“Flynn—”
He cuts me off by stepping closer, crowding me against the counter. “You remember the list we made, Vixen?”
My breath hitches. “Some of it.”
“Item one.” His voice drops to a growl. “Tell me.”
I whisper it like a prayer. “Giving a blowjob under the table in a crowded bar.”
His grin is slow, wicked, lethal. “There’s no bar.”
I glance around the empty cabin, heart hammering. “I noticed.”
He jerks his chin toward the rough-hewn pine table by the fire. “We can improvise.”
My knees actually wobble.
He downs his second shot, sets the cup aside, and ties his hair back with a leather cord he pulls from his wrist. The motion makes his biceps flex, and my mouth goes dry.
I last about thirty seconds of him just looking at me before I’m on my knees in front of him. I have no idea who I’ve become in this instant. I don’t even have sex on the third date, never mind in the first hours of being with someone.
I feel like I know this man and can trust him, even though there’s no evidence to back up these feelings.
The rug is soft under my knees as I sink to my knees between Flynn’s spread thighs, the thick wool rug soft under my shins. The fire crackles and pops behind me, throwing gold light over his skin, turning every ridge of muscle into sharp shadow and warm glow. He’s towering above me, one hand braced on the edge of the pine table, the other sliding slowly and deliberately into my hair.
His sweatpants are tugged down just enough. He’s thick, heavy in my hand, velvet over steel, already slick at the tip. My mouth actually waters.
I look up the long line of his body. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscle ticks under the beard. Those storm-gray eyes are locked on me, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in hard, controlled breaths.
I lick a slow, deliberate stripe from base to crown, swirling my tongue around the head, tasting salt and heat and twelve years ofpent-up hunger. His hips jerk as if I’ve shocked him, and a low, broken sound tears out of his throat.
I take him deeper. The weight of him on my tongue is perfect, obscene, addictive. I hollow my cheeks and suck, gentle then harder, and his fingers tighten in my hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.
“Fuck… just like that,” he groans, head falling back for a second before he forces it forward again, like he can’t stand not watching. “Been dreaming about this mouth since the night we met.”
I hum around him and take him deeper still, until he nudges the back of my throat, until tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the stretch, until I’m dizzy with the taste and feel of him. My own pulse is thundering between my legs, panties soaked, thighs pressed tight together to ease the ache.
I pull back slowly, lips sealed, tongue dragging along the underside, then sink down again, faster this time. His breathing turns ragged.
“Imogen,” he growls, and the sound of my real name in that wrecked voice nearly undoes me. “Look at me.”
I do.
Our eyes lock. His are wild, feral, full of so much raw want it steals what little air I have left. I take him as deep as I can, swallow around him, and watch his control snap like a branch in a storm.
He comes with a guttural curse, hips bucking once, twice, hot pulses spilling over my tongue. I swallow every drop, greedy for it, for him, until he’s shaking and hauling me up by the arms before my knees even have time to protest.
His mouth crashes into mine. He kisses me deep and filthy, licking into my mouth like he’s chasing the taste of himself on my tongue. His hands are everywhere (my waist, my ass, sliding up under my sweater to palm bare skin). When he finallypulls back we’re both panting, foreheads pressed together, snow hissing against the windows like the mountain itself is jealous.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Vixen,” he breathes against my lips, voice hoarse. “You just ruined me.”
I laugh, shaky and delirious, tasting him still. “One down,” I whisper.
His answering grin is slow, dark, and full of promise.
Flynn
I wake up to the soft, steady sound of her breathing against my neck and the weight of her thigh thrown over mine as if she owns me.
