The Fishermen (Infidelity #2)

by C.P. Harris

“Truth is, the only time I’m not lost, the only time I have a clue about anything, is when I’m with you.”

“So you do know what you want,” I said. “Yes,” he answered, as if that ugly truth had been torn out of him. “Then fucking take it,” I dared before I could stop myself.

“Just because it’s the truth doesn’t mean we should act on it, because an even bigger truth is that this won’t end well. I can’t make you any promises. I will likely regret what comes next, and I’ll likely hurt you beyond repair.” “I. Want. You. Anyway.”

I would’ve stood there all night daring fate to strike us down, would’ve risked being burned to cinders by one errant spark of lightning if it meant I’d end up in his bed.

When you feel good, I feel like I can take on the world or ignore it for one more second to be with you.

“I didn’t know my being withdrawn affected you so much.” “I love your darkness, Franky. And I would take being in the eye of your storm over being on the edge of it any day.

“I have this need to be inside of you, Leland. I’ve always had that need.”

“Everything in me wants to tear you apart, Leland. And I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard thrust between my spread legs, “but I don’t think I can hold back. Not after holding back for so long.”

“My body can handle you, Franky. You don’t need to use caution with me. Never with me,” I whispered meaningfully.

“Shit, Franky, you’re big.” “So are you,” he said, thrusting into my hand. “There’s big, and then there’s this,” I said,

“This is… Fuck, your cock’s gonna do a number on me, baby.”

I wanted to save the best for last. To show him the type of pleasure he never imagined he could achieve with nothing more than foreplay, then I would give him my ass and send him skyrocketing into addiction.

He’d leave bruises, for sure, and would possibly kill me in the process, but I didn’t care, because what we were doing felt that good. What we were doing was worth dying for.

“Don’t ever fucking apologize while you’re fucking me, Franky.”

“Destroy me, Franky.”

I need your cum inside of me,” I panted, feeling my own climax tap at my lower spine. “Just the tip. For round one, just give me the tip, then jerk off while it’s inside of me.”

“Has it ever felt like this, Franky. Has someone ever wanted you this much?” “No,” he breathed. “This is my cock now,”

“I’m the only one who fucks this dick from now on, do you hear me?”

“Your ass belongs to me, Leland,” he growled, the tip of his nose touching mine. “And so does your cock and your mouth. Your whole damn body is mine.”

“I fuck this snug ass from here on out. No one else. And your cock gets no action unless it’s in my mouth or my hands.”

Being with him felt like thriving. It felt like progress after feeling stagnant for far too long. My heart beat differently with him. It beat like I imagined it was supposed to. Wild with excitement, then steady as it filled with peace. I never wanted it to end.

“Don’t go slow. Do it like you’re taking what’s yours. I wanna feel it burn, Franky.”

when I woke up to his cold, empty side of the bed, I wanted nothing more than to have him returned to me, wanted nothing more than the feel of his broad back nestled into my chest, because big, bad, Franky had a thing for being the little spoon.

I couldn’t have known his touch would feel like my missing piece.

“Why do you have to be so fucking sexy?” I asked, disgusted by how much I wanted him at all times. It was tragic, really, because with every hour, with every fucking minute that passed, my craving for this man grew without limits.

His body was a work of art, and the graying at his temples and beard only amplified his hotness. Made him distinguished. And he fucked like a zoo animal, like a beast trying to break out of its cage. Sometimes it felt like his goal was to snap me in two and leave me for dead on the side of the road—or bed.

Being with Franky was equivalent to floating on air, and I’d become addicted to the high.

“Hear the beautiful music we make when we fuck?” I asked crudely. I would make him remember this. I would engrain this sound into every fiber of his being. Any time he heard the slapping of water, the slippery, squelching sound of slickness, the hard smacking of sweaty skin colliding with sweaty skin, of wetness personified, he would think of me. I would be his ocean, and he would fucking yearn for me.

“You like it when I talk shit, don’t you? Like it even better when I let you ruin me, right, Franky?” “Yes,” he hissed. “I want to hurt you for making me feel this way.” “Hurt me, Franky.

Even in this he could do no wrong, because while I enjoyed it when he touched me like I was more precious than all the stars in the sky, I loved when he treated my body like a soul didn’t exist within it. Like my heart wasn’t included.

Franky and I were driving nowhere fast, and at some point, we were going to crash and burn. It scared the shit out of me, but not enough for me to smash on the brakes. Not enough to make me stop.

Franklin Kincaid was highly flawed, uncivilized, possessive, and entitled when it came to me and my body, but he was also good, and I’d go down fighting anyone who believed differently.

Forgetting would only make us kick ourselves harder when the end finally hit us in the face, because we’d tell ourselves we should’ve known better, we’d ask ourselves: how could I have been so stupid?

I know we said no promises, and I know I swore to myself that I wouldn’t fall in love with you, but we both know things have changed. That everything is changing.

He fucked me like the clock was winding down, like the world was coming to an end and he’d be damned if it did so without him claiming me thoroughly one last time.

I welcomed it, loved it even. Because for once I had someone in my life who was torn up by the possibility of losing me, and I relished in the way it felt to see him fight to hold on to me, even if he only fought in the physical sense.

Franky got to be all he could be with me, and I got to reap the benefits of his liberation.

Was I better than this? Did I want to be better than this? I did. I did want that. But I wanted Franky even more.

There was no one else. The feelings I had for him were solely based on, and reserved for, him. What I’d been missing was him.

I couldn’t break their hearts for anything less than forever with him.

“I’m not an easy man to deal with,” I warned him, planting a knee on the bed. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not an easy man to love.” “Loving you will be worth the fight it will take to do so, Franky.”

“How many times do I have to say that I’m not afraid of you? When will you finally believe me, Franky?” “Maybe after you’ve loved me through my worst, Leelee Bear.” “Bring it on.”

“You don’t have anything to prove,” I assured him. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one trying to steal a married man. You get to just sit back and reap the benefits of my insecurities,” he said.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret. I’m warning you, Leland.” “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Franky,”

“I don’t want anyone else’s hands on you, and I’m afraid of what I might be capable of to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

“If you need someone to talk to, you call me. I’m who you go to for comfort, Franky.”

“If you need something to let your frustrations out on, if you need someone to fuck, you come find me in the middle of the night. I’m your secret keeper, your shoulder to lean on, your ocean when there isn’t one, and my ass is your goddamn punching bag. Do you hear me?”

“If he wants you, he’ll find a way to choose you no matter what. Remember that. Okay?”

He was a thing of fucking beauty surrounded by candlelight.

“I can’t breathe when I’m not with you, Leland. My heart doesn’t beat the same. It took being without you for a day to realize I’ve taken being here with you for granted. I couldn’t wait until the house was quiet, until everyone had fallen asleep, so that I could race back to you. No one can compete with you. No one.”