Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Max
I rush down the steps to put a little extra distance between Flynn and me. Acting like a professional peer and nothing more is going to be hard enough, so I need to take whatever advantage I can. I aim to be seated by the time Flynn arrives, and I’ll keep my eyes off him as much as possible so no one will have a chance to catch any stolen glances between us.
It’s bad enough that my mind is already spinning, trying to come up with plausible ways we could sneak off together for some alone time today. One hit, and I was hooked. Two, and I’m completely and irrevocably addicted.
When I walk into the dining room, the other writers are already seated and whispering among themselves. Flynn and Barnard are the only two missing, and the former walks into the room as soon as I’ve taken my seat.
He walks around to his original chair across the table from me, and a quick glance in his direction proves he’s not trying to hide his emotions as he stares at me. I narrow my eyes and give him a stern shake of the head, and he smirks before looking down at his plate.
He’s incorrigible, and damn if that doesn’t turn me on even more than I already am.
“Good morning, everyone,” Barnard calls out as he strides into the room and takes his chair at the head of the table between Flynn and me. “I trust everyone slept well.”
Why did he glance at me as he said that? Does he know? Fuck.
No. I can’t freak out. There’s no way he knows how Flynn and I spent the night, is there?
“Before we eat,” Barnard goes on before I can collapse into a full-on freak-out, “let’s take care of business. Next to your plates, you’ll find a small white board and a marker. Please write down the name of your murder suspect and don’t show anyone else.”
I meet Flynn’s gaze for a fraction of a second, both of us smiling as we start to write. Once everyone is finished and has flipped their boards upside down, Barnard calls out Lars’ name and asks him to reveal his suspect.
With a determined look, he holds up his sign, which reads “Flynn Nightingale.” I fail at stifling a laugh, which earns me a frown from Lars. Sobering, I remain stoic while Danica and Peter reveal their boards, which both accuse Barnard. I guess Flynn’s misdirection last night worked like a charm. I look over at him, and he nods for me to reveal my guess first.
“Who in the hell is Bethany?” Lars snaps when I hold my board up.
Flynn holds up his board before I can answer, and Lars looks even more confused than ever. I look at Barnard, who’s smiling as he meets Lars’ gaze.
“Bethany is the wonderful woman who’s served every meal you’ve eaten in this room, Mr. Klein. Why don’t you tell us why you chose Flynn as your suspect?”
Lars flinches back, the movement so slight, I almost miss it before he shrugs and says in a nonchalant voice, “He was twitchy and nervous last night. He reeked of guilt.”
Ha! Flynn wasn’t twitchy at all, being innocent, and it’s obvious Lars is pulling that reasoning straight out of his ass right now to save face.
Barnard nods as if he accepts the explanation, then his gaze bobs between Danica and Peter. “And the reasons you two have accused me?”
Peter swallows thickly. “Well, see, you…uh…left the room so quickly, not giving us an opportunity to question you about the case.”
“And you assumed that makes me a murderer?” Barnard asks, quirking a brow.
Peter shrugs and licks his lips nervously. “I couldn’t find any clues that would point to anyone else who was in the room.”
“I see,” Barnard mutters, then zeroes his gaze in on Danica. “And you? ”
“Same,” she says. “Peter and I worked together and decided you’re the most likely suspect.”
Barnard nods, and I don’t miss the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at me, then turns his attention to Flynn. “Am I to assume you two worked together, as well, since you came to the same conclusion?”
“Yes, sir,” Flynn says while I nod in agreement.
Barnard looks back at me. “And what led you to the assumption that Bethany is our murderer?”
“When we questioned her, she described a perfume she smelled when the lights were out. Flynn confirmed the scent didn’t belong to Danica, and since I know it wasn’t me, we investigated further to find an open window. The scent she described was the ocean and the flowers growing outside. So we decided to question her again.”
I nod at Flynn, and he continues the explanation, saying, “We found her crying in the kitchen with blood caked under her fingernails and red splatters on her clothes. Since we know she didn’t touch the victim after the lights came back on, we could only surmise that she picked up the blood during the act.”
“Very good,” Barnard says, his tone filled with pride. “Congratulations, Max. Flynn. You solved the case.”
He nods at each of us, and Flynn and I look at each other without trying to hide our shit-eating grins. Even though the “mystery” wasn’t all that hard to solve, I’m proud of us. And the fact that the others failed is just icing on the cake.
“This was a simple task meant to test your attention to detail,” Barnard goes on, then spears Danica with a deep frown. “Ms. Black, your contribution to the task and your explanation was, by far, the laziest and least helpful. You are dismissed.”
My eyes widen at the abrupt declaration, and I’m almost ashamed to admit how relieved I am that it wasn’t me. Danica huffs out a curse as she jerks out of her seat, then stomps from the room. My gaze moves from the doorway where she disappeared to observe Peter, who looks a little guilty. I suppose if she’d given the explanation and left him to just agree with her, he’d be the one on his way out instead. It’s a brutal elimination, and the relief inside me swells.
“Now that we have that nasty business out of the way,” Barnard says, regaining everyone’s attention, “let’s eat. We will be spending the day on my boat, and we leave for the marina in one hour.”
He claps once, and Bethany enters the room, pushing a cart laden with five plates. A hardy meal of French toast, bacon, and fruit is passed out to each of us. We eat in near-silence, only the sounds of chewing and silverware clinking against porcelain breaking the quiet.
I glance up at Flynn, my insides warming at the sight of his handsome face. While I’m ecstatic to still be here, still in the running for the job, I don’t know how I’m going to handle a whole day confined to a boat with him and not telegraph my feelings to everyone––including Barnard.
I’m just going to have to avoid Flynn as best I can, I guess.
When we’ve finished eating, we all head up to our rooms to change. A minute after I close myself inside my room, there’s a knock on the door that connects mine to Flynn’s. I can’t curb my smile as I rush over to swing it open. Flynn stands there in board shorts and a t-shirt, a frown marring his face.
“Please tell me you have a different bathing suit than that bikini you wore to the pool.”
“What?” I ask, rearing back. “Why?”
He huffs a sigh as he steps into my room. “I’ll never be able to play it cool with you in that thing. Too damn sexy. Do you have some basketball shorts and a hoodie you can wear instead? Fuck, I don’t even think that would work.”
A laugh barks out of me, and I shake my head. “Sorry. I only brought two suits, and the one you saw is the more modest of the two.”
“Jesus. Fuck,” he whispers, and I don’t miss the way his cock is suddenly pressing against the material of his shorts.
A thrill rockets through me at knowing just the mere thought of me in a bathing suit makes him hard. My clit throbs in response, and I have a sudden urge to push him back against the wall and have my way with him.
“Maybe I can help you take care of that, first,” I say without a second thought, nodding my head toward his crotch.
Without giving him a chance to respond, I fulfill my fantasy, pushing him until his back hits the wall beside the door. Dropping to my knees before him, I quickly untie the string at his waistband and yank his shorts down to his knees.
“Max, you don’t have to–– ”
The words cut off with a loud groan as I lick the underside of his cock from base to tip. Not wasting any time, I grip the base and push the tip between my lips, sucking lightly as I take him in as far as I can. I smile inwardly at the sound of his head knocking against the wall behind him as another groan rumbles from his chest. Gripping his cock tighter, I grab his hip with my other hand to hold myself steady as I bob my head, fucking him with my mouth as my tongue licks against the delicate skin.
Flynn’s hands tangle in my hair, not to guide me, but to simply hold on while I work him over, and less than a minute later, he grunts, his cock throbbing as his release fills my mouth. I swallow hungrily before letting him slide from my lips, then yelp as he pulls me up and sweeps me into the cradle of his arms.
“My turn,” he says, taking a moment to kick his legs free of his shorts before carrying me straight to my bed and tossing me onto it.
I laugh as I bounce against the mattress, but the sound dies when he grips my ankles and jerks me toward him. The skirt of my sundress bunches up around my waist with the motion, and Flynn lets out a feral growl as he yanks my underwear down my legs and tosses them aside.
My thoughts scatter the second his mouth lands on me, licking and sucking like his life depends upon it. His tongue finds my clit and teases it mercilessly. He hums his own pleasure as he sucks it between his lips, then releases it to move down and push his tongue inside me .
“Oh, God,” I groan, my fingers tangling in his hair and gripping it in tight fists.
Moving his lips back to my clit, Flynn’s moan vibrates against it as he thrusts two fingers deep inside me. My hips buck in response, driving them even deeper, and his fingertips brush against a spot I’m sure has never been touched before.
A shout rips its way up my throat as I come harder than I ever have while some heretofore unknown floodgate opens, releasing a rush of fluid that squirts past his fingers to the bed beneath me.
“Holy shit,” I gasp as soon as I regain the ability to speak.
“Holy shit is right,” Flynn grumbles, sitting back on his heels and pushing his wet fingers into his mouth to suck them clean with a deep, satisfied moan.
“That’s never happened to me before,” I admit, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
His fingers pop out of his mouth, and he looks at me with hungry, determined eyes. “Then it’s now my life’s mission to make it happen every…single…time.”
It’s a promise. One I know he’ll endeavor to keep while enjoying every second of it.
Damn .
I think I might love Flynn Nightingale.