Melissa, I'm Sorry | mel/frank | E | wc: 958 | nsfw!, infidelity, dirtbag!frank, brat!mel
It was dark save for the light coming from the dashboard. The backseat of Frank’s car was hot, stuffy, and steamy; the windows fogged up and blurry. It had been sitting in the August heat all day, while he worked his shift at the hospital. Now, with the sun long gone, the moon filling its place, the car no longer burned white hot from the scalding touch of the sun, but the absent heat still remained, lingering heavy in the compact air.
The heat that Mel and Frank’s bodies were creating didn’t help things either. The AC was working as hard as it could to keep up, but the AC in his little crappy car was no match for the high heat of the day.
They’d been doing this dance for months, so it was no surprise when Mel ended up in the back of Frank’s car straddling his lap. And she liked it; she liked it maybe a little too much. Liked the way his hands moved up her body, feeling her curves. Liked the way her hands felt grasping at the sweat-soaked hair that trailed down the nape of his neck.
What she didn’t like was that she couldn’t have him. She could touch him; she could make him squirm under her, but she couldn’t have him, not in the way she wanted to.
“Come on, Frank, can’t you just let me feel it?”
Mel moves her hand toward the tent in his scrub bottoms, getting so close before Frank swats her hand away.
“No, Mel, that’s cheating, and I’m not a fucking cheater.” He roars, his voice echoing in the small space.
Mel bites her lip, hanging her head low, defeated. “Sorry.” It’s all a show; she knows he likes it better when she’s sad, makes him feel like less of a bad person, like he’s just healing a poor, sick girl.
“Mel, don’t do that. You know I want you, baby. I want you so fucking bad.” He takes her face in both of his palms, tilting her head up so that they are eye to eye. “You know I’d fuck you right here in this parking lot if I could.”
“I know, Frankie, but I want you—I want you now.”
Mel rocks her hips forward, her clothed cunt brushing against his erection. His hands move from her waist to her ass, grabbing her in his hands, pulling her further up his cock.
“Fuck, that feels good.” His head falls back against the seat.
Her hands roam his body, grasping his shoulders as she continues moving her hips above him.
She’s pissed; she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t. Why the fuck did Abby get to have her Frank? He assured her that they hadn’t had sex in months, but she knew that he was lying to her because the last time she saw Abby, she was already starting to show. He had knocked up his wife again but still wouldn’t fuck her.
Even though she was beyond pissed at him, she still needed him desperately. Needed his stupid, intoxicating touch. The way he would wrap her hair around his finger and whisper dirty things real close to her ear. The stink of smoke lingering on his skin, making it linger on hers too.
“Does Abby make you feel like this?” She pours salt straight into her own wound.
Frank’s breaths become more labored as she quickens her pace, working herself up and down him in measured thrusts.
“No, never, Melly.” The last word falters, coming out half-moan, half-plea.
He leans into her, hoping to catch her lips in a sloppy kiss.
“Uh uh,” She waves a finger in front of his face, pressing it to the soft red of his lips. “No kisses, that’s cheating.” She says in a mocking tone.
She bites the sharp part of his jaw before moving down his neck, licking into his jugular, his pronounced Adam’s apple. His skin is wet and glistening with her saliva just the way she likes it. She wants him covered in her.
“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”
She’s an angel, but she can be the devil when she wants to be.
“Your fucking angel.” She corrects.
Frank’s hands are on her hips, pressing her down, putting more pressure on his dick, and equally on her clit. His wedding ring digs into her through her clothes. She writhes on top of him, chasing her own orgasm. Abandoning his pleasure for her own.
“That’s right, baby, you’re mine, all mine.”
His hips buck up, rutting into Mel, the mix of both of their movements creating the perfect environment for an explosion. And hell, if they weren’t both about to burst.
“Please make me come, Frankie. I’m so close.”
He grabs her tits in his hands, kneading them, pinching at the hard peaks under her scrub top, which only gets her there quicker.
“Just like that, baby. Goddamnit.” Frank stutters, his words a cry.
Strained gasps and moans fall from their open mouths, both of them cumming at the same time. So incredibly close but miles away from one another.
“Why won’t you let me have you, Frankie?” Mel asks, her voice hushed, quiet but speaking volumes.
“I can’t.” Tears stream down his face, covering his shirt in wet droplets. He’s a blubbering mess, and he doesn’t know why (or, more realistically, he knows exactly why and it scares him), but every time Mel makes him come in his pants, he can’t stop crying.
Their foreheads connect, both wet with sweat. Their lips are so close to each other’s, but they don’t touch; they never touch. She wipes the tears from under his eyes.
It’s not cheating if they never take their clothes off, right?
title from zeppelin v by the flat stanley’s
