good fortunes!

---

Frank is a surprisingly active participant of wedding planning, but not necessarily for the details. He’s more of a schedule guy, the one that makes sure the two of you get to all the meetings, tastings and test runs. He’s the one that allots mental energy for remembering dates, meeting times, and the subsequent travel times it takes to get there and organizing them on a schedule.

He’s also the calmer one between the two of you when you start to get too into everything that could go wrong.

So far, it’s been tiring. Truly. Nearly half a year of your weekends and after work days being occupied with planning. Half a year and still neither of you have decided whose side Karen is going to participate in within your mixed gender bridesmaids and groomsmen because you two met her at arguably the same time in your lives.

Half a year of feeling like you’re in and out of the wringer, the only thing making it worth it being the thought of the success of the event itself, the excitement for the coffee flavored wedding cake, and the fact that you were one of the luckier ones to have your fiancé be so involved in the process of wedding preparation.

Half a year in, and you finally break.

—

Friday. Your solo drive home from work is quiet, music on low. Work had been incessantly overstimulating, so much so that even enjoyable stimuli was just too much.

You’re looking forward to getting home and being in your lover’s arms, having a nice hot shower together, good food, good company, maybe some well deserved lovemaking to get you to sleep (if you both don’t pass out first, you’ve no idea of the kind of day Frank’s had, but you’re tired for sure) and then wake up to the weekend well past noon.

Perfect. You’re desperate for a recharge. Just two days of nothing but rest and recuperation and you’ll be half ready for the week after that. It’ll be enough to get you by.

You even made sure to crunch and finish some extra deadlines at work early, just so you get to pretend to work on them when you get back in the office on Monday next week.

You get home first, Frank’s van absent from the garage. No matter. The moment you unlock the door to your shared home and lock it again (as per his insistent requests), you’re practically already stripping yourself of your work clothes, dumping them by the bathroom floor.

You shoot Frank a text that you’re in the shower and extend an invitation for him to join once he gets home. You don’t bother waiting for his reply before you jump straight in and turn on the water.

The first breath you take as the water hits your skin feels special despite the mundanity of the act. It’s the kind of shower you wish could seep into your spine, but hot water can only make you feel so warm without making you feel like you’re singeing off your skin.

You immerse yourself into the act of just standing under the spray for a long, long while, not registering the opening of the bathroom door.

“Sweetheart?”

Your eyes open. Frank’s here. You didn’t even hear the main door unlock. You see the blur of his silhouette through the shower curtain. He’s standing by the door.

“Hi, Frankie.” You smile to yourself, inching the curtain open slightly behind you, then letting yourself take a quick peek.

“I uh, got your text.” He shucks off his jacket, brows raised, waiting for more confirmation in case you’d changed your mind.

Cute. You can’t help the chuckle that leaves you. “So why are you still out there and not in here?”

He grins at your reply, lifting off his shirt and undoing his belt to take off his pants. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

—

You end up just hugging Frank in the shower once he enters, and admittedly, he may have misread the mood. (Not that shared showers without sex were uncommon for both of you, he’d just been anticipating getting on his knees to get you off, relieve some of your stress.)

Regardless, he holds you in return, content just to spend time with you in such close proximity. “Long day?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You angle your head for a kiss and he responds in kind, pressing his lips to yours. His hands move to your tailbone, pressing his fingers into the divots in small circles.

Heavenly. It’s so fucking good coming home to Frank who knows how to touch you, knows how to soothe with his gentle strength, knows how to translate how well he understands you into action. You hug him tighter and he relishes in the way you melt into him and groan.

“How about you?” You ask, cheek pressed into his chest.

“Eh, th’ usual.” He shrugs. Not being in an office made for less eventful workdays, he’s found. He might also just be lucky that this new crew at the jobsite was full of people who minded their own business most of the time.

“What’d you want f’r dinner? Meatballs or chicken alfredo?” He offers options as he continues his massage because he can tell the last thing you want is yet another decision on your mind, but he still wants your preferences considered.

You make your choice as Frank squeezes some shampoo onto his hands, massaging it into your scalp. You busy yourself with lathering soap onto his skin, which was totally not just an excuse to get your hands all over his chest.

The shower ends with the two of you towelling off each other’s hair, and you emerge from the bedroom to one of your favorite nightgowns on the bed, old and worn in, fabric softened by use. Beside it was a pair of panties as well. The garments likely placed here the moment Frank got home and before he entered the shower with you. Your lover makes no mention of the silent acts of service, instead, he’s already left the room after putting on a shirt and a pair of sweats, beelining for the kitchen to prep dinner.

You soak it all in with another deep inhale, towel still wrapped around you, alone in your shared bedroom. Just like that, the day’s pace had slowed completely from it’s earlier hectic rhythm. You didn’t have to do everything on your own anymore. Not for a long time. Not as long as Frank’s around.

Frank has a knack for calming you down like it’s as simple as breathing.

—

Your fiancé has a sauce going in a pot when you emerge from the bedroom. You go straight to making drinks.

“We don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow, right?” You ask. If there was, Frank would’ve mentioned it by now. He manages to be more on top of the schedule than you are.

Not that you aren’t keeping track on your own calendar. Still, it doesn’t hurt to confirm.

Frank’s licking off his thumb when he turns to you, taste testing the sauce from the ladle. “Nothin’ f’r tomorrow, sweetheart. Y’can sleep in.”

You let out a faux whispered, bodily exaggerated ‘yes!’ that endears him as he works on the food on the stove.

“Try this.” He blows air gently onto a spoonful of sauce before presenting it to you.

Frank is a good cook even though he’s the kind that doesn’t measure, just trial and error, small adjustments each time until he gets it as delicious as he can manage. You hum once the flavor hits your tastebuds.

“It’s good.” You hum up at him, kissing his cheek. He receives your affection with a small grin as he turns off the stove and starts making two plates.

“Y’know…” You start. “Having nothing scheduled for tomorrow also means we can spend more time together later tonight.” You hint at him, batting your lashes when the two of you meet at the dining table.

Frank knows that look, he gets it often, and he considers himself one lucky bastard for it. “Yeah? Need a little somethin’ t’help you sleep, huh?”

He sits down beside you, and the mischief apparent on your face, coupled with the way you press your cheek into his shoulder as you nod, begets your answer.

—

Dinner passes at its regular pace even with your proposition for sex later that night. Frank isn’t really the type to horse around when the matter came to food. Meanwhile, you’re just basking in the experience of being able to express wanting sex without a man immediately wanting to rush into it like a shark smelling blood.

You’re at home here. At home with Frank. You love it.

By the time 8pm rolls around, the plates are in the dishwasher, kitchen and dining area clean. The two of you take turns brushing your teeth by the bathroom sink and freshening up.

Frank has you on his lap in bed by 8:15. He’s shirtless, gone commando in his sweats. His hands are under your nightgown, petting your thighs, lips pressing against yours in open-mouthed kisses.

“I’ve missed you all week.” You sigh, melting into the way Frank slowly locks your lips together.

“Mm, missed you too, sweetheart.” He noses along the junction of your neck, pressing his lips to your skin every once in a while. “Don’t think I’ve ever clocked out faster in my life when I saw y’r text. Needed that shower with y’real bad.” Frank chuckles.

This week was especially packed for some reason, there being genuinely no day from the past six days that didn’t entail a call or a meeting with your wedding planners and suppliers.

All that, on top of both your full time jobs, was nothing if not draining the life out of you. The two of you barely had time to indulge in each other past the usual routine of dinner together and five minutes of TV before succumbing to sleep.

It was reassuring to hear that Frank needed you the same way you needed him right now.

You smile tiredly at his words, eyes closing as Frank’s hands move back over your clothes, cupping your chest to thumb circles on your nipples. “Ah… mm—” He meets your lips in another kiss, making your body run even warmer.

A string of saliva separates you two when you part, your own hands squeezing Frank’s biceps.

“Was ready to get down on my knees in the shower and eat y’out.” He confesses. “Help my girl relax after a long week.”

You let out an amused hum, face flushed, lips bitten. That did sound amazing, but you had a different order for your mental itinerary.

“I can’t say I’m not a fan of that…” You chuckle. “But I wanted to finish everything first.” You feel Frank’s hand cup your cheek, and you respond by leaning into it and placing your own hand over the back of his. “So there won’t be anything left to interrupt us.”

“Yeah, figured.” He replies, tilting his head to the side with this tender gaze, simply admiring your features. He smiles, closes his eyes briefly when you lean in at kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Y’got any ideas, sweetheart?” He asks, looking up at you again, tone low, thumbs now circling your hips over your loose clothing. “I’ll make ‘em happen.”

Frank likes it when you get to choose how he gets to touch you.

Warmth spreads through your body at the question. Regardless, you did have a position in mind, your back to Frank’s chest, his hands all over your body, legs spread over his strong thighs while you’re impaled on his cock.

Your mouth waters at the thought.

“Yeah.” You reply.

He watches you as you turn, quick to realize the position you’re going for, hands hovering under your forearms in case you lose balance. You sit yourself on Frank’s lap in the exact way you’d imagined and he pulls you close to him.

“You like this position a lot, don’tcha?” He murmurs from behind you.

Your spine tingles from the sound of your lover’s voice. You’re flustered as you reply, as if caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “I like when you hold me.”

“That right?” He kisses along the side of your neck, humming when you tilt your head to accomodate the action. “Want me to fuck you just like this, huh?”

Your hips grind down on his lap at the thought he proposes. “Yes.” You look up at him. “Please.”

“Alright, baby.” He coos. “Relax f’me.”

He noses along the base of your neck, grunting in satisfaction when you grab him by the wrists to move his hands, one at your clothed core and the other at your chest.

“Attagirl.” He can’t help but groan. There’s nothing Frank loves more than when you tell him what you want so directly.

He hikes your nightgown up, slips his hand under the waistband of your panties, sighing contentedly at the familiar feel of coarse hair against his fingertips. He finds your clit quickly, circling it in slow, gentle nudges.

His other hand busies itself with cupping your chest, pleasuring your nipples with subtle passes of his fingers.

“Mm—” Electricity buzzes up your spine, pools at the tips of your fingers.

You try giving yourself over to Frank, breathing deep, willing your mind to stay quiet. For once in a long time, there should be no pressing matter at hand other than the sleep you’ll get later, Frank’s hands on your body, and his unspoken but mutually understood promise of multiple, deeply satisfying orgasms.

Frank makes sure of the last one every time, even at the cost of his own (not that you’d ever allow that. You’re both stubborn about each other’s pleasure—which is probably why it’s always so exciting to indulge in each other even after so long together).

But there was a little something that kept nagging at you, persistent, a thought so present in your head that it made it hard for you to empty your mind. You should’ve mentioned it to Frank earlier, but you were too wrapped up in getting to this point.

Frank’s chest is to your back, his warmth seeping into you, voice rumbling behind you as he speaks. He notices you’re still just a tad bit tenser than usual despite his usual gentle touches. “What’re y’thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Your shoulders roll. As much effort as you exert, you needed just a bit more help to convince yourself to truly relax. “Just… It’s just tiring. We’re doing so much but we aren’t even halfway done.” You frown.

Your lover nods behind you, knows that you’re referring to the wedding the two of you have been planning for what felt like ages. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re not behind.” He reminds. He’s made sure of it, and you’re nothing but thankful. “Don’t hav’to finish it all so soon either. Just get to what w’can.”

“I know, it’s just…” You take a deep breath, thighs tensing, breath catching with Frank’s ministrations along your clit. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful. This is a great problem to have, but… it’s—” a breath— “exhausting.”

“Mhm.” He listens, lets you verbalize your frustrations as he kisses the tip of your earlobe, stops cupping your chest in favor of holding one of your hands in his own. He takes a while to reply, silently assessing the kind of comfort you need at the moment.

“We’ve got the weekend to ourselves. Sleep in t’morrow. Order out.” Frank offers a comfier perspective.

“Mhm.” You smile, squeezing his hand in slow pulses.

Frank continues speaking. “Close y’r eyes f’me. Yeah? Let me talk to my girl all nice, jus’ how she likes it.”

You sigh, shifting into a more comfortable position. You do as Frank says, closing your eyes. Deep breaths. Letting yourself sink into the feeling of being held and being close and being touched so precisely that the mere memory gets you wet.

Him acknowledging and engaging with your tired thoughts finally clicks your mood fully into a nicer place. He knows you’re exhausted, and now the two of you get to indulge in each other to soothe that tiredness, be the balm to each others sore muscles, sink into the slowness and the pleasure that comes with your personal curated brand of intimacy with Frank.

The familiar feeling of his hands under your clothing, fondling you so affectionately, goes straight to your cunt. The fingers at your mound continue to pet your clit, catching the wetness pooling at your slit to give you a smoother sensation. Frank’s other hand is at your breasts, thumbing gently along each nipple.

“My girl needs some extra lovin’ to get some good sleep, yeah?” He whispers, voice low and gravelly against your ear, setting the mood by nudging your thoughts towards less stressful matters with his choice of words. “Y’need a bit more than just one to get y’satisfied?”

Frank is so, so warm behind you. “Yeah… And you’ll give it to me, right?”

Frank practically purrs at you engaging with his sweet talk, tone low in his chest, his cock straining against his sweats. “‘Anythin’ for my sweetheart. You know that.” He kisses your cheek. “Jus’ gotta tell me.”

He allots a bit more pressure onto your clit, feeling the warmth on his fingertips. “Tell me what y’want, baby. C’mon.”

You groan, heels digging into the sheets. “I want… Want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah...” He shifts one of his thighs, inching your own apart. “I hear you. Let me make you come first, okay?”

You nod, hips bucking into his fingers. Frank keeps his gentle pressure. Slow. Tender. Insistent. The sound of your ragged breathing goes straight to Frank’s cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart…” He whispers gruffly, in that tone so kind and considerate it contrasts so nicely with how Frank initially shows up as. He keeps touching you, body warm behind yours, arms solid in the way they cage you to him.

You close your eyes and sigh.

—

Its taking a while.

Too much of a while, really.

You whine, shifting in Frank’s lap. Despite him touching you just right and talking to you the way you were craving, the ache of your joints was too apparent for you to relax, mind too full to give you enough space for respite. There was still something missing. You need more that just this.

“Frank.” Your tone shifts, less whiny and more desperate. “I need you, please.”

His brows furrow. “Don’t wanna come first, honey?”

A breath. “I can’t—”

Frank nods, knows its not him, just your mind working against you. His fingers slow in their pace at your clit before stopping, his arms move to wrap around your midsection. It was one of those days. His girl was just too restless, too active, sharp mind working overtime. That’s all.

“Want me t’finger you now?” He whispers, gaze trained onto you, trying to more accurately assess his approach.

“Please.” The desperation in your tone tugs at his chest. Frank grunts his understanding of your wishes, kissing along your neck.

“Alright, baby… I’ve got you.” He pops two of his fingers in his mouth before pressing them to your clit. His hand at your chest moves lower, gathering the slick pooled at the seam of your cunt before gently pressing one finger at your entrance.

“This okay? Deep breaths—attagirl.” He guides your body and mind to listen, to receive, never wanting to force you into anything, pacing himself so you only ever get to take what you can handle despite your frustration for more.

You feel Frank’s finger inside, and he times himself to slide in another before curling them at your sweet spot. That, coupled with his unrelenting gentleness on your clit, makes you tremble. “Ngh—”

“Hold onto me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He whispers, rewarding you with praise when you do as he says. One of your hands rest at his bicep, the other on his forearm. His arms flex with the angle and the way they move to give you pleasure. Being wrapped up in Frank’s strength like this makes you gush all over his fingers.

“That’s my girl—” He hums when your hips start to move, chasing the tender feeling of his fingers. The motion makes you grind onto his cock, which in turn makes Frank have to close his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself.

He’s grunting, enamoured with your squirming, with how you can’t seem to decide on arching back into him or away from him, how you’re panting too.

“Frank—” You grind a bit harder, impatience gnawing at your tired psyche. “C’mon.” Your cunt clenches around his fingers, missing the usual stretch his cock gives you.

“Shh, sh… Slow down, baby. I’ll give y’one more, yeah? Shh…” He cajoles, urging you to sit still. “Stay still.”

He takes the opportunity to slide a third finger inside you, using the hand petting your clit to distract from any discomfort.

He waits a while, inching his fingers in and out slowly, still not wanting to rush no matter how hard he is in his sweatpants.

You, on the other hand, harbored a bit less patience. “Frankie-”

“I know, baby… I know.” He consoles, kisses your temple affectionately. “Know you need me, and I need you too but it’s been a while, alright?”

You huff, unable to argue with his logic—but the sense in his answer doesn’t magically make the impatience disappear.

“Just lay back, I’ll take care o’the rest.” He tempers your whining with more promises. “When have I ever left y’hangin’, hm?”

Frank made it his mission to get you to come every time, so this was an easy question to answer. His phrasing puts it into clearer perspective. There was no doubt that Frank would deliver. Your body stops tensing, mouth agape. You shake your head no. “Never.”

“Mhm, I’ll do right by ya. Always do right by my girl.” He kisses the top of your head again. “The sooner y’relax, the sooner I can fill y’up, yeah?”

That was the little piece of logic that pierced through the tired fog in your mind. The promise of being tended to alongside the realization that Frank did understand how urgently important this felt to you finally lets your mind settle.

“Right…” Frank hums at your reply, pleased with himself when he feels your body melt against his own. He knows he’s got you where you want to be when you’re so quick to heed his request. You practically go limp on his lap.

“I want it too.” He confesses, not that it wasn’t obvious with how goddamn hard he is in his sweatpants. “I missed makin’ y’come.” He murmurs lowly. “Missed feeling you come around my cock.”

You whine, body arching, a cocktail of embarrassment and desire stirring deep in your stomach. Frank’s fingers against your sweet spot dull the mental ache. “If you missed it so much you should make it happen faster—”

He chuckles. “You’re right.” He agrees, cooing at you. Your snark contrasts against your now more relaxed body language, so he engages with you (not that he ever doesn’t). “Shh, sh…”

Frank angles a fourth finger in, taking note of the way your body tenses and your breath pauses. You grunt at the stretch—your lover was right to take his time. As much impatience as you’ve displayed about the entire ordeal, you were subconsciously appreciative of Frank’s insistence on your usual preferred slow pace in intimacy.

“Deep breaths f’r me.” His nose bumps against the side of your head as he softly bites your ear. He grunts as he feels your clit jump against his fingers. “Good girl.” He keeps up his gentle pace, coaxing you to relax, keeping track of the way the tenseness ebbs away from you bit by bit.

You try to squirm some more, but every time you do, Frank coaxes you to relax, lay back, and let him do the work.

After what feels like an eternity, Frank finally slips his fingers out of you. It’s near uncomfortable for you with how wet you are. He moves his hand away from touching your nub, whispers for you to sit up a bit, just enough so he can slip his sweats by his ankles and free his achingly hard cock out out of his sweatpants.

He groans when you reach for the back of his head as you sit back down, tugging at his hair. “Mm—”

“C’mon—” You whine, spreading your legs, heels digging into the sheets. Frank’s cock is between your thighs, tip flushed red and leaking pre.

Now that the two of you were on more of the same page, your frustration has turned into something more endearing than concerning to him. Frank can’t help having his ego fed with how much you need him.

“Alright, shh…” He coos at you as he holds himself at the base with one hand, his other arm under one of your thighs. He inches the gusset of your panties to the side.

“Easy, baby. Easy…” He whispers as he sinks you over his cock. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your warmth envelops him so fucking nicely it makes his head spin. His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling in deep, shaky breaths behind you as he bottoms out. He touches your nub gently, supplementing the stretch with pleasure.

“Feel okay?” Frank murmurs.

“Yes—” You pant. “Always feels good with you.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, still testing the angle. He urges you to lean back into him more so he has a better shot at rubbing up against your sweet spot. It takes a bit longer than usual, he’s more used to missionary, after all.

Still, he knows he’s got it when he feels the familiar clenching of your walls against his girth. The speedy huffed exhale that follows.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment, one of your hands grasping at his forearm.

“Here?”

“Yeah—”

Frank nods, the ghost of a smile on his face when he feels your free hand search for his own. He catches onto what you want, intertwining your fingers together.

The fingers of his other hand cup your clit in slow circles.

“Practically made f’r me. Takin’ me just right—” Frank groans, kisses your cheek in a soothing gesture, “Can’t get enough of you.”

His words make you squirm, drool pooling at your mouth. Finally. Finally. It’s so good—

You’re stuffed full of Frank’s thick cock, back to his chest. He’s petting your nub with just the right amount of pressure. You’re breathing deeply, cunt clenching around him, thighs spread across his. It’s quiet, your lovemaking is reduced to the sound of both of your ragged breaths and the quiet shifting of the sheets with how Frank’s jutting into your sweet spot in small, barely there adjustments.

“Frank—”

“I’ve got you.” He reassures. You don’t even know why you called his name just now. One of your hands reaches back to tug at his hair again and he groans. “Need me real bad, huh?”

He’s coaxing out sweet, sweet mewls from you, nudging his nose into your cheek before pressing a kiss there.

It’s perfect. You’ve turned into mush on his lap.

Frank lets go of your hand to gently tap two fingers of against your lips, you let them in and let them rest on your tongue. The rough pads of his fingers contrasting with the wetness of your tongue makes his cock throb.

“Atta fuckin’ girl… y’feel good?”

You nod, eyes closing, response muffled by Frank’s fingers as your mind starts to be submerged in that familiar deep water, drool pooling at the edge of your mouth. “Mhm.”

There’s nothing to focus on but your breathing and the pleasure pulsing throughout your body as Frank tends to you and your needs—

RING. RING.

It’s Frank’s phone. It’s his obnoxiously loud ringtone that you happily tease him about how it evokes him being an old man most days.

RRING. RRING.

It’s the one that gets louder if you leave it be. Useful, but nothing but rage inducing in the moment.

You groan, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His fingers leave your mouth, he wipes them off onto one leg of his sweatpants and he reaches for the phone.

“No—” You whine.

RRRING. RRRING.

“Don’t answer it!” You complain as he glances at the screen.

“S’the wedding planner, sweetheart.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek to console you. “I’ll handle it. Shh. Jus’ relax.”

His other hand keeps petting your clit as he swipes the screen to answer his phone, pressing the device to his ear.

“H’llo?”

You try your hardest to keep quiet despite the complaints bubbling in your throat. Frank’s cock is still pressed right at your sweet spot, making you feel him with every breath. He’s still sliding his finger along the slit of your clit so, so gently and it’s so fucking sensitive. Just enough for you to handle it but too much in the way it makes your limbs all tingly.

You busy yourself with grinding your hips, trying to make the most out of the bothersome distraction. Your mind works against you though, because you can’t help but tune in intently to the conversation being had.

The faint voice on the other side of the phone call is unintelligible. You can only piece together what’s being talked about based on Frank’s replies. “Tomorrow? Yeah, s’pretty short notice.”

He presses his lips to the top of your head, fingers not letting up. The way you’re warm and heavy and squirming all over him makes his cock twitch inside you. Frank has to close his eyes and bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning, knuckles white as he grips his phone.

You can’t quite appreciate his restraint though, because did you hear that right? Tomorrow? There’s something scheduled for tomorrow? Absolutely not. You stop. You’re about to speak out, riot, curse someone whose just doing their job out—but Frank seems to already have beat you to it in a much more respectable fashion.

“Mind if we reschedule that f’r the weekday instead? We already got a family thing tomorrow. Can’t cancel.”

You’d fall in love with him all over again if the entire situation didn’t endlessly frustrate you.

“Alright, ‘ppreciate it, thanks.” Finally, the call ends with him pressing ‘end’. Frank sets his phone back on the bedside table and his attention is returned to you immediately.

“What was that about?”

“Wedding planner said she forgot to mention us havin’ a uh, meetin’ t’morrow to go over the invitation designs.” He murmurs, peppering kisses along your neck.

That explains the call way past working hours, but that doesn’t make you feel any better either. Now you’re back at square one, mind unable to resist viewing over your mental checklist of things still pending for the wedding; flowers, the theme for the venue, the centerpieces, hair and makeup tests, you haven’t even gone to pick out a dress yet—

Frank feels you tense up, the combined efforts of getting you to relax gone like the wind.

“Sweetheart.” He calls for you. “Hey—”

“Yeah.” You blink, taking a deep breath. “Sorry… just thinking.”

“S’okay.” He reassures, knows how you get, is familiar with how a big part of your relationship is him helping you understand that it’s okay to slow down, that life won’t leave you behind, that you didn’t have to do everything right now until you have to stop.

He’s stopped moving his hips a while back, one arm now wrapped around your midsection. The hand on your clit has since retreated to rest on your thigh in a grounding touch.

“Want me to keep going, sweetheart?” He asks, not an ounce of impatience in his tone. That helps. It’s okay. Things are okay.

“Yes, please.” Frank nods at your answer, lips pressed into the top of your head.

“Put my hands where you want ‘em, yeah?” He encourages you to be more present. Here. With him instead of wherever your thoughts like to take you.

His words go straight to your cunt, your eyes closing for a brief moment before you nod. You take Frank’s hands, place one back to your mound and the other at the base of your neck.

He’s quick to pet your clit again in slow, soft circles. He’s a bit surprised by the way you’ve placed his other hand on your neck, so he waits before doing anything there.

“Just hold me here.” You gulp. There’s a thrill that shoots through both of you at the way Frank can feel how you swallow against his palm. “I don’t… actually want you to squeeze.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Got that, sweetheart.”

Frank listens to your request. Of course he does. He whispers sweet praise to your ears as he’s canting his hips up again in barely-there increments.

Your breath catches, the head of Frank’s cock presses up against your sweet spot again, gently, so slowly that you feel every inch and nudge.

It feels so good. Everything is okay. Frank affirms that. “There’s nothin’ that needs your attention right now ‘xcept you feelin’ good.” He coos. “Breathe with me, c’mon.”

You match your breathing with the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, rewarded with his gravelly praise. “Attagirl. Jus’ like that.”

Frank takes you both back to the earlier slow and sensual rhythm you’d been interrupted from.

Your head rests on his shoulder, eyes closed. Your lover is kissing the side of your neck every once in a while between whispers of how good you feel, how pretty you look, how nicely you’re taking his cock.

Your toes curl, heels digging into the sheets, you’re being handled so tenderly.

“S’it feel good for you?” Frank asks, steady in the manner in which he’s touching you.

“Yes—” You pant, eyes opening. You can’t see him much from where he’s seated behind you, only parts of the side of his face with the way he’s diving into your neck with kisses.

You lean your head beside his, cheek brushing up against his hair. Frank’s next words make your body tingle even more.

“Could y’tell me how good it feels, sweetheart? Yeah?”

You bite your lip for the briefest moment, a whine slipping from your throat before you speak. “Okay—”

“You’re so patient… with me.” Frank’s eyes dart towards you at your words. He’d expected the usual dirty talk, call and response, the lewd thoughts you seem to always have ready when asked.

Not this.

“Mm?” He signals he’s listening, not that he has to, he’s always been an active listener. It meshed well with how you operated, how you had a tendency to untangle your thoughts verbally because your mind is usually too full to not have to lighten the load.

“We’ve been at this f’r so long…” You lean further back into his shoulder.

“Y’r not enjoyin’ it anymore, sweetheart?”

“No, no. I am…” One of your hands reaches for the hair at the back of Frank’s hair, not really tugging, but your lover can feel the pleasurable pull regardless. “I am.”

“I’m just so moody, even here. We could’ve been finished sooner if I wasn’t so worked up all the time.” Your brows ares drawn together, eyes focusing their attention on other things in the room.

“Yeah? Well y’r workin’ yourself up thinkin’ ‘bout all this, y’know.” Frank chuckles, an amused huff heaving his chest behind you.

You laugh, the playful (but not untruthful) jab snapping some sense into you. “That’s true…”

“Mhm.” Frank kisses the side of your head, ups the ante of his hips for a more insistent grind against your walls. He gathers some more slick on his fingertips before circling your clit again.

“Let’s try again, yeah?” He coos. “Talk t’me…”

Frank continues. “How’s it feel with me touchin’ y’r pretty clit like this?”

Your face feels warm at his words, breath catching. “Good.”

Frank nods, eyes trained on the way you’re writhing and willing and mostly relaxed atop him, his cock sheathed inside your warmth, squeezing every once in a while as the pleasure he’s giving you compounds.

He licks his lips before he speaks next words. “Why’d you put my hand around y’r neck like this?” He doesn’t squeeze, he wouldn’t dare. Only ever heeding your preferences. His sweetheart.

That makes you think of (thankfully) less stressful thoughts. Why did you place Frank’s hand there?

You gulp, the calloused palm of your lover steady and grounding against the base of your throat. “I… I like feeling how big your hands are.”

“Could do that by holdin’ my hand, though.” He teases, chuckles softly.

“Shut up.” You swat lightly at his bicep. Your face flushes, and you fix him a glare to the best angle your head can manage. You barely see him and you have no idea if he can see you. But it’s there.

“M’kiddin, baby. M’kidding.” Frank laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You like havin’ it here?”

You’re a bit too frustrated and equally fucked out of your mind to articulate why you like having it there. It’s not even choking because Frank’s not squeezing, you asked him not to and he’s not tried.

Maybe its the power play of it all, the subversion. The way it seems like Frank’s overwhelmingly dominant over you right now with the way he’a holding you when it’s really you calling the shots. When he’s really the one giving you options, when he’s moreso the one curating the intimacy, servicing you with your preferences at the forefront.

Maybe its the trust, how safe you feel whenever Frank’s concerned. How overwhelmingly competent he is while being borderline overprotective of your boundaries.

Maybe it’s just that, the competence. His tendency to handle because he’s got it. He’s got you. How he finds so much fulfillment in having you fall apart just enough, using what he’s learned about you so masterfully you sometimes feel like your mind’s been read before you’re even aware of the thought forming yet.

Frank talks with his hands, in the way he serves, always so steady, making everything he touches better despite his insistence that he’s just ‘doin’ what’s right’.

The blunt head of his cock drags along your sweet spot, and Frank’s just now parted the coarse hair of your mound again so he can slide an adept finger under the hood of your clit, and in that moment, your brain turns to mush.

“I do. I like it.” You manage to utter out, before you break into a strangled moan. Your own hands move to grip at his forearms for stability, even though you could melt and still not go anywhere with how solidly Frank’s wrapped himself around you.

“Yeah? Y’like how I’m touchin’ my girl?” Frank groans, his own body overwhelmingly warm. The head of his cock is sensitive with how long he’s been grinding onto your pleasure points, but he persists. Breathes sharply out of his nose, bites with his lips at your shoulder.

“Yes, yes yes—” Your lover moans gruffly at the way your clit jumps against his fingers, your walls pulsating around the base of his cock. “I’m going to come… Frank—”

“I’ve got you… Let me have it, sweetheart. C’mon, baby…”

Close, close close— You’re so close. Your heels dig into the sheets, the involuntary writhing of your body only unintentionally amplifies the pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open, your lungs take a deep, shaky breath—

RING.

It’s your ringtone this time. Not Frank’s.

Your head falls back against your lover’s shoulder, orgasm halted. You’re thinking again. Who could be calling? Why are they calling? What time is it to warrant a call?

RING.

Your ringtone is taunting you. To say it’s infuriating is an understatement.

Tears well up in your eyes, your already overwhelming frustration from earlier has quadrupled. Frank consoles you, cooing at you that its okay. He eases the hand at your cunt onto your thigh to do some soothing, grounding motions.

RING.

He reaches over to the nightstand, seeing the caller ID listed as the wedding florist. He answers on your behalf.

“Yeah, this is a bad time.” He replies after a moment, your phone pressed to his ear. His brows are drawn, jaw clenched, frown etched deep into his features. “Listen, think this can wait ‘till next week, yeah? S’not really a good hour t’be callin’ ‘bout work. Wife’s already asleep. Long work week.”

Frank ends the call with a curt ‘thanks’. He returns your phone to the nightstand, makes sure both his and yours are on do not disturb before placing his attention back to you.

Any other time, hearing him refer to you as his wife even when you two haven’t actually gotten married yet would’ve put a smile on your face, but right now, you’re devastated. Whatever prank the universe is playing by deciding to shove two interruptions into your well deserved time of rest, you did not appreciate one bit.

You lift yourself off of Frank’s lap, laying on your side of the bed instead and tugging the blanket over your form.

Frank squints, but he makes no move to stop you. He hikes his sweats up for some decency, unminding of the tent. You’re acting out of frustration, there’s too much on your mind.

You’re well aware you’re throwing somewhat of a hissy fit, and granted it wasn’t even Frank’s fault. But this is half a year of frustration welling up. All that effort into a satisfying climax completely ruined by phone calls that weren’t even emergencies. Calls that could have genuinely waited until the next morning. Calls you would have gladly entertained had they been made a few hours later, into the next day, instead of right now.

Your mood is ruined. Tears well up in your eyes. You already harbored some deep rooted shame over taking a while to come, and now it’s only been amplified by whatever the hell just went down.

“Hey.” You feel Frank before you see him. His hands cupping your face. “How’s my sweetheart feelin’?”

He settles on hovering over your form, the blanket sandwiched between your bodies. One of his hands are beside your head, the other thumbs along your cheek.

You frown up at him, and worry colours his features. “Talk t’me.” He urges, voice gruff but navigating your mood with care. He wouldn’t dare continue if you really didn’t want to, but there was no denying that you really did want it, those two calls just seemed to complicate things.

You lean into his touch, finally meeting Frank’s gaze. A stream of complaints escape you. Those damn calls, how it’s not the callers’ faults but you can’t help but be mad, how tired you are, how much you’ve been looking forward to ending the week in a satisfying way only to be interrupted twice.

Throughout it all, Frank listens attentively, letting you get it out of your system. His thumb drags along your cheek idly as you speak.

"I’m sorry.” You hide your face behind your hands. Frank lets you, but only for the briefest of moments. “I already have it so good and I’m still being a piece of shit.”

"Shh.” You feel his hand pull yours away gently. He’s currently holding himself up on his other elbow to not crush you under his weight.

"Y’r not a piece of shit, baby.” There’s an angle of absurdity in your train of thought that makes Frank laugh just a little. “Nothin’s wrong anymore. It’s handled.”

"Right...” The weight of his patient gaze makes the ache in your chest dissipate bit by bit.

“Everythin’ else can wait.” Frank cups your cheek, thumbs near your undereye. “No more calls. Jus’ you n’ me, and me helpin’ you come, yeah?”

Your face flushes despite your own frustration. “Can you wait, still? I take so long to finish…”

“‘Course I can, sweetheart.” He chuckles. “I get to make you feel good for longer? Kinda man would I be ‘f I complained ‘bout heaven?” Frank replies, shrugs. He likes that it takes a while. Likes that intimacy with you doesn’t feel fleeting because it takes you a while to get to a climax.

His reply and him not looking like he’s ticked off in the slightest puts your mind at ease, helps you realize that your worries about Frank’s dissatisfaction with this were just you projecting your own impatience with yourself onto him.

He knows your ticks, and he’s exactly where he wants to be when they happen, he thinks to himself, his large hand thumbing at the apple of your cheek softly.

A small relieved sigh escapes you, Frank’s doting gaze never leaving you as he asks you a question. “Mind if I get under th’ blanket with you? S’chilly out here.”

“Sorry.” You laugh, realizing he’d been half laying over your blanketed form for your entire rant. You lift the blanket on one side, trying to shimmy it up over his back.

He leans down to kiss you after he maneuvers himself into the small blanket cocoon you’ve made, whispering a quiet ‘s’okay’ to your cheek. You spend a while like that, exchanging kisses, Frank’s form quite literally acting as a weighted blanket over you. The warmth seeps into your tired body, offering a moment’s respite from the outside world.

“Wanna keep goin’?” His thumb gently drags along the apple of your cheek. There’s this subtle, but very handsome smile on his face and it reminds you that everything’s okay.

You take a breath before answering. “Yes.”

 He gives you two more kisses, one on each cheek. “Want me t’make you come?”

His choice of words make your body run warm. “Mhm.”

“Let me hear you say it, sweetheart.” He coos softly, hand cupping the back of your head.

You feel yourself pause at the way your face grows warm. “Please make me come, Frank.”

Frank ducks his head under the covers, whispering a hushed ‘attagirl’ against your skin. He makes his way lower, his hands warning you of the path his lips plan to kiss along.

The blanket laid over his back as he descends leaves you bare to the ceiling of your shared bedroom. Frank lifts your nightgown up to your chest, peppering kisses along the plush of your tummy until he eventually reaches the waistband of your panties.

The tip of his nose drags along the garment, hands cupping the tops of your thighs to gently spread your legs. He licks your clit through the fabric, alternating between suckling and dragging his tongue along the tip.

“Frank, don’t tease…” You truly, normally wouldn’t mind, but your impatience tonight has been testing you.

Your lover murmurs a quiet apology against your mound, huffing a mildly amused breath.

His palms gently run along your inner thighs before he moves to slip your panties off and discarding them by the bed. “‘ll make it up t’you—” He parts the hair at your mound, licking a stripe up the slit and ending to suckle at your nub.

He drinks in the long sigh you let out, groans when he feels your hips moving ever so slightly against him. He translates that as to you needing more, so he cups his tongue under the hood of your clit as he tastes you and grinds against the appendage in small increments.

“Oh—”

You feel his hands take yours, thumb running along your knuckles before maneuvering them to the top of his head.

You know what he wants, and there’s something so damn hot about how he asks you to hold onto him.

A tug at his hair makes Frank moan against your core, deep and satisfied.

You feel your clit twitch against his tongue, Frank not letting up on his movements. It felt good, but you’ve been wound up all day and you need more.

You pull one of the pillows beside your head down to the empty space on the bed beside your hips.

“Frank—” You pant, eyes watery with unshed tears. “Please—”

His eyes flick up towards you at your pained tone, noticing the pillow you’d given him.

He’s above you in an instant, one strong hand under your hip so he can slide the pillow beneath you. “S’not cuttin’ it, huh?”

You respond by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Need you to fuck me.” Frank feels you punctuate your point when the back of your heels bump against his lower back, your legs wrapping around him and tugging him closer.

His own cock twitches at the obvious display of want. He loves it when you get so unashamedly needy, bordering on demanding. He wants it all, wants to be wanted in ways that match the intensity he feels inside, considers himself lucky to be craved as deeply as he craves the love of his life.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He coos, one hand guiding the head of his cock to notch against your entrance. “Deep breath in. Out—attagirl.”

Frank grunts as he pushes in. Breath catching at the way your warmth wraps around him, squeezing and urging him in deeper.

He takes his time bottoming out, partly wanting to reassure you that he truly didn’t mind taking his time with you, with anything to do with his sweetheart.

He tunes in to your movements, how your palms are warm against the back of his neck, how your thighs bracket his waist, the bump of your heels against his tailbone. He listens to the sound of your breath as it catches, notices nothing but silence following after.

“Don’t forget t’breathe, sweetheart. Yeah?”

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah—”

Frank places his forehead against yours, one of his hands gently braced against the top of your head. He uses his other hand to support his weight against the bed as he pushes his hips into yours.

The eye contact is disarming, you’re tingly from need. You want more. You’ve been craving Frank inside you for a week at this point, and you were not going to let the night end without it.

The telltale hitch in your slow breathing, coupled with the way your walls clench around him lets Frank know he’s exactly where you need him to be.

“There she is.” He coos, “Keep breathin’, yeah? I’ll make it good f’r you.”

He tucks your hair under your head so it doesn’t get pulled when he positions himself on his elbows on the space beside you.

“Ready?” Frank presses his forehead against yours, gaze on the lookout for any sign of discomfort. Him telling you to focus on your breathing helps undo the crease between your drawn brows.

“Yeah.”

“Leave it t’me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as he starts a slow, sensual grind.

Your jaw goes slack on a silent moan, your lover’s weight a comforting thing over you as he drags the tip of his cock right at your sweet spot.

He does small half thrusts into you, groaning in between whispered praise.

Your eyes close, toes curling, drool threatening to slip out the corner of your mouth. “Frank…”

“Yeah? You okay, sweetheart?” He’s panting a bit, muscles tense with restraint because you feel so fucking good but he knows exactly how much you need. The drag of your walls against his cock is searing hot, added to the fact that he’s been close to coming for hours.

He feels the hands on the nape of his neck pull him closer. Your eyes open, lips parted. “I love you.”

Frank will never get tired of hearing you say that. “I love you too.” He says your name, nudges his nose against yours before leaning in to kiss you. He shifts to move a bit more insistently, muffling your mewls as he does.

“Mm!”

Your legs give out, feet planting themselves on the mattress as your thighs spread, urging Frank closer.

Before he could ask, you’re already telling him. “Just like that, Frankie—”

He follows a slow but insistent rhythm, unrelenting against your pleasure points. Electricity jolts across your limbs, followed by a deep warmth.

“Yeah?” Frank groans, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin as he continues his slow grind.

“Yeah—”

Your lovemaking continues, the only sounds in the room being the shifting of the sheets and skin against skin, moans muffled into each others flesh. It’s deceptively good, the kind that looks tender and gentle but is in no way less intense. Frank has never needed to make the bed creak to give you the orgasm of a lifetime.

He’s mindful and attentive like that. Careful but never once lacking in passion. He has a habit of taking note of how you respond to touch, etching it into his memory, refining it each time he bathes in the satisfaction of making you orgasm.

You’re moaning, Frank is so gentle but so precise it’s making your head spin. Each whimper you make against his shoulder makes Frank’s cock twitch inside you.

He’s close. Has been. You are too judging by how wet you are, the sound of your slick as he drives his cock into you quiet but consistent.

“Attagirl, sweetheart. Let me have it, yeah? Let me feel you. Let go f’r me.” He pants, voice low and breathless. Your heads are buried in each other’s shoulders, the way your bodies are pressed together makes it so warm in contrast to the AC (you’d be sleepy if not for how fucking intensely Frank’s pleasuring you).

One of Frank’s hands snakes its way to the back of your head, cupping, holding you close. He moans when he feels your nails scrape against his back.

You’re so full, its all too much and just right at the same time. Drool slips past the corner of your mouth but you’re too fucked out to care.

You didn’t even get to say you were coming before it happens. You feel your cunt clench, twitch, contract in pulses around Frank’s thick cock.

“That’s it—thas’it. Yeah. Deep breaths.” Frank grunts, kissing your shoulder briefly. “Good girl, sweetheart.”

“Frank! Mm—” You can’t help but whine, heels kicking against the sheets. Frank stays, keeps his tip right against your sweet spot as he rides his own climax.

“Oh fuck—” Frank’s breathing heavily against your shoulder. You’re still coming somehow, thighs trembling, mouth agape, eyes closed. Your hips twitch against your lovers’, his weight keeping you still, positioning him exactly where you’d feel it best.

You could cry from how satisfying the orgasm is. You probably already are, because Frank’s thumb is running along your suddenly damp cheek and he’s shushing you in that way he always does. The way you’ve come to recognize as him not actually wanting you to quiet down, but as a soothing gesture from his own vocal ticks.

“Let it out, sweetheart. So good f’r me…” Frank sounds spent. It’s equal parts comforting and arousing and honestly pride inducing. You’d have been able to savor these emotions more in the moment if you weren’t so preoccupied with the way your clit twitches and your labia flutters around the base of Frank’s cock. “Goddamn—”

You have no idea how long it’s been. All you know is your cunt is sensitive. You’re satisfied, but tired. You open your eyes and see Frank’s blurry visage looking down at you.

A hint of a smile appears on his face when you lean your cheek into his touch. His partial worries relieved.

“You okay? Want me t’pull out?” He asks. “Y’r cryin… I might’ve overdone it.”

You shake your head no. “So good…” Your blinks are slow, groggy. You mirror his touch by cupping his cheek as well, your other hand falling to lay limply on the mattress.

Your cunt throbs again, overstimulated, and your brows draw. “Okay… maybe back up a bit.”

Frank chuckles, eases himself out a few inches—

“But don’t leave—”

“Sweetheart… gotta give her a rest, y’know?” He shakes his head, leans down to kiss your forehead, idly tucking your sweaty bangs away from your face.

“Ngh.” You pout. “Do it slow.”

“Yeah.” He kisses you on the lips as he pulls out, suddenly disappearing from over you and spreading your legs to check for any damage.

Next thing you know, he’s parting the hair between your legs, nursing on your clit, swiping his tongue along your slit once, twice, before cupping his tongue under your nub and grinding slow.

“Frank!” You groan, an exasperated smile on your face. “All that talk about giving her a break.”

“Sorry—” He huffs, amused. Knows he’s a hypocrite. He leaves with one last sweet kiss to your pussy before pulling the blanket over both of your forms, letting you cuddle up into his side as he lays down for some much needed decompressing.

—

You were just about to fall asleep after answering no to Frank’s usual post-intimacy survey (“Wasn’t too rough? You sure? Hurtin’ anywhere?) when he shifts.

“Alright, c’mon” He pats your thigh affectionately, hands sliding under your hips to pull you up. “Bathroom.”

“I’m sleepy.” You clearly have this disgruntled look on your face as Frank picks you up and carries you across the room.

“Jus’ a couple more minutes, sweetheart.” He urges you to sit on the toilet to pee, leaves to give you your privacy. You vaguely hear the sound of your closet doors and drawers opening and closing.

You’re done, washed up, now standing again before he he re-enters the bathroom to start up the shower.

“We’re showering? Again?” It’s clear you’re not too excited about the prospect.

“You’ll thank y’rself t’morrow.” Frank takes off his stained sweats, helps you slip out of your nightgown, then coaxes you under the spray of the water with him. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

This is how you find yourself clinging to Frank with nearly your entire weight. The wall too cold to lean your back on. He has one hand hiking one of your thighs by his hips, the other hand busying itself between your legs, fingering his come out of you.

“You hurtin’ anywhere?” He asks, his own tired gaze trained on you, relieved when you shake your head no despite your displeased expression.

“Frank—” You whine, tired out of your mind. “Isn’t leaving your come inside me the entire point of you getting that vasectomy?”

Frank chuckles, low and deep in his chest. There’s a tiny sense of pride in him at you letting out such a crude statement around him. “Just ‘cause I got snipped don’t mean you won’t get a UTI ‘f we don’t do this.”

Point. Of course he had a point. Frank always took clean up seriously, and him being so kindly and responsibly insistent about it would’ve shot your arousal straight up had you been any less tired than you were right now. (It’s equally why you’re so excited to have sex with the man. It’s not over until he’s taken care of you the entire way and back.)

“M’tired.” You murmur again, pouting defeatedly. As nice as this all felt, you’ve been wanting good, genuine sleep since last week.

“I know, sweetheart. Y’did good…” He praises, slowly slipping his fingers out of you. “Hold on t’me.” You’re on wobbly legs, and he makes sure to steady you by the shoulders throughout the entire process of turning off the shower and towelling you and himself off.

You beeline for the bed while Frank chucks the rest of the discarded clothes from the bathroom floor into the laundry basket.

He notices, only after putting on new sweats, that the new shirt he’d left out for himself on the bed was now suspiciously absent. Meanwhile, the fresh nightgown he’d prepared for you was still there beside it.

The peek of dark fabric from under the blankets you had on you (as well as the satisfied smile on your face as you waited for his reaction) outlined the culprit to be none other than you.

He laughs quietly, shoulders shrugging, shaking his head as he returns the nightgown to your dresser, forgoing a shirt for himself. He climbs into bed with you and relishes in the way you immediately cling to him and squeeze his torso like he’s some sort of teddy bear won from the fair.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

“Mm, night Frankie.” Your head is on his chest, soothed by the thrum of your lover’s heartbeat. You feel Frank’s fingers card through your hair before he caresses your upper back. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Frank ends his sentence with your name, punctuates it with a kiss to your forehead, enamoured when you tilt your head up after to kiss his nose.

You’re ‘fucked-out-of-your-mind’ fulfilled, while Frank’s ‘thank-you-for-letting-me-care-and-affect-you-this-deeply’ fulfilled.

It’s perfect. And now you finally, finally get to sleep with everything you’d wanted for tonight checked and accomplished despite the earlier phone call fiasco. Your eyes close. You take a deep breath.

Until Frank decides to get up out of bed. No words. So easily slipping away from your hold because you didn’t think he’d get up.

“Where are you going?” You sit up groggily, brows furrowed, frustration coming easily to you.

“Get’ya some water.”

“Oh.” Your expression returns to something less hostile. You were kind of thirsty now that you think of it, skin damp and cool but your body running warm. A little too warm.

You could’ve sworn you caught the slightest hint of a half-impish half-apologetic smile on Frank’s face as he left. If you were a bit more lucid you’d have noticed sooner that he laughed a bit at your frustrated question.

He comes back with one of your insulated tumblers and hands you the prized item.

The first sip of ice cold water that hits your tongue could rival the relief from your earlier orgasm.

The two of you take one or two turns sipping from the straw before Frank’s laying under the covers again (thanks to you practically pulling him into bed).

Settled into Frank’s bare chest once more, impressively fucked out of your wits, cared for after such a vulnerable set of hours, and hydrated with freshly prepared ice cold water, you finally close your eyes.

Frank noses along the top of your head, tucks your hair away from your forehead, leaves a kiss there once, twice, before he speaks.

“Want sausages with y’r pancakes tomorrow mornin’? Or bacon?”

No reply graces Frank’s ears save for one silent snore and the hum of the AC unit.

You’re already fast asleep.