The Heir Who Quit Luxury novel · Chapter 10 of 32

Chapter 10: Upstairs

The stairs to her apartment ran up the outside of the bays.

Steel steps, slick with rain.

Frankie went up them backward, pulling me by my shirt, kissing me every second step.

She missed one and I caught her by the waist.

"Smooth," she said against my mouth.

"I'm a salesman."

She got the door open on the third try.

She got the door open on the third try.

Then her mouth was on mine again and she walked me backward into the dark apartment.

Rain hammered the flat roof.

The window unit rattled in its frame.

She kicked the door shut with her heel and her boots were already gone.

My back hit the door hard enough to rattle the coffee can of wrenches on the bench.

She had my shirt up and over my head before I could get my hands on her.

It hit the floor with a wet slap.

"Every time I looked at you in that suit," she said, her mouth on my neck, "I wanted to peel it off you."

"The suit or me?"

She bit my collarbone.

"Shut up."

Her hands went to my belt and she worked it open fast, sure as she was with a ratchet.

I watched her do it.

Rain from her hair dripped onto my chest.

The string lights from the lot came through the wet window, red and gold, and her face was all freckles and heat.

"I've thought about this," she said, and she yanked my zipper down.

"Have you now."

"Since you stood in my office in that cheap blue polo and lied to me about how much car you'd sold."

"I never lied to you."

She shoved my jeans and boxers down in one push and took my cock in her hand.

I stopped breathing.

"Yes you did," she said, and her hand moved once, slow, from root to tip. "You said you didn't want me."

My head went back against the door.

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

Her thumb swept over the head and I made a sound I didn't recognize.

She smiled.

"Jesus, Frankie."

"College boy," she said, and her fist tightened. "You're hard as a lug wrench."

Her hand was warm and rough with calluses, and she worked me in a rhythm that made my hips jerk.

I grabbed her waist and pulled her against me.

Her coveralls were soaked through.

The wet denim was cold against my bare skin.

I worked the knot at her waist loose and shoved the coveralls off her shoulders.

She let go of me just long enough to step out of them.

Her tank top was see-through now, stuck to her ribs, her sports bra a black line beneath it.

I put my mouth on her shoulder and tasted rain and sweat and the faint grease that never quite washed off her skin.

She made a sound low in her throat.

Then she put both hands on my chest and shoved.

I went back a step.

The backs of my knees hit the bed frame and I sat down hard on the edge.

She stood over me.

Her chest was heaving.

Her hair was a wet red mess around her face.

She pulled the tank top over her head and dropped it.

Then the bra.

I reached for her.

She caught my wrists and pushed them down to the mattress.

"My turn," she said.

I let her pin me there, my hands at my sides, and I watched her.

The rain had plastered her hair to her neck.

Water dripped between her breasts, over her ribs, into the damp waistband of the black cotton underwear she still wore.

"Frankie."

"What."

The word came out hoarse already.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pushed the underwear down.

Then she climbed onto the bed and straddled my lap, one knee on either side of my hips.

Her pussy was right against my cock, hot and bare.

She braced one hand on my shoulder and used the other to guide me, lifting up, pressing the head of my cock against her.

She was soaked.

Not just from the rain.

I grabbed her hips.

"Now?" I said, and my voice cracked.

"Now."

She sank down.

I watched her face as she took me in.

Her mouth fell open.

Her eyes went half shut.

Her nails dug into my shoulder hard enough to leave marks.

I didn't breathe.

She was tight and hot and she took me all the way down, and when she was seated fully she let out a long, shaking exhale.

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