CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Like Sleeping Beauty’s castle awakening, everything in the lighthouse is the same and yet completely changed. The atmosphere is brighter, the cobwebs swept out of the dark corners. For the next few days, I continue cataloging the books, and Flynn works in the tower, but the doors all remain open. Elvis’s liquid, deep tones filter through the heating vents.
I venture into town a couple of times for groceries and to go to the library, but no one asks me about Flynn or even looks at me askance. It’s probably too much to hope that the gossip mill won’t spring into action as soon as people find out about our relationship, but for now all remains quiet.
Every day, Flynn shows up in the kitchen for lunch, and we work on a crossword puzzle before returning to our tasks. I organize the collection with a renewed enthusiasm borne of knowing that he shared not only a friendship with my uncle, but a love for fairy tales. I reread all the Mirror Mirror books both with my art historian’s eye and with my newfound knowledge about Flynn.
He’s there, a part of all the books—in the boy Westley’s dark hair and eyes, the complexity of the mazes and puzzles, the hidden pictures only divined through careful searching. Myths and fairy tales thread through Westley and Tugg’s adventures—encounters with ogres and monsters, slippages of time, treks through fantastical lands, magic spells and curses.
This afternoon, he comes to the kitchen for tea, but we bring our cups back up to his tower office. We sit on the sofa, encircled by the sweeping view of sea and earth, watching the waves break over the cliff.
“I need to go out of town for a few days, so I’ll give you a key.” Flynn tugs my legs onto his lap and strokes my bare feet. “I’ll leave on Monday. My agent and editor want to talk to me about Fiamma. They love it so far.”
“I’m not surprised.” I place my cup on a side table and settle back against the cushions, letting my eyes drift closed. “It’s weird to think of you meeting with people, much less an agent and editor. I’m used to thinking of you just… here.”
“Here is where I’d rather be.” He closes his hands around my foot and rubs gently, sending warmth through my leg. “But considering I haven’t written anything in years, I owe them a meeting.”
“When is the next Mirror Mirror book coming out?”
“There is no next one. The series is finished.”
I open one eye to look at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. The story’s over.”
“But…” I open the other eye, my forehead knitting. “Westley never finds his reflection.”
Faint tension threads his body. “He and Tugg return home again. That’s the end of the story.”
I frown and tap my fingers on the sofa cushion. “But how can he not find his reflection after everything he and Tugg went through? Shouldn’t he find what he was looking for?”
He shrugs. “Not all of us do.”
“What about a happy ending?”
“The homecoming is the happy ending.”
He sounds so detached, almost as if the story were an intellectual exercise rather than something personal to him. Which makes no sense—Flynn vibrates through every page. His love of art, detail, puzzles, the sea, the imagination, is evident in every single line and curve of the pictures.
“I don’t get it,” I finally say. “You said you were influenced by fairy tales. I see them in all the books, but the point of a fairy tale is that the characters get what they were looking for.”
“Maybe Westley wasn’t looking for his reflection after all.” He strokes his fingers over the soles of my feet. “Maybe he was just trying to get home.”
“Whoa.” I press my hands to my temples. “Now you’re messing with my mind, Riley.”
He stops massaging my foot. “It’s not that intellectual, Eve. It’s just a story about a boy and his dog.”
“Right, like Fiamma is just a story about a girl and a bird.” I eye him pointedly.
He chuckles, exasperated affection smoothing the tension in his features.
“This is my penance for getting involved with a brilliant, stunning art historian.” He grabs my arm and pulls me across the sofa and into his lap. “Sometimes a story is just a story.”
“Mmm, like a cigar is just a cigar?” I let myself fall against him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders.
Warmth softens the gray in his eyes. He slips his hand under my chin and lifts my face to his. “And a kiss is just a kiss… unless I’m kissing you. Then it’s so much more.”
The world shifts the instant our lips touch. I curl my fingers into the back of his shirt and open my mouth under his. It’s so damned easy now, like slipping between folds of silk, like spinning effortlessly into the stars. He cups his hands on either side of my face and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into my mouth in his unspoken message of claiming.
Oh, how the man can kiss. Gentle pressure alternating with the tantalizing graze of his teeth and stroke of his tongue. The way he holds my face like I’m precious to him, the way he tilts my head to just the right angle. He tastes like spices and sugar. Our breath increases, a swirl of heat. He slides his hands down to grip my hips and shifts us both so I’m lying underneath him.
Erotic tension coils through the air. I wrap my legs around him, urging him closer. Little fireworks pop and crackle in my blood. My breasts press against his chest. Just the light contact stiffens my nipples, sending shivers over my skin, eliciting a delicious pulsing in my core.
I pull away for an instant, my breath puffing against his lips. “It’s the middle of the workday.”
“I’m giving you the day off.” He tweaks my nose. Amusement mixes with the increasing lust in his eyes.
“Are you sure?” I frown and tighten my legs around him. “There’s nothing in the contract about days off.”
“I’m the boss.” He unfastens the top button of my blouse and gives me a stern look. “I make the rules. Rule number one is that you have to obey my orders.”
“Okay,” I breathe.
He unfastens another button, his fingers grazing my skin. My heart thumps. A thickening heat presses against the air, ripe with anticipation. We both watch as he slowly unfastens button after button of my silk blouse, revealing the valley of my cleavage beneath my white bra and clinging slip. He pushes the shirt off me, then works the zipper on the back of my skirt and helps me wiggle out of it.
My hard nipples poke against the thin fabric of my lingerie, and Flynn’s gaze locks to the clear evidence of my growing arousal. He strokes my bare arms and shoulders, moving slowly down to cup my breasts.
Tingles of pleasure wash through me. I love the way his big, ink-stained hands slide with such assurance over my body, as if he’s touched me a thousand times before. As if he never wants to stop.
Our lips meet again. He slides his mouth across my cheek and lower, gently closing his teeth over the pulse pounding at the side of my neck. I rake a hand down his chest, urgency firing through me.
He twists the straps of my slip, pulling them down my shoulders to expose my bra. I fully expect him to take it right off me, but instead he keeps moving lower… lower… dragging his lips over my breasts, sucking my nipple through the silk of my bra, running his hands over my thighs before pulling my slip up and finding the waistband of my stockings. He rolls them off me, pressing little kisses to my legs before going down on his knees beside the sofa…
“Flynn!”
He looks up at me, his eyes smoky. “Spread your beautiful legs.”
Hesitation ripples through me. He presses his hands to my inner thighs and parts them. I wiggle to the edge of the sofa. My heart thunders. He slides his finger under my panties and into my pussy. A growl sounds low in his throat.
Shudders rock me. I force my muscles to relax, to let him in. I expect him to take my panties off, but instead he eases the elastic to the side and leans forward. The first touch of his tongue explodes me with heat. I tighten my grip on the cushion.
“Oh my God, Flynn…”
He clasps my hip with his other hand, steadying me. He licks up one side of my pussy and down the other. Perspiration breaks out on my skin. Everything inside me quivers with tension and heat.
Part of my mind is hazy with disbelief that I’m actually doing this. Just weeks ago I was frozen inside, and now I’m spread out naked on a sofa, flames licking through me at the touch of this man’s tongue.
I can’t believe he’s doing this either—the mysterious, reclusive lighthouse keeper who was so intent on keeping me at a distance, now worshipping my body with such expertise that an earthquake begins to tremble in my blood.
“Flynn, I’m already…” I fist one hand in his hair, my chest heaving.
He makes a muffled noise and presses his tongue into my slit. “Do it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Need unspools. He licks, sucks, thrusts… then one final swipe of his tongue across my clit, and the world shatters into bright, blinding colors. I cry out, trembling and shaking as he holds my thighs open and works the final sensations from my body.
He rises to standing, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and presses a kiss to my mouth. I moan, my blood quickening at the flavor of my own body. Tingling all over, I run my hands up his abdomen, reveling in the heat of his chest, the strain lacing his muscles. I press my palm to his groin and trace the thick ridge of his erection.
His breath expels on a rush of need. I unfasten his jeans and tug them down along with his boxers. I could live for a thousand years and never tire of the sight of his big cock rising from his groin, the head damp with moisture and shaft pulsing. I lick my lips, lean forward, and take him into my mouth.
“Oh, shit, Eve…” He presses his hands to my head.
He’s all warm, salty male, his cock throbbing. I stroke my tongue from base to tip, then slacken my throat muscles when he pushes forward and thrusts. Coiled energy tenses his body. He digs his fingers into my scalp.
“Turn around,” he whispers. “On your knees.”
My heart thumps. I ease away from him and turn, bracing my hands against the back of the sofa, my knees digging into the cushions. A sudden intense vulnerability washes over me. As if sensing it, Flynn strokes his hand over my upturned ass, rubbing it with gentle circles.
I glance at him over my shoulder. My breath catches at the hot, possessive, needy look in his eyes. He grabs the back collar of his T-shirt and yanks it over his head, giving me a breathtaking view of his naked chest, his muscles leashed with urgency.
He makes a gesture with his forefinger, indicating I should turn back around. I do, lowering my head to my folded arms. My whole body slackens and yields. He slides his hand between my legs, pushing them wider apart. Cool air brushes against my exposed folds. My nipples chafe against the cushion. I shiver.
He slips his finger into my damp pussy, tickling my sensitive clit, probing my opening. His breathing increases. There’s a rustling noise, the opening of a condom packet, and then his sheathed cock rubs against my slit.
My blood flames. I press my forehead to my folded arms, biting my lip on a moan. I’m starting to sweat from a combination of excitement and more than a little anxiety. Much as I love the feel of him inside me, he’s awfully big and this position is…
He holds my hips. “What’s wrong?”
“Um.” I blow out a breath and turn my head, craning to see him over my shoulder again. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.”
He laughs. Christ, he’s a sight—all muscular, sweaty male, tense with restraint, his eyes glazed as he teases his cock over my pussy. Though I’m slick and oh-so ready, the hard tip feels impossibly big.
“I assure you…” he strokes his hand over my lower back, “…it will definitely fit.”
But he doesn’t move, not until my body starts to relax. He reaches beneath me, splaying his fingers over my clit as he presses forward. I moan and arch into his hand. Nervous as I am, my veins sizzle with heat.
He takes his time fondling me, the slow massage easing my trepidation. I rock my hips backward.
“Oh, hurry,” I whisper. “I can’t believe the things you do to me.”
With a grunt, he eases into me. So big. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my muscles to slacken. Every nerve ending flares to life as my body opens to take his thick cock, each millimeter an excruciatingly delicious invasion. Dizziness washes over me. My heart throbs.
Flynn pauses, his hands digging into my ass. His breath saws through the air. “You okay?”
I nod, pulling in a heavy gasp. Sweat drips down my neck, between my breasts. Slowly, I thrust my hips back a little, and he sinks into me farther. My inner walls flex and grip his shaft.
“Fuck.” He groans, grabbing my hips to stop me from moving. “Keep doing that and I’ll come before I even get all the way inside you.”
I drag in a breath, wiping a trickle of perspiration from my forehead. God in heaven, his shaft is pulsing, each heavy throb echoing the beat of my heart. I arch my back and shift again, opening my legs wider. He slides in like a key fitting into a well-oiled lock, filling me and stretching me beyond what I thought was possible.
“Okay?” Strain laces his voice.
“Yes,” I gasp, bracing my hands on the sofa arm. “Fuck me.”
He draws back and pushes forward, the intense friction driving my need higher with every stroke. I let him set the rhythm before I start pushing back to meet him. Twinges of pain shoot through me at first as my body struggles to accept the new position, but the discomfort soon melts into a fog of pure sensation—his cock thrusting in and out of me, my ass slamming against his flat belly, his big hands gripping my waist.
A strange disbelief floods my mind, the razor-sharp edge between reality and my explicit imagination. Am I actually here? Is this happening? Is he real?
Everything about him certainly feels real, especially the deep plunge of his shaft into me, stimulating me in all the right places. He fists one hand in my hair, easing my head up, arching my back to deepen the penetration.
Arousal clenches my lower body, centering in my aching core. He slides his hand under me again, expertly working the slippery little knot of my clit. A whirlpool of excitement builds, draining me of thought, submerging me in feeling.
“God…” I squeeze my eyes shut. He fills me again and again, pushing me ever closer to the edge. “So deep. Flynn, I’m going to… oh!”
Bliss crashes through me, sending me into a frenzy of quivering sensation. He groans, gripping my ass and thrusting into me so hard the world seems to tilt on its axis. My body flames, awash in pleasure.
I choke out a cry, clenching my pussy around his shaft the instant before he pulls out of me. Behind my closed eyelids I see him stroking his cock, his muscular, sweaty chest heaving, his face flushed with pleasure. A string of curses rips from his throat the instant before he comes, the thick spray shooting all the way up my back.
Gasping for breath, I fall back onto the sofa, every muscle limp, my whole body sated. A shadow darkens the air. I open my eyes.
Flynn is above me, his corded arms caging me in, his hands planted on either side of the cushions as he holds his weight off me. His gray eyes are still hot, his angular features damp with sweat.
He kisses my forehead and shifts to wrap me in his arms. I press my face to his heaving chest. His heart hammers, the sound filling my blood, my soul, every part of me.
He lowers his lips to my ear and brushes my hair away from my face.
“If I could love anyone,” he whispers, “it would be you.”
My breath catches. I lift my head to look at him. “You can love anyone you want.”
A faint smile curves his mouth, but his eyes darken with regret. “I wish it were that easy.”
An ache squeezes my heart. I want to tell him it is that easy, but we both know it’s not. Love can be hard, painful, dangerous. And yet we’ll brave enchanted forests, search for elusive golden eggs, confront dragons… all for the privilege of both loving and being loved in return. It’s just that extraordinary.
So why doesn’t he want it as much as I do?