Chapter Text
Mel isn’t a good person.
She knows she’s a good sister. Becca herself says it about twice a day. She takes care of her, accepts her unconditionally, and, in her words, is just “the absolute bestest!”
She knows she’s a good doctor. Mel has worked her ass off for years to get where she is. She’ll never try to play coy, this is her career she’s dreamed about. It’s nothing to be bashful about. Hell, she was valedictorian. Top of her class.
She’s also a Good Samaritan. Honest, always giving a helping hand when needed. Donating, whether it’s clothes or blood, she’s always willing to give.
But she knows, innately, she’s not a good person.
She’s quick to assume, whether it was mentally or verbally. She needs to destress almost consistently if she wants to be decent at what she does. She needs to be constantly cold because in the heat, her patience turns thin. She’s a good doctor but there’s that odd, once-in-a-blue-moon moment where a patient gets obnoxious so she has to snap to get them to settle, shocking everyone in the general vicinity.
She can be mean. She can definitely be selfish.
And staring at Frank right next to her as he complains about his wife to Dana yet again, wondering how to maybe get him to calm down, doesn’t prove the point that she’s a good person. People say she is, that’s she’s innocent, naive, but if only they knew.
Because she wants to tell him to shut up. Just shut up, Frank. No one in the nurse’s station cares that Abby didn’t fold the towels right or that she once again won’t let him speak to Tanner or that she won’t answer his texts. Abby doesn’t care that he’s “trying.” She wants to roll her eyes so hard they’ll stay stuck in the back of her skull.
But she doesn’t. Because that would be cruel, and she’s not cruel. Just impatient. Selfish. A little frayed around the edges.
“Mel.” McKay nudges her with an elbow, whispering through a tight smile, practically waking her up. “Your face is saying everything you’re not.” She came back from triage briefly it seems, walking away quickly.
Mel schools her expression, presses her lips into a line, and grabs the chart in front of her just to look busy. Frank doesn’t notice—he rarely does. He’s leaned against the counter, arms folded, weaving another story about his misery like it’s a badge he gets to wear.
And here’s the worst part: she listens.
She hates herself for listening. She should walk away, go back to her patients, check vitals, do literally anything else. Instead, she finds herself watching his mouth move, catching every word, memorizing the cadence of his voice.
He’s messy. A mess of a man, and somehow, that makes him fascinating.
Which only proves it: Mel isn’t a good person. She wants to see him suffer a bit more. Because doesn’t he see that he’d be better off without Abby? He’s going to make himself insane if he keeps it up with her.
Frank’s voice droned on, low and gravelly, while Dana pretended to type on her computer and Mel pretended not to listen, despite the two ladies glancing at each other.
He was pounding his finger tip into the table top of the desk, passionately ranting about his wife. He’s a doctor and she’s at home, she has all the time in the world apparently. Mel watched him out of the corner of her eye, catching the curve of his frown, the way his hand raked through his hair, before clinging to his neck suddenly.
It’s a good thing Mel made sure to put all his coins on chains for him to wear as necklaces so he’s reminded to chill out.
He was pitiful. And God help her, she liked him anyway.
He was her best friend in this place, the only person she actually wanted to find in the break room when she was running on fumes. He was solid, funny in a stupid way, and always had a granola bar tucked away for her. She had yearned for friends and got him on the first day.
But when he got like this—when every other sentence was Abby this, Abby that—Mel wanted to scream into a pillow.
And yet, she’d still sit there and soak it in. That had to mean something ugly about her.
The pager on the nurse's hip squawked and Dana muttered something about grabbing some labs and discharge papers, leaving Mel and Frank alone. He glanced around, probably looking for Robby, and back at her then, his shoulders sagging, the raw edges of his frustration showing through.
“Break room?” he asked.
She nodded, even though she should’ve said no.
The coffee pot was half-full and burnt, but Mel poured a cup anyway, staring down at the thin stream while Frank collapsed into a chair at the only plastic table in the room. He looked like a man who had forgotten how to be comfortable in his own skin. It was sad.
“Like am I going crazy? Is it me, am I the problem?”
Yeah, probably. Maybe.
“What do you want me to say, Frank?” she asked, pouring a second cup and setting it in front of him. “You’ll just have to put up with her being a bitch since you want to be with her,”
It was the truth. He always hated to hear it.
His laugh was sharp, humorless. “Jesus, Mel.”
“Well, you asked.” She sipped. It was terrible coffee, bitter enough to make her wince, but it gave her something to hold onto while he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You don’t get it. She’s—” His phone buzzed on the table, and both of them stared at the screen. Abby. He didn’t even have a contact photo for her. Mel briefly recalled the one he set up specifically for her. A cute picture of her at their favorite cheap Italian joint near the hospital.
Frank’s jaw worked, grinding tight, and then he answered, hand shaky.
“Hey. Yeah.” His voice flattened, pitched low. “No, I’m still at work. No, I didn’t—”
Mel leaned her thigh against the table, arms folded. She wasn’t trying to listen but she caught every word anyway. The clipped back-and-forth, Abby’s voice sharp and shrill even from the distance of the receiver.
And then, without really thinking about it, she moved. Her hand found his shoulder like it had every right to be there.
She should’ve stopped there. Friendly. Comforting. That was all. Should’ve been simple.
But his shoulders were tense, hard under her palm, and her thumb brushed against the edge of his collarbone, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt because of the summer heat. But she told herself she was grounding him, keeping him from snapping. She told herself a lot of things.
“Uh-huh,” Frank muttered into the phone, leaning back just slightly, just enough that her fingers slid a little lower to keep her ministrations. Everything Abby said, Frank said off-handed. He wasn’t listening surely.
Mel’s chest tightened. She was too close, touching him like she had a claim, while his wife’s voice carried sharply through the line. It was wrong. It was selfish.
It felt like falling.
She wasn’t a good person. Not with her hand on Frank’s shoulder, not with the thought flickering through her mind that she wanted him to hang up, turn around, and look at her like he normally does- like she was the only thing keeping him upright.
His phone shrilled. Abby sounded like a banshee, her voice high and sharp. Mel flinched, but kept on with what she was doing.
“Yeah, Abby, I fucking heard you, how could I not?” Frank snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His phone tilted away just enough for Mel to see the tremor in his grip.
Mel’s thumb pressed deeper into the knot at the top of his shoulder, the way she might for a patient with tension headaches. It should’ve been clinical. Professional. But it wasn’t—not with how her hand lingered, fingers sliding down the slope of his back, kneading like she was coaxing something out of him.
“Because I was at work,” Frank said, teeth clenched. “That’s why I didn’t answer.”
Mel’s other hand rose before she could stop it, settling on his opposite shoulder, working slow circles. He didn’t push her off. If anything, he shifted under her touch like he needed it, like he’d cave without it.
“Abby, for Christ’s sake—” He cut himself off, breath hissing sharp through his nose. “I don’t care about any of this shit,”
Mel bent, close enough now that her breath skimmed the back of his neck, and she got a good whiff of his cologne. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this while his wife’s voice poured through the speaker, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Her thumbs dug deeper, tracing bone, muscle, fat, heat.
Frank raked a hand through his hair, rough. “Fine. Fine, Abby. Believe whatever the hell you want.”
And then he ended the call, slamming the phone down so hard the coffee in his cup trembled. His shoulders stayed locked under Mel’s hands, his whole body vibrating with anger.
For a second, she thought he’d tell her to stop. That he’d shrug her off and storm out. It was probably the right thing to do.
Instead, he tipped his head back, eyes closing, jaw tight. His voice was hoarse when it came:
“Mel, oh don’t stop. Just keep doing that sweetheart.”
Mel’s stomach turned over. Her fingers curled tighter into him, kneading with purpose now, sliding lower, pressing the edges of his collar where fabric met skin.
She wanted to ruin him. She wanted him to forget every fight, every phone call, every miserable tether to the woman who didn’t understand him. She wanted him wrecked, undone, falling apart in her hands.
And she hated herself for how much she wanted it.
Mel’s fingers slid down the line of his spine, slow, deliberate, then came back up to curl into the tense muscle at his neck, fingertips in her hair just a bit. She wasn’t pretending anymore. This wasn’t just comfort. Her hands lingered too long, pressed too close.
Frank groaned low in his throat, not from pain when she tugged on his hair gently but from something that made Mel’s stomach clench. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and she followed him, hands slipping down to his chest, skimming over the crisp fabric of his scrubs.
“Oh fuck, Mel…” His voice was ragged, warning, and wanting tangled up together.
She bent closer, lips a breath from his ear. “You told me not to stop.”
His phone buzzed on the table, sharp enough to slice through the thick air between them. Mel froze, palms flat against his chest, while Frank grabbed for it with a curse. He swiped the screen, eyes flicking over the message.
His face went blank. Then tight.
Mel didn’t need to ask. He turned the phone toward her anyway.
Don’t come home after your shift.
Her pulse spiked. This was the kind of wound she should stitch closed with words of comfort, tell him it would be okay, that he deserved better. That’s what a good person would do.
Instead, her hands smoothed over his chest again, thumb brushing against his sternum like a promise. She felt his heartbeat, uneven and strong under her palm.
“I’ve got my apartment to myself tonight,” she murmured, almost too casual, though the heat in her chest betrayed her. “If you need somewhere to go or have someone to hang out with.”
Frank turned and stared at her, phone slack in his hand. His jaw worked, wanting to say something but he couldn’t, no sound came out.
And Mel, selfish, mean, utterly human, leaned in just a fraction closer, waiting for him to break.
Frank didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched taut. Mel could feel the weight of it pressing down on her hands where they rested on his chest. Her skin buzzed with the urge to keep pushing, to ruin him right there against the break room table, but the rational sliver of her brain clawed its way through.
If she stayed, she would cross the line. She wanted to. But that want tasted too sharp all too soon.
So she pulled back. Her hands slipped away from him, leaving the warmth of his chest behind. She straightened, grabbing her coffee cup like it was a lifeline.
“I’ve got to check on 204,” she said, her voice calm in a way she didn’t feel. And then she left before he could stop her, before she could give herself away completely.
It should’ve ended in the break room. She’d left him sitting there, phone face-down on the table, shoulders tight beneath her touch, and she’d sworn to herself she wasn’t going to feed into it again.
But Frank wouldn’t let it end.
The first time was only about half an hour later. Mel had been bent over slightly as she typed on her computer quickly, just needing to get an order in, when she felt it—his hand ghosting across the small of her back as he squeezed by. He could’ve passed without touching her. He didn’t need to lean in so close. But he did. And when she glanced up, he was already a step ahead, eyes fixed forward like it was nothing.
Except she felt it for the rest of the shift, that warm phantom press of his hand like a brand.
The second time, she was tying her hair back at the nurse’s hub, Dana was almost ready to command her to take a breather. That certain hour had been hellish—codes, consults, a never-ending string of patients, back to back until they faded out—and her braid had loosened. She was redoing it fast, looping the elastic around, when Frank came up behind her, right when Dana turned away.
So convenient.
“You missed a piece,” he murmured.
Before she could ask what he meant, his fingers brushed the end of her braid, catching the strand that had slipped free. He twirled it lazily between his fingertips, like it was nothing, like touching her hair was the most natural thing in the world.
Her throat went dry. She kept her eyes locked on a paper chart sitting around, willing herself not to react, not to snatch the braid back out of his hand, and to walk away.
He let it fall. His knuckles skimmed her shoulder as he pulled away, leaving a trail of heat she tried not to shiver at.
And then came the whispers.
Only 30 minutes away from being off, while they both charted side by side in the dim light of the break room, Frank leaned in to her. Not close enough to look suspicious if anyone walked in, but close enough that she could feel the brush of his breath against her ear. It was absolutely thrilling.
“Your place,” he said, his voice low, almost hoarse. “You said you’d have it to yourself.”
Mel’s pen froze mid-sentence.
“We could do a lot after work,”
She felt the words like a hand sliding beneath her clothes. Her stomach flipped, her pulse hammering in her throat, and still she didn’t look at him. Didn’t trust herself to. It was an open-ended statement.
She just kept writing, though her notes trailed off into an illegible scrawl.
Frank leaned back again, silent. And that silence was worse than anything—because she knew he was waiting for her to answer.
His words lingered in her ear long after he leaned back. She tried to finish the chart in front of her, but her pen had gone useless in her hand. The room felt too hot, too small, and the silence between them thrummed with something that wasn’t professional, wasn’t safe.
Finally, Mel set the pen down and turned her head just enough to catch him watching her. His eyes flicked away when she met them, but it was too late—he’d been staring at her mouth.
Her voice came out softer than she intended.
“Well then, what are we gonna do?”
His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t, not after seeing her be serious. He shifted in his chair, leaning closer again, elbows braced on the table like he couldn’t help himself. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Yes.” She surprised herself with how steady it came. She didn’t pull away and leaned in. She could practically sit on his lap with how close they became.
He dragged his hand down his face, a sharp yet entertained exhale slipping past his fingers. “Christ, Mel. You know what I think about every time you walk past me?”
Her heart lurched. “Tell me everything,”
His eyes narrowed just a bit before he put his lips on her ear, and hand of his settled on her arm. She eyed his hand veins and felt embarrassed by just how hot the simple act was.
“I think about your braid wrapped around my fist,” he started, voice low, “I think about you bent over this damn table instead of writing on it.” He breathed and exhaled, his thumb rubbing little circles now.
“And I think about how if I touched you, really touched you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. Heat crawled up her throat, her whole body humming like a struck wire. She wanted him to stop talking and never stop talking all at once.
She leaned in too, her words brushing his mouth though they didn’t touch. They were too close. “You’re supposed to be charting.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes dark, “but I guess I wanna do the things I shouldn’t,”
Their pagers crackled before she could say anything.
The night shift crew was finally trickling in.
The spell broke, but not really. They both sat frozen for half a second, staring like they’d just said, done too much, like the air itself was complicit in their secret.
Then Frank stood, shoving his pen into his pocket. He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that’s our release.”
Mel’s pulse kicked hard. She grabbed her iPad and papers awkwardly, trying to move fast, to make this normal again—but it wasn’t normal. Not anymore.
And when Frank’s hand brushed the small of her back as they left the room, his fingers lingering a beat too long, she knew it was only a matter of time.
Of course, they didn’t leave immediately, even after officially swapping successfully with the night crew.
Robby had called his usual huddle right in the middle of The Pitt. Everyone was already itching to leave, and some nurses didn’t even stay to hear, already off the clock. Frank saddled up next to her with both their bags in the very back of the group, too close for any comfort.
Robby droned on about policy changes Gloria bullied him to talk about, chart audits, teamwork, the kind of things Mel usually paid attention to, and then he got to complimenting them on their jobs that day. But Frank obviously wasn’t paying attention. He leaned into her, his warmth radiating on her skin.
She kept her gaze fixed on Robby.
Then his fingers caught the tail of her braid where it trailed over her shoulder. He twirled it once, slow. Then a tug—not sharp, but enough to tilt her head back a fraction.
Mel’s breath hitched. She swallowed, eyes glued to the front.
Frank leaned in just enough to mutter, “This is better than any meeting.” His lips brushed her ear.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression steady, but her stomach flipped. The braid slipped free when he let go, brushing hot against her neck like it had memory.
By the time Robby dismissed them, Mel’s pulse was hammering.
Outside, the night air was thick and heavy, the parking lot buzzing with the last shuffle of tired staff. Frank walked her to his car, hands in his pockets, quiet for once. But before she could reach for the passenger door, he caught her wrist, eyes scanning the lot.
“Coast is finally clear,” he muttered, then pressed her back against the car with his body, caging her there.
Mel’s breath caught hard. He didn’t kiss her. His mouth hovered dangerously close, his hands braced on either side of her. He towered over her and she couldn’t help but feel like prey under him.
“You know what I want?” His voice was low, rough, “I want to spread you out on this hood until you can’t even remember your own name.”
Her throat went dry. She needs to stop this before it’s too late. He’s married.
But she’s such a bad person. He’s married to a bitch who didn’t know how to love him like she could.
Mel whispered back, “I want your hands on me so bad it hurts. I want you to ruin me for anyone else,”
He let out a sound that was akin to a pained groan, his forehead dropping briefly against hers like he was holding himself back with the thinnest thread of restraint.
“You need to do something,” she breathed, her nails curling into his scrub top before she loosened the grip and slid her hands up his shirt. “And soon,”
Frank pulled back just enough to smirk, heat blazing in his eyes. She supposed it was time then. She turned around only for a second but then he slapped her ass—sharp, claiming, making her gasp. He pinned himself against her for another moment, his pelvis to her back.
“Get your ass in the car,”
Her body lit up like a struck match. She didn’t argue, didn’t hesitate—just slid into the passenger seat, her skin still tingling where his hand had landed.
Frank climbed in on the driver’s side, jaw tight, knuckles white on the wheel as he started the engine. The car roared to life whilst the city around them stayed lively, but the silence between them was louder than words.
The drive was short, but it felt like hours. The silence in the car was heavy, buzzing with everything they hadn’t said in the break room, in the parking lot, in every hallway where his hand brushed too close.
Frank’s knuckles were tight on the wheel until he finally exhaled and dropped one hand, laying it heavy on her thigh.
Mel stiffened—not from fear but from the way her pulse jumped. His hand was warm, calloused, sliding up just enough to squeeze. He was so close to where she needed him. He grazed her gently through her pants.
“Frank,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice level.
“What?” He glanced over, his mouth curved in a dangerous smirk. “Too much for you already?”
Her thighs clenched. “It’s not enough, I need more.”
He groaned under his breath, gripping her thigh harder, thumb brushing circles against her skin through her scrub pants. “You’re gonna fucking wreck me,”
She turned her head, met his eyes, and smiled smugly. Timing was all too convenient as they pulled up to her building.
“Then let’s get inside.”
By the time they made it to her apartment door, Frank had her pinned against the frame, mouth crushing against hers before she could even fumble the keys into the lock. He had taken her by surprise, considering the walk inside was peaceful.
Their kiss was hot, messy, desperate—nothing like she would do normally. It was bruising and it was their first together. Perfection.
“Frank,” she gasped against his mouth, tugging him closer by the collar. “You’re married.”
She didn’t care. She just wanted to save some face.
“I know.” He kissed her harder, rough, seemingly almost angry with himself. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Fuck that.
“Then stop,” she dared him, breathless, knowing he wouldn’t.
“I said stop Langdon,” she mustered up one more time, pushing at his shoulders. Her glasses were askew and she already could feel her mouth be sore from the kissing. But she needed control over him.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glassy, voice breaking. Eyebrows furrowed in a sudden onslaught of confusion.
Pathetic.
“I can’t stop, Mel. You think I haven’t tried baby?” His hand slid into her braid, tugging her head back just enough to force her eyes on him. “I’d rather be married to you. At least then I could be with you like this every damn day. Wake up with you. Make love to you every night. Fuck you so nice. Christ—” his voice cracked— “I’d give anything. I’d give you everything.”
Mel’s chest tightened. She should’ve pushed him away. She should’ve said no. Instead, she kissed him harder, drinking in the ragged edges of him like oxygen. His arms were around her, keeping her grounded, with her arms looped around his neck.
“Frank,” she murmured against his mouth, her lips brushing his words as he kissed her again and again. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
He was on the verge of crying—she felt it in the way his breath shuddered, the way his mouth trembled against hers, the rawness in his whisper against her neck when he trailed his kisses down.
“You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted you.”
And God help her, she liked it. Loved hearing it. She liked the way he came undone for her, the way his body pressed harder, hungrier, like he was fighting for his life.
Mel wasn’t a good person. Fuck morals.
She wanted to feel him ruin himself for her just so she could be the only one to fix him.
Inside the threshold once they got safely in the apartment, the door barely shut behind them, his hands were everywhere again—her waist, her braid, cupping her face like he was terrified she’d vanish if he let go.
“Say it,” she whispered, her lips brushing his jaw as he kissed down her throat. She shouldn’t have to specify and he wouldn’t if he asked.
He rasped, “I want you. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything. I can’t—God, I can’t fight it anymore.”
“Then don’t,” she breathed, pulling him down into another kiss. “Don’t fight me.”
And with that, the last of his restraint broke after he pulled away briefly.
Mel barely had the chance to kick off her shoes, get her glasses off, and breathe for a moment before Frank had her pressed against the wall again, his mouth crashing back onto hers. His kiss was wild, almost sloppy with how hard he was breathing, and his hands fumbled at the hem of her scrub top like he didn’t know whether to rip it or beg her to take it off.
“Mel,” he groaned against her lips, his forehead falling to hers as his chest heaved. “Please, please let me touch you. Right here. I don’t care if it’s the hallway, I don’t care if we never make it to your bed, I just need—” his voice cracked—“I need you.”
Her braid was tangled in his fist again, pulling her head back so he could kiss down her throat, biting hard enough to make her gasp. His other hand slid beneath her top, hot against her bare skin.
“Frank,” she whispered, and he stilled, eyes blown wide, waiting for her to push him away.
Instead, she smirked. Her confidence was the highest it’s ever been. She could do anything.
“Then do it. Take me, anything you want,”
Something in him snapped. His eyes shone, all watery, his jaw trembling as he dropped to his knees in front of her, hands tugging at her scrub pants with frantic desperation. Everything on her bottom half was gone in just seconds, leaving her in nothing but her scrub top.
“God, you’re so good to me,” he rasped, kissing along her hip as he yanked the fabric down. “You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted this—how many nights I’ve thought about you, fuck—” He pressed his face against her stomach, shuddering. “Please, Mel. Please let me taste you. I’m begging you.”
She threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “You’re begging me?”
“Yes,” he choked out, looking up at her with eyes glossy and his hair wild. “I’ll plead every damn night if that’s what it takes. Just let me have you.
Mel’s chest tightened with heat and guilt all at once. She should feel ashamed, should tell him to get up, that this was wrong. But she wasn’t a good person. She liked him just like this—torn apart, pleading, all that raw devotion spilling over for her. It’s where he belonged.
“Then you better make this worth it,” she murmured, guiding his mouth lower.
He kissed her thigh, rough and reverent all at once, his breath ragged against her skin. “I swear to God, Mel, I’ll spend all night on my knees if you let me.” His voice cracked again, a tear slipping free as he buried his face against her. “I’d rather be married to you. I’d worship you every single day.”
And before she could answer to his endless, incoherent babbles, his mouth was on her, desperate, claiming, like he’d been starving and finally allowed to eat.
She sighed when he lapped at her clit, his long fingers spreading her cunt out. Normally, Mel is immensely shy about receiving oral but who the fuck cares?
Well, probably, Abby, but she doesn’t count.
He drank Mel up longingly; he sucked on her gently all while working his fingers into her. Langdon kept looking up at her for approval, eyes as wide as a puppy's would be. Mel’s hand tightened in his hair as her head hit the door, a broken laugh slipping from her lips when he came up for air after she climaxed (quite quickly).
“You’re such a mess for me, Frank.” It was true. It was pitiful. He had all her desire on his lips, glossy and swollen from working his tongue too long.
He groaned against her though, the sound vibrating through her body. “I don’t care. Please don’t make me stop.”
And she had no intention of stopping him. He worked magic on her, and she came right on his mouth a second time after his fingers touched a spot in her that made her see dots behind her eyes.
Frank kissed her thighs, sucking little purple bruises on her skin. She wants them on her neck too and she knew she’d get her way. His fingers kneaded at her hips like a kitten would, all needy.
She could go again.
“You taste—God, you taste like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”
Her head thumped back against the door, fingers tugging at his hair until he moaned into her. “Keep talking,” she panted, her breath shallow. “Tell me how bad you want me.”
He obeyed instantly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her inner thigh between words, fingers going back to play with her clit teasingly, making her knees knuckle.
“I want you more than air. I want you more than sleep, more than food, more than fucking benzos,” he spat out that sentence with venom before he softened, “more than my own life. You don’t know, Mel. You don’t know how badly I need you, you’re the one for me,”
Her breath hitched hard at that, her hips jerking against his mouth. “Frank…”
“I’d leave it all for you,” he said staring up at her, kissing her higher, biting gently at the soft skin of her hipbone. His voice cracked weakly. “I’d leave Abby tonight if you told me to. I’d burn everything down just to crawl back here and have you like this. Whatever you want,”
Mel’s chest squeezed, guilt and hunger twisting together. She tugged him back up and closer, forcing his mouth back onto her, only for a second.
“Then don’t stop. Show me.”
He groaned into her, devouring her like he’d never get another chance. His tongue was relentless against hers, his tears hot against her skin when they finally spilled free.
“I’m yours, Mel,” he gasped between licks, pulling her hair sharply but his voice was raw. “Say it—say I’m yours.”
Her laugh was shaky, broken by a long, shocked moan when he went to her neck to nip, all while his fingers found solace within her again. The stretch was perfect. “You’re mine, Frank. You’ve been mine since the first day,”
He shuddered, holding her tighter, nearly sobbing against her as he worked her harder, worshipping her like she was holy.
“God, I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, almost choking on it. His thumb rubbed her clit, and if she loved anything, it was that.
“I don’t care if I’m not supposed to—I fucking love you. Let me prove it to you. Let me make you come, again and again,”
Mel’s legs trembled, her fingers clenching so hard in his hair she thought she might tear it out. She wasn’t a good person. She liked him wrecked like this, having him sob into her, confessing things that should’ve stayed locked in his chest.
“Do it then,” she whispered, voice sharp, breathless. “Make me come, Frank. Right here. Get back on your knees like a good boy, you’re not done yet,”
He groaned so loud it shook through her as he went back to where he belonged, dragging her hips up to his mouth, his worship turning frantic, his tears and devotion soaking into her skin.
Langdon was beautiful like this. Mouth wet, fingers soaked to the bone. He occasionally whined against her cunt, overstimulating her like crazy.
“Frank—stop.”
Her voice was firm, cutting through his ragged breaths. He froze instantly, pulling back with wet lips and tear-bright eyes, panting like he’d been drowning. His hands still clutched her thighs, trembling.
“Did I—did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked, desperate. “Mel, please, I—”, he was so damn eager.
She lightly tugged him up by the collar of his scrub top, forcing him to his feet before he could spiral. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just want us to be in bed now baby,”
The flicker of relief in his face nearly undid her. Still, he followed when she dragged him down the hall, obedient, like he’d go anywhere she told him to.
Once they reached her bedroom, she pushed him to sit on the mattress, standing over him with fire in her chest.
“Strip.”
His breath hitched audibly, his hands flying to his scrubs. He pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, scrubbing at his face aggressively like he was embarrassed by the tears still on his cheeks. Pants next, shoes kicked aside, until he was sprawled on her bed in just his boxers, leaning against her headboard, and looking at her like she’d hung the stars herself.
“I need you,” he blurted after they stared at each other too long, his voice hoarse, chest rising and falling.
“I don’t know how to explain it, Mel, I just—fuck, I need you. I think about you all the time, I can’t shut it off. I’ve tried, God, I’ve tried, but you’re in my head when I’m at work, when I’m at home, when I’m supposed to be sleeping with-“
She climbed onto the bed after she got her top and bra off, and got to straddling his thighs before he could finish, her hands braced against his chest. He shuddered beneath her, reaching instinctively for her waist—
“Don’t touch me.”
His hands stilled in the air, his face twisting in pain like she’d just gutted him. “Mel…”
Her smile was smug, cruel, and soft at once. “You don’t get to touch me yet. You get to lie there and feel how much I want you.”
His breath left him in a broken rush, his hands fisting in the sheets instead. “You’re killing me.”
She ground down slowly against his thighs, feeling the tremor that shot through him, the way he arched up helplessly.
“Good.”
Frank let out a strangled groan, his head tipping back, tears threatening again. “You don’t understand. I’d give you anything. Anything. Just please, Mel, let me hold you. Let me touch you. I swear I’ll be gentle, it won’t hurt, I swear I’ll make you feel so good—”
Her nails dragged lightly across the hair of his chest, watching him shiver. “You’re already making me feel good, Frank. Watching you beg drives me crazy,”
He whimpered, actually whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut like he couldn’t bear it. “I’m losing my mind for you.”
Mel leaned down, lips ghosting his ear. “As you should,”
His whole body strained under her as she rocked against his thighs, every muscle trembling with restraint. His fists clenched tight in the sheets, knuckles white, chest heaving.
“Mel…” His voice broke. “Please. I can’t,” he swallowed, throat sounding dry, “I can’t not touch you.”
She tilted her head, studying the desperation in his eyes, the way his lips trembled like he was seconds from crying again. She dragged her fingers slowly down his chest, across the flat of his stomach, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers.
“You’ll wait until I say.”
He gave a shuddering groan, like she’d gutted him. “Fuck, then I’ll wait. God, I’ll wait for you forever if you tell me to. Just please don’t stop.”
She smiled at his pleading before finally giving in and catching his wrists and placing his hands on her waist. She was ready to reward him.
“Touch me then.”
The sound he made was raw, almost a sob of relief. His fingers dug into her hips, dragging her down harder against his thighs, grinding her against the obvious bulge beneath his boxers. His mouth found her collarbone, kissing, biting, whispering frantic things into her skin.
“I love you. I swear to God, I fucking love you.” His words were broken between gasps. “I’d rather die than go home to her right now. I just want to stay here, with you, always with you.”
She kissed him hard, swallowing his rambling and rubbing at his jaw sweetly, and tugged at his waistband until he kicked his boxers away a minute later. They were bare and open completely to one another.
Frank’s hands roamed everywhere—her back, her ass, her thighs—like he was terrified she’d disappear if he didn’t hold all of her at once.
“You’re perfect,” he breathed against her mouth, his voice rough with tears. “I don’t deserve you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I can love you right. Please let me—please.”
She pressed her forehead to his, rocking against him. “Then show me. Now.”
He surged up, flipping her beneath him in one desperate motion, his body shaking with need. His lips were everywhere—her neck, her breasts, her stomach—leaving wet, reverent kisses as he slid lower.
“I need to taste you again,” he begged, already settling between her thighs. “Please, Mel. Please let me—”
“Frank.” Her hand cupped his face, guiding him back up before he could lose himself again. Her voice was sharp, breathless.
“I want you inside me. Right now,”
His breath hitched hard, his eyes dark and wet. “Really?”
Pathetic. Embarrassing. They’re both awful. No morals, all pity.
“Fuck me,”
He groaned and spread her legs right away, showcasing his strength.
Mel muttered about no condom but loudly stated that she’d only take him raw. If he won’t finish in her she’ll refuse him.
It was toxic but he was loving it. Frank all but moaned when she said she wouldn’t even take a plan B if he fucked her just right. She’d let whatever happen, happen.
He lined himself up with her cunt and then he was there—sliding into her in one rough, urgent thrust that made both of them gasp. He buried his face in her neck, crying out against her skin as he moved, raw and unrestrained. Any other time, she’d tell the man to slow down.
“I can’t stop,” he panted, hips slamming into hers. “I don’t want to stop. You feel too good, Mel, you feel like home. Fuck—tell me you want me. Tell me you’ll keep me. Say I’m good,”
Her nails raked down his back, pulling him closer, deeper. “I want you, Frank. God, I want you. You’re mine. You’re amazing,”
She felt a drop of blood under her fingernails. He didn’t even feel the pain.
Her words broke him. His rhythm faltered as a sob tore free, his body shaking as he thrust harder, more desperate as he gripped her legs open. “I’m yours. Always yours. I’ll leave everything behind for you. I swear—I swear—”
She kissed him through it, drinking down his tears, clinging to him as he fucked her like he needed her more than life itself. Just her and a bed. He moved his hand from her leg to tangle their fingers together, both needing to hold onto each other as his thrusts became sporadic. The metal of his ring was cold to the touch.
Their rhythm built to breaking, messy and frantic. Mel’s nails dug into his shoulders as Frank thrust into her with a raw, almost unhinged intensity, sobbing her name against her throat.
“I can’t—fuck, Mel, I’m gonna—” His voice cracked, his hips faltering.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her own body winding up tightly when she snuck her fingers down to her clit, “God, Frank, don’t you dare fucking stop—”
Her climax hit first, sharp and overwhelming, her body clenching around him as she cried out. He broke with her, his rhythm unraveling, spilling into her with a strangled groan that bordered on a sob.
He didn’t stop moving right away, grinding into her as if trying to fuse himself to her, burying his face against her neck. His whole body shook as he came undone, tears wetting her skin.
When it was over, he collapsed against her chest, panting, trembling, whispering against her skin.
“You’re everything. You’re everything.” He kissed her collarbone, her throat, her jaw, frantic and reverent. “I swear to God, I’ll never love anyone like I love you. You’re mine. Please tell me you’re mine.”
Mel’s hand threaded through his damp hair, tugging gently. “I’m yours,” she whispered, though a cruel part of her savored just how broken he sounded asking for it.
He lifted his head, his cheeks streaked with tears, his eyes glassy. He kissed her like he was starving, murmuring between each press of his lips:
“Perfect… beautiful… my girl… my Mel.”
He slid down her body, pressing his mouth to her stomach, her hips, her thighs. His voice was hoarse, pleading. “I’ll worship you every day if you let me. I’ll make you feel like this every night. Just—don’t send me back to her. Please don’t make me go.”
Mel tugged him back up, straddling him so he could finally rest his back and so she could see the broken mess of him underneath her. She kissed him deeply, stealing his breath. “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
Frank exhaled a shaky laugh that turned into another sob, clutching her like he’d die if she moved. “I don’t deserve you. But I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I do,”
And Mel just smiled and kissed the tears from his cheeks as she breathed, regaining some composure. She flopped down next to him, needing a break.
The room became quiet except for their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city through the window. Sweat cooled on their skin as they lay tangled together in the sheets, Frank’s chest pressed tight against Mel’s back, his arm locked around her waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.
He buried his face in her hair, still damp from the heat of them, and kissed the nape of her neck. His voice was hoarse, almost reverent.
“I swear, Mel, I’ll leave her. I’ll walk out tomorrow if that’s what it takes. I just can’t go back to that house,”
Mel swallowed hard, staring at the faint glow of her alarm clock. A part of her wanted to remind him of reality, of how messy and impossible this all was. Hell, he has kids with the bitch. She’d hate to tear him apart from them. She hated seeing families broken, but they already were is the thing.
So the bigger part—the selfish, greedy part of her won and just leaned back into him, soaking in the warmth of his promises. Maybe they could make this work.
“You’d really leave?” she murmured.
“I’d burn it all down if you asked me to.” His grip on her waist tightened, his voice breaking. “I just want to be with you. Wake up with you. Come home to you. You’re—God, you’re everything I ever wanted. I was so fucking blind before.”
She turned in his arms, watching his face in the low light. His eyes were still red, lashes damp, but there was a clarity in them now—a raw devotion that made her chest ache and thrill at once.
“You don’t even know what you’re promising,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along his jaw.
“Yes, I do.” He caught her hand, pressing kisses to her knuckles, desperate and tender. “I’ll prove it. I’ll show you every day. I’ll make this right. Don’t leave me, baby,”
She should’ve felt guilty. She should’ve pushed him away. Instead, she kissed him slowly, letting him taste her, letting herself taste him. Becoming one with one another, their limbs getting tangled.
“You’re mine now,” she whispered against his lips.
“Yes,” he breathed, almost a rattling sob at hearing that. “Yours. Always.”
And that was it—the moment she knew she was addicted. Not just to the sex or his love, not just to the way his body trembled under her touch, but to the way he looked at her. Like she was salvation, like he’d shatter without her.
Mel wasn’t a good person. She knew it, lying there with Frank clinging to her like she was oxygen. But as he held her tighter, whispering promises into her skin, she decided she didn’t care.
Because the truth was, she wanted to ruin him. And he wanted to be wrecked.