“You know I can’t say, darlin’.”

“I mean where in the building, or base, or whatever it is.”

He chuckled, “Oh. The wank shack.”

“You what?”

“Storage cupboard. Only place ‘round here a man can get a little privacy.”

“Oh. Sexy.”

“Best I can do.”

“I mean, if it works, it works.”

He yawned, “Aye, you take what you can get. You should get back to sleep, love. Don’t need to be awake for me.”

“Miss a chance to hear you wank for me on call? Not on your nelly.”

He laughed, soft and quiet, “I really do love you, you know.”

Neither of you had said it since that very first time, and though touched, it still sent a deep wave of sadness through you. You loved someone who was in mortal danger. The very fact that you were in love made you fragile, but being in love with someone like him? That was basically asking for heartbreak.

“I love you too, Si.”

You wanted to tell him how worried you were, how you were having trouble sleeping, you were so full of anxiety over him, but it would have been selfish. What good would it do for him to know you were struggling?

“What’s on your mind, love?”

“I just miss you, is all.”

“Come on. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

A heart-to-heart after a wank session was not exactly what you’d been planning on, but the man was weirdly emotionally intelligent.

“I just worry.”

“You know I’ll come back safe. Through hell or high water.”

“I guess.”

“I know. I’m over here in danger, and nothing I can say can get rid of the fear you have. I won’t lie to you, it’s dangerous. But I’ve got some good boys here with me, yeah? They’ll keep me safe.”

“Just take care of yourself, okay?”

“I promise.” He let out a sigh, “I should get back. Need to squeeze in as much sleep as I can. You take care of yourself for me, alright?”

“I will.”

“Good. I’ll feel better knowing you’re taking care of yourself back home.”

“You’re in the shit, worrying about me?”

“You’re my missus. ‘Course I’ll worry. Now get some sleep, aye?”

“Alright, alright.”

“Sleep tight, darlin’. I’ll talk to you when I next get a chance.”

“Goodnight Si.”

When the call beeped off, you felt the silence descend on you, suffocatingly heavy. Your heart ached. Ugh. You tossed your phone aside and buried your face in the pillow, desperately trying to force the thoughts of Simon in danger out of your head, but ultimately ready for another sleepless night.

#jack writes #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod fic #simon ghost x reader

31 notes · View notes