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When she finally gets engaged to Maxwell, it isn’t what she expected.
Sure, he calls her Fran, now. He doesn’t hide his lovely, excited smile when she walks into his office. He kisses her any time he wants - on the cheek, on the nose, on the lips. And she loves it.
Fran loves him, and she can’t believe after five years, there’s finally a ring on her finger. His ring.
She is obsessed with it. She’s obsessed with the way her name sounds in his accent, with that smile, those kisses. She’s obsessed with him.
And that’s the problem.
It’s not enough. Fran has never been happier and yet, she wants more. Much more.
It’s ridiculous, really. Feeling so needy, so vulnerable, and all because a man is not touching you.
Well, no. He is touching her. Sometimes when they kiss, Max cups her face and if he’s really into it, he even grabs the back of her neck and pulls her closer.
Sometimes, his hands linger on her shoulders before wandering down to the small of her back, sometimes even lower. But it’s never low enough.
Fran’s knees are weak when she is around him like this. She wishes he would just take her, make her feel as weightless as only he can - as he’s done countless times in the five years she’s been working for him.
And she’s not asking for much, is she? She has a wonderful, huge ring on her finger. Is it asking too much that the man she’s in love with sweeps her off her feet, carries her into his bedroom and rips her clothes off?
Apparently, yes.
Maxwell and Fran are engaged: and all she’s getting are good night kisses.
Not that she doesn’t love them: the way Max waits for her every night, takes her petite hand in his and walks the stairs with her.
The way he drags the conversation right outside her bedroom door, just to spend those last few minutes of his day with her.
How he parts his lips ever so slightly before leaning in, making Fran shiver in anticipation.
Most nights, it’s short but intense.
Fran loves how his tongue tastes in her mouth, how careless he is without the kids around, without Niles. She loves his hot breath on her upper lip while his fingers dig into her hips, pushing her away and pulling her in at the same time.
How he’s keeping control, Fran will never understand. She’s not good with that. And as the days go by and her good night kisses with Max turn into longer make-out sessions, she starts to question his self-control, too.
She’s kissed Max often enough to know when something is different, when something changes.
First, it’s his hands. One night they’re resting perfectly still at the small of her back and the next, they are large, warm and confident around her ass.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t address it.
It’s only fair that the next night, Fran traces along the shape of his spine down to the only tukhus she ever wants to touch until the day she dies. And oh, goodness.
Max doesn’t pull back, doesn’t yell an admonishing “Miss Fine” at her. Instead, he sighs into her mouth and ducks his head to the side, biting into her lower lip and pushing his hips forward.
Fran almost loses her mind and she’s glad Max is holding her tight: her feelings are embarrassing enough without her ass hitting the floor.
It’s when he finally releases his grip on her and takes a step back that she sees how dark his eyes have gotten, how flushed his cheeks are.
His chest is lifting quickly and he needs a haircut. Fran adores him.
“Good night, Fran.”
For once in her life she’s speechless.
The following night, it’s his tongue.
It starts at dinner and at first, Fran thinks it must be a coincidence. She catches Max staring at her and then impossibly slowly, his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip.
When her first instinct is to the same thing, Fran is horrified. Niles catches her with half of her tongue out.
“You enjoying dinner?”
Ah, such a yenta.
“Yes, Niles, it’s delicious.” She replies by dragging the words but her eyes are already locked with Max’s. Niles, the children and the food are forgotten.
“I bet.” Niles comments.
Fran doesn’t even mind.
Yes, Maxwell is delicious. His tongue is delicious. It’s even more delicious later that night, when Max has her pressed against her bedroom door. Fran loves the taste of his tongue in her mouth, loves how wet it is against her neck- wait a minute. This is new.
Arching her back, she notices how Max moves her hair out of the way while he is sucking on her skin lightly. Alternating teeth and tongue, he doesn’t stop until he has reduced her to a whimpering wreck. And then it dawns on her.
“Mister Sheffield!” She shrieks, pushing her hands on his chest. He drags her with him, allowing no space between them as his tongue licks down her neck to her pale collarbone.
“You didn’t!” She means to sound strict, but it’s too late and her voice betrays her. Her body betrays her.
Max lifts his head to look at her, then, and Fran has to blink her eyes quickly before she can see him in focus.
With a gentle smile, Max rearranges her teased hair so that they are covering the fresh bruise on her neck.
“I trust your excellent make-up skills to take care of that, Miss Fine. ”
She’s petrified, she can’t believe him.
It’s only much later, while she is laying in her bed, alone, that she realizes how wet she still is. Every time she closes her eyes, she feels the ghost of Max’s lips on her neck. Every time she breathes in, his cologne fills her nostrils.
She doesn’t get a minute of sleep and counts the days to their wedding over and over until the numbers get too confusing.
And the next night, it’s his knee.
He’s held her hand after dinner, her smaller fingers gently trapped in his grip for hours so long that she’s forgotten how they feel on their own.
After their goodnights to the children and a couple more hours on the couch, he’s led her upstairs, to her room.
“I can’t wait to take you to my bed.” He whispers into her ear and Fran’s brain stops working. Mybedmybedmybed. Maxwell Sheffield wants her in his bed, not his room or whatever, his bed.
She feels light headed. And then, Max starts kissing her. Slowly, softly at first. His lips dance on top of hers and Fran circles her arms around his neck. It feels good, it feels romantic. Until it doesn’t.
Max pushes his tongue into her mouth, ever so gently. Fran’s heartbeat quickens and she lets him in, savoring the moment, the taste. It never gets old
She matches his passion when he starts nibbling into her lower lip, his teeth dragging and pulling and his tongue soothing the sting.
It's quiet in the long hallway, with the exception of their ragged breaths, their occasional gasp.
When Max breaks their kiss and routes to her neck, Fran’s already a mess. She’s glad she’s not wearing much lipstick these days, having given up on retouching it after dinner for this exact reason.
“You smell so good,” Max mutters against her skin, placing a soft kiss on her neck, “here”.
“Max…”
And then he starts sucking. This hickey is different, almost painful, but Fran can’t bring herself to care: she can feel Max losing control, his little moans as he leaves little bruises on her pale freckled skin.
But that’s apparently not enough.
Slowly, his hands grab around her ass and his fingers push her skirt upwards, until he can trace the line of skin where her legs end and the curve of her glutes begins.
Her eyes pop open and with sight, panic comes back to her.
What are they doing, the children could… Niles could…
But Max doesn’t even let her finish her thoughts.
With determination, he pushes her against the wall with his body, lips attached to her neck and hands crawling higher and higher.
It’s too much already, but nothing prepares Fran for what happens afterwards.
Nothing.
Unhurriedly, Max slides his leg between Fran’s, parting them slightly until there’s enough space for him to push up. The movement causes her skirt to roll up an inch more, just enough for his hands to finally graze her underwear and his knee to brush against her center.
And Fran swears she sees stars. She can’t move, can’t open her eyes. If she did, if she stared into Maxwell’s gorgeous face, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. So she doesn’t, she just breathes heavily and ducks her head to the side to give him better access to her neck.
“Don’t stop.” She mumbles, because why the hell would she want him to.
He doesn’t. Somehow, he moves closer to her, sliding his knee down and replacing it with his thigh. Fran is painfully aware of how wet she is, almost ashamed - and then she feels it.
Max is pushing his body into her at a different angle now, and there’s no mistaking the hardness she feels against her side.
For a second, Fran thinks she’s going to pass out.
Her body reacts faster than her mind and she grinds herself onto his thigh, her hips thrusting forward and then pushing back into his hands. If she focuses enough, she can make out the exact shape of his cock in her mind. Her skin burns hotter with that thought.
With a growl, Max bites down on her neck one last time before capturing her lips hungrily and it's the last drop. Fran can’t take it anymore.
Not to sound dramatic, but she will die if Maxwell Sheffield doesn’t get his dick inside of her immediately.
But as quickly as it started, it’s done.
Max pecks her lips sweetly one last time, pulling her skirt down and adjusting his tie.
There’s a look on his face, something tormented that makes Fran’s heart ache.
“Goodnight, darling.” He tells her with a crooked smile before disappearing down the hallway.
“Goodnight.” She says to the empty space he’s left behind.
Fran lays awake in bed for hours, afterwards, scared that if she moves one inch, she will lose all the self control that’s keeping her from getting naked and running into Max’s bedroom.
She does the next best thing: walks downstairs into the kitchen and rings Niles up. It’s a couple of minutes before he finds her.
“Niles, my dear friend, tell me, how deep, close and personal am I allowed to get here?”
The butler gives her a pointed look, all tiredness gone from his eyes, “deep, and personal. Please.”
Fran considers her options for a moment, before dropping her head into her hands with a desperate sigh.
“Max’s been teasing me for weeks, I will die if I have to wait until our wedding night.”
“Oh, you’ve waited five years, what’s a couple more weeks-“ Niles begins, then his eyes widen suddenly. “Did something happen?”
Biting her lower lip, Fran shuts her eyes for a second. Niles rushes to sit next to her at the kitchen table.
“Did he do something?”
“Oh Niles,” Fran laments, hoping her tone and red cheeks will be enough.
“Oh dear.” He rushes to the fridge and is back promptly, dropping a bucket of ice cream before Fran.
“Is this cold enough?” With a wink, he hands her a spoon.
“Not in the slightest.”