Confessions: Robbie (Confessions Series Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Confessions: Robbie

  Ella Frank

  Ella Frank, LLC

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Also by Ella Frank

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Coming Soon

  Thank You

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Ella Frank

  www.ellafrank.com

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  Cover Photographer: Specular Photographer

  Cover Model: Joe M.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Synopsis

  Relationships are complex.

  Love ever-changing.

  And when it comes to rules of the heart,

  they were made to be broken…

  That’s what Robert Antonio Bianchi was telling himself, anyway.

  Otherwise, he really had no excuse for what—or who—he’d done.

  No excuse, except for his lonely heart, a pitcher of margaritas, four Bitter Bitches, and the apparent need to confess all his weaknesses to the two men he knew would bring him nothing but trouble.

  But trouble was nothing new.

  Just ask his crazy sisters or any of his friends, and they’d be the first to tell you:

  If there was a bad decision to be made, Robbie always had a knack for making it.

  And thus begins the story of the priest, the princess, and the prick.

  Also by Ella Frank

  The Exquisite Series

  Exquisite

  Entice

  Edible

  The Temptation Series

  Try

  Take

  Trust

  Tease

  Tate

  True

  Sunset Cove Series

  Finley

  Devil’s Kiss

  Masters Among Monsters Series

  Alasdair

  Isadora

  Thanos

  Standalones

  Blind Obsession

  Veiled Innocence

  Co-Authored with Brooke Blaine

  Sex Addict

  Shiver

  Wrapped Up in You

  PresLocke Series

  Co-Authored with Brooke Blaine

  ACED

  LOCKED

  WEDLOCKED

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to me,

  because hello, I’m fucking fabulous

  and I deserve it. ~ Robbie

  Chapter One

  CONFESSION

  If there’s a bad decision to make, I will make it.

  DRUNK-DIALING IS never a smart move. But drunk-dialing a married man? That is a monumentally stupid move.

  That was the thought rolling around Robbie’s muddled brain as he stood with his best friend Elliot at the bar of CRUSH and tossed back his fourth Bitter Bitch. The conversation he was having with himself wasn’t a new one—or a welcome one, he thought as he swayed on his feet and kind of stumbled into the stool beside him. But forgetting his lonely life with alcohol and men who were all wrong for him seemed like an increasingly good way to cope tonight.

  The hum and throb of the bass beat was rattling through him, but instead of feeling the pull he usually did to head out to the dance floor and have fun, tonight it seemed to be having the opposite effect. It was making him think really stupid thoughts.

  “You’re so wasted, Bianchi,” Elliot said as he grabbed Robbie’s arm and guided him to the barstool. “What’s that? Your third shot? And how many margaritas did you have at dinner?”

  Robbie held up two, then three fingers, and shrugged. “Who cares? Everyone had their New Year’s on Sunday. Tonight’s mine, and I want to celebrate.”

  “If you celebrate any more, you aren’t gonna remember your first night out of the New Year.”

  “Don’t care,” Robbie said, as he waved his hand through the air with flourish and leaned a little too much into the action. Luckily, Elliot was there to prop him up. “I wanna have fun tonight. Do something I shouldn’t.”

  Elliot leaned his elbows back on the bar so he was facing the dance floor and said, “Why don’t you get out there and let someone do you instead? You look gorgeous tonight, darling.”

  He’s right, I do look cute, Robbie thought.

  In his skinny jeans and purple V-neck tee that was practically a second skin, Robbie had gone all out with smoky eyes and a new pink shade of gloss he’d bought a couple of days ago that tasted like—mmm, strawberries. He could totally hit the dance floor, find a willing man, and let him do all kinds of things. But that seemed so boring tonight, so normal, and so not what he wanted.

  He wanted wild. He wanted adventure. He wanted danger. And when the two men he knew were both those things entered his mind, Robbie quickly shook his head, trying to shake them free.

  Stop thinking about them, he ordered himself, but that was easier said than done. One of them was one of the sexiest men he’d ever seen, and the other the most frustrating—and what was worse was that he couldn’t have either of them even if he wanted to. What was with everyone being fucking married all of a sudden? And to each other?

  But oh the dreams he’d been having lately. The three of them, all sweaty and naked; they were enough to make him want to—

  No, no, no. That is the worst idea you could have, Robbie told himself. Drunk or sober.

  Worst.

  Idea.

  Ever.

  Plus, you don’t even like one of them. So stop obsessing over it.

  “Earth to Robbie…” Elliot said, waving a hand, and Robbie shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood.”

  “You’re not in the mood to grind
all over a naked man? Okay, where the hell is my best friend and what did you do with him?” Elliot asked as he swept his black bangs out of his eyes.

  “I don’t know.” Robbie slumped forward on the bar, dramatic as ever, and looked up at Elliot from under his lashes. “I think I’m in a state of mourning, El, and I don’t know how to get out of it.”

  Elliot frowned. “Is this about Logan? I thought you were happy for him and Tate?”

  “I am, but— Ugh. They just got engaged, and now all of a sudden, he’s married. Married.”

  “I know, babe. But you knew it was coming.”

  “Doesn’t make it any easier. Knowing there are two more beautiful men off the market forever due to a ring and a piece of paper is just depressing.”

  “Two more men?” Elliot said, regarding him with a suspicious eye. “Who else do you know who’s hitched?”

  Julien, Robbie instantly thought, as an image of the famous chef came to mind.

  Julien “the Prick” Thornton. And this time, as Julien’s name ran through Robbie’s head, he made a point to roll the Jul over his tongue the way Julien had when he’d introduced himself that night at the bar. That’s right…Julien “I’m gay, gorgeous, and, oh yeah, married to your worst enemy” Thornton. He was hitched.

  “No one,” Robbie said, and pouted. Then he swiveled on the stool to look out at the men gyrating all over one another. “You go and play for the both of us. I’m going to sit here and—”

  “Ferment?”

  “Okay that word is too big for my brain right now,” Robbie said, and winced. “Go and feel up the muscles and men for me. Someone should get some enjoyment out of them.”

  Elliot pursed his lips. “I don’t know…”

  “I’m just gonna sit here. Not going anywhere,” Robbie promised, crossing a finger over his chest.

  “Your heart is on the other side, genius.”

  Robbie switched sides and did it again. “I’m just gonna drown my sorrows so my body hurts tomorrow and will take my mind off my broken heart.”

  “Aww, cheer up, Buttercup. Your Prince Charming will come to you one day soon.”

  “Well, until then”—Robbie gestured for the bartender—“I’m going to drink myself into a deep slumber in the hopes that maybe he’ll come on me, or, you know, at least kiss me back to life.”

  Elliot placed a hand on Robbie’s arm. “Do not go anywhere. I’ll be back for you.”

  “I can’t feel my legs to move, so… I’ll stay. Like a good little boy.”

  “Don’t know how good you are, but…” Elliot chuckled, then before he headed out to the dance floor, said, “Where’s your phone?”

  Robbie dug into his pants pocket and pulled it free.

  Elliot opened the contacts and scrolled down to his name, and then set it on the bar in front of Robbie. “You need me, call. Do not leave this seat.”

  Robbie touched his fingertips to his temple in a sloppy salute and then hiccupped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. Be back for you soon.” Elliot then turned to the bartender and said, “No more after this for him.”

  When the bartender nodded, Robbie’s mouth fell open. “Hello, you’re not my mother.”

  “Lucky for you. She’d be spanking your ass right now, not to mention your sisters, and I’m sure you’d much rather have that done by a man who would then pound it afterward. I’ll be back.”

  Robbie dismissed Elliot with a wave of his hand, and then took great interest in scrolling up and down his list of contacts, searching for someone to occupy his time. It wasn’t until he saw Julien’s number that he realized how drunk he was, because that was the only excuse he could think of as to why he hit call.

  Well that, and: If there’s a bad decision to make, I will make it.

  “DO YOU LIKE it?” Julien asked from where he sat at the dining room table opposite his husband, Joel Priestley, who had just taken a bite of the new dish he had prepared for him this evening.

  In the process of compiling the final entrees for his restaurant opening next month, Julien waited on edge for the final vote that always went to Priest, currently taking a sip of his Pinot Noir that had been paired with tonight’s meal.

  Priest swallowed and brought a napkin to his mouth to gently wipe the corners of his lips. Julien couldn’t hold his tongue anymore, and said, “Your silence is killing me, mon amour.”

  “And your impatience is killing me. Let me savor it, Julien. Let me enjoy what you spent all day perfecting.”

  “All week,” Julien corrected him. “And you know I’m more one for instant gratification.”

  “Yes, but even you curb that when instructed to do so. Now, do so, and let me enjoy my meal.”

  Julien bit his tongue and snapped open his napkin before laying it across his lap. Priest raised an eyebrow, challenging him to speak, but Julien was smart enough to know when to open his mouth and when not to. He’d purposely set the stage tonight for a fine dining experience. From the elegant place settings, to the wine glasses and folded napkins, and then he’d delivered his winning number: Magret de canard aux cerises avec une sauce au Porto. Seared Duck Breast with Cherries and Port Sauce.

  He watched Priest closely as the sharp blade of his knife sliced through the tender meat and he brought it to his mouth, and Julien licked his lower lip in anticipation.

  He’d always loved watching Priest eat a meal. Some might think that was strange, but not to him, a creator of edible art by profession. Watching Priest take his time to enjoy a creation of his was incredibly satisfying, if not, at times, frustrating. There was something highly erotic about cooking and eating a meal with the person you loved, and long ago Julien had realized the weight and importance of Priest’s approval and how it never failed to excite when he got it.

  “Viens ici,” Priest said, as he lowered his fork to the plate and looked over at Julien, expectation in his eyes.

  Julien got to his feet, and as he rounded the end of the table, he kept his eyes on the man watching him in total silence.

  Chaos wrapped in classic sophistication. That’s my husband, Julien thought, because only Priest could sit stoically in a room and yet make it feel as though it were vibrating with electricity from the intensity of his stare.

  As Julien got closer, Priest pressed a button on the remote to their stereo, and when the song “Young at Heart” by Sinatra filled the room, Julien’s pulse began to race. That was his song.

  As Julien came to a stop by his husband’s side, Priest looked up at him. “This meal was delicious. By far one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

  Julien trailed the back of his fingers down Priest’s cheek. “That’s a high compliment, knowing firsthand how many things have been in this mouth.”

  Priest reached up, quick as a bolt of lighting, and took hold of Julien’s wrist. “Watch yourself, Julien. Just because I am pleased doesn’t mean you should run your tongue. Or maybe you should—that could be fun, too. Truly, though, this meal was the best yet.”

  Julien’s cock throbbed at the compliment, and he inclined his head slightly. “Merci beaucoup.”

  Priest moved back from the table and turned on his seat so he could tug on Julien’s arm, making him step in between his spread thighs. “Au contraire—I believe it’s my turn to thank you. And I find I want to end the night on a high note, and nothing but a taste of you can do that.”

  As Priest released Julien’s wrist and his fingers went to the button of his pants, he unfastened them, but Julien stilled him. “Non, Joel. You’re too wound up.”

  “Just a taste,” Priest said, and such an appeal wasn’t something Julien heard often, so he relented.

  “Okay. Just a taste…”

  AS PRIEST MOVED to his knees, he allowed himself to get lost in the moment. With his favorite, Ol’ Blue Eyes, serenading them, he basked in the sight of the striking man in front of him and was, as always, incredibly proud to call Julien his. But ever since the Christmas party at his new law firm,
Mitchell & Madison, the tension around the household had gotten to where they needed to blow off some steam or they’d combust.

  They had had a plan, one they had talked about at length, on the best way to approach Robert Bianchi, and when that plan had spun out of control, Priest had become antsy and Julien had put up the “do not enter me” sign, knowing full well the mood his husband was in.

  So tonight, Priest would give him this instead.

  He took hold of Julien’s hip, and when Julien circled the base of his erection and pointed it toward him, Priest traced the tip of it with his tongue.

  “Would you like me to suck it for you?” Priest said, his voice raspy. “You’ve definitely earned it.”

  “I have, haven’t I? You’ve been such a grouch lately,” Julien said, as his chest rose and fell under the lightweight burgundy sweater he wore.

  It was true, Priest had been overly irritable of late, and while Julien was able to temper his dominant side, it took something very specific to pull Priest back from an edge like the one he was currently on. Something that Julien wasn’t willing to give up entirely—his control.

  Priest didn’t respond, merely dropped his eyes to the wool and said, “Take off your sweater.”

  Julien didn’t hesitate. He reached for the hem of the cashmere, and as he inched it up his torso, his sculpted body came into view and the cut lines of his physique had Priest’s cock thickening in an instant.