The Worst Best Man
Frankie pushed through the front door, leaving the relative quiet of her riverfront neighborhood behind her as she entered a complete assault on her senses.
“The Price is Right” was blaring from the den punctuated by her father’s shouted suggestions for the contestants. Brooklyn accents yammered unceasingly from the kitchen and dining area while the scents of garlic and oregano filled the air. The stained concrete floors had seemed like a low-maintenance, appealing option during the renovation process in the carriage house. However, they had the unintended side effect of amplifying everything the Baranski family shouted at each other.
“When are you going to settle down, Gio? My only unmarried child. Are you trying to kill me with disappointment?” May Baranski, Frankie’s vocal mother, shrilled at her oldest son.
Giovanni was very comfortable with his “no strings” lifestyle.
“Why can’t you just be happy with what you have, Ma?” Frankie heard her other brother Marco ask.
“Yeah, Ma, you’ve got an adorable grandbaby, your daughter married a kajillionaire, and I’m devastatingly handsome,” Gio chimed in.
“Ow! Ma! Why you gotta hit?” Marco yelped. May was a professional head cuffer. She’d once written a letter to Mark Harmon critiquing his technique on “NCIS”.
A baby squalled and all the of adults shifted gears from shouting to crooning.
“Now you two did it,” Marco’s wife, Rachel, shouted over the ruckus.
Frankie shrugged out of her coat. She’d meant to be home early enough to run interference for her very tolerant, very gracious husband. But one tiny crisis had opened up a can of worms and she’d spent an extra hour working her way through email chains and voicemails on something that could have waited until Monday.
Thankfully, she was married to a workaholic and together they supported each other’s obsession with work and community.
Sundays were their day to unwind… after the Baranski clan left. No one could unwind around their brand of crazy.
Frankie started toward the back of the house in the direction of the noise and began the countdown until she could get Aiden naked in a quiet house. She’d open a bottle of wine, turn on some soft, sexy music and—
Strong arms darted out of a doorway and dragged her inside. The door closed behind her.
Aiden’s study was her second favorite room in the house. High ceilings, a fieldstone gas fireplace, and rich mahogany shelves. The tall windows looked out over the small courtyard. It smelled of power and polish. So did Aiden Kilbourn.
Frankie turned in his arms and looped her hands behind his neck. “Hiding out?”
“Your mom asked if I’ve had my sperm count checked,” Aiden answered. He was handsome in the painful-to-look-directly at way. His thick dark hair curled in waves that always gave him the appearance of being perfectly styled. His jaw was a hard edge to his soft lips that always seemed to be amused, especially on Sundays. Especially around her family. Angels must have wept over his cheekbones alone. He wore gray slacks and a soft long sleeve shirt. The CEO version of casual.
“You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to marry me,” Frankie reminded him. She’d been a package deal. A stubborn, single woman that came from a long line of loud, annoying people. Frankie knew Aiden’s secret. He loved her family as much as she did, sometimes more.
“Did you get everything taken care of?” he asked, his voice a sexy rasp in her ear. His hands stroked down her arms making her wish they didn’t have that thin layer of silk of her blouse separating them.
“Mmm,” she purred, leaning into him. “I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”
“Has anyone heard from Frankie?” May bellowed from the kitchen.
“Maybe she decided she didn’t want to be berated in her own home and skipped town,” Gio yelled back.
“Keep it down! I can’t hear Drew,” Hugo shouted from the front of the house.
“Will you turn that TV down! I can’t hear myself yell, Hugo!”
Aiden spun Frankie around and gave her a push toward his desk. Reaching behind him, he locked the study door. They’d learned from past experience that every door needed a sturdy lock if the Baranskis were on the other side of it.
“What are you doing?” Frankie hissed out a breath as Aiden tugged her blouse out of the waistband of her pants.
“I’m helping you change. You like to be comfortable when you’re at home,” Aiden said, ignoring the fact that they were in his office and there was an entire family between them and the closet of their master suite.
“You are trying to get me naked! And I’m not falling for that, buddy.”
But he was already unfastening the button on her jeans. And if felt so right to have his palm skate over her stomach. To feel her nerve endings jolt to life. Her body recognized his touch with an intimacy born of bottomless desire and countless hours of past orgasms. “You’re not playing fair,” she said on a shiver.
He brought his mouth to hers. But this wasn’t a sweet, familiar kiss. It was a wanton branding of her soul, reminding her who her heart and body craved. Aiden backed her up against the dark, cool wood of his desk. Her breasts felt heavy, weighted with need for his attention. Her nipples decided to tunnel their way free from the bra she’d thrown on before she left.
His tongue stroked hers. Aiden drowned out her awareness of everything except his solid, male form pressed against her. Her family hurling insults at each other, her hunger for her mother’s spaghetti, her desire to shower and change into the rattiest sweatshirt in her closet. Everything was replaced by the single-minded need to orgasm.
As if reading her unvoiced surrender, Aiden’s lips curved victoriously under hers. The cocky bastard.
“Nobody likes a smug son of a—”
Her insult was cut off when he slid one big palm under the hem of her blouse to cup her breast.
“I never thought I’d have this,” he murmured against her jawline, his lips worshipping her skin.
“A D-cup in your hand?”
“A family to hide from. A home full of people I love. Brothers.”
A round of raucous laughter broke through their little bubble.
“A smart, sexy, stunning woman who destroys me every time she walks through the door.” As he talked, his thumb worked slow, flat circles over her budded nipple. “You take my breath away, Franchesca.”
Right now, it was Aiden doing the breath-stealing. Even after a year of marriage she wasn’t used to his awe, his gratitude. Because she felt the same damn way about him.
“Aide, we’ve got five minutes before my mother breaks down this door. What are you going to do with that time?” Frankie demanded.
With a swift yank, he pulled her jeans down her thighs. “Then I guess we’d better make the most of it.”
He slid his free hand between her legs and under the lace edge of her briefs. When he began to work the pads of his fingers through her folds, Frankie bit her lip. She wasn’t the quietest lover. Certainly not when Aiden was at the helm. One unmuffled moan of pleasure would have May’s motherly instincts kicking in mistakenly thinking that one of her children was in pain.
She let out her breath in a hiss when he slid two fingers into her.
“So damn ready for me,” Aiden whispered.
“Take your cock out now,” she ordered.
He chuckled softly, continuing his slow, measured thrusts. “I want to make you come, Franchesca.”
“Yeah? Well you can do that while I make you come.” She shoved him back a step with her foot in his chest. His hand slid free from her center leaving her feeling desperate, empty.
She pounced on him, unbuckling his belt. “Seriously, who wears a belt on a Sunday?”
“What are you doing?” he asked, his breath going ragged.
She walked him backwards, around the desk, until the backs of his knees hit his chair. In a move that mirrored his own moments ago, she shoved his pants down his muscled thighs, taking his sexy boxer briefs with them.
“We don’t have time,” he warned her.
“I bet you can make me come in under four minutes.” Aiden Kilbourn never shirked a challenged.
She gave him one more shove that had him falling back into his chair. With a move more desperate than graceful, Frankie kicked her way out of her jeans and straddled him. He gripped the curves of her hips with his hands, the swollen head of his cock already probing.
“Fuck me, Franchesca.”
It was all the encouragement she needed. She aligned him with her entrance and let gravity do the rest. With aching slowness, her body relaxed enough around his thick column to let her slide down, impaling herself on him.
They were already breathing hard and she hadn’t made a move yet. Aiden yanked her down the final inch until he was fully seated in her. Already, she felt the electric tingle tickling her walls around him. All pretenses of teasing and games were gone. Aiden shoved her shirt and bra up, exposing her breasts. And when his mouth closed greedily over her nipple, Frankie began to ride. Rocking her hips, she took him deeper, pressing her thighs against the confines of the arms of his chair. He met her with shallow thrusts as she set the pace. His tongue lapped at her breast, his teeth nipped.
This was where she was happiest. With Aiden buried deep inside her. With him murmuring dirty, sweet, words as he worshipped at her breasts. She felt him swell inside her and loved that she was taking him beyond his calculated seduction. That too had its place in their relationship. Long dinners with smoldering glances and innuendo-laced conversation. Quick gropes in dark corners. All leading up to the final seduction at home when he would remove every article of her clothing piece by piece.
But this was her favorite. When he was out of his mind, chasing down an orgasm that would scratch its claws into both of them. Terrifying them, rocking them, cementing them together in a brutal pleasure.
He released her breast, the air feeling icy on her wet nipple. “Don’t you dare stop,” she growled low in her throat.
She was close, so painfully close to that razor-sharp release.
“I’m never going to stop,” Aiden promised, as he moved to her neglected breast. He sucked hard enough that Frankie saw stars behind her eyes.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders, gripping him hard as her inner walls began to tremble. “Aide,” she whispered.
“I’m with you. I’m with you.”
Her body hung on for another second, long enough to feel the first jet of his orgasm as it erupted inside her. Then, as if biology took over, she exploded around him. His mouth on her breast, his cock buried inside her coming. Frankie’s orgasm moved through her like wildfire, burning everything to cinders. He lifted her, rising to standing and put her ass on the desk. He fucked her there, aggressive and wild through the final waves of their release.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” Frankie chanted. She slowly opened her eyes, forcing her fingers to uncurl from their grip on him. He was beautiful. Brutal. Raw. He was hers.
The doorknob rattled. “Aiden! Have you heard from Frankie? She should have been home by now. Do you think she was hit by a bus? Should I start calling hospitals?”
Frankie clapped a hand over her mouth and shook with silent laughter.
“Aiden? What are you doing in there?”