Touch
It didn’t happen the night with the candy and the rooftop.
Or the morning after, when she woke up to coffee already brewed and Frank trying to pretend he didn’t feed Trouble human bacon again.
It happened the next night.
Karen had been reading something at the kitchen table, legs pulled up into the chair, her hair a little wild from the wind earlier. She was mouthing sentences to herself while editing, the blue light from her laptop making her eyes seem impossibly bright.
Frank leaned in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching her. Quiet. Always quiet.
But tonight, it felt different. Not the usual kind of quiet between them. This wasn’t the silence of things unsaid or wounds unhealed.
It was soft. Warm. A kind of hum under the skin.
“You’re starin’,” Karen said without looking up.
Frank didn’t move. “I know.”
She looked at him then. No teasing. No walls. “Why?”
His voice was low. Steady. “You look happy.”
Karen smiled at that. Closed her laptop. “You make it easy.”
He blinked once. Like that mattered more than she realized.
Like he didn’t know what to do with that sentence.
“C’mere,” she said.
He did. Slow, cautious, like he was walking toward something fragile. He came to stand between her knees, her legs still tucked in the chair, so she had to look up at him.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
He paused. “I want you to kiss me.”
It came out rough. Like it scraped its way up his throat.
Karen’s heart clenched. She reached for him, cupped his jaw, and pulled him down gently.
The kiss was soft at first. Familiar. But when his hand came to her waist, firm and grounding, she melted into it. All warmth and years of tension winding tighter and tighter until—
She stood, pushing her chair back without breaking the kiss. Her hands slid under his shirt, tracing every scar she already knew by heart.
Frank’s breath caught when her fingers pressed against the old bullet wound near his ribs. He pulled back for half a second, eyes darting to hers.
“Karen—”
She shook her head, whispering, “Don’t pull away from me. Not tonight.”
He didn’t. He kissed her again, deeper this time, like he was trying to remember what softness felt like. Like it was something he didn’t think he deserved but couldn’t stop reaching for anyway.
They moved toward the bedroom in fits and starts. Clothes tugged, breaths stolen, a laugh caught in her throat when Frank nearly tripped over Trouble’s chew toy.
Karen shoved him onto the bed with a wicked smirk, and for a split second, Frank looked up at her like she was some kind of holy vision—hair messy, mouth kiss-bruised, still wearing one sock.
She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, fingers curling under the hem of his t-shirt. “Can I take this off?”
He just nodded.
Karen peeled it off slowly, dragging her hands over the ridges of his chest, letting her fingertips trace each scar with reverence, not pity.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
Frank closed his eyes like it hurt to hear. “You don’t gotta say that.”
She leaned in, kissed just under his jaw. “I want to.”
When she pulled back, his hands slid up her thighs, slow, careful. Always asking permission without speaking. When she nodded, his hands found their way under her shirt, over her hips, her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her bra.
And when she tugged her shirt off and tossed it across the room, Frank went still again—like he needed a second to memorize the sight of her.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “Yeah. Just… tryin’ not to mess this up.”
“You’re not,” she promised.
He kissed her again, then trailed his lips down her neck, over her collarbone, down her stomach. When she gasped, he looked up at her—his eyes almost shy.
“Lay back,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”
Karen did.
And he did.
Karen lay beneath him, bare skin flushed, hair fanned over the pillow like a halo gone crooked. Frank hovered over her, steady hands on either side of her waist, his breath low and ragged.
Her eyes searched his face. “Frank,” she whispered, voice soft but certain. “I want this. I want you.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes dark. “You’re sure?”
Karen nodded, biting her lip. “I’ve been sure. For a long time.”
And then his mouth was on her again—rougher now, needier. He kissed her like he was making a promise. One hand slid down her side, fingers brushing the curve of her hip, thumb dragging across her thigh like he was trying to memorize her by touch.
She moaned softly into his mouth, and that sound—it undid him.
“Jesus,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, across her collarbone, lower still.
“You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”
She gasped when his mouth found her breast, sucking gently, his hand kneading the other with careful reverence. Her back arched instinctively, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling tight.
“Frank,” she breathed, already breathless.
He smiled against her skin, a rare, crooked thing. “There you go. Just like that.”
His voice was lower now, thick with want. “Be good for me, Karen.”
She whimpered at that—God, she loved the way he talked when he let go, the rough edge to his voice like he was trying to hold himself back but failing miserably.
His mouth traveled lower, over her stomach, slow and deliberate. He kissed every scar, every soft curve. Worshipful.
Karen shifted beneath him, impatient, thighs parting slightly. “Please,” she whispered.
He paused at the edge of her hip, smirking just a little. “What do you want, baby?”
She flushed, biting her lip—but her voice came out steady. “Your mouth. Please, I want…”
He growled softly. “Fuckin’ love hearin’ you beg.”
He settled between her thighs, hands on her hips to hold her in place as he kissed the inside of her leg. She was already trembling.
When his mouth finally met her, Karen let out a strangled moan and arched off the bed.
“Oh God—Frank—”
He groaned against her, savoring the way she gasped, the way her fingers twisted in the sheets, the way she couldn’t keep still. His tongue moved slow, then faster, teasing, working her until she was panting.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured against her. “Takin’ it so well. Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”
Karen whimpered, her hips stuttering. “Frank, I—I’m gonna—”
“Yeah?” he muttered, eyes locked on her face. “C’mon, baby. Let go for me.”
She cried out his name when she came, back arched, body shaking under his hands.
And he didn’t stop.
She gasped, twitching, overstimulated, but he kept going—gentler now, coaxing every last wave of pleasure out of her until she was breathless, her thighs trembling around his head.
“Holy shit,” she panted, dazed, blinking up at the ceiling.
She came undone beneath him—twice. The second time, she was trembling, breathless, her thighs still twitching when he finally moved up to hold her.
Finally, she dragged him into a kiss, slow and deep. Her fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, but he stopped her with a hand around her wrist.
“You don’t have to,” he said, voice low and steady, but something in his eyes wavered—like he didn’t want to stop her. Like he was trying to protect both of them from how badly he did want it.
Karen didn’t move, just watched him. “I want to,” she said, nearly breathless. “But I also want you to stay. Just… stay here with me.”
He stared at her for a beat, his grip on her wrist loosening. “Yeah,” he whispered finally. “I’ll stay.”
And then something broke open in him—some wall he’d kept cemented shut finally cracking. He leaned back in, but this time when he kissed her, it was different. He kissed her like he was starved for it. Like her mouth was oxygen.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her again, deeper. “You got no idea what you do to me, Karen.”
She whimpered into his mouth, and he groaned in response, hand sliding up to cradle her face. “Say my name again.”
“Frank,” she gasped, voice already shaky from the heat building between them.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “That’s it. You sound so fuckin’ good like that.”
She tugged gently at his boxers again, slower this time, waiting for him to stop her. But he didn’t. He let out a shaky breath and let her pull them down, his body tense and trembling with restraint.
He kissed her neck, trailing down to her chest, sucking another bruise into the skin above her breast. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he said roughly, like it almost pained him to admit it. “You make me feel like I’m not completely fucked.”
Karen’s hands ran over his back, nails grazing lightly down his spine. “You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re not.”
His forehead dropped against hers, and for a moment, they just breathed in sync. Then Frank’s hand slid between her legs again, gentle but possessive.
“You’re still so wet for me,” he muttered, voice like gravel. “Fuck. You’re perfect, baby. So perfect.”
She cried out as his fingers moved inside her, and he watched every reaction—like he needed to memorize it.
“Good girl,” he said, voice dark and reverent. “Takin’ me so well.”
Her hips rolled against his hand, and her eyes fluttered shut.
“You gonna come for me again?” he murmured, thumb circling where she needed him most. “C’mon, baby. Let me feel you fall apart.”
“I—Frank—fuck—”
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let it go. I got you.”
And she did.
She fell apart under him, breathless and wrecked and perfect.
They don’t talk much after that. They let their bodies finally give in to the thing they craved for entirely too long.
He pulled the blanket over them and wrapped her in his arms. Her head on his chest. His fingers drawing lazy circles into her back.
“Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this,” he murmured.
Karen looked up. “Like what?”
Frank didn’t hesitate. “Safe.”
And just like that, they stayed there.
Two people who had lost everything.
Finding something that almost felt like peace.