Chapter 6

FLYNN

‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

My words are more growl than anything, and for the first time, I notice our surroundings. We’re at the dining end of an open kitchen. Modern, bright, and with older accents. A whitewashed table, a matching cabinet, and a window seat looking out over a garden. The space is stylish enough to feature in a home magazine but still homey. I slot away the little insights for examination later as I push her up against the island bench.

‘Have you thought about me since that night?’

‘No,’ she whispers, holding her chin a fraction higher. ‘Not one bit.’

‘You’re a terrible liar.’ I chuckle through my accusation as I begin loosening her hair from the bun she’s wearing it in, ready for exercise. But she still looks fucking pristine. I work the hair tie loose, and blond ringlets spring everywhere. It looks the same as it did in St Lucia, so much wilder than the way she wears it usually.

‘And you are delusional,’ she whispers, one hand reaching for the curls almost self-consciously. ‘You were in my garden, digging up weeds. Maybe I should call some kind of mental health crisis team.’

‘So I just imagine the way you look at me?’ My voice is raspy, my fingers on the zipper of her jacket.

‘I’ve no idea what you mean,’ she says as I pull slowly.

‘No? It’s the same way as I look at you.’

‘Which is?’ Her expression suddenly reads like she hates asking. She bites her lip as though biting back words as I slide the jacket from her shoulders. As it hits the floor, she’s already toeing her feet out of her running shoes. Game fucking on.

‘Like I’m imagining you without your clothes.’

Her head in my hands, I lower my mouth to hers, all soft lips and sweeping tongue. At least for a moment, because our kiss suddenly becomes sweet music fast reaching a crescendo. Lips pressing hard, all growling, and sucking, and fucking tongues. I don’t even realise it’s happening, but my fingers are on the hem of her t-shirt and I’m pulling it over her head as her fingers fumble with the zipper of my jeans.

I push off my boots, trying hard not to make a fool of myself in my haste as I swipe my wallet from my jeans. Slamming it down on the worktop, I pull out a condom with one hand, then pull back a few inches as she wiggles her fantastic self out of her running leggings.

I don’t move after that, I just freeze, smiling down at her like a fucking idiot. It takes her a moment to realise I’m watching, her complexion flushed as her gaze darts up to mine. Her lips are slightly swollen and kiss-pink. Her hair is an mess from where I’d threaded my fingers, curls springing in all directions, tumbling across her shoulders. Her undies and bra are cute but functional, though nothing like the lace I tore her out of when we snuck away from the wedding.

My hands at the back of her thighs, I lift her onto the island, putting her pussy at optimal Flynn-dick-height, then I pull her against me, sliding my fingers in her hair.

‘Want to know what my favourite part of your book is?’ My question is just a rasp of air, my lips on her neck as I press my cock harder against the soft cotton layer—just a fraction away from where I want to slam myself.

‘The library fuck,’ she answers, all breathless and desperate, pulling on the waistband of my boxer briefs.

‘No.’ I growl the word into her mouth, whispering my answer along her jaw. ‘When he writes her the letter.’

‘Oh . . .’

It could be that she remembers, or it could be the realisation that I’m sheathing myself with a condom, my fingers and cock so close to her pussy. Whatever the reason, she melts into me as my mouth reaches her ear.

‘I can sympathise because I dream of kissing your cunt, too.’

It’s such a dirty word, even if this time it was pulled from honest-to-goodness literature. And it’s gratifying to get such a visceral reaction as she spreads her legs wider, wrapping her hand around my cock and pulling it between her legs with a breathy, ‘Yes!’

‘You in a hurry, duchess?’ I span my hands across the pale skin of her ribcage, rubbing soft circles over the fabric of her running bra. Her nipples stand to attention, and I can’t wait to get my mouth on them. But I might have to as Chastity lets out a frustrated breath.

‘Flynn Phillips, stop talking and just fuck me.’

Never let it be said I can’t take a cue.

My heart beats like a drum—though it could be the pulse in my cock that’s deafening—as I hook her knickers to the side, and she feeds me between her soft thighs.

‘Holy fuck.’

The heat of her against my tip.

The soft slickness of her as I push in.

The hot grip of her walls.

I dip my knees to prevent my legs from giving out.

‘Holy fuck!’ This time, the reaction is hers, just a short hiss as she arches her back, her mouth falling open with the plea.

I push into her, as close as two bodies could be, my hilt rubbing her clit as the nails of her left hand dig into my shoulder so sharply I hiss myself. As I pull out almost to the tip, Chastity’s eyes are so blue and so clear, and she lets out the best fucking sound. It’s somewhere between a breath and a moan as her insides clench around my retreat as though desperate to keep me there.

‘That’s it,’ I growl. ‘That’s fucking perfect.’ Grasping the back of her knee, I lift it over my thigh, and with a snap of my hips, I slam back in.

‘Oh, my God!’

This time, I’m not sure if she said it or me, but all I know is as she wraps her legs around my waist, my brain shuts down. I begin to fuck and rut, her arse in my hands, my body curling into hers as though I could crawl right inside.

‘Oh, o . . . there it is!’ she cries. ‘There. It. Is!’ If I’d thought the exclamation weird, the thought is lost as she punctuates the words with a thrust of her hips.

My cognisance is shot. I’m deaf, dumb, and blind to anything but the feel of her underneath me. I slide out a little. Slam back in. Rotate slowly. Repeat at speed. Pound into her, again and again, not able to get close enough for full satisfaction, yet no longer capable of restraint. Her arse feels fantastic in my hands, her breathy moans in my ear fucking sublime—I both feel and hear when the moment arrives, the moment she reaches her peak. She goes rigid, her pussy grinding against me, her body taut. Taut and tight and at risk of making me blow my fucking mind. And my fucking load.

I want to devour every soft inch of her. Fuck her until there’s nothing left of me. Eat her pussy, then kiss her mouth. Bite and suck every inch of her flesh.

My thoughts are wild and my movements frantic as I try to fuck my thoughts into her. I want to be in her deeper, harder. Leave my mark inside and out. And then in one brilliant moment, everything freezes, blurring around the edges like the best kind of special effect. I feel nothing but the pound of my heart and the throb of my release, and the latent pulse of hers.

I place my head against her shoulder as the white noise retreats, the sense of satisfaction almost overwhelming as I feel her throbbing around me.

‘Oh, Flynn,’ she pants, her palm on my head.

I’m a bright bloke, but just after I come, my brains are a bit like pancake batter. Still, it doesn’t take much to realise she’s trying to push me away.

‘Not so quick, duchess,’ I growl. ‘What’s your fucking hurry?’ I place my hands on her thighs, the backs tanned against the pale of her skin.

‘My brother is staying with me.’

Shit. Does that mean no second round?

‘Pizza delivery.’ My voice is still a little hoarse, though my wits are beginning to return.

‘W-what? You’re hungry?’ I look down at her wet pussy. I could go for a bit of that. Dessert. ‘I have some chicken,’ she says, her tone perplexed. ‘Would you like a sandwich? I suppose it’s the least I could offer after you . . .’

‘Ploughed?’ I wink. ‘I ploughed you good.’ Her eyes narrow, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s about to start shouting, so I make it quick. ‘Pizza delivery. That’s my fantasy; that’s what comes next.’ Literally.

‘What?’

‘Or I can meet you at the public library. I’m game.’

‘What?’

‘You already said that, duchess.’ I grin. I can’t help it. I’m fond of smiling in general, but I also know this kind of attitude pisses people off. Which just makes me smile all the more.

‘I’m not letting you fuck me in a library,’ she says, lifting my hands from her thighs. So I place them on the benchtop on either side of her, caging her in.

‘Next time we fuck, I get to choose the fantasy.’

And by now, I’m pretty sure the chance of her brother walking is bullshit, or else why would she still be talking? And naked.

‘Eyes up here, mister,’ she says, her fingers on my chin. ‘I’m not saying we will revisit this t-topic again.’

‘The topic of fucking?’ I lift my hand, pushing a bunch of her wild curls behind her ear. Jeeze, would you look at that. Fucking makes her ears go bright pink. ‘I’m pretty sure we will visit the topic. Again and again.’ Why the fuck did I leave it this long? I’m sure as shit not gonna wait six months until I’m inside her again.

‘Ridiculous . . . this conversation is ridiculous,’ she says, moving her hand from my chin to smooth the curls back over her ears. ‘This isn’t happening again, Flynn. Besides, I refuse to believe your fantasy is the most basic of porn plots.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I say, my eyes flicking from her face down. ‘Sometime soon, you’re ordering pizza. And I’m delivering . . . all over these perky tits.’