“In here,” I call, and he rounds the corner, his smile softening when he sees me at the table.
He comes over, takes my hand in his, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Missed you,” he says and sniffs the air. “I told you I’d cook dinner.”
“You worked all day long.” I smile, my whole body lighting up at his closeness. “Plus, I love to cook.” He covers my lips with his, and my brain shuts down. I'm dead. This is what dying feels like. Static in my brain, heartbeat in my throat, and absolutely no muscle control anywhere in my body.
His lips crush mine, hot and needy, and the next thing I know, I’m pressed up against the kitchen counter. My knees go weak and, if Flint wasn’t holding me upright, I’d be a puddle on the tiles.
He drags his mouth away, just enough to breathe. “I missed the fuck out of you today.”
I stare up at him, dazed, and try to remember how English works. “I missed you, too.” He squeezes my hips, pinning me to the counter, and buries his nose in my neck like he’s been starved for days.
The man smells like sweat, leather, and the outside. I literally forget what I was about to say, because my brain is doing a full reset.
“Dinner smells incredible,” he growls against my throat. “Do I have time to grab a shower?”
Oh my God. The visual of him naked in the shower nearly fries my frontal cortex. I swallow hard and somehow manage not to swoon. “It’ll wait,” I whisper, clutching the edge of his shirt so I don’t slide to the floor like a melted popsicle. “Take your time.”
He grins, hot and lazy, and kisses me again for good measure. “I’ll be fast, Sugar Plum. Don’t move.” Moving isn’t even a freaking option at this moment.
My knees are jelly. My brain is pudding. My heart is doing enough cardio to count for the whole week.
I nod, even though nothing above my neck is working right. “I’m not going anywhere,” I mumble, and it comes out breathy and ridiculous.
Flint grins at me like he knows exactly what he’s done to my body. And, wow. My girly parts are already plotting their next move. “You’re welcome to come shower with me.” My eyes widen at his offer.
My mouth takes off without consulting my brain. “I could use a shower.” Never mind that I just had one an hour ago. He holds his hand out to me and I take it.
My insides go liquid as I slip my hand into his. Flint grins at me, all rough stubble and heat, and then he’s walking me down the hall, his palm swallowing mine. Oh, man. I am so screwed. My girly parts are straight-up cheering.
We barely make it to his bedroom before I get pinned to the wall. For a split second, I smell sawdust, sweat, and his unique scent combined, and then Flint’s mouth is on mine. There’s nothing slow or gentle about it. He kisses like he owns me, like he’s been waiting all damn day to do this. My knees give out, but Flint just scoops me up, easy as pie, and carries me toward his bathroom.
He sets me on my feet inside the bathroom and asks, “Are you sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything.” That’s all he needs. Flint shrugs out of his shirt, and I nearly choke on my own tongue. His chest is all muscle and scars and one big colorful tattoo.
My jaw nearly unhinges. Holy mother of God. That tattoo covers half his chest and disappears under his arm, all lines and color and pure badass.
I don’t even have time to invent a sassy comment before Flint is on me. He tugs my shirt over my head and tosses it, then stands there and just stares. Like he’s trying to burn the image of me into his hardwired cowboy brain.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rumbles as his hands span my waist. “And you smell like heaven,” he growls against my lips, and then he’s backing me up against the bathroom counter.
He just drops to his knees and peels my yoga pants down, slowly, like he’s unwrapping a present. And then he makes a sound so deep and hungry, my head snaps back.
“Fuck, Saoirse,” he growls and leans over to run his tongue up the inside of my thigh, “I’ve been dreaming about this moment all goddamn day long. Longest day of my life.”
My heart nearly tap-dances out of my chest. His hands cup my ass, spreading me open, and I almost self-combust on the spot. “Flint,” I moan, voice almost a gasp.
“Sugar Plum, you have no idea how good you smell,” he rumbles, voice gritty with need. “I could eat you for the rest of my life.” He spreads my legs wider and presses me back. I find myself spread out on the marble countertop while he runs his tongue around my belly button in slow circles. “Are you trying to torture me to death?” I groan as he slowly moves lower.
“I’m savoring my meal,” he growls against my skin. He’s not kidding. Flint licks his way down, tongue hot and slow, and I’m honestly surprised my body doesn’t just give up and burst into flames.
He bites my hip, gentle but just sharp enough to make me jump. Then he grins up at me, pure devil, before pressing an open-mouthed kiss right where my hip and thigh meet.
I want to say something, but my brain is straight-up mush. All I manage is a shaky gasp as he looks at me like I’m the only dessert on the menu. “You have no idea what you do to me, Sugar Plum,” he growls, and then his mouth is right there.
Hot. Wet. His tongue flicks over my clit, and my eyes roll back in my head. Oh, holy fudge sticks. Every nerve in my body goes on high alert.
He licks me again, slow and torturous, while his hands cup my ass and hold me wide open for him.
