Family Affairs Page 20

  “Both,” she answered. Her tortured grey eyes met his deep blue ones. “I’m so sorry, Dev. I should never—”

  “Stop! Enough with the apologising from both of us.” He made a decision. Reaching over, he pulled her back against his chest and wrapped both arms about her, linking them just under her ribcage. “Let’s start again – this time, I’ll actually do what you asked and listen.”

  Frankie gave a watery sigh, unsure how this would work out, deciding it was now or never.

  “It all started when I was seven,” she began.

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey, you said you’d listen!” She smacked him lightly on the arm, relieved by the light-hearted tone of voice from Dev. “Yes, I was seven. Do you remember my mom? Never mind, it doesn’t really matter – just let me say she was, for want of a better word, a diva. With a capital D.”

  “Yeah, I don’t remember meeting her; though I was assured I did – and I’ve heard the stories.”

  “Well, they were true – pretty much all of them, unfortunately. Anyway, when I was seven, she was going through a particularly messy relationship with a chap called Marco – some Italian actor, I think. Anyway, it was a loud and emotional and, at times, in my eyes, violent pairing – lots of screaming and gesticulating and storming off. It was just her. She usually went to his place for their rendezvous and I was left with my nanny. This particular night he was in our hotel suite – remember, we rarely had an apartment?”

  Dev nodded and she continued.

  “I was in my own room and asleep, at first. I remember waking to a sound I didn’t recognise – I had my door ajar, as I was still afraid of the dark. Nanny had the night off and Mom was home alone with me – or she had been when I said goodnight. Anyway, I lay in my bed adjusting to the unfamiliar sounds of what woke me, and I could hear what appeared to be grunts and groans.

  “I was puzzled, as you can imagine. I thought Mom must be hurt, but it didn’t sound like Mom – the voice was low and guttural. I heard the sound of a slap and a shriek. I leapt from the bed, assuming someone was hurting my mother, and ran to my bedroom door. You can imagine the scene – and what it looked like to an innocent child.”

  Frankie paused and took a deep breath. The images before her were like a movie in her head, the soundtrack turned way up as she saw her mother, naked, writhing on the rug, a large man on top of her as she rolled her head from side to side, moaning. Frankie saw Marco slap her mom on the face again and again as she, as a young girl, stood, her hand covering her mouth to stop any sound. She could hear her mother yelling, “Bastard, you bastard,” in a voice Frankie had never heard before. Carolina Jones then arched her back and gasped and moaned as Marco collapsed on top of her.

  Frankie remained rooted to the spot. Was Marco dead? Was her mother hurt? Just as she was about to tiptoe into the room to see if she was okay, her mom smacked Marco on his bare backside and shoved him. “Get off me, you bastard, and never do that to me again!” she ordered.

  He raised himself up on his arms and in his sultry accent, asked, “Never? I think you’re lying to me, mi amore,” and he swooped down for a kiss which, to Frankie’s horror at her tender age, her mother returned, her arms wrapping around his broad back again. Frankie backed slowly into her own bedroom, still in silence, and shut the door.

  Her heart was racing and she felt sick to her stomach. She could taste the bile rising in her throat and barely made it to her en suite bathroom before she threw up violently. She washed her face, took a drink of water, climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and willed herself back to sleep. She never told her mother what she saw and since Marco was dumped for another actor shortly after, Frankie never saw him again.

  “Please don’t judge my mother too harshly,” she asked Dev as she recounted her memories. “Years of therapy taught me to understand her drive and her loneliness. I know she didn’t mean me to see that and I also, as a grown-up, accept that it was obviously consensual sex between two adults. But to me, at seven, it seemed painful, violent even, and, I guess, dirty. She appeared to be in pain and he appeared to be causing it.

  “Her orgasm, which of course it was, seemed torturous and frightening. How could anyone want to do that? And that was my introduction to sex.” Frankie turned in Dev’s arms and snuggled instinctively into his chest.

  He pulled her close and he laid a kiss on top of her head.

  “Bloody hell. Pretty scary, I can imagine. It’s hard enough for any child actually to know their parents have sex – it’s gross if you catch them at it, fumbling under blankets. But to see your mum, naked on the floor – oh, God, I don’t want to think what would have gone on in my head if I’d seen that. I’d have been scarred for bloody life!”

  “Exactly.”

  Dev finally heard her. Actually heard what she’d been trying to tell him.

  “So, are you saying that every time you have sex that scene plays in your head? The pain and fear you thought she must be feeling – you feel it?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Of course not, silly.” She put him out of his misery. “But from my very first personal sexual experience I expected pain, I expected physical violence, as that was what, in my mind, happened. And yeah, like most women, it was a bit uncomfortable the first time, and no,” she answered his raised eyebrow, “there was no violence. But in an odd, subliminal way, I think I still expect it.

  “I certainly never choose a partner who could cause me pain and my lovers – few though there have been, in spite of what the tabloids say – have been respectful and careful. But they don’t know what’s happening in my stomach as things start to heat up. The acid rises in my throat and my heart races, but not in passion. And I await the slaps and the hurt. Let’s just say it hasn’t been great for my sex life in general.”

  “What does the therapist say?”

  “A whole lot of nothing. Oh, the usual. Sure, I could write a bloody book on sexual anxiety and how to get over it, but you know, I’m not sure I ever will.”

  Dev stroked her back, tracing his fingers over her skin. Soothing. Comforting. He allowed the sound of his heartbeat to penetrate from his chest to hers – a slow, steady, comforting thump, thump, thump.

  Frankie closed her eyes as she lay against him. “I know that sex and pain don’t have to go hand in hand. I haven’t experienced pain with my previous boyfriends, so I believe it, too. But . . .” She trailed off.

  “But you don’t get release – you don’t orgasm?” Dev asked quietly.

  She shook her head.

  “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

  Again, her head moved in the negative.

  “Sucks to be you!” he quipped.

  “Totally.”

  They remained there lying quietly, his arms protecting her, Dev hoping she felt safe, for just a few moments.

  “I assume you tried it yourself?”

  “Dev!”

  “What? It’s perfectly normal. And really, if you don’t know what your body needs, how can you expect some poor bloke to figure it out?”

  Frankie smiled at his logic. “Of course I’ve tried,” she admitted, “and it sort of works, but something’s missing and I just can’t let go, I suppose.”

  “Did you ever tell any of your partners?”

  “God, no! Or not after my second boyfriend. The first doesn’t count as it was a back-seat fumble in a car. We were just teenagers – neither of us having a clue. I told Brandon, though, and he decided it was his mission to get me to come. Bloody disaster. Every time he moved his hand or his fingers in a different way it was constantly ‘How about now?’ or ‘Is that better?’ or ‘I bet this’ll do it.’ Talk about pressure! It was awful.”

  “So how did you get around it? Any man worth his salt will want his partner to come – it’s important to our ego, I suppose. It’s why I was so pissed with myself before when I realised that I’d finished and you hadn’t.”

  “Duh, Dev! I’m an actress, remember?” She grinne
d up at him. “When Harry Met Sally? Meg Ryan could take lessons from me!”

  Dev let out a shout of laughter and then immediately hardened in lust as he instantly imagined her moaning and twisting in passion beneath him. He shifted slightly to relieve the pressure on his jeans and to ensure she didn’t feel his erection – the last thing she needed to feel right now.

  “And they never guessed?”

  “Hello? Award-winner here – what do you think?” she smirked.

  “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What about with Stephen? Did you fake it with him, too? The man you were going to marry.” Dev could feel his frustration welling again. How could he feel frustration for another man, and a dead man at that?

  “Oh, Dev, I know you don’t understand. I loved Stephen. We were good together. Our sex life was fine. And yes, I faked it, if that’s what you want to call it. I didn’t see the harm. I liked sex with him – it was pleasant and enjoyable. And I like all the feelings my body goes through – I don’t feel frigid and I didn’t do a Meg Ryan every time.

  “I don’t believe every woman responds that way every time either, so I’m not totally unrealistic when it comes to, well, coming. And I know some of my girlfriends feel the same way, but mostly they only fake it when they’re tired or they want their partner to hurry up.”

  She thought about Stephen and all that was still left unsaid. Another time . . . Now was about Dev and her and if they could move forward.

  “When they want their partner to hurry up? Shit! I thought most women wanted us to slow down. What the hell are we supposed to do when nothing ever gets explained? And why would you want us to hurry? That makes no sense.” Dev sounded thoroughly confused.

  Frankie shook her head at him. “Okay, picture this. A woman comes in from work at about 6.30 p.m. She’s collected her two children from day care on the way home from a full day in a busy office. The toddler is screaming because he’s hungry, tired and wants attention; the baby’s screaming because he, too, is hungry, tired and wants attention. The woman quickly organises some crackers to keep them quiet, snuggles them both for a few minutes and then puts away the groceries that she stopped for en route. She makes dinner and empties the dishwasher while the food is cooking. She changes both children’s diapers and gets them washed and ready for dinner.

  “Her partner arrives home about seven thirty to sit down to a prepared meal. He’s hungry, tired and wants attention. Afterwards, he heads to his study to catch up on paperwork. She cleans up, gets the children ready for bed by bathing and reading stories. She organises clothes for the morning for both them and herself. Goes back downstairs and sorts through the ironing basket for the family. She checks her emails and answers some work queries, prepares lunches for them all for the next day and finally, about 10 p.m., sits down on the couch for a half-hour watching the news.

  “She needs to be in bed by 10.30 p.m. as she has an early start – up again at 5.45 a.m. Her charming man comes to join her on the couch having finished his work, checked his emails, played a few games and Skyped a pal abroad. When they finally fall into bed without having properly talked to each other, she’s exhausted – she’s only sat, other than over dinner and while working at the office, for half an hour since she got up that morning. He turns to her all relaxed and ready to go. How fast do you honestly think she wants it to be?”

  Silence. “So, you’re saying all men are shits?”

  She whacked him across the arm. “No! I’m just saying, sometimes quick is good! And necessary,” she laughed. “It’s just an example, albeit one I heard directly from one of my girlfriends in the States.”

  “Phew, so only American men are shits, then?” he enquired hopefully.

  He earned another whack and some more laughs. Dev took the opportunity to flip over on his back and positioned Frankie full length on top of him.

  “I have a brilliant idea,” he said, gently brushing his fingers over her hair.

  “Oh yeah, what might that be?” She propped herself on one elbow, her other hand resting on Dev’s chest. She was thoroughly aware of the male body under her, the rasp of his jeans against her bare legs, the feel of his heated skin under her fingertips.

  “I think you should seduce me.”

  Frankie gulped. She went to pull back a bit, but he tightened his hold around her lower body.

  “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking about what you said about your mum and pain and fear, and it makes so much sense that you’d be, let’s just say, anxious about sex. So my idea is that you initiate, you control what you do and when and how, and you tell me what you want me to do. Or not do. This would be for you, about you, not me. Sure, I might get side benefits, but you can absolutely stop at any time. No question. I want you to please yourself in any way you choose.” He paused to let the notion sink in. “What were you feeling when you kissed me this evening? What made you take that step and not be afraid?”

  Well, now. There was a thought. What had she been thinking, been feeling?

  “I wanted to feel my tummy drop the way it always does when you kiss me,” she answered truthfully. “I wanted to see what would happen if we didn’t stop. I knew you wouldn’t take the next step unless I asked you because of your sense of honour with all the stalker stuff still around. I’ve been so aware of you . . .” she trailed her fingers down his chest “since, well, I don’t know when it happened. I just know that lately, when you’re near me, I want to touch you.

  “I never wanted that before and it’s your fault!” She raked her fingers back up over his skin again, her nails leaving marks as she added a little pressure. “Ever since you first kissed me in the garden at the lodge, I’ve felt . . . different.” She settled her body more comfortably against his, adjusted her bent arm and reached up with her hand to trace his lips with her fingers. Her stomach felt jittery, her heart thudding. “I think I like your idea.”

  “Yeah?” Dev growled.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said seductively.

  She leaned over him and placed her lips on his, brushing them lightly back and forth before resting briefly then doing it again, adding a little pressure this time. Her tongue slid along the join of his lips, testing. She sucked on his lower lip and he groaned, opening his mouth to take in her hot, wet tongue, twining his own with hers in a slow, languid movement.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers, “you’re going to kill me.”

  “Slow and steady, that’s the plan,” she whispered back before deepening the kiss, angling her head to gain better access, new moves coming instinctively.

  Their tongues played with each other, slow, steady, heady, building a heat that was matched by their quickening breaths. His hands reached up to grip her head, holding her in place as they devoured each other, neither trying to rush but each trying to savour the ache that was happening inside.

  Frankie was captivated. She was in control. She kissed him like she’d imagined she would. A part of her was outside herself, looking down and seeing her other self, passionate and whole, taking such pleasure in this man whom she trusted so implicitly. His tongue matched her every twist and taste, and the groan that was heard could have come from either of them. She shifted to the side, breaking their kiss, and leaned down to unzip his jeans.

  The light was almost gone, the room filled with dim light and deep shadows. She wanted to see him, all of him, to touch and get to know the body that was hers for the duration. She wanted to give him pleasure. Should she ask what he liked, or just take her chances? A bit of both, she decided as he obligingly lifted his hips to enable the jeans to be removed.

  Sitting up, he scrambled out of the denims. He threw them aside and promptly reached for her T-shirt to yank it over her head. She was already ahead of him. Breath coming faster now, she tossed the fabric aside and, pushing him back down on the bed, climbed upon him, straddling his thighs.

  The evidence of his fierce arousal was there for the taking, s
o she did. Gripping his length firmly in her hands, she slid her fingers up and down, changing the pressure, the angle, discovering the shape, size and feel of him. Dev murmured encouraging sounds and hissed under his breath as she leant forwards and ran her tongue over the glistening tip. Frankie looked up, her mouth mere centimetres from his throbbing penis.

  “May I?” she asked huskily.

  “God, yes,” he croaked. “Your mouth feels amazing, so hot, so damn sexy. Woman, you’re making me feel like I’m on fire.”

  She smiled sexily at him and went back to the “business” in hand, though this was definitely starting to feel more like playtime than any kind of work. Her being in control? She was totally on board with it. Such a good idea, Dev. She licked and tongued him the whole way down, delighting in the encouraging noises and hip movements he was making. She’d only ever done this to Stephen before and hadn’t really enjoyed it. With Dev, she found that the taste and smell of both him and his sex were such a turn-on that she could feel herself dampening her lace panties. The heat was throbbing between her thighs. Who would have thought how doing this for a man you really wanted could make you want more yourself . . . She lowered her moist, hot mouth down over him and slowly, using her teeth as a gentle grip, eased her way up again.

  “Jesus,” he hissed on a breath as she then cupped him with her free hand and squeezed firmly.

  Teasing the head, slow and tantalising, surrounding him with the heat of her mouth, she murmured her own pleasure. “You taste so good – like salty nectar.”

  “God, I don’t know how much more I can take, Frankie. I don’t want a repeat of the last time.” Dev’s voice was strained as he reached out and gently pulled her off him. “It’s too good, babe. You’re too good at that – I won’t be able to hold out.” He leaned forwards and captured her mouth with his, using his tongue to invade her.

  Frankie was glowing inside. She felt hot and testy. Her body was humming with desire and an ache was building in her lower belly. Dev pulled back and stared into her eyes.