26. Abi
26
ABI
Flynn cannot stop moving. From the moment he slipped silently into bed beside me, he’s been tossing and turning every thirty seconds. I can feel his restless heat across the bed—it’s not a big one—and I want to roll over, reach out and smooth a hand down his spine. But I don’t. Instead I lie still, faking sleep.
I pretended I was already asleep when he came to bed, because I feel like I’ve made him uncomfortable enough just by being here, let alone being in his bed.
I shouldn’t have taken him up on his offer. I should have argued at his insistence that I couldn’t drive home. Sure it would mean I would have gotten home and to bed a lot later than I had. Or I should have toughened up and admitted to Olivia what happened with the flowers. But turning up at her house in the middle of the night to confess, then beg for a bed, was too horrifying a thought to even contemplate. Way to show my boss I’ve got my shit together .
So I chose Flynn’s other offer. His place.
It’s kind of charming, despite clearly being incredibly old and a bit run down. You can tell they’ve tried to maintain it as much as possible, but there’s only so much you can do with a building this old.
Flynn clearly isn’t an interior decorator. His only contributions to the space are a collection of photos hung on the wall, including several of a man who looks exactly like Flynn and a stunning blonde woman. His parents, without a doubt. I didn’t linger looking at the pictures, but my eyes did land on one of that gorgeous couple and two boys. The blond boy was slightly bigger than the other, taller and broader though still too young to be anything but a gangly teenager, and had a stern expression on his small face, his brow furrowed. The other boy had the opposite expression, a huge smile spread across his face under a tangle of wild red hair. Flynn, probably somewhere around age twelve. His parents were looking at each other in the photo, sharing a smile and the love between them was obvious, even from my quick glance.
Flynn lets out a low growling sound and a moment later the bed shifts as his feet touch the floor. He pads quietly from the room, leaving the bed feeling huge, empty and cold.
I lie still for several long moments, but Flynn doesn’t return. I can’t hear him in the bathroom. I can’t hear him moving around at all.
Another moment passes and ignoring my better judgement, I slip out of bed and go searching for him.
In a home with three rooms, he isn’t hard to find. I don’t even have to go past the bedroom door.
Flynn is standing at the kitchen bench, hands braced on the edge, staring out the window to what I assume would be the hills beyond if it was daylight.
The glow of the moon through the window on the opposite side of the room traces his shoulders in soft light. He’s only wearing a pair of loose shorts that sit deliciously low on his hips. So low I can make out the twin dips in his lower back. The long, lean muscles in his back flex and shift as his grip tightens on the bench top. He lets out a low groan.
“Flynn?” I whisper.
He startles and whirls around. “Shit,” he says breathlessly.
“Sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he mutters and turns back to the window.
“That’s my line,” I say and he huffs out a tiny laugh. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” His voice is so low I barely hear him. He sighs heavily and I try not to be too distracted by his back muscles flexing again. He’s clearly got something on his mind and I’m here ogling him. He spins around again, crossing his arms over his chest and again, my gaze lingers on long, lean muscles … everywhere. “That’s the problem, Rosie. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
I mirror his pose, folding my arms and leaning against the doorframe. There’s a few metres between us, plus this simmering attraction that flares hotter as his eyes wander down my body, snagging on the hem of the t-shirt of his that I’m wearing. The space feels like miles, and also no distance at all.
The shirt smells like him, like grass and sunshine and a tinge of sea salt, and the fabric is so soft and worn I never want to take it off.
His eyes remain on the hem, his tongue slipping out to lick along his bottom lip and that’s when I realise what he’s staring at.
My bare legs, because I ditched his sweatpants before I crawled into bed. I have way more booty than this guy and they were too snug, and too warm, for me to comfortably sleep in.
“What exactly are you referring to?” I ask, voice husky.
“Everything.” He drops his hands, bracing them on the bench again and holy shit. Biceps. Abs. Shoulders. Chest. Hip bones jutting out above the waistband of his shorts. I press my thighs together and he doesn’t miss the tiny movement. “My whole life, Rosie. I don’t know what I’m doing with any of it. But right now…” His eyes roam over me again and my knees feel weak. “Right now, my biggest issue is I don’t know what the fuck to do about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life.”
“You can have me.”
“Maybe once.”
“It can be more than once.” I push off the door frame and step towards him.
“How come you’re so into this? Into me?” He ruffles his hair, then smooths it down again. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. A fling with the reckless farmhand.”
I study him, stopping halfway across the room. “Because you’re hot as fuck too, Flynn. You’re fun. I like you, and … ”
“And?”
“And that day on the beach, you got me out of my head. I don’t know if you know this about me, but I spend a lot of time trapped in there.” I smile sheepishly at him and am rewarded when his lip curls up into a half smirk.
He holds up a hand, his thumb and pointer finger millimetres apart. “Just a little.” He chuckles. “So, you’re just using me for your own gain?”
“If that’s how you want to think about it. If it’ll help you by thinking you’re doing it to help out a friend.”
He laughs. “You know me too well. I’d do anything to help a friend.” His voice is low and husky. He stalks towards me. “I still don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers as he stands over me in the near-dark.
“Just don’t think too much about it,” I whisper.
“I mean, I actually don’t know what I’m doing … with a woman.”
“Mutually beneficial arrangement then. You can practise your skills while helping me get out of my head.” I throw the last remnants of caution to the wind and close the gap between us with a final step. I press my body against his, my hands finding his hips, then I reach up on my tiptoes, ghosting my lips over his. “If nothing else, maybe it’ll help you sleep tonight. You seem to be struggling.” I swipe my tongue across his bottom lip, copying the movement he did himself earlier.
An instant later, his mouth slams down on mine.
He groans and I swallow it. His hands brace my waist and his tongue slips into my mouth. Fucking hell. My knees feel like jelly. My entire body feels like jelly .
He takes a step forward, hesitant at first, but his confidence grows as I follow his lead and let him guide me back until I’m pressed between him and the wall. He pushes his hips forward and the soft layers of fabric between us do nothing to hide how hard his cock is.
It’s my turn to groan. His lips leave mine and trail kisses along my cheek to the hinge of my jaw, then drag down my throat. “Fuck, yes,” I moan, lifting my hands to tangle them in his hair. “Don’t you dare stop on me now,” I mutter and Flynn’s hot breath caresses my skin as he laughs.
“A sledgehammer to the head couldn’t stop me.” His voice is low and rough, almost growly and I shiver. “Cold, Rosie?”
“Fuck, no.”
He pulls back and studies my face for a moment. His eyes are flaming with desire and want, but there’s a trace of concern there too.
I reach up and capture his mouth again, licking my way inside. My hands find his back and I drag him closer, as I sling my leg around his hip.
The t-shirt rides up and it’s one less layer of fabric between us as he rolls his hips against me his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.
I drag my fingertips down his chest, across his abs to the waistband of his shorts. It’s his turn to shiver as I run my nails along the edge of the fabric. Then I slip my hand inside and wrap it around the hot length of his dick.
Flynn moans, but goes rigid, so I freeze, his cock still in my hand.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I whisper against his mouth .
He takes a breath, drags his tongue along my lips and groans out a breathy, “Yes”.
I shove his shorts down, freeing his dick, then drag my hand up and down, slowly pumping him as he relaxes back into the moment. His hands wander from my waist, skimming up to trail fingertips down my throat, cupping the full swell of my breast, thumb flicking over my nipple. God, if it feels that good through fabric what would is feel like with his hands on my bare skin?
His other hand presses against my hip and I twist against the pressure until my pussy connects with his thigh and I grind down. He lets out a surprised little grunt, then immediately catches on and uses that hand to help build my momentum, guiding my hips forward and back.
“Touch me,” I whisper as pressure builds in my belly. I’m still lazily jerking him off and twist my hand over his head as I say the words. “Please, Flynn.”
Flynn’s movements stutter, then resume. His hand drags across my hip, down the outside of my thigh and back up the inside. He presses his forehead against mine, his gaze lowered between us, watching the progress of his hand. He bites his lip, then brushes his fingers against the damp fabric of my underwear.
My head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Flynn’s gaze flicks to mine. “Don’t stop,” I gasp. “I want you to bury your fingers in my pussy.”
“Fuck,” he mutters as he presses his hand against me, twisting them in a tight circle. Then he hooks his fingers into the side of my underwear and shoves it aside.
His thick finger drags through me and it’s all I can do to keep myself standing. My hand has gone still on his cock, but I can’t continue the attention I was giving it, especially not when Flynn slides inside me.
The moan I let out is guttural and raw. Flynn watches where his hand disappears under the hem of my shirt for a few moments, then his gaze lands on my face.
His cheeks are flushed, eyes burning and lips red and puffy from our kissing. His expression is so seeking I cup his cheek and whisper to him.
“More, sweetheart. It’s so good, but I need more.”
He immediately slides another finger into me, then presses his body against me, flattening me against the wall. His free hand tangles in my hair and he drags his mouth over my neck. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs against my skin.
His hips take over where my hand left off when I got distracted by his touch and he thrusts against me, fucking into my hand.
We grind together, his fingers buried inside me, my hand wrapped around him.
My whole world is Flynn and the things he’s doing to my body. Sensation builds and just when I think I can’t bear it anymore Flynn tugs at my hair.
“Come for me, Rosie,” he says, voice husky and a little desperate. My eyes flash to his. He looks utterly wrecked. Ruined. On the edge of the abyss. “Now, please .”
At his plea, I fall over that edge and my orgasm rips through my body. A moment later, Flynn grunts and shudders, his cock jerking in my hand as he spills over .
He lets out a gusty breath, rests his head against my shoulder and groans. “Fuck me.”
I laugh softly, my body still wrapped in the bliss of the afterglow. “Maybe another day,” I say, ruffling his wild red curls.