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davnittbraes · 1 year

Text

A Study in Feminism

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7190 (I’m sorry)

Warnings, tags etc: mention of addiction and recovery, very brief unwanted physical restraint, reader technically commits assault and runs from the cops, mentions of past relationships, arguing, angst (of course, because it’s me,) rage at the patriarchy, explicit smut, oral f!receiving (of course, because it’s Frankie,) unprotected p in the v action with previously given consent and present but not mentioned birth control, c-spot orgasm (DONE RIGHT, none of that blindly stabbing at things nonsense) and some fluffy silliness to top it off

Notes: this is my first true one-shot, as in I have no intention of developing this into a series. We’ll see how long that lasts lol. No mention of Frankie’s kid(s?) here, the word count is bad enough without diving into that

Objectively, it’s a shitty bar.

But it’s the only one in the area that won’t be packed tonight - it’s lack of television screens eliminates the chance of rowdy, drunk crowds packing in to watch the big game, and really, the last thing you want is to be around a bunch of obnoxious people right now.

Today was… A Day.

Your morning sucked. Work sucked. Your commute sucked. Everything just. Sucked.

The type of exhaustion born from dealing with too much bullshit is setting into your muscles and all you want to do is close this day out with an ending that isn’t as terrible as the rest of it.

So. The bar is shitty, but it’s quiet, and it has food and alcohol. Three out of the four things you need right now.

And the last thing just texted you to say he’s on his way.

You smile as you type out a quick reply to Frankie. Funny, you’ve been doing that a lot lately.

Smiling, about Frankie.

It’s only been a few months, and you’ve both got enough relationship baggage that neither of you are rushing into anything. So it’s a little early for you to be confident in saying it’s going to be a long-term thing.

But you’re still smiling when you lock your phone and the wallpaper photo lights up your screen - you and Frankie, kissing in the middle of a mutually enabled giggle fit.

Not an unusual scene, in your relationship.

He makes you laugh, often, those dry one-liners that come out of nowhere, spoken in that quiet, almost always gentle voice. A voice that belies his strength and determination, a focused drive that got him through his military career and earned him a place on elite task forces.

The same focus that pulled him out of the pit of addiction and led him to be five years clean this year.

Now, he’s the reason why your exhaustion is already starting to slough off your shoulders, just the anticipation of his presence enough to set your heart racing and turn your thoughts away from the events of the day.

He’s the reason why you had the energy to shower after work, throw on a pretty sundress and some makeup instead of sulking alone at home on the sofa.

He’s the reason why you wanted to end the day on a positive note, because since Frankie came along, you know what it’s like to be happy and you want to stay that way.

Shifting on your bar stool, you set your phone down and reach for the glass in front of you, taking a sip. The unoccupied seat beside you suddenly fills, a guy wearing a bit too much cologne sliding into it.

Internal alarm bells go off immediately, skin on the back of your neck prickling in warning. There are plenty of empty seats that aren’t right next to you. But then again, this isn’t the first time some guy has invited himself into your evening unwanted. You can handle this.

Glancing around, you pick out an empty table for two toward the back. You’ll just move over there -

“Hey.”

You look at the man who just sat next to you, silently praying to whatever the patron saint of women drinking in bars is. Please let him not be a creep. “Hey, I was just moving -“

“Come on, now, you’re the reason why I sat here in the first place.” He turns to face you, smile too forced, gaze drifting down your body. “I’ll buy you a drink, we’ll get to know each other.”

Nope. Not a chance.

Keeping your tone neutral, you move to slide off the barstool. “I’m good, thanks.”

He stands up suddenly, stepping too close, expression shifting to something dark.

You inhale sharply, startled, and his cologne catches in the back of your throat, stinging your eyes and almost making you cough and you blink rapidly to clear your vision.

Gotta get away, where -

“Hey, dude. She said no.”

An unfamiliar voice drifts over your shoulder, a tall, broad man stepping up to your side, placing himself just a bit in front of you.

You can’t help but frown at him - who is this guy? - but the creep with the cologne scoffs, gives him a onceover, then slinks away.

The guy turns to smile at you, and your frown fades. He’s instantly charming, warm and friendly. And he did just scare off what was going to be a problem for you.

Clearing your throat, you reach for your drink to get rid of the lingering scent of strong cologne. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, settling into the now-empty stool. “I see a girl in trouble, I have to step in. It’s the right thing to do.”

Those internal alarm bells sound off again, quieter this time, unsure. He seems friendly, but he moved right into that stool the creep had just left far too easily for your comfort.

Time to go.

You grab your phone, slip it into your purse. “Well, I wasn’t really in trouble, but I appreciate that you want to help other people.”

“Guys like him are assholes. They should be put in their place more often.” He shakes his head, leaning an elbow against the bar, charming smile dimming as if he’s upset even talking about it. “Might not have seemed like it to you, but men like him can flip pretty quickly. He definitely would have taken advantage of you.”

A flash of surprise makes you freeze, staring at him. He assumes you were completely blind to how obviously dangerous that guy was?

A hard note slips into your voice, despite your efforts to keep it light. “I was leaving when you showed up. I would have been fine.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze running down your frame in an echo of the other guy’s. “I’m sure you would have. But girls like you are always safer when you have a man to look after for you.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice rises, anger rushing through your veins. “I don’t need ‘a man to look after me.’ I can do that myself. Watch me.”

You shove off the barstool, spinning around to -

His hand grabs your arm, grips tight, pulls you back.

Shock rips through anger and you yank hard to free your arm -

His fingers dig in, bruise -

It doesn’t budge he’s too strong -

You struggle to pull free, managing to glare at him, anger flaring bright at the smug look on his face. “Let me go.”

He grins, gaze dark with something that curls into your stomach and makes you sick. Makes your heartbeat waver and your lungs clench with panic.

You hate this feeling.

This feeling of helplessness.

It’s one you’ve felt too many times in situations too similar to this, when you’ve had to cautiously navigate a conversation with a strange man who was coming on to you, always aware of the fact that they were usually bigger and stronger than you, that many people would be on his side if it came to a fight.

That society would have you “give him a chance,” no matter what you wanted.

Frustration sweeps through shock and panic.

No.

You’ve had enough of men making you feel this way.

Like you’re powerless.

You shove him with your free hand, pushing all your body weight into the motion.

He jerks backward, thrown off balance, letting go of your arm as he stands up. “Hey! Watch it -“

“What’s going on?”

The quiet, gentle words seep into the tension in the air, dull the harsh beat of your pulse in your ears.

You look over your shoulder, voice rushed, high with too much emotion. “Frankie.”

He’s eyeing the stranger, jaw set in a tight line as he moves to stand by you, placing himself between you and the guy.

A thrill of something primal squeezes the air from your lungs - the way Frankie moves, with the confident grace of someone who has fought similar fights countless times, and won.

With the absolute certainty that he will do whatever is necessary in order to protect you.

Your heartbeat races for a different reason, another kind of heat flooding your system.

Seeing Frankie stand up for you is… unfairly sexy.

The stranger scoffs, looking at you over Frankie’s shoulder, sneer twisting his features. “For someone who doesn’t need a man, you sure are quick to hide behind one.”

You freeze.

Shame pours ice-hot down your back.

No. You will not let him make you feel like this.

Powerless.

Anger boils, irrational and unstoppable -

You’re moving, slipping around Frankie and pushing out all your anger and frustration at this asshole and all the world’s assholes and -

Ow.

The stranger is shouting, slumping, holding his hands to his nose.

Why does your hand hurt?

You’re moving again, surging toward the stranger, but someone grabs you and -

Instinct shoves you back, a grunt as your elbow hits something soft -

Rage dims enough for a sliver of awareness to sink back in.

Frankie wraps an arm around your waist again, pulling you back, his voice finally registering to your anger-haze mind. “Stop, come on, we have to get out of here -“

A patron sitting at the bar a few seats away is on his phone, talking frantically, you catch words drifting through the rush of blood in your ears -

Police -

Assault -

Broke his nose -

You push Frankie away and find your feet, grabbing your purse and moving quickly toward the back door.

The cool night air hits your skin and you gasp, the contrast to the heat boiling in your chest sharp and disorienting.

Frankie’s right behind you, pulling the door shut and striding quickly toward the street. “Come on, I parked this way. We’ll go to my place, it’s closer.”

Instinct more than anything pushes you to follow him, your mind too chaotic with adrenaline and anger to think. The guy’s sneering smirk replays in your head over and over, that smug superiority of someone who thinks they hold power over another person.

Your teeth hurt as you clench your jaw.

Worse, that he did hold power over you. That he was stronger than you.

That he proved his point.

Because Frankie -

Was only trying to help you -

The rational thought burns to ash as soon as it crosses your mind, caught in a whirlwind of rage echoing with the words of the asshole back at the bar.

Because Frankie shoved his way in.

Frankie opens the passenger side door to his truck, gesturing for you to get in. The gesture reminds you of when he’d stepped between you and that asshole and shame ripples through you again.

You liked it -

No, he interfered, he didn’t think you could hold your own -

You shake your head sharply, trying to knock the irrational, anger-fuelled thoughts back as you slide into the seat and he closes the door.

Deep breath. Let it out. Try to calm down.

The silence is heavy as he drives, vibrating with tension, hanging between you just waiting to crack and spill out all the words you’re trying so hard not to say, but that tiny sliver of rationality is growing harder and harder to hold on to, worn away by the memory of that smug smile and that slimy glance down your body and those words -

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Frankie’s quiet voice is jarring to the noise in your head, just enough for your tenuous hold on your temper to finally snap.

You shift roughly in your seat, struck with the urge to move but annoyingly stuck where you are for now. “What ‘happened’ was you got in the way.”

He glances at you, a movement you see out of the corner of your eye. “How did I get in the way?”

Ignoring the heat of frustration in his voice, you power through, holding tight to your own anger. “You shoved yourself into a situation that I was handling just fine without you.”

“Really.” The sarcasm is a low blow, it stokes your anger perfectly. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to go to jail tonight. Sorry I stopped that from happening.”

You throw up your hands, let them fall to your lap with a loud slap to emphasize your frustration. “Don’t be dramatic. I would have been fine. I didn’t need you to get involved.”

A moment of silence, and you risk a glance in his direction - the green glow of a traffic light illuminates him as the truck passes underneath it, catching the faint movement of his index finger tapping slowly against the steering wheel.

Great. He’s using that anger management technique he learned in therapy.

Next he’ll be trying to walk you through it too, count steadily to ten, so you can both calm down and talk about this.

Yet another thing you don’t need from him right now.

Right now, you want to rage, at him, at the asshole in the bar, at the entire world, for making you feel like you aren’t enough.

Frankie clears his throat. “Obviously not. That punch was perfect.”

The words throw you for a loop, not what you were expecting, but not enough to quench your anger. “Yeah, well, I’m no spec ops but I can throw a punch. Which is why I didn’t need you to step in.”

He looks at you again as he turns onto his street, but it’s too dark to see his expression. “Look, I saw you were in trouble -“

“I was handling it.” You cut him off quick but he keeps going.

“- and I care about you, so yes, I stepped in -“

“- I didn’t ask you to -“

“You don’t have to, that’s just what you do for people you care about.”

An undefinable emotion flood your veins, hot and cold at the same time. “Oh, so that guy cares about me?”

A pause. “What?”

You scoff, fold your arms across your chest, suddenly hyperaware of your body and uncomfortable about it. “He stepped in when another creep was being too pushy, so he must care about me, too, right? I should have been grateful to him, let him buy me a drink?” Rage chokes your throat. “Should I have let him take me home and fuck me because he stood up for me?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying -“

“Then what are you saying, Frankie?” You twist in your seat, look at him without even seeing him. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re no different than that guy.”

Frankie stills, turns off the ignition, sits back in his seat.

You hadn’t even realized he’d parked in his driveway.

Blinking, you finally look at him.

The outside light is on, casting his features in a dull orange, deepening the shadows around his eyes from the bill of his baseball cap. You can’t see them, but it doesn’t matter - you can tell by the slump of his shoulders, the downturned corners of his mouth.

Your words echo in your thoughts.

Guilt spikes through your anger.

You hadn’t -

You didn’t mean -

What you said last still hangs in the air, unable to be taken back.

Frankie moves, breaking the stillness. Opens the truck door and steps out. Closes it behind him.

You watch him walk up to the front door of his house, unlock it, disappear inside.

The dull thud of the door closing behind him is like a final toll of a bell.

Your voice cracks in the silence of the truck cab. “Fuck.”

The worn hinge of the truck door creaks as you scramble out, slam it behind you with a little more force than you meant to. The buzz of anger in your chest shifts, turns toward yourself too, and how you treated the one man who was kind to you tonight.

You’re such an idiot, why would you say that -

He’s not -

A growl of frustration chokes in your throat as you push through the front door.

The house is quiet, dark, only the entryway light left on. And empty, no sign of Frankie -

He comes out of the kitchen, a bag of frozen green peas in his hands.

Your heart stutters hard enough to hurt, and you lean back against the door as if it could give you strength.

Frankie stops in front of you, gaze on the bag of peas as he holds it out to you. “To keep the swelling down.”

A huff gets stuck in your tight throat, comes out more like a cry, and you blink back the blur of tears, look up, around, anywhere but at him. “How dare you be so thoughtful and sweet after I said the worst things to you.”

He gently takes your hand and turns it over to rest your sore knuckles on the bag of peas. “Still care about you.”

You can’t even look at him, can’t see the hurt that you know is obvious in those warm, brown eyes. Instead, you focus on his hands, on the large palm cupping the pack of frozen peas to your scraped knuckles, the long fingers of his other hand loosely curling around your wrist.

All the fire and heat and fury that burned in your chest moments ago suddenly sputters, flickers. Dies.

A heavy sigh loosens the tightness in your lungs. “I’m not mad at you.”

His fingers flex on your wrist, his low hum of disbelief vibrating over your skin.

Fuck, you really screwed this up, didn’t you.

Letting your head fall back against the door, you force yourself to look at him. He needs to see it, that you’re telling the truth. “I mean it. I’m not.”

That warm gaze meets yours - yeah, just as you thought, it’s there, hurt tinged with anger and now doubt.

That stings more than the hurt, actually.

The knowledge that he’s doubting you, your honesty. Maybe even how you feel about him.

Fuck your pride, girl. Just tell him.

Shifting your wrist in his grip, you take his hand, squeeze it tight. “Look, I liked it, okay? And I’m angry with myself and I took it out on you and that’s not fair, and I’m so sorry, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

A frown forms between his brows, his gaze flickering over your features in confusion. “Liked what?”

Oh god, just say it, get it over with. “When you showed up and like immediately stepped in to defend me, physically put yourself between me and the threat with no hesitation, then stood there with your stupidly broad shoulders and strong arms and testosterone and this whole aura of “don’t fuck with my girl” and god, Frankie, it was so hot. “

His mouth twitches, lips curving at the corners and his frown melts away, hurt in his eyes replaced by fond amusement. “Oh yeah? You liked that?”

Your nose wrinkles as embarrassment tries to push you away from him. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wanna know what was really hot?”

His voice dips low, rasping down your spine, pulling it into an arch that curves your hips toward him, a movement tracked by his gaze.

He definitely catches the clench of your thighs, too.

His thumb glides over your bruised knuckles. “What was really hot was watching you clock a guy with at least six inches and fifty pounds on you, staring him down like you were gonna castrate him right there in the bar.”

Biting back a grin, you twine your fingers in his, cocking your head to the side. “If only I had a knife.”

He chuckles - why is that so hot - and lets go of your hand, tugs you toward him, pushing into your space, his chest brushing your breasts through your dress. Anticipation catches in your throat, arousal you’ve been holding back for so long pulsing to life.

Then his expression turns serious, thoughtful, his free hand slipping around your waist to rest on the small of your back with casual intimacy. “That’s what I was thinking, you know.”

Your thoughts are already sluggish with a pleasant haze, it takes a moment to figure out what he’s referring to. “That you wanted me to cut his balls off?”

“I was thinking don’t fuck with my girl, because she’ll make you wish you’d never laid a hand on her, and leaving with your balls still attached is the least of your worries.”

The absolute certainty, the pride in his voice - some emotion you’re not ready to name twists behind your ribs, trembles through your veins.

God, what you wouldn’t do for this man.

Lifting your free hand, you let it trail down his chest, the slight swell of his stomach, brush over the bulge of his jeans. His breath hitches as you press your palm there, lean in to murmur against his lips.

“Don’t worry, your balls are safe with me.”

You catch the glint of his answering smile before he’s taking the sliver of distance between you and swallowing it in a searing kiss that pulls a moan from your throat.

He echoes the sound back when you flex your hand, fingernails scratching lightly against denim, palm grinding over his cloth-covered cock. Arousal warms between your thighs as you feel him twitch, already starting to strain against the fabric.

Need swarms over your skin, your thoughts, dizzying.

Fuck, everything about him feels so good, the way his body presses to yours, his hand glides up your back, his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, how his breath stutters against your cheek when your fingers curl over his length and squeeze -

Crash -

You startle, hands flying to grasp at Frankie’s shoulders as you whirl toward the source of the sound -

Tiny, cold balls ping off your legs -

What -

Frankie huffs, looking down at the floor by your feet, mouth twisting up in a sheepish smile. “Dropped the peas.”

You glance down at the bag, split open, a few random peas still rolling away, and a surprised laugh bursts from your chest. He looks at you, gaze sparking, and your laugh gets stuck in your throat, a wave of intense affection flooding warm through your veins.

It amazes you, sometimes, how much you want him.

He obviously sees it, expression shifting to something similar, darker and sweeter at the same time.

Then he’s pulling you to him, hand curling around the back of your neck as he kisses you firmly, thumb pressing at the hinge of your jaw until you open for him.

Yes -

His tongue slips into your mouth to glide along yours and a rush of heat floods your core and you clutch at his shoulders, sweep his cap off those soft curls to sink your fingers into them, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

Something shifts, you can feel it under your palms, an energy that flares to life deep within him.

Your own body responds, moulding to his, silently pleading for more.

He gives it, kiss turning into something more desperate, all lips and tongue and panting breath and hands roaming your body, catching on the fabric of your dress, slipping underneath.

The heat of his large hands on the swell of your ass makes you gasp, break the kiss, and he groans.

“Need you -“

The pleading tone of his voice brings your lips right back to his, your hips arching into his grip, shivers of pleasure racing along your skin when his fingertips dig in just enough to sting.

Then you’re moving, feet stumbling to follow him, senses too focused on how his lips move against yours and his hands sweep over your hips and his thumbs trace the waistband of your underwear -

Something soft but solid bumps against your thigh and then he’s turning you, guiding you back to lean on it - the arm of the sofa, you’re in the living room now.

He pulls away enough to look at you, dark gaze flitting over your features as if taking you in, every sign of your arousal that’s painted on your face. The corner of his mouth ticks up, as if he likes what he sees.

There’s something almost cocky about his expression and it feeds the heat growing in your core, cunt throbbing for friction. Your hands fly to his belt, start to open the buckle but he takes your wrists, stills your motion.

You hesitate, confused. “Frankie?”

“It’s okay.” He brings your hands to his lips, kisses them lightly before setting them palms down on either side of you, resting on the arm of the sofa. “I just wanna taste that perfect pussy of yours first.”

A moan falls from your lips, and his smile grows as he sinks to his knees.

Holy shit -

Seeing him like this, knelt before you with that goddamn knowing smile, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he pulls the skirt of your dress to your waist. It’s exhilarating in some way, shoving your need for him even higher.

But residual guilt suddenly tamps down on your arousal. “Frankie, I’m supposed to be making you feel good -“

“This does make me feel good.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down your legs, glancing up at you as he leans in. “Hold that pretty dress up for me, baby.”

You just manage to grab the skirt of your dress to keep it out of his way when he flicks his tongue out and swipes it over your clit.

Oh fuck -

Pleasure sparks through your core, your thighs falling open, and he hums in approval as he shifts closer, large hands gliding up your legs, warm and steady, plush lips pressing a wet kiss to your clit before lifting his gaze to look up at you.

A moment, and you’re pinned by that dark brown, those beautiful eyes that glow with some kind of warmth, some sort of emotion that’s stronger than any you’re ready to name yet.

You swallow against a suddenly dry throat, a mirroring emotion swelling in your chest, his name falling from your lips in a hushed whimper. “Frankie…”

He blinks once, a slow sweep of his lashes, the last moment he gives you to breathe.

Then he truly begins.

Fuck it’s so good -

The flat of his tongue warm and slick against your folds -

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress, so tight it hurts.

Scrape of his moustache over your clit sends shivers of pleasure through your body -

Lungs ache for air, you struggle to breathe, swept up in a wave of hot-wet-heat that sears your skin.

It’s intense and all-consuming, how he pulls pleasure from you body with his mouth, knowing exactly what makes you fall apart, a combination of experience and intuition you’ve never been the focus of before him.

You can’t stop watching him, mesmerized by the sight of his tongue slipping through your folds, swirling around your clit, dipping down to lave over your entrance. Pleasure builds steadily, a throbbing pulse that radiates through your veins in time with your rapid heartbeat, and you finally break, gasp for breath, a sharp inhale that cracks with his name -

“Frankie oh god -“

He groans in response, dark gaze growing darker, hand gripping your thigh to haul it over his shoulder and -

Your head falls back, a cry cracking free from your aching chest.

The angle brings him closer, lets your hips roll into the heat of his mouth, and you chase it, shudder as he follows the movement, flattens his tongue so you can grind your cunt along its length.

Pleasure spirals through your veins, voice tight with it. “Yes oh god just like that -“

You try to find a rhythm but can’t, a steady tremble growing in your thighs as your pleasure swirls higher and you whine in frustration.

He pulls back, words deep and rasping against your sensitive skin. “Come on, baby, ride my tongue until you come, I wanna taste it.”

His hand grabs your hip, guides your movements, pulls your folds along the slick of his tongue and catches your clit with a flick at the end and it’s perfect so perfect and -

Again and again -

Heat grows, swirls through your core, pushing higher and higher.

Yes you can feel it right there right there -

He nudges deeper and his tongue grinds over your entrance on the next roll of your hips and you cry out, muscles tensing, so close -

Again -

A burst of wet heat -

Swell of pleasure and it bursts -

You sway with the force of it, scrambling for purchase, a hand diving into his hair to hold him there as your cunt pulses with each wave.

Finally it breaks -

Air rushes into your lungs, blood pounds in your ears, your entire body shivers with the release.

He groans long and low, tongue pressing to your entrance, long fingers gripping your hip so hard it stings. The wet sound of him swallowing your pleasure down pulls a trembling aftershock from your core.

Fuck he’s so fucking sexy and incredible and perfect -

Need you need him now -

Thoughts still scattered, a tug on his curls is all you can manage.

And he’s there, rising to kiss you, fill your mouth with the taste of your own pleasure. You melt into him, wanting more, slip a hand between your bodies to cup his cloth-covered cock.

He grunts, a sharp exhale that shoots straight to your core and sparks renewed arousal, and you squeeze as best you can through the denim of his jeans.

You find your voice, murmur against his mouth. “Are you gonna let me apologize to you now?”

His hands curve around your waist. “Apology accepted.”

Suddenly he grips and flips you around -

A whirl of motion and -

His hands press firmly between your shoulderblades, pushing you down until you’re bent over the arm of the sofa.

You moan into the sofa cushion as a shiver of primal need runs down your back - so fucking hot when he manhandles you like that - arches your hips up, seeking.

He tosses the skirt of your dress up over your waist, the clink of metal telling you he’s unbuckling his belt. “You like that? When I move you around however I want?”

A frisson of embarrassment stills your movements, and you huff into the cushion. “Shut up.”

The sound of a zipper as his words drift down over you, gentling and teasing at the same time. “Come on, baby. Say it. For me, I wanna hear it.”

Leaning up enough to throw a mock-glare at him over your shoulder, you bite your lower lip to stop from moaning again - just the sight of him, all broad shoulders and mussed hair and dark eyes, towering over you, enough to send a rush of want through your body.

And that playful, knowing look in those dark eyes tells you he’s not going to oblige you until you give him what he’s asking for.

Sighing dramatically, you flop back down, burying your face in the sofa cushion to muffle your words. “Yes, I like it.”

“Like what?”

Damn him. Whining, you wiggle your hips to tempt him into moving on from this but hands on your hips still your movement. “Fine. I like it when you move me around like that. During sex.”

He chuckles, one hand leaving you while the other grips your hip tight. “Distinction noted.”

Then he’s sliding the head of his cock through your slick folds, notching into your entrance and -

Oh fuck this angle -

The stretch -

You gasp for breath, fingers curling into the sofa cushion -

Pleasure pulses bright through your core -

He groans as he works his cock in. “Fuck, this pussy, so fucking perfect -“

The wet squelch of each slow, grinding thrust echoes in your ears, ripples through the rising heat spiralling out from where your body clenches around the thick of his cock.

Spikes of white-hot pleasure shoot through your hips and legs, tremble in your lungs, and you can’t think, only want more -

A pause, he stills, hips pressed against your ass, head of his cock tight to a spot deep inside you that sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body.

“Gotta breathe for me, baby.”

His rasping words sink into the pleasure-haze, the ache in your lungs burning enough to finally get your attention, and you inhale sharp, voice cracking. “Oh my god, Frankie, feels so good -“

“I know, I know, just breathe.” A warm hand glides up your back and down again, in time with a gentle thrust of his hips that grinds his cock against your cervix.

Oh fuck -

An intense burst of pleasure rips through your body, flashing white at the edges of your vision.

Again -

It’s so much it’s overwhelming it’s incredible and you’re floating -

Over and over -

Your fingernails scrape at the sofa cushion, hands desperate to anchor yourself, spit out gasping words. “Right there just like that oh g-“

He grunts as your cunt pulses around him. “Holy shit, you’re gonna come already - fuck -“

The shudder runs through your entire body, clenches his cock tight, and you feel it, building so fast - too fast - it’s so much how -

A high-pitched whine of his name is all you can manage. “Frankie -“

“Come for me, come on -“

Again -

Strong hands on your waist, holding you in place -

Again -

Bright hot heat -

Bursts -

Every nerve ending in your body alight, blood rushing in your ears -

The drop and -

You gasp for air, like you haven’t taken a breath in centuries, throat aching with a sharp throb and you swallow against it - did you scream? Fuck. Probably.

Strong hands caress your lower back. “That was a good one, huh?”

Senses scattered, you blink to try and clear your vision, your head, find your words. “Yeah.”

An amused chuckle, a gentle shift of his hips that drags his cock along your sensitive inner walls, sends a shiver up your spine. “Want me to give you another one?”

Your cunt clenches instinctively as he seats himself deep again, pleasure once again spiral outward through your limbs. “Yes, make me come again, please.”

“Yeah? I want to, baby. Love watching you fall apart on my cock.” Another slow thrust that curls your toes. “Wanna give you what you want, always.”

You moan into the sofa cushion, his words slipping beneath the haze on your thoughts to someplace deeper, something that tightens around your heart.

Then strong arms are slipping underneath you, hauling you upright, hands are pressing you back against a broad chest and -

The sharp thrust of his cock rips through your body but his hands hold you firm, pin you in place as he starts up a rhythm that shoves pleasure through your veins.

Your fingers curl around his forearms, nails digging, strangled moan falling from your lips. “Holy sh-shit-“

“Yeah, I know.” He groans into the crook of your neck, tongue flicking out to taste your heated skin.

His hand slips down to where his cock pulls slick from your dripping cunt, calloused fingertips finding your aching clit instantly.

Fuck -

Your legs waver and his free hand shifts, arm wrapping around your waist to keep you steady as his fingers match pace with the snap of his hips.

Pleasure rises, hot, swirls out from your core and fills every corner of your being -

Frankie -

So perfect so good feels so good -

His free hand finds your breast, dives into the neckline of your dress to cup it firmly, grinds his palm over your peaked nipple and tiny sparks of pleasure join the flood, sweeping you away -

The first pulse of your orgasm looms, pulls a cry from your throat.

He picks up his pace, voice rasping in your ear, words stifled by the rhythm of his thrusts. “Fuck I’m gonna come, come with me, baby, please come with me I need it -“

Yes yes yes -

Up higher and higher until it’s a tidal wave of bright heat -

Your slick spatters on your inner thighs, squelches around his cock -

There -

Your head falls back, body shudders against his. “Frankie -“

His pace stutters, once, a cracked groan rumbling in your ear -

Everything pulls tight then releases and -

A flood of wet heat against the pulse of his cock deep in your pussy -

He thrusts again, again, slows, again -

Pleasure finally dims, moves to overstimulation, his fingers leave your clit to help hold you steady, his cock slowly slipping free of the clutch of your cunt.

You take a deep breath, try to find your body again. There’s a certain disorientation, soaked in spent pleasure, tilting your thoughts and skewing your senses, making everything seem so far away yet close at the same time.

The urge to find an anchor, to root yourself, pulls to the forefront.

Lifting a shaking hand, you sift your fingers through his hair. “Frankie?”

His sigh against your neck is full of contentment, lips pressing soft kisses to the space just below your jaw. “Yeah, baby?”

Somehow, that’s enough, and your own contented sigh shifts the air. “Frankie.”

“Is that the only word you know now?”

His chest vibrates with laughter against your back, enough of a physical sensation to bring you down into your body even more, become aware of his teasing tone.

You lightly tug on his curls. “Fuck you.”

“That’s three, at least.”

Huffing a laugh at his obvious display of male pride, you pull out of his embrace to lean over the couch and take more weight off your trembling legs. “What did you do to me? I can barely stand.”

“What did I do to you? What did you do to me, I thought I was gonna pass out, you were choking my cock so hard.”

“Well, that was your own fault.” You arch your back slightly, stretching sore muscles.

His hands cups the curves of your ass, groaning when you instinctively spread your legs and bend lower. “You’re killing me, baby. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

You shiver as his thumbs spread your pussy open, glide through your combined pleasure. “Hmm, well, that’s also your fault.”

“I see how it is, everything’s my fault all of a sudden.”

His playful, grumpy tone makes you grin, break character, straightening to turn around and kiss him firmly. He leans into it, arms coming around your back to hold you tight, his soft moan dusting over your cheek.

A few moments pass, moments that feel like forever and are gone too quickly at the same time, and when you pull away and meet his gaze, that beautiful, soft brown so warm with affection - for you - emotion stings the back of your throat.

Gently cupping his cheek, you stroke your thumb over one of those bare patches along his chin that his beard never grows into. “I mean it, Frankie. I’m sorry. I was angry at the world and I took it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to -“

“Please, listen.” You hate to interrupt him but you need to get this out. He pauses, nods once, and you take a breath before you continue. “You’re what I want at the end of a bad day. I’ve had more fun with you than anyone else in my entire life. And I know I can trust you to always have my back, even if I don’t think I need the support. I know you’ll be there for me.”

Swallowing back against a suddenly tight throat, you give voice to the emotions that were boiling under the surface of your anger earlier in the evening. “It’s frustrating, being a woman. Sometimes it feels like society expects this impossible balance, like we’re supposed to be ladylike, pretty and soft and gentle and also strong but not too strong, like we’re supposed suck it up but also withstand the pressure.”

Sighing, you let your hands rest on his chest, drawing strength from the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. “I just… tonight I felt that, and I hate it so much. I don’t want to feel like that. I wanted to prove to those guys - to everyone - that I am strong enough. Even more. That I’m stronger than they want me to be.”

He looks at you, tiny crease forming between his brows. “I can’t say that I understand, not exactly. But I get that feeling of not being enough, of needing to prove yourself but hating that you feel like you need to at the same time.”

Right. Of course he does.

Everything he’s been through in the last few years, he probably understands better than most.

You lift a hand, press that crease between his brows flat with the pad of your thumb. “I know you do. But you don’t need to prove anything with me. You know that, right?”

His features soften, smile pulling at his lips. “I know. Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. Even if I forget it sometimes.” Biting your bottom lip, you weigh your words, settle on what you hope is enough. “You make me happy, Frankie. Really, actually happy.”

He smiles for real, gaze warm and bright. “You make me happy, too.”

You pull him in for another kiss, trying to push everything you’re feeling into how your lips move with his, your hands curl into his hair and over his shoulders and down his sides and around his back.

It’s enough. Maybe more than.

A stronger tremble shivers down your legs and your knees buckle, pulling you and Frankie apart.

He deftly catches you around the waist, grinning. “I was that good, huh?”

Laughing, you shove his chest playfully and lean back against the arm of the sofa. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never.” A brief kiss to your forehead, then he’s stepping back, straightening his clothes and turning to walk out of the room. “Stay here, I’ll grab something to clean you up.”

Wrinkling your nose, you try to stand, fail and settle back on the sofa. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

“I know, and I support that.” He calls back over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner. “I’m a proud feminist, baby.”

You bite your bottom lip, giggling to yourself.

“Shit!”

His startled shout instantly wipes the smile off your face.

You pitch your voice so he can hear you. “What happened?”

A sigh that shakes with laughter. “Stepped on the peas.”

Your snorting laugh echoes as it drifts down the hallway, and you don’t really care how unladylike it sounds.

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