Chapter 46 #2
Heather’s lips parted as she leaned into him, resting her head on his chest.
“Touch yourself.” He guided softly.
The blush that crept up her cheeks was answer enough.
Flynn softened at her shyness. “Don’t be embarrassed, mo ghràidh. Let me see you.”
She should be embarrassed.
She should feel ridiculous.
But Flynn was different.
He made her feel like the most beautiful woman on earth, and seeing the effect that she had on him was almost too much.
Flynn sucked in a ragged breath as Heather rested her weight into the upright strength of his body,
“Christ,” he muttered.
She let her touch linger at her lower belly, unhurried, noting the way his body reacted behind her. The way his chest rose and fell, and how his self-control strained against his frame, was so hot that any embarrassment Heather was harboring went straight out the window.
She’d never seen him like this before; it was utterly intoxicating as electricity hummed between them.
“You are so perfect,” he crooned. “Do ye know that?”
Heather nodded coyly.
“Good girl. Just like that,” he praised.
Her descent continued lower until she reached the delicate lace ridge of her panties. She hesitated, as if asking a silent question: Here?
Flynn’s eye contact didn’t waver as he nodded, “Go on, lass.”
Heather bit her lip seductively as she dipped her hand below her panties, gasping at her own slick heat, slowly moving her fingers in rhythmic circles over her aching bundle of nerves.
Flynn’s breathing accelerated into a rapid pace.
“Fuck, Heather.” A bead of sweat was forming on his temple. “This is so hot .”
Oh.
This was delicious.
Game on.
She writhed, grinding her hips into him, responding to the pleasure of her own touch. The air wooshed out of Flynn’s lungs as the hard evidence of his arousal twitched against the small of her back in response.
“Is this what you want?” Heather crooned innocently. “You want to see what you do to me?”
He nodded, wordlessly.
She sagged against him, moaning, as she continued pleasuring herself, never breaking eye contact with him in his reflection.
“You. Are. Everything.” Flynn rasped.
“Touch me.” Heather commanded.
With trembling hands, he complied.
Flynn palmed her breasts, gently squeezing as he settled his lips on the frantic pulse under her ear. Planting blazing hot kisses down the column of her neck, one hand reached and settled at her throat, gently pinning her in place.
“Come for me.” he breathed into the shell of her ear.
Oh. My. God.
This is it. I’m done for.
“Flynn—” Heather panted. “—I love you.”
“I love you, mo chridhe,” he whispered while gently tightening his grip on her throat. “Let go for me.”
So she did.
The cry that ripped from her settled over Flynn like a blessing meant only for him. He caught her as her knees gave, wrapping his arms tightly around her body. He held her through every shuddering breath as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder— his breathing was just as unsteady as hers.
“I’ve got you,” he gently assured her.
Heather turned, pressing her face into Flynn’s chest, fingers curling in his shirt. The mirror reflected them tangled together, flushed and breathless, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Flynn kissed her forehead softly, then her temple.
“Come here,” he whispered.
And this time, when he led her to his bed, there was nothing restrained about it at all.
She lay curled into him, their legs tangled, his heartbeat slowing beneath her cheek. The fire popped softly in the other room, the sound distant and comforting, like it belonged to another life; one without secrets and maps and men who hunted legends.
Flynn kissed her brow. Once. Then again, lingering.
“Ye’re alright?” he murmured.
“More than alright,” she said, voice drowsy and warm. “You?”
“Aye.” His fingers traced slow, absent-minded circles along her back, grounding, steady. “As long as you’re here.”
She shifted, fitting herself closer, breathing him in. The scent of soap and smoke and something unmistakably him settled her bones. For a few precious minutes, neither of them spoke. There was no rush. No plan. Just the quiet aftermath of something intense and real.
Eventually, she pressed a kiss to his chest and smiled faintly. “I should shower.”
He huffed softly. “Aye. Before Byrdie judges us.”
As if summoned by name, the cat trilled indignantly from the hallway.
Heather laughed breathlessly and slipped from the bed. Flynn watched her go, leaning back against the pillows with a small, private smile tugging at his mouth like he couldn’t quite believe his life had led him here.
When she returned wrapped in one of his sweatshirts—too big, sleeves swallowing her hands—he reached out and tugged her in for one last kiss.
She padded into the kitchen barefoot, the cottage quiet but for the ticking clock and the wind brushing the windows. She checked her phone absently, expecting nothing.
One new email.
Her stomach dipped.
From: Dr. Flora Henderson
Subject: Re: Glenoran — one more question
Something cold slid down her spine.
Flynn emerged from the hall, drying his hair with a towel. He took one look at her face and stilled. “What happened?”
Heather swallowed and clicked it open.
It contained exactly one sentence:
Ms. Campbell, when did you say you last visited Skye?
Her heart jolted hard enough to hurt.
Flynn’s expression changed instantly: softness gone, replaced by something sharp and alert. “Christ. Already?”
Heather lowered the phone, pulse thundering. “She knows,” she whispered. “She knows the next step.”
Flynn stepped beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth again.
His jaw was set and his voice was calm.
Steady.
“Then we go first.”