The Irish smut casanova!
Member No.: 2
Joined: 6-April 10
Passion Never Forgotten
Pairing(s): Felicia and Frisco Jones
Summary: She didn’t realize how much she had missed his touch … until he returned to her.
Disclaimer: Own nothing but this story
Author Notes: I’m going to sort of put the blame on my friend Nathan (who is my frequent RP partner) for getting me obsessed with the “vintage” General Hospital couples, like Luke & Laura, Sean & Tiffany and Frisco & Felicia! Also, a side note: F&F are at the beach when he surprises her.
He touched her with his lips again, and this time the kiss was deep and long. His tongue met hers, and her heart bumped with recognition. About a quarter of the way through that kiss, Felicia forgot to be nervous and slid her hands away from Frisco’s waist and let them glide up and down his chest, relishing once again the texture of him, the way his hard muscles quivered at her touch. She’d wanted to touch him like this again, to explore the breadth of his shoulders, his jaw line, his ears. She buried her fingers in his long hair. It was springy and rough from the saltwater, but his beard was soft, caressing her face. He smelled like the ocean and also a little like woodsmoke, from the fire, but there was also a personal, clean masculine scent to his skin, and she drew it into her lungs.
Neither of them was wearing much clothing. She had her bathing suit on under a short cotton T-shirt dress, and he wore only cutoffs. His hands glided down her body, lingering on the bare skin of her thighs, moving back up to outline her hips and waist. Everywhere he touched tingled and glowed. “You’re still so smooth and soft,” he murmured, trailing kisses down her throat and along the neckline of her dress, his beard tickling tender flesh. “My hands are rough. I’m sorry.” She wanted to tell him she loved the feeling of those hard, callused hands on her body, but he was kissing her again, long, drugging kisses that left her restless, aching for more.
He eased her down on the blanket, angling his strong body half over hers. She gazed at the sky. The moon was up, and the stars were bright. She could see the outline of a palm tree against the heavens, and suddenly it felt right, absolutely right, to be here with him in this way. Their kisses were greedy now, a sensual exploration of lips and tongue that sought more, sought deeper. Her nipples peaked, and her body yearned for his touch again. He slid a hand under the hem of her dress, letting his fingers glide over her thigh, explore the tender skin of her flat belly, find the indentation of her waist. Then one gentle hand closed over her small breast, still covered by the flimsy bathing suit top. He drew circles with his palm, slow and sensuous, rubbing the cotton against her nipple, rubbing until she surged up to meet his hand and vivid tongues of desire shot through her from breast to abdomen. “You feel so good, so very good.”
His voice was a warm sigh in between kisses, feverish kisses, hot and sucking and wet kisses she returned with nothing held in reserve. His hand traced a path down her body, finding the spot where tankini bottom pressed against damp, feminine need, and she raised herself to meet his touch, aware of her own flaming desire and of his tumescence, sheathed inside his cutoffs but straining hard against her side. She could feel his heart, pounding like a drumbeat, sounding a rhythm that echoed the chaos inside of her. He looped his fingers under the top edge of her tankini bottoms and slowly tugged them down her legs. She kicked the scrap of fabric free, glad to be rid of its constraint. The air was cool against her bare skin, and the moon shimmered silver light over them. “Your turn.”
She sat up and fumbled for the button at the waist of his cutoffs, found it and released it. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, but he didn’t offer to help. She located the zipper tab and began to tug the denim down, but it stuck at his hips. Impatient, his hands covered hers, and together they worked the garment down and off his long, muscular legs. He was like a pagan god in the moonlight, dark and tall and well made, infinitely strong, his swollen body unashamedly yearning for hers. He was her vagabond lover, the figure in all her imaginings, the fearless hero of every erotic dream. “Now you.” He took the hem of her dress and drew it smoothly up and over her head. His fingers found and untied the strings of her modest top, and now she was as naked as he. He reached out and touched her breast with his hands, wonderfully tender, reverent, his blue eyes unfathomable in the moonlight, his body taut with need but controlled, conscious of her desires. “I dreamed of seeing you like this again, your fragile, incredibly beauty.”
“Still skinny and flat chested,” she denied in a shaky voice.
“Still slender and perfect,” he corrected in a growl. Then he dipped his head and caught her nipples in his teeth, first one and then the other, teasing, laving each with his tongue. She gasped and made a pleading sound in her throat as delightful sensation shot through her. He eased her down on the blanket, kissing her eyelids, her mouth, murmuring his need in a deep, intense whisper as his lips sought out her ears, her throat. Then his mouth traveled down, to her breasts, her navel, and still down, lingering at her center until she hovered on the edge of rapture.
“Frisco, please…” Her fingers tangled deep in his hair, entreating him to join her.
“Patience, sweetheart…” He drew away for a moment, fumbling in the pocket of his cutoffs, finding the small packet that would protect her.
“Let me,” she whispered, amazed at her own boldness even as passion dictated her actions. She longed to touch him, and he trembled when her hand came in contact with his flesh. A moan rose from the back of his throat as her fingers closed around him.
“Felicia, my sweet, beautiful Felicia.” The ocean sounded louder, the incoming tide sweeping the sand and retreating under the spell of liquid silver from the moon. The pale light cast shadows on the sand as he placed the length of his body on hers, and the delight of having all of him against her, naked skin to naked skin, made her shudder.
“That feels so good…”
“I’ll make it even better. Hold on to me, Felicia.” Her arms slid up around his neck, and her legs encircled his hips. His head blotted out the moon. He slid inside her, and it seemed as if the ocean waves caught her fast in their rhythm, their endless surge and withdrawal becoming all that she knew or cared to know. There was a wild abandon in his loving now, and that sense of rightness that she’d felt at the start intensified, clarified. Just as he’d claimed, there was something, some magic, between them, some old and ancient attraction that made it right still, this coming together. She was finally back where she longed to be, in a space where she belonged with the man some part of her had waited to welcome home after all these years. She wanted to tell him, but he thrust deep, and the cry of release that poured from her throat caught her unawares. It was joined a moment later by his deep growl of triumphant ecstasy.