11. Flynn
CHAPTER 11
FLYNN
Waiting’s the one thing I’ve never been good at.
I paced the suite, whiskey glass in hand, trying to outrun the images of Lyric with Moreau. Dinner. Wine. His hands on her. His mouth.
Fuck.
I’d already checked her tracker three times. Sent Ozzy a dozen texts until he basically told me to fuck off. Verified the extraction plan with Ethan. And then again with Trent.
It wasn’t enough.
Nothing would be enough until she walked through that door.
I downed the rest of my drink and set the glass on the sideboard harder than necessary. The tumbler cracked, sending a thin line up the crystal. It matched the one running through me—that slow, spider-web fracture that had been spreading since I watched her walk out that door.
The suite felt too small, too confined. I ran a hand through my hair, checked my watch for the hundredth time, and glanced at the door again.
When the lock finally clicked, every muscle in my body went taut.
Lyric stepped inside, and I knew immediately something was wrong. Her movements were too controlled, her face too blank. The poised mask of Elisa Deveraux was firmly in place, but beneath it, I could see the edges fraying.
“Are you okay?” I kept my voice quiet, even as my pulse kicked into overdrive.
She didn’t look at me right away. Just shut the door, exhaled slow and measured, and leaned back against the wood like she needed a second to steady herself.
My stomach tightened.
She pushed off the door and walked toward the bedroom, dropping her clutch on the dining table. “I lost the chance to buy the drone system outright, but I got an invitation to the auction.”
That didn’t answer my question.
I followed her to the bedroom. “Try again.”
Lyric glanced back at me, her expression too carefully neutral. “I’m fine.”
She whirled around, eyes flashing with something dangerous. “What do you want me to say, Flynn? That I had a lovely evening? That Moreau was a perfect gentleman?”
I stepped closer, studying her face. The careful composure was slipping, revealing something raw underneath. Something that made my blood run cold.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice dropping to that deadly quiet that even my fellow Army Rangers had known to fear.
She didn’t answer. Just looked away, her throat working as she swallowed.
That’s when I saw it. The diamond bracelet encircling her wrist caught the light as she moved. Something ugly and primal rose inside me. I crossed the space between us in two strides and caught her wrist.
“What did he do?” I kept my voice low, but I could hear the razor edge in it.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She tried to pull away, but I held firm.
“He gave this to you?”
“Yes. It’s a tracker.”
“Audio?”
“No.” She drew a breath. “He doesn’t trust me, but he wants me.”
I turned her wrist over over with more gentleness than I felt and unclasped the bracelet. The weight of it was obscene in my palm. I tossed it onto the dresser. “That stays off when you’re not with him.”
She looked up at me then, something like relief flashing in her eyes. Her pulse raced beneath my fingers where they still circled her wrist. “Did he kiss you?”
“Flynn, don’t. You can’t?—”
I cut her off with my mouth on hers. Not gentle. Not asking. A claiming kiss that was as much about erasing Moreau’s touch as it was about marking her as mine. I needed to replace whatever he’d done, whatever he’d said, with something real.
She made a sound in the back of her throat—half protest, half surrender—before her hands fisted in my shirt, nails digging into the fabric.
I pulled her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling her jaw. She arched into me, desperate and needy in a way that made my blood burn hotter. Her lips parted, and I took full advantage, deepening the kiss until we were both breathing hard. Her fingers found the buttons of my shirt, popping several in her haste to get to skin.
Jesus. Everytime we touched was hotter, and my cock was already painfully hard. I was desperate to get her under me, to pin her to the bed, and swallow her cries as I sank deep into her pussy.
This wasn’t just about wanting her anymore. This was about need. Raw. Visceral. The kind that bypassed thought entirely.
“I hated it,” she whispered against my mouth. “I hated his hands on me.”
Something dark and possessive surged through me. I backed her toward the bed. “Then let me erase him.”
Her eyes flashed with heat and anger all at once. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Tell me to stop then,” I challenged, my voice rough even to my own ears. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
She didn’t. Instead, she yanked me down, her mouth crashing against mine with bruising force. There was nothing gentle about the way she kissed me—all teeth and tongue and desperation—and I matched her ferocity, backing her toward the bed until her knees hit the edge.
We fell together, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing. Her dress hiked up around her thighs as I settled between them, the heat of her burning through my pants. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, breaking the kiss to look down at her.
“Did he touch you here?” I asked, trailing my free hand along her collarbone.
She shook her head, breath coming in short, sharp pants.
“Here?” My fingers skimmed the curve of her breast through the silk of her dress.
“No.”
I lowered my head, pressing my lips to the pulse hammering in her throat. “Tell me where, princess.”
“My thigh.”
I growled against her throat, then slid down her body, pushing her dress higher until I found the spot. “Here?” I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, just above her knee, my stubble scraping against her soft skin.
She nodded, her breath catching.
“Then I’ll start here.” I nipped at her flesh, then soothed the sting with my tongue. I wouldn’t leave a mark—not where anyone else could see it—but I needed to reclaim every inch Moreau had touched. Replace his cold, calculating fingers with heat. With need. With something real.
Her thighs trembled as I worked my way higher, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites. When I reached the edge of her panties—black silk, barely there—I looked up, caught her watching me with those green eyes gone dark with desire.
I hooked my finger around the damp fabric and pulled it aside, revealing her glistening folds. She was wet for me, all slick heat and need. I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me.
“Fuck, Lyric.”
Her hips shifted restlessly. “Flynn, please...”
The pleading in her voice sent a fresh surge of blood to my already painfully hard cock. I wanted to take my time with her, to worship every inch of her body until Moreau’s touch was nothing but a forgotten nightmare. But the hunger in her eyes told me she needed something else right now. Something primal.
I dragged my tongue through her center in one long, slow stroke, savoring her taste. Sweet and tangy and addictive. Her back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips. I gripped her thighs, holding her open for me as I devoured her, circling her clit with deliberate pressure before sucking it between my lips.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling almost to the point of pain as I circled her clit with my tongue. I loved that edge of violence in her touch—the way she wasn’t afraid to take what she wanted, to direct me where she needed me most.
“Right there,” she gasped, arching into my mouth. “God, don’t stop.”
I had no intention of stopping. Not until she came undone beneath me, until she couldn’t remember anyone’s touch but mine. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find that sweet spot that made her hips buck against my mouth. Her walls clenched around my fingers as I pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue against her clit.
“Flynn,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m close?—”
A sudden, sharp ping cut through the room like a bullet.
“Fuck,” I growled against her thigh, pressing my forehead there for just a moment as we both froze. My fingers were still buried inside her, her body trembling on the edge of release.
I pulled back, meeting her eyes. They were wide, pupils blown with desire and frustration. The tracker pinged again, more insistent.
“It’s Moreau’s security chief,” she said, voice ragged. “I couldn’t get the tracker on the prototype, so put it on Vidal’s phone.”
I cursed under my breath and reluctantly withdrew my fingers, pressing a final kiss to her inner thigh before sliding up her body. Our foreheads touched, both of us breathing hard.
“Rain check,” I murmured against her lips, stealing one last kiss before pulling away.
She nodded, already shifting from lover to operative with a speed that was both impressive and maddening. “I need to change.”
Pity. I liked that dress and how the silk did nothing to hide her pebbled nipples. I watched her grab a handful of black clothes from the dresser and disappear into the bathroom, then flopped back on the bed. My cock was still standing at attention and I shoved my palm against it to try to get some relief. It didn’t help.
The taste of her was still on my tongue, her scent all over me.
I forced myself up and grabbed the rucksack I tossed in the corner. The faster we got this done, the faster we could get back here and finish what we started. I yanked my shirt over my head and exchanged it for a fitted black thermal, followed by tactical pants and my combat boots. I buckled on my shoulder holster, checking the SIG before sliding it home. Two extra mags went into the cargo pockets of my pants, along with a tactical knife strapped to my ankle.
“Should I call Ethan?” I called.
“No. For all we know, Vidal could be going to visit his mother.” Lyric emerged from the bathroom transformed—black tactical pants and fitted long-sleeve shirt. All business. The only hint of what we’d been doing moments before was the flush still coloring her cheeks and the slightly swollen curve of her bottom lip. She’d wiped away all traces of makeup, and somehow looked even more beautiful without it.
She scooped her hair back into a ponytail. “I don’t want to loop the team in until we know for sure. It could be nothing, and I don’t want to give Ethan even more reason to doubt me. We check it out first, then call in the cavalry if needed.”
I nodded, checking my weapon one last time. “Fair enough.”
Last thing we needed was Ethan or, God forbid, the ever-grouchy Ozzy, micromanaging this op. It was bad enough they had her on a short leash as it was.
I crossed to her and tugged on her ponytail. “But if it turns out Vidal’s just grabbing a late-night snack, I’m going to be seriously pissed.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “You and me both.”