amhrosina

Bucky Barnes -

My Sun My Moon My Stars - part 1 part 2

They Don’t Know About Us

Frank Castle - 

Frank Castle Masterlist

Matt Murdock - 

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Fratt -

Fratt Masterlist

Billy Russo -

Sneaky Link This Feels Like Falling in Love Your Pretty Heart

Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Man 2099) -

Love Bites It's Always Been You Fixation

Peter Parker (Tom Holland) - 

Worth the Risk

Namor (K’uk’ulkan)-

Namor (K'uk'ulkan) Masterlist

Marvel Headcanons -

Pregnancy Headcanons - part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 (end)

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Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe

Javier Pena -

Feelings are Fatal

Joel Miller -

The city buzzed with life as you made your way through the busy streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The guy you were tailing had been growing more restless by the minute, ducking in and out of alleyways and looking over his shoulder. You weren’t worried he would see you. You knew he was looking for someone else – someone much more dangerous than you, allegedly. 

As a matter of fact, you were looking over your shoulder for the same man. Frank fucking Castle. His name alone was enough to send a pang through your chest. You missed him. You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to murder him. It was all very healthy. 

You hadn’t seen Frank in a few weeks, which wasn’t anything new to you, though it stung a little that he could drop you as easily as he picked you up. He’d broken his promise to you again. He left you after a lustful night together, again. He snuck out like a little bitch, again. 

The next time would be different. You were exhausted from the back and forth with Frank, and it wasn’t fair that he knew exactly how to grunt his way back into your good graces. This time an apology wouldn’t be enough. 

You watched as your target ducked into another alleyway, throwing his hood over his head in an attempt to hide his identity. You snorted at how naive he was. If Frank was planning on killing someone, he’d get it done no matter how well they hid themselves. Frank was all power and no feelings when he donned the Punisher logo, and you had no doubt that he was out to get the man who stabbed him a few weeks prior. No – that wasn’t exactly right. It wasn’t that Frank didn’t have any feelings. It was that Frank felt too much when he wore the vest because he’d sacrificed everything to wear it. That’s what made him frightening. 

Too bad for Frank that you were going to get the guy first. 

You swung around the corner of the alleyway, idly putting your hands in your sweatshirt pockets. Cool, calm, innocent. Nothing to see here, except of course the bullet about to be lodged in his skull. 

It dawned on you that maybe you should’ve taken Matt up on his offer to come with you as back up when the man jumped in front of you, burying a knife in your gut before you could blink. The man’s eyes widened as you sucked in a breath. He dislodged the knife, dropping it to the concrete. A pool of blood slowly seeped into your shirt. It happened so quickly that you barely understood what went wrong. 

“Oh shit!” He placed his blood-stained hands on your shoulders, looking behind you for any witnesses. “You were supposed to be someone else! Shit!” 

Your vision swam, pain shooting through your legs as you tried not to pass out. Your breath whistled out of you as you stumbled into the brick wall, pressing all of your bodyweight against it. 

The man continued freaking out as you righted yourself, mumbling to himself about how screwed he was. If only he knew the half of it. 

“Fuck,” you gritted through your teeth, sucking in small breaths of air, “you.” 

“What?” He paused, turning to look at your semi-hunched figure, confusion clear in his voice. 

You took a deep breath before throwing your body against his, knocking the two of you to the ground. The only thing that kept you alive was the fact that you’d surprised him. He scrambled for the knife, a shiny gem lying on the dirty concrete a few feet away.  

“Crazy bit-.” 

It didn’t matter. The knife you'd hidden in your sleeve was lodged in his throat before he could finish his sentence. Thick, dark blood bubbled from his throat, soaking your hands. You rolled onto your back, struggling to breathe. Your wound was still leaking blood, and you were growing woozier by the second. 

Hell’s Kitchen doubled, then tripled in your vision before righting itself again. This was such a stupid way to die. For a stupid man who deserved none of your stupid attention. Anger flooded through you, mixed with apprehension. Frank would be furious that you did this for him. What were you thinking? 

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and then someone was pushing their hands into your wound, and they flew open again. 

Frank was there, saying something that you were too tired to comprehend. He looked like an angel from your perspective on the ground. The streetlights haloed his handsome face as he leaned over you, no doubt yelling at you for your stupidity. You didn’t care. At least the guy who stabbed Frank was dead. 

“Baby, you have to keep your eyes open,” Frank murmured, putting more pressure against your side. “Can I see your pretty eyes? Hmm?” 

You hadn’t realized you’d closed them again. You blinked them open, focusing on Frank’s raspy voice. Surely, you were dead, and this is what heaven felt like. 

“This ain’t heaven yet, sweetheart,” he responded, arching an eyebrow at your delirious state. 

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

“This part’s gonna hurt,” he warned, running a knuckle down your cheek, “But you have to stay awake, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” 

You were about to ask what he meant, and then pain was everywhere. Fire curled around every nerve; a never-ending agony that wrapped itself around your throat and suffocated your scream. The last thing you remembered was the distinct feeling of Frank’s hand on your cheek, a familiar and settling gesture, and then everything went black. 

x 

Your throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. When you opened your eyes, you expected to stare at the walls of a hospital, but that certainly wasn’t the case. You looked around, recognizing the room you slept in every time you stayed at Micro’s. It was as comforting as it could be, especially because Frank Castle’s giant frame was asleep in the tiniest chair possible next to your bed. 

It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. The ever-present knot between his eyebrows begged to be smoothed out, but you hesitated. The idea of touching him after what he’d done felt wrong, even though your body begged to feel his touch again. You’d sworn you were done with him, and it didn’t matter that he probably saved your life. It was the least he could do after how he’d treated you the last time you were in this room with him. 

You slowly sat up, wincing at the sharp pain that emanated from the wound on your side. Someone, probably Frank, had taken their time dressing the wound. Gauze was wrapped tightly around your side, supporting you while also keeping the wound sealed. 

You swung your feet to the floor, holding your breath as you stood. The pain was a dull roar in the back of your mind. You wanted to get far away from Frank before he helped you forget every bad thing he’d ever done. You limped forward, nearly tripping before being caught by strong, capable hands. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Frank grunted. 

“Getting away from you,” you muttered, gritting your teeth as you tried to take another step. 

“Me?” Frank scoffed, arms holding steadfast against your attempts at fleeing. 

“Don’t act dumb,” you chided, pushing against him again. 

“You were stabbed, sweetheart. I’m just trying to keep you from hurting yourself. Again.” 

The last part he added after a few moments of silence.  

You sighed, slowly returning to a seated position on the side of the bed. Frank didn’t pull his hands away until you assured him that you were fine sitting up on your own. 

“What are you doing here, Frank?”  

You eyed him, too exhausted to argue. He looked as terrible as you did, if you were being honest. His eyes had dark circles under them, and he still had blood stains on the skin of his hands. 

“Don’t act dumb,” he said, returning to the chair he’d been asleep in moments before. “I spent hours saving your life. I’m not leaving until I know you’re in the clear.” 

You hesitated, then said, “But you are leaving. Again.” 

Anger, and maybe a hint of regret, flickered in his eyes. You didn’t let it affect the angst bubbling in your gut. 

“And then I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, “and we’ll argue, and you’ll say you’re sorry. We’ll have amazing sex, you’ll promise not to leave, and then you will. I know how this goes Frank. You might as well just get it over with and hurt me now so I can get over it.” 

“That’s not exactly how it goes,” he cleared his throat. “Besides, you seem to get yourself hurt plenty all on your own.” 

You glared at him, ignoring the part of your brain that enjoyed the back and forth with him. 

“I did that for you, asshole,” you sneered. 

“I specifically told you to let me handle them,” he argued, returning your glare with a hard stare. “And you ignored that. And then you almost died.” 

He put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his curls. He looked both furious and distraught, which confused you. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” you murmured. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.” 

“You were not,” he gritted, “fine when I found you half-dead in an alley.” He stood, grunting. “’m upset because you could’ve died.” 

You narrowed your gaze at him. 

“You’re being ridic-” 

Frank knelt in front of you, cutting you off and wrapping his hands around your wrists. He gently pulled your arms to his chest, cradling them. He murmured your name so softly that you felt your breath hitch in your throat. 

“I can’t do this again,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I can’t lose you too, baby.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. It was probably the gentlest Frank had ever been with you. His thumbs softly brushed against your wrists as he cleared his throat, eyes glistening with what you realized were genuine tears in his eyes. You felt your heart melting, but your distrust was bone deep at this point. How could you trust that he’d stay this time when he was so good at leaving? 

Finally, you cleared your throat and said, “Don’t call me that unless you mean it.” 

“I mean it, sweetheart.” He nodded his head once for emphasis. 

“Do you?” You questioned, crumbling under his intense gaze.  

It hurt too much to think about Frank leaving again. Every time he walked out, a piece of you left with him, and it felt like you had nothing left to give. 

“What you did was reckless,” he whispered, voice cracking, “and when I saw you lying there, I thought you were gone.” He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes. A tear escaped down his cheek, reminding you of all the things haunting Frank at any given moment. “It felt like I died, too. And I didn’t know I was capable of feeling that way after everything that happened to Maria and the kids.” 

“Frank, I-” 

“I know you don’t trust me. Hell, I wouldn’t either.” He opened his eyes again, refocusing his intense gaze on you. “But I can’t lose someone I love again, sweetheart. It’s too much.” 

You blinked, wondering if you really had died and gone to heaven. 

“Love?” You asked, ignoring the roaring flames in your chest. You shook your head, tears pricking the back of your eyes. “You don’t love me, Frank.” 

“I do,” he pleaded. “I do love you.” 

“You don’t!” You stood too quickly, too overwhelmed with distrust to care about your aching wound. Tears finally spilled onto your cheeks, a culmination of weeks of heartbreak and pain. 

Frank still held your arms against his chest, holding you steady like he always did when it mattered. He slowly rose to his full height, pushing his weight against yours. You wanted to shove him away like he’d done to you so many times, but couldn’t muster the energy to pretend anymore. 

“I do love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to believe me yet, but ‘ts true. I called you my salvation, and I meant it.” 

“I want to believe you,” you sighed, exhausted from fighting his feelings and your own. 

“I’ve fucked up a lot,” Frank said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“That’s an understatement,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. 

Frank chuckled, breaking the tension in the room a little. 

“I’m tryin’ to apologize,” he said, grinning when he saw you fighting to hide your smile. 

“You’re doing a terrible job at it,” you said, teasing him because you couldn’t help yourself anymore. 

“There’s that smart ass mouth that I love,” he replied, momentarily flicking his gaze down to your lips. 

The hunger in his eyes was almost too much to bear. He’d never looked at you like this before, but whatever he was doing, it was working. He leaned his head forward slowly, angling his lips above yours. He was showing a remarkable amount of willpower, forcing you to be the one who closed the gap.  

You considered shoving him away and telling him to leave you alone. You considered leaving him so that he could feel the pain he’d put you through so many times before. 

Instead, in a small, pitiful whisper, you simply asked, “You’re not leaving?” 

He shook his head slightly, gaze darting around your tear-stricken face. “Never again, baby.” 

“I’m trusting you. Don’t make me regret it,” you warned, finally giving in and closing the distance. 

It was the softest kiss you’d ever shared with Frank, which startled you, because the last time you’d seen him you’d thought the same thing. His lips parted slightly as he cradled your cheeks. You didn’t know Frank was capable of being so gentle. You pushed against him, pressing your body fully against him as you opened your mouth. His tongue swiped over yours, and your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest. 

You slipped your hands under his shirt, running them along his toned abs as he continued to kiss y0u. When you began to raise the fabric, he pulled away, already shaking his head. 

“You’re hurt, baby. We can’t.” 

“I’m fine,” you huffed, heart pounding. 

“You were stabbed, sweetheart.” 

“So were you!” 

You eyed his previously wounded shoulder, remembering how deep the knife had been lodged in his skin. Flashes of what came after you’d yanked it out brought heat to your cheeks. The arguing. The sex. Him leaving and you waking to an empty bed. Not knowing that the next time you’d see each other, you’d be nearly dead in an alleyway, and he’d be trying everything to save you. 

“It’s different,” he shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You slowly ran your palms up along his chest, settling your hands against his jawbone. 

“You won’t,” you murmured, staring unflinchingly into his brooding eyes. “I promise.” 

He hesitated, eyeing the gauze still wrapped tightly around your torso. You could see the conflict in his gaze, warring over whether to give in to your desires or force you to heal first. You blinked up at him, waiting. 

“If it hurts, even a little-,” he started, arching his eyebrow at you. 

“We’ll stop,” you agreed, though you couldn’t imagine letting him go now that you had him. 

His eyes trailed down your body, pausing on the gauze. Finally, he relented, sighing heavily as he tugged his t-shirt up and over his broad shoulders. You stifled a moan, biting your lip at the sudden appearance of his toned body. You’d seen it dozens of times, but something about this encounter, as something more, felt raw and exciting. 

He pressed his lips to yours again, sliding his tongue into your open mouth like he’d done a hundred times before. This time, he smiled into the kiss, and your heart melted a little bit. You matched his smile, nipping at his bottom lip as he pulled away. 

“Still my bratty girl, yeah?” He asked, slowly sliding your shorts down your legs. His fingers softly pressed against your exposed skin as he stood, hesitant to hurt you but desperate to feel you. 

You nodded, biting your lip again as he teased you. You liked to act like he had no effect on you, but you both knew how impactful his words could be in the bedroom. He nudged you against the bed cautiously, still waiting for any evidence of pain to show on your face. 

“You’re being too gentle, Frankie,” you murmured, lying against the mattress and watching as Frank’s fists mindlessly clenched at his side. 

“'m tryin’ to be careful,” he chided, clicking his tongue, but nodded anyway. 

It was a very, very long night. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, Frank was climbing on top of you, completely bare in the dim bedroom. Your breasts pebbled in the cool air, desperate for friction, but you didn’t want to spook Frank. He was already so worried about accidentally hurting you. 

You sighed as he kissed a trail from your collar bone to your navel and back again. Your back arched on its own accord, tugging at the gauze against your wound. You winced but quickly hid it against Frank’s mouth, unwilling to wait weeks to feel Frank again. 

“Please, Frankie,” you murmured, spreading your legs even further. His painfully hard member rested against your throbbing clit, unmoving, and it was driving you insane. 

He watched the crease between your eyebrows subside before kissing the tip of your nose and sliding in. And in. And in. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, arching against him as he found a rhythm that felt safe for both of you. 

This was certainly a new avenue. You and Frank had slept together dozens, if not hundreds, of times, but you’d never made love. Frank whispered pretty things into your ear, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust. His elbows held him above you, hands gripping your head as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. 

When your orgasm found you, it was like nothing you’d felt before. Frank stared in awe as you breathed against him, the world stopping as every touch, kiss, and argument poured out of you. A tear briefly slid down your cheek, kissed away by Frank who hadn’t said much but didn’t need to. You were his, and he was yours, and this is how it was supposed to be. 

“You’re still okay?” He questioned, eyeing the gauze he’d carefully taped against your stab wound. 

“I’m perfect,” you mumbled, heart pounding. 

And, you realized, it didn’t matter that the world outside of this room would treat you and Frank the same as it always had. Frank had irrevocably changed the way you lived your life, and Frank being here, holding you against his chest, was quite possibly enough to make you feel whole again. If he left, you’d be destroyed beyond belief, but you didn’t think about that. You focused on the heat of his skin, and the press of his lips, and the way he said your name as he came.  

As you fell asleep later, curled against his chest, he whispered his promise of never leaving you over and over again. 

“Never again, baby. Never ever again.” 

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The mid-July heat was no joke, even in their tiny town up north. A record-breaking heat wave was sending scores of townsfolk indoors or to the public pools in search of relief. Subsequently, her father had been roped into planning a barbeque by an innocent-looking Mrs. Cross, who’d been eyeing their unused pool for months and had brought cookies to wear her father down. She, of course, was voluntold to prepare the sides and finger foods. Neither her nor her father were happy with the arrangement, but Mrs. Cross could be very persuasive, and her dad was a sucker for freshly baked cookies. 

That is how she found herself in the midst of a packed aisle at the grocery store, looking up and down for hamburger buns. It perplexed her that they’d be out of them already, especially considering that Mrs. Cross had invited seemingly every single person in town to their barbecue. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke, pulling the attention of a clerk away from the cans he was restocking, “I can’t seem to find the hamburger buns.” 

She remembered him from high school, though she couldn’t remember his name. Ben? Eric? Something like that. Ben-Eric lazily glanced at the empty shelf, shrugging. 

“If they’re not on this shelf, we’re out of them.” 

“You can’t possibly be out of hamburger buns in July,” she stammered, exasperated. 

“Clearly,” he said, rolling his eyes, “we are.” 

He turned back to his task, placing more cans on the shelf at a snail's pace. She glared at his back. This is exactly why she couldn’t fathom being with someone her own age. Frank would never be so infuriatingly careless about his job. 

“Fine. Thanks.” She turned the cart around, heading down the aisle away from Ben-Eric. 

When she finally finished purchasing everything on Mrs. Cross’ list, minus hamburger buns, she loaded everything into the back of her father’s car. The time on her watch said she had plenty of time to make a pit-stop on the way home before her father began to worry, which she fully intended to do. It’d been too long without seeing Frank, and she didn’t think she’d get to see him very much until after the barbecue. They’d have to be extra discreet tonight. 

When she pulled up to Frank’s workshop, his car was the only one in the lot. She smiled. Good. She much preferred to speak with him when he wasn’t surrounded by older women. 

“Frank?” She called out, knocking as she entered. She could already feel sweat beading at her temple. It was sweltering, even inside his air-conditioned workshop. She should’ve left the car running to save herself from heat stroke later. Thankfully, she’d worn a skirt – Frank's favorite. 

Clanging echoed, followed by a grunt. She followed the noise, stepping carefully around the various bits of wood and buckets of paint that had been sporadically placed in different corners of the room. 

“Frank, it’s me.” She called again. 

“Yeah, what can I do for you?” 

He appeared almost out of thin air, rounding the corner with a pencil tucked behind his ear and a frustrated pout on his face. This is how he approached most of his clients, though his eyes softened when he realized she was alone. They were so good at playing this game together. 

“Sorry, I thought your dad might be with you,” he said, tugging her against his sweaty t-shirt. “To what do I owe a beautiful woman visiting me on the hottest day of the year?” 

She giggled, swatting at his chest, “You always have beautiful women visiting you.” 

“They don’t matter to me,” he said, shrugging and pulling her in for a kiss. She couldn’t resist the urge to swipe her tongue against his. He squeezed her against him, crouching slightly so that he could lift her into the air. It was second nature for her to wrap her legs around his waist. This was a dance they were all too familiar with. 

He tasted of salt and coffee, a mix that she was growing more and more addicted to. She couldn’t get enough of it, of him. She moaned into his mouth when she grinded against his length, hard and begging to be freed from the confines of his tight jeans. He turned, setting her down on top of a tool bench. The cool metal burned against her heated skin, melting all sense of time or urgency away. Frank groaned as she pulled his waist closer to hers with her legs, yearning for more, more, more of him. 

Suddenly, a vision of Mrs. Cross tutting in her direction entered her brain. The ice cream, the lack of hamburger buns. The afternoon she’d have to spend readying herself for the entire town to have eyes on her and her father. It felt wrong, but she pried her mouth away from his, gasping. 

“I have ice cream in the trunk,” she groaned, almost whining at the ridiculous list that Mrs. Cross had given her. “And I need hamburger buns or Mrs. Cross is going to kill me.” 

“Okay,” Frank blinked through his lustful haze, nodding slowly, “I have some at my house.” 

“You have some at your house,” she repeated, mirroring his head movement. 

“Y’wanna stop by and get them before the party?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, watching his pupils dilate as his hands crawled up her exposed thighs. “I really do have ice cream in the trunk.” 

Frank chuckled, inching his hands higher. He was overwhelmingly big, taking up so much space in her vision that she could hardly see over his shoulder. She gulped, blinking up at him with the doe eyes that he adored. 

“I can be quick,” he said. He was so close to her now that she could feel the ghost of his words on her lips.  

Goosebumps skittered down her spine in the wake of his heated words. She seriously considered telling Mrs. Cross to go to hell and take her melted ice cream with her, but hesitated. As much as this barbecue was annoying her father, it felt nice that he’d be surrounded by so many people again. It’d been a long time since their house was filled with more than just her, her father, and occasionally, Frank. A few hours of socializing would be good for him. 

A thud from the parking lot forced them apart from one another, Frank regretfully putting distance between them. Someone was here, and they were going to be caught if they didn’t pull themselves together, and fast. Frank quickly returned to her, lifting her off the tool bench and setting her down on wobbly legs before busying his hands with a pencil and a piece of plywood. She smoothed her skirt, awkwardly wringing her hands as the stranger made their way through the workshop. 

“Back door’s always unlocked for you, sweetheart,” Frank said, pressing a quick peck to her temple. His voice was gravely, a sign that she’d successfully wound him. “Get whatever you need from my place. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 

“Okay,” she nodded, heart still pounding from both the intimacy with Frank and them almost getting caught together, “Thank you, Frankie.” 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said, refocusing on the piece of wood in front of him. She glimpsed a blur of blonde-ish gray hair as she hurried toward the nearest exit.   

“Mr. Castle?” A woman’s voice called out as she circled the same corner Frank had appeared from earlier. “I thought there might be someone else here! Anyway, I was wondering if you had any time to work on the floors in my living room this weekend.” 

She didn’t stick around to hear the rest of their conversation, cursing herself for not leaving the car running when she climbed into the boiling hot driver’s seat. The ice cream was certainly a puddle at this point. She’d never related to ice cream so much. 

x 

Frank’s house was around the corner from the one she shared with her father. It didn’t matter how many times she stayed the night with him – being the only person in the house made her nervous. She often felt like she was taking up space that she didn’t deserve, especially here, amongst Frank’s belongings. She wondered if that was something every young woman went through, or if it was just her. She didn't have a mother to ask, which made the ache of not knowing even worse. 

As she made her way to the pantry, a picture hanging on the fridge caught her eye. It was a much younger Frank, sidled up to a woman who had a hand pressed to his chest. His late wife, presumably. Two young kids sat on either side of them. They both looked so much like Frank that she couldn’t stop her eyes from watering. Frank never talked about his family, and she didn’t ask, though her father had mentioned it to her a few times in passing. They had died, and Frank was “different” now, though she didn’t understand what that meant. 

The picture broke her heart. Who was Frank before he moved here and met her? She didn’t know, but she wanted to. She wanted to pry into his life, opening old wounds so that she could understand how he ended up here, alone except for the fleeting moments he had with her. She wondered if Frank would ever want a family with her, or if the pain of it all was too much. She wondered if she’d be a good mom, or if she’d die young and leave her kids without guidance as they navigated adulthood just like her mom did to her. 

She snapped out of the harrowing thoughts, swallowing thickly and backing away from the refrigerator. Hurrying back to the car, she gulped down air as she backed out of the driveway and made her way home. Mrs. Cross’ hamburger buns would have to be a later problem.  

x 

When she finally walked through the kitchen door, her father was amidst a heated conversation on the telephone, hand resting on his hip in a way that told her he was annoyed. She set the bags on the counter, smiling at his exasperated face. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, rolling his eyes at whoever was on the other line. 

“It’s Cindy,” he mouthed to her, covering the bottom of the phone with his hand. “Help!” 

She hurried over, putting the phone to her ear. Mrs. Cross – Cindy – was rambling about seven-layer dip.  

“Mrs. Cross, it’s me. Sorry to interrupt,” she said, cutting the older woman off, “I wasn’t able to get hamburger buns. Safeway was out. Do you know anyone that could bring some?” 

Her dad put his hands together in a prayer-like manner, thanking her. She stifled a giggle as Mrs. Cross began rambling again. Her dad took a long pull of his cigarette, shaking his head in vexation. When she finally managed to get off the phone, her father was lighting another, staring through a window at the backyard. 

“She was only on layer three of seven when you walked in,” he pointed out, shaking his head again, “I can’t imagine how long she would’ve kept me if you hadn’t shown up when you did, honey.” 

“Well, I got layers four and five just now. I guess we’ll hear about six and seven this afternoon.” 

He laughed, looking over the piles of groceries on the counter. 

“Cindy is doing way too much with this barbecue,” he grumbled, waving his cigarette through the air. “Did you know she hired gardeners to come by this morning? Gardeners! What’s wrong with our garden?” 

“She’s being nice.” She sent him a pointed look before nudging him toward the groceries. “Now, help me put everything away so that I can start on the first layer before she gets here.” 

Later, when the barbecue had finally begun and it felt like every person she’d ever met was crowding her house and backyard, she wilted against the wall in the kitchen. She’d never made so many finger foods in her life. Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, but she couldn’t remember the last time she sat down. Leave it to Mrs. Cross to suggest a relaxing barbecue and then force her to cater for it. 

Frank, newly showered and bare-chested, arrived a few minutes later. Six bags of hamburger buns swung from his fists as she took in the sight in front of her. She’d nearly kissed him right in front of everyone but settled on thanking him quietly and asking him to put them in the kitchen.  

“Where did you get them?” She asked, shutting the door to the kitchen softly, cheeks flush at the sight of Frank’s bare torso.  

It didn’t matter how many times she’d seen him shirtless. The tiny gasp that always left her lips was involuntary. They were alone for a fleeting moment, and all she could think about was jumping his bones. 

“Safeway had a ton,” he said, eyeing her outfit.  

It was blistering hot, even in the late afternoon, so she’d donned a pair of white shorts and a string bikini top. She didn’t intend on swimming, but she knew it would drive Frank crazy to see her in such little clothing.  

“Safeway said they were out when I stopped by! Right before I came to see you!” She moaned, running her hand over her face. “Ben-Eric is such a liar!” 

“Who?” Frank tilted his head, confusion overtaking his tone. 

Before she could recount her story about infuriating store clerks, her dad jostled into the room, followed by the last person she expected to see standing in her kitchen – her ex-boyfriend, Matthew. 

Time halted for a few moments as she tried to understand the picture in front of her. Her father, who was smiling as he glanced proudly between her and Matt, stood with his hands on his hips. Matt had an arrogant smile on his face, though he was twiddling with his cane enough to tell her he was actually very nervous. Frank, left in the dark about the newest stranger in the room, glanced between her horrified face and Matt’s, trying to gauge why the temperature in the room had just risen a few degrees. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Matt said, tipping his head in her direction. 

“Sweetheart?” Frank echoed, the surprise in his voice bouncing off the ceiling and quieting the dull roar in her ears as she continued to stare at Matt’s stupidly handsome face. 

The three men watched her, waiting for an explanation, a response, anything. She gaped back at them, wondering what in the fresh hell Matt was playing at, showing up to her dad’s barbecue and calling her sweetheart. The nerve he had was astonishing. Anger muddled her thoughts. How dare he show up in her house?  

She didn’t say any of this, of course. In fact, the only words that came out of her mouth were, “You’re wearing flip-flops.” 

“It’s a pool party, right?” Matt tilted his head, smiling. His hands continued to fiddle with his cane. 

“You’re in my kitchen, wearing flip-flops.” She muttered robotically, fixing her eyes on the wall behind Matt’s head. 

“I hope it’s okay that I invited him,” her dad said, sending her a look that told her she was acting insane. “He mentioned that he’d be in town, and I thought why not, ya know?”  

He finished his statement off with a swift pat on Matt’s back, sending her another pointed glance. She finally blinked, back in her own body and furious. She inhaled, ready to kick and scream at her father, but Frank cut her off before she could say a word. 

“We haven’t met. I’m Frank, the neighbor,” he said gruffly. 

“Matthew,” Matt said, head still tilted in her direction, “the ex-boyfriend.” 

“The ex-boyfriend,” Frank repeated, eyeing Matt closely. 

She knew exactly what Frank was thinking. Matt was another older man that she’d given herself to. Granted, Matt was only about a decade older than she was. It wasn’t as big of an age gap as her and Frank. Still, she could see the cogs whirring in his head as he fully grasped the situation happening in front of him. 

His nostrils flared once, the only sign that Matt’s presence was affecting him, before he nodded and looked at her father, asking if he needed help with grilling. She watched as he made his way across the kitchen, volunteering to take over for her father outside. He sent her a single, pointed glance before softly closing the door behind him, leaving her and Matthew alone for the first time in months. 

“He seems nice,” Matt said, noticeably calmer now that the kitchen had been vacated by Frank. “A little old for you, don’t you think?” 

“Don’t even, Matthew. What are you doing here? You can’t just show up at my house after disappearing last year.” 

Matt scoffed, leaning against the edge of the counter, inching closer to her heaving chest.  

“I was invited. I thought you wanted me here.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. He must be an idiot. He must think she’s an idiot. 

“You thought I’d want you here after you disappeared last year? No calls, no texts, just a scribbled note with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written on it?” 

“I told you I had a big opportunity, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” 

“Don’t act like you’re innocent in this either, sweetheart.” He bared his teeth, emphasizing the pet name. “You wanted out just as much as I did.” 

She huffed, narrowing her eyes at Matt’s towering figure. 

“Don’t put this on me. You knew what you were doing when you took that job in New York. Our relationship was done as soon as you signed that offer letter.” 

“You gave up before I did.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. She couldn’t figure out if he was perturbed or not by this conversation, which made her even more angry. “I’m going to go converse with Frank, the neighbor. Unless,” he paused, running a thumb across her bare torso, “you don’t want me to, for whatever reason?” 

His touch, which had at one time, set her on fire the way Frank’s does now, barely phased her. She was done with Matt the minute he walked out on her. It’s how she ended up moving back home to live with her father, and how she ended up meeting Frank. It was a good thing, ultimately. 

“Do whatever you want, Matt. I’m not your keeper anymore.” 

She gritted her teeth, stepping away from Matt’s touch and heading toward the back yard where the party seemed to be picking up.  

“You never were,” Matt called after her. 

She rolled her eyes, stepping into the sun for the first time in hours. People milled about, separating themselves into groups and eyeing each other as they whispered about the latest gossip. Small towns were notorious for this, but she tried not to let it phase her. As long as her and Frank kept their relationship secret, she could avoid the gossip mill. 

She watched a group of older women take turns glancing towards Frank and her father, who were so busy debating the proper way to grill a hamburger that they probably wouldn’t notice if the women stripped down and went skinny dipping right next to them. She stifled a laugh, relaxing into a chair somewhat isolated from the party, but still amongst the revelry.  

She’d chosen this seat specifically. It had a perfect view of Frank’s bare torso as he stood by the grill, sipping a beer. She suddenly felt a sort of kinship with the group of ogling women. Frank was droolworthy.  And she got to remind him of that every single night. 

A figure entered her periphery, forcing her attention away from Frank’s toned abs. She nearly rolled her eyes and groaned, readying herself to stomp of Matt’s foot, when she realized it was Ben-Eric from the Safeway down the road. 

“Ben-Eric!” She startled, cringing at her inability to filter her thoughts. 

“Who?” He said, sitting down in the closest seat to her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she laughed, “I couldn’t remember your name, and that’s what I called you earlier when you lied to me about the hamburger buns.” 

He laughed along with her, sipping his beer. 

“To be fair, I didn’t know we had more in a different aisle. They sell out so quickly in July.” 

“Sure, Ben-Eric,” she said sarcastically, laughing again at his perplexed expression. 

“You’re half right. It is Benjamin, but I guess you can call me Ben-Eric if that’s what you want,” he said, tilting his head in a way that reminded her how handsome he was. “Most of my friends call me Dex.” 

“Okay, Dex,” she said, grinning again. “Tell me. How much do you know about seven-layer dip?” 

They spent the afternoon people-watching and catching up, though the longer she sat there, the more she wanted to see Frank. It felt like she always wanted to see Frank these days. He’d disappeared earlier after the grill had been cleaned, and she hadn’t seen him since. When the party finally wound down, she realized, thankfully, that Matt was long gone. Ben-Eric left, thanking her dad personally for the party, and then it was just the two of them, standing amongst empty beer cans and deflated balloons. 

“That was exhausting,” her father said, immediately exiting the kitchen in favor of falling asleep to his crossword. She huffed and began clearing the mess. So much for ‘we’re in this together’.  

Not long after she’d begun, a sudden throat being cleared startled her. She turned, seeing Frank for the first time in hours. 

“Frank!” She put a hand to her chest, heart pounding. “I thought you went home!” 

“I did, but I came back because I knew he wouldn’t help you clean up.” He shrugged. 

There was something off about his demeanor. She immediately noticed the way he hesitated to enter the room fully, instead choosing to lean against the doorway. Was it because her dad was snoring in the other room, or for a different reason? 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, shaking her head. 

He shrugged again, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“Frank,” she murmured, “What’s wrong?” 

He finally looked up, staring at her with a hard, unreadable expression that left her even more confused. 

“You didn’t tell me about Matthew,” he finally said, immediately cringing. “Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. I sound like a whiny bitch when I say it like that.” 

Her hands, which held a near-empty trash bag, hung limp in front of her. She didn’t realize how much he’d been affected by Matt’s sudden appearance. She’d forgotten about it already. 

“Matthew doesn’t mean anything to me.” She said simply, shrugging. 

“Anymore,” he rasped, looking anywhere but in her direction before finally lowering his head, ashamed. “And that fucking asshole outside. I wanted to fucking strangle him when he made you laugh.” 

She dropped the trash bag, approaching him slowly. He watched her carefully, refusing to let himself touch her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

“Are you jealous, Frankie?” She said, genuinely amused. “Is that why you left?” 

Frank’s nostrils flared. A spark of anger lit his eyes, amusing her even more. 

“You drive me crazy, sweetheart,” he grunted, still refusing to put his hands on her. “Everything about you drives me insane.” 

She pushed her chest against him, looking up at his scowling face. 

“I don’t care about any of them, Frank,” she said, running her hands up his broad torso. “I only care about you. I thought you knew that.” 

He grunted again, this time, angling his head so that their lips were millimeters apart. 

“I do know that,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Something about you makes me forget how fucking ridiculous being a jealous asshole is.” 

She was thrilled to hear this. She’d been waiting for him to mark his territory from the moment Matt walked in the kitchen earlier. Her father being three feet away hadn’t crossed her mind for a moment, though she was sure Frank would’ve knocked Matt on his ass for touching her if her father was anywhere else in the house. 

“Show me,” she murmured, placing her palms on Frank’s cheeks. “Show me how jealous it makes you.” 

His expression hardened, jaw ticking. He remained incredibly still as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips grazed his ever so slightly as she lifted her mouth, begging for him to touch her. 

“You’re mine,” he grumbled, and finally, finally, he touched her.  

His hands tightened around her waist as his lips crashed against hers, pulling her into a salacious kiss worthy of the front-page news. His tongue collided with hers, forcing its way deep into her mouth. She sighed into him, relishing the warmth of his body against hers. 

This felt more right than anything she’d ever felt in her life. Frank, standing in her kitchen, reminding her who she was to him. It may have started as a casual hook-up, but now they were in so deep with one another that it felt like drowning while simultaneously breathing air for the first time. 

“I’m yours, too,” he murmured inbetween kisses, cradling her head between his palms. “Always.” 

“Always,” she repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, unable to remember or care that her father was down the hall and could walk in at any moment.  

She wasn’t even sure he was asleep, but nothing about this night had felt right until now, and she wasn’t going to ruin it just yet. She grasped Frank’s waistline, tugging at his pants. She wanted to be thoroughly wrecked by him, right here, right now. 

Frank, on the other hand, was a much more responsible person than she could ever be. He groaned as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before disconnecting entirely. 

“Frank,” she started, blindly reaching for him. “I need you.” 

“Not here,” he murmured, “Not when he’s down the hall.” 

Conflict warred with desire in his eyes. Even after all this time, Frank couldn’t bring himself to hurt his best friend more than he already had. Every day that they continued their affair, he was damaging his relationship with her father, but he couldn’t stay away from her. She was everything to him, and after losing everything once, he couldn’t help but hold on tightly. 

“Can I come over after I finish up here?” She asked, cheeks still flush with need. 

“Always, baby,” he said, bending down to pick up another piece of trash left by partygoers. He pushed it into the forgotten half-empty trash bag. “You don’t have to ask.” 

She nodded, focusing on the mess around her again. Frank didn’t leave like she thought he would. He stayed and continued to help her clean, which made it even harder for her to stay focused. Finally, when the mess had been contained to a reasonable level, she and Frank walked slowly back to his house. She decided now was a good time as any to bring up the picture on his fridge. 

“Frank, can I ask you something?” She said, casually swinging their intertwined hands. 

“Anything.” 

“What was your wife’s name?”  

She said it barely above a whisper, but Frank heard it loud and clear. His head snapped to hers, confusion and caution clear on his face. His eyes softened at her expression, weary, but curious. 

“I mean-,” she said, immediately hating herself for asking, “You don’t have to tell me. I saw them – your family – on your fridge earlier when I stopped by and I’m curious about them, but you don’t have to tell me anything. I just mean-.” 

“Maria,” he said, interrupting the anxious rant she had begun without realizing it. “Maria was her name. And Lisa and Frank Jr. are my kids.” 

She eyed him nervously, waiting for anger or admonishment for prying into his personal life, but there was none. Frank squeezed her hand, pulling it up to his lips for a soft kiss. 

“Car accident. Almost twenty years ago now.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I miss ‘em every day.” 

“Oh, Frank,” she said, tears welling in her eyes, “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her against his side as they continued the short walk. “I should’ve told you about it sooner.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek before continuing to the home where they had shared so many intimate moments together.  

Standing inside Frank’s house reminded her that it had only been a handful of hours since she’d been here last. The day had melted into a blur of cooking, partying, and Frank, all packed into a 24-hour period. If she was honest with herself, she was exhausted, but she finally had Frank to herself, and she wasn’t going to squander that opportunity. 

As soon as he locked the door, she was on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping into his arms. Her legs wound their way around his body as he lifted her in the air, pulling her fully against his torso. The feeling of his muscles alone was enough to make her moan. He was the hottest thing she’d ever seen, and he was all hers. 

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you showed up without a shirt today,” she said between kisses, hoping Frank could navigate the stairs while she was wrapped around him like a koala. 

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart” he grumbled, taking each step carefully until they made it to the top of the staircase. “Look at this bikini.”  

His bed, which he now considered to be their bed, was still unmade from their intimacy that morning. When he lowered himself, setting her down on her back, she nuzzled into the blankets. They smelled like him. 

“I love this bikini,” he said, eyeing the curve of her breasts beneath the fabric. She’d worn it just for him.  

His hand slowly pushed down into the mattress, feeling its way underneath her until it found the strings tied in a knot against her spine. A swift tug had the strings falling apart, giving way to him. He lowered his head – first to her cheek, nuzzling against her smooth skin, then to her neck, where he peppered kisses all the way down to the top of her shoulder, where he found the other knot holding her bikini together. She quivered with need as his teeth scraped against her racing pulse. He slowly nipped at the material, pulling the end of the knot with his teeth until it too gave way, exposing her breasts in the dim light of his bedroom. 

He huffed in disbelief as he looked over her exposed chest, jaw ticking.  

“He didn’t stand a chance,” he mumbled, eyes crawling up her body until it landed on her flushed cheeks. “Not a fucking chance.” 

“Who didn’t?” She asked, innocently batting her eyes. 

“You know who,” he grunted, jealousy laced in his tone for the second time tonight. “Do you know how badly I wanted to knock Matthew on his ass today for calling you sweetheart? For touching you after I left the kitchen?” 

“I didn’t know you saw that,” she breathed, heat pulsing in her core. Frank rarely got this way with her, but when he did, she was so turned on by it that it hurt. 

“I fucking saw everything,” he grumbled with a hardened expression, “He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine. Ever.”  

“I know, Frankie,” she murmured, running her fingers along the sculpt of his shoulders. 

“Your dad told me he’s a catholic lawyer,” he gritted, “and that the only reason you came home last year was because he broke your heart.”  

“That’s true,” she swallowed. 

Frank lowered his body even more, barely hovering over her. Her hips met his, grinding up against his hardened length through their clothes. Frank leaned forward, lips ghosting over her ear. 

“His loss,” he murmured.  

The wake of his breath sent goosebumps skittering down her spine. She moaned, grinding against him again. Frank’s eyes were so dark that she could barely make out the brown irises that she adored. 

“What about the other one?” She asked, unable to stop taunting him. “The one that sat by me outside and made me laugh.” 

His gaze, which had been slowly raking down her exposed chest, snapped up to meet hers again. His nostrils flared as he processed her question. She blinked hazily at him, waiting for his restraint to meet its limit. His jaw ticked before he finally let out a long, slow breath. 

“Watch it,” he warned in a low voice, though she could see the delight hidden in his eyes. 

“Or what?” She taunted again. 

And finally, after what felt like years and years of waiting, Frank’s restraint finally snapped. He slammed his mouth against hers, immediately swiping his tongue through her mouth. He was relentless with his kisses, giving her barely enough time to breathe between nipping at her jaw and grinding against her. 

She barely realized when her pants were off, only shuddering when his fingers teased her soaked entrance. She let out a soft moan, widening her legs. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was distraught with love for the man she shared this secret with. 

“I want on top,” she said, swiftly nudging him on his back as she hovered atop his impressive length. 

At some point in time, Frank had also lost his pants, though she couldn’t pinpoint when that happened. Everything about Frank was overwhelming to her senses. She could get lost in him. She wanted to get lost in him. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much the other men in her life didn’t affect the feelings she held for him. 

Frank squeezed her hips tightly, eyes still dark with desire. When she finally sank onto him, she held her breath, tears pricking at the back of her eyes in both pain and pleasure. Frank, ever the gentleman, would always slowly ease into her, allowing her time to adjust, but she didn’t want that. Tonight, she wanted to remind him how much of her belonged to him. 

She moved her hips slightly, moaning at how deep he was in this position. He had barely moved, breathing slowly with his eyes half lidded. She placed her hands on his chest and began rocking against him, eliciting a groan from his perfect, plump lips. His moans of pleasure spurred her to rock against him harder and faster. Her hips were held in a bruising hold by his large hands, guiding her against him. 

“Ask me to do anything, and I’ll do it,” he grunted, bucking into her and breathing hard as she continued grinding. “Name anything and I’ll get it for you. Anything, baby.” 

She giggled, delighted at his ability to make her feel like the only woman in the world. He took advantage of her distraction, flipping them over so that he could rut into her even harder. Frank rose to his full height, pulling her to the edge of the bed and lifting her hips to meet his in an even deeper position than before. 

She felt like she was on ecstasy, pleasure overriding every part of her body. Frank slammed into her at a relentless rate, grunting every time she squeezed around his thick length.  

“You fit so fucking perfectly underneath me, baby.” 

Slapping sounds echoed through the room, mixed with praise from Frank’s filthy mouth. 

“Did he ever make you feel this good, baby?” 

She arched her back, moaning. 

“Did he worship you the way you deserve?” 

Fire wreaked havoc on her entire body. She was on the brink of exploding. 

“He could beg for forgiveness for the rest of his life and never deserve you, sweetheart. Fuckin’ altar boy.” 

“Fuck,” she whined, nearly squealing as heat overcame every sense, every thought, every breath. Her orgasm crashed through her, pulsing every nerve in her body. She couldn’t remember where she ended, and Frank began. Every part of her was Frank’s, and every part of Frank was hers.  

“That’s it, baby,” Frank cooed, slowing his hips so that he could properly watch her come undone beneath him. “There you go, pretty girl. You’re doing so good.” 

Heart racing, she arched further off the bed, begging for more. Frank met her chest with wet lips, kissing up the valley between her breasts. She mewled when his lips wrapped around her nipple, flicking his tongue over the nub. Tears of pleasure flowed freely down her cheeks, driving Frank into a state of wild delirium. 

He pounded into her, drawing out another orgasm, and another. He left trails of wet kisses along every part of her body, marking his territory with sweet nips at her sensitive areas. 

“Mine,” he murmured after each kiss, reminding himself that she was here, splayed beneath him because she would choose him in every lifetime. 

“Yours,” she breathed, trembling. 

When Frank finished, after she found her pleasure one more time, she laid in a heavy heap, barely grunting when he cleaned her off with a warm towel. The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to her. Frank lifted the blankets over her wilted figure, kissing her temple before crawling into bed next to her. 

She was barely conscious enough to feel Frank’s arm wrap around her waist and tuck her against his chest, but she breathed easier knowing he was holding her. 

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Always.” 

Sweet, unconscious bliss followed her into the deepest sleep she’d ever been in, though she’d swear later on that she heard Frank tell her he loved her. Somehow, even in sleep, her body knew what she meant to him. She loved him too, more than anything. It would be a few more months before she admitted that to anyone besides him, though. 

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She didn’t mean for it to be this way, but honestly, she couldn’t imagine anything better than Frank kneeling in front of her, lapping away at her cunt as she tried to cook dinner. Frank wasn’t a loud man. She’d been around him long enough to know that he preferred peace and quiet over most things. Nevertheless, it surprised her just how loud he’d get when his head was crammed between her legs, eating like a man who’d been starving for weeks. 

She struggled to focus on the task at hand – chopping vegetables for the stew she was supposed to be cooking for dinner. Her dad had specifically requested it. He had claimed that it was Frank’s favorite dish of hers, though she knew better than that. Frank’s favorite dish was her pussy, and it had been for a long time. 

Her dad didn’t know – of course he didn’t know – that she was fucking his oldest friend. They’d been the most discreet about this arrangement, sneaking around the house when her dad was away, and they never intended on getting caught. He’d probably have an aneurysm if he could see them now.  

Frank’s tongue circled her cunt again, sending a shiver down her spine. He was so damned good at this part. She knew he was detail oriented because of his job, but she hadn’t anticipated how focused he could be when he was determined to get things done. His current obsession was making her come as many times as humanly possible in the hour before her father got home from work.  

He was working on number three now, gripping the back of her wobbling knees to hold her steady. She watched the knife shakily chop another carrot, feeling a million miles away from the girl in the kitchen. Her vision swam as heat coiled in her core. The calluses on his palms scraping against her bare thighs is what did her in. Frank greedily drank her third orgasm of the afternoon, smirking into her cunt. 

He pulled away, watching her resolve crumble. She sighed, closing her eyes as waves of pleasure overtook her senses. The knife she’d been cutting with was flat against the cutting board, squished beneath her palm. He eyed the sharp blade, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to ruin her high. 

When she finally blinked down at him, it was with flushed cheeks. He loved that about her. She’d never been able to hide her feelings from him. He wanted to do it all over again – lift the skirt of her dress up and plunge into her again with his tongue – but she pressed her palm into his cheek and tutted. 

“Greedy,” she muttered, running her fingers through his hair. 

He leaned into her touch, squeezing her ever-wobbly legs. Yes, greedy was a good word to describe how he felt about her. He couldn’t get enough, and she was ever so generous. They were perfectly matched in that department. 

“How long do we have?” He asked, inching his fingertips up the back of her thighs. 

“Not long enough,” she replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

A car door slammed somewhere nearby, sending a shock through both of them. They’d lost track of time. Her dad was home and would be walking through the kitchen any second now. They glanced at each other for a single moment, wide-eyed and frantic, before moving in unison. 

Frank unfolded from his stooped position, wincing when his knees popped in protest. If they weren’t in such a hurry, she’d giggle and call him old. She cursed, running her hands through the wrinkles on her dress. 

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” she murmured, pulling her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. 

Frank, who was normally much more coordinated, crashed into the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen in his attempt to put some distance between the two of them, causing alarm to flit across her face. She opened her mouth to chastise him when the door swung open, revealing Frank’s oldest friend. Her father moseyed through the door carrying a briefcase, a day-old coffee mug, and the coat he’d worn out the door that morning. 

The thing about her father was that he really wasn’t a terrible guy, just busy. He’d raised his only child by himself, making sure she was taken care of and well-fed, even when his empty belly ached at the dinner table. He hadn’t a lot of money, but he had a lot of love, and he, like all great parents, made do with that until they figured it all out.  

Frank felt sick to his stomach every time he came face to face with him. He didn’t mean to fall for his best friend’s daughter either, but it didn’t seem like his choice. Their budding relationship seemed inevitable from the moment she returned from college, eager to help her dad out around the house. Frank didn’t know she would be so...agreeable. 

“Hey, old man,” her dad said, patting Frank on the back with a wide grin. He eyed his daughter, focused solely on the carrot that had surpassed sliced a while ago and was approaching pulp-ish. “Hi, honey.” 

“Hey, how was work?” She replied awkwardly, flicking her gaze from the vegetable to her dad, then to Frank and back to her dad. “I’m almost done with dinner.” 

She turned back toward the cutting board, listening to him recount a story about one of his students forgetting to cite his sources in his semester essay. It was almost Christmas. She felt like maybe the student deserved a break, but she wasn’t a college professor, so what did she know? 

“I’ll go get ready for dinner.” Her father finished his story, turning towards Frank. “D’ya want something to drink? I raised her to host better than that, y’know.” 

He shot her a pointed look, amusement clear in his eyes. She blushed. While that was true, she didn’t think Frank minded that they’d chosen to forego drinks and jump straight into oral when he’d arrived. 

“She always takes good care of me,” Frank cleared his throat, sending another shiver down her back. She threw the vegetables in the stew, choking on the gasp that had lodged itself in her throat. 

“Right.” She nodded, trying to play it cool. “I offered earlier, dad.” 

She finally let her breath loose when her father disappeared deeper into the house. Frank smirked. 

“Frank-” 

He brought his finger to his lips, reminding her to keep her voice low. 

“You’re awful! He’s going to catch on!” She whisper yelled across the kitchen. Frank was already closing the gap between them, unable to keep himself away from her. Her hips were a magnet for his hands. He had no power over it. 

“He won’t suspect a thing.” Frank smirked, wicked thoughts clear as day on his face.  “Will there be any dessert? I already know what I want.” 

She rolled her eyes, giggling. 

“Not if you can’t keep your terrible mouth shut during dinner!”  

She nudged him towards the table, turning back to her stew moments before her dad rejoined them in the kitchen, none the wiser. 

When dinner was done, she piled pots, pans, and plates into Frank’s hands at the sink. He always insisted on helping her clean the kitchen. She knew it frustrated him that her dad never offered, but those complaints were met with firm shushing from her. It wasn’t his business what her father did or didn’t do. 

“Same time next week?” She asked as she walked Frank to the front door. 

He’d been sitting with her dad in the study for an hour, joining him only after the dishes were completely washed, dried, and put away. She didn’t mind sharing him with her dad. Frank was the only person who came around anymore besides solicitors and the occasional girl scout. It made her feel less guilty for stealing all of Frank’s attention.  

“Same time as always,” Frank said, tapping her nose with a wink. “Thanks for dinner.” 

She knew what he meant. In a few hours, she’d be plundering across the lawn, bundled against the cold with a very specific destination in mind. Frank’s back door was always unlocked. She’d know her way from stoop to stoop with her eyes closed.  

Her father joined her at the window as she watched Frank mosey down the street, hands tucked in his pockets.  

“You’re nice for letting him come over early, honey. I don’t think he talks much to other people. Mrs. Cross said he spoke to her in mostly grunts at the workshop the other day.” 

“Was Mrs. Cross trying to talk her way into free repair?” She pressed, arching an eyebrow. 

Frank often vented to her about the jobs that people in town tried to get him to discount. Mrs. Cross was a steady regular for him, but she was the cheapest lady he’d ever met. Frank had worked on almost everyone’s house in town at one point or another. He was the resident-fixer-upper, and he also happened to be one of the only handsome bachelors in town. Women hired him all the time to do random things around their house when their husbands weren’t home. Frank hated it, but it paid the bills. 

“She must’ve left that part out,” her father conceded, sipping his whiskey. “Still, I think he’s a little lonely.” 

“I think he gets on just fine,” she murmured, adjusting the curtains over the window once Frank was out of sight. “Besides, don’t you think people say the same about you?” 

Her father had been a bachelor just as long as Frank, prioritizing work and raising a child over developing a relationship with someone new. Women hounded the widowed professor almost as much as they hounded Frank. Still, having a grown daughter living with him seemed to keep them off his back. Mostly. 

“Never.” He shook his head. “I have you, remember?” 

She nodded, half-smiling as he made his way down the hall to his study. He did have her, but he wouldn’t always. She’d have to grow up someday. They both would. 

When her father had finally lost his battle to whiskey and sleep, she found herself creeping into Frank’s dark house, removing her shoes by the door. He always made fun of how quiet she forced herself to be, knowing that the only person in the house was him, but it was a force of habit. She’d been quietly tiptoeing around her house for years. 

It always went something like this. Every night, she made her way up the stairs, overly familiar with his house, and inched the bedroom door open. Every night, Frank met her at the door, shirtless and oh-so-fuckable, tugging her lips against his in breathtaking swiftness. Every night, they tangled themselves in the sheets and each other, deepening their connection and furthering their affair. 

Inbetween kisses, he gasped into her mouth, “What took you so long?” 

Inhale. Kiss. Exhale. Kiss. 

“He was doing the crossword. You know Thursdays are the trickiest-oh!” 

In one sweeping motion, he’d lifted her off the ground bridal-style and chucked her on the blanketed bed, erasing any thoughts of gridded puzzles.  

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he said, hovering over her frame. 

“I’ve been here every night for months,” she replied, running a cool fingertip down his exposed bicep. “I’ll always come.” 

“Always? Promise?” 

He winked at her, barely visible in the dim light of his bedroom, but it sent another flurry of butterflies through her core. Smitten was a good word to describe her. Smitten and damned, because she didn’t care how wrong it made her feel. 

“I promise,” she said candidly. 

And she really believed she meant that. 

x 

Frank had quite the stamina for an older guy. It’d been almost an hour, edging himself closer and closer to coming every time another orgasm tumbled from her lips. She was currently on her stomach, wedged between him and the comforter. Her arms were crossed behind her back, held tightly by Frank’s large hand as he pounded into her. Hot, pleasurable tears streamed down her cheeks.  

She arched against his weight, trying to stave off another orgasm, but it spurred him further. He slammed into her with such force that an unsolicited moan forced its way from her throat. 

“Frank,” she started, swallowing thickly. 

His hand met her throat, tugging her head back even further. She groaned at the new position. He was somehow even deeper inside than he’d been before. 

“What do you need, baby?” He cooed, breathing into her ear. Goosebumps skittered down her spine in response. 

“P-Please,” she whined. 

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetie. Can you give me one more?” 

“Frank-,” she mewled into the comforter, muffling the sound. 

“Just one more, baby,” he coaxed, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You can do it.” 

She wasn’t sure she could. Frank had enticed more orgasms out of her over one evening than she’d ever had in her life. Even so, the familiar heat coiling in her core told her she’d be trembling with pleasure again soon.  

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured, rutting into her. “Wish I could keep you in my bed forever.” 

It had taken her a while to get used to Frank’s praise. He was relentlessly flattering, and what’s worse is he meant everything he said to her. She’d spent most of her life trying to understand the people around her; hours spent deciphering the words they used when they meant something completely different. Yet, Frank’s words were always genuine, and she never doubted their truth. 

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, kissing down the slope of her spine, “I know you want to.” 

She really, really did. Frank was an all-consuming, overwhelming force taking her exactly where she wanted to go. He squeezed her throat, eyes lighting up as a slew of curses left her lips. She was already gone, lost in a haze of pleasure reserved only for Frank. She relished in the sturdiness of his body, pressed against her in a way that made her feel whole.  

Finally, he let go of the leash he’d been holding on himself, bucking forward and holding himself deep inside of her. His delicious groan pushed her even further over the edge. A beautiful cacophony of heavy breaths and moans surrounded the two of them. 

When she finally blinked her eyes open, Frank was coaxing her back to life with gentle kisses down her spine. She relaxed into his touch, heart pounding.  

“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” he breathed, rutting into her a final time for emphasis. “I can’t believe how perfect you are for me.” 

He dropped to the bed next to her, still breathing heavily. She couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off her face. He really was the most handsome bachelor in their town. 

“Do you ever wish that I was older?” She asked, suddenly shy in front of the man that had seen her naked in a multitude of positions. 

His gaze snapped to hers. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

“I just mean- Like if I was older, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide it from everyone.” She said, gnawing on her bottom lip. 

“I don’t care how old you are,” he shook his head, sitting up. “I care about hurting your dad, hurting you, but I don’t care about the rest of it. I’m not hiding you because of that.” 

She nodded, understanding but still disliking it. She wasn’t sure her dad would ever come around to the idea of Frank and her together, and she was too much of a coward to tell him about it. 

“Are you thinkin’ about telling him?” Frank asked, arching an eyebrow at her. 

“No.” Shook her head. “The opposite actually. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to tell him.” 

He ran his hand along her back, soothing the anxiety before it could bubble into something worse. 

“And that makes me sad,” she murmured, eyes glossy. 

“I know it does, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “ ‘m sorry we can’t be more open about us.” 

His quiet whisper broke her heart. She’d never been this enraptured by another person. Frank was kind and didn’t make her feel weird for being herself. It was unfair that she couldn’t publicly celebrate the only person in the world who knew her. But her dad wasn’t a progressive man, to say the least, and he’d likely try to kill Frank for even looking at her in a suggestive way. 

“Do you ever think about running away?” She asked, curling against Frank’s side and relishing the warmth that radiated from his skin. 

“With you?” He sighed. “All the time.” 

“Me too,” she said, closing her eyes and imagining it. 

They could go anywhere, but she knew they’d end up near the ocean. She was hundreds of miles away from one, but they’d figure it out. 

“We could get a house on the beach,” she said, smiling. “I could take you out and not have to worry about running into anyone we know. I could show you off, like I want to do now.” 

Her heart ached at the thought of it. She knew Frank was hurting too. It was all a silly, out of reach dream that they had. The world was much smaller than they wished it to be. It didn’t matter how they felt about one another if her father wasn’t okay with them being together. 

“I’ll buy you that house on the beach one day, sweetheart,” Frank sighed again, running his fingers up and down her back, “And we’ll run away together; have a life outside of the four walls of this bedroom.” 

“You promise?” 

She looked up at him with sadness in her eyes and hope in her heart. Everything about their situation was troubling, but she couldn’t possibly end it. She loved Frank, even if it meant isolating herself from the rest of the world. 

“I promise,” he said. 

And she really believed he meant that. 

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