Flynn grunted. Blake shrugged. I got the idea that I needed to change to subject.
“I don’t get it.” I frowned at the simple image, hoping to draw out Flynn’s artistic side. “It’s just a picture of a guy and a poor excuse for a pun.”
Flynn sat down on the metal, crossing his legs and staring at the figure of the man. “I want to make art like this,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean when we go to the National Gallery today. To most people, art is the stuff you’ll see there – portraits and landscapes and religious scenes and epic battles that hang on the walls and look pretty. But Banksy’s art isn’t capturing a static moment in time. Itlives. The very act of its creation and concealment and appearance is part of its story. How did he get it up here? Why did he place this particular piece here, inthisoffice? I bet you a tenner there was once a financial institution here. It’s guerrilla art, going behind enemy lines to deliver an important message – we see you, and we’re not amused.”
Wow, that was some speech. I looked back at the artwork, and I thought I could see what Flynn was talking about – the context of the piece and why it mattered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Flynn O’Hagan was being serious about something.”
“I am.” Flynn nodded at the portrait. “The way you feel about the stars and space and all that shite? That’s how I feel about art. Banksy stencilled a girl holding a bunch of balloons and flying through the air on the West Bank of Israel. That shit feckingmatters. That’s what I’d like to do. Shit that matters.”
Wow.This was a side of Flynn I’d never seen before, all stormy-eyed and passionate and hot as all hell. He ran a hand through his red curls and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t jump him right there.
“Don’t look at me like that, Einstein,” he grinned. “You’ll make me forget why we came here.”
“I thought we came to hunt for this weird graffiti— I mean,art.”
“That was just a ploy. Blake has something to tell you,” Flynn said. “We might have done something really stupid last night while you were at the concert.”
I whirled around.What now?Blake opened and shut his mouth. He stared down at my ticket stub in his hands.
I sighed. “Go on, out with it.”
This time, Blake managed to make his mouth work. His story rushed out, how he got a new kind of draught from Clara before we left Briarwood, how he talked Flynn into helping him use it, how he travelled into the fuckingunderworldas a shade and watched Daigh feed forty-four victims to the demons there and that Liah was blackmailing Daigh and it all had something to do with the painting and what had happened twenty-one years ago, and how he’d nearly been thrown into the Pit of Anguish but Flynn had saved him just in time.
“Jesus, Blake.”
“I don’t know who Jesus is, Princess.” Blake sighed. “But if he’s half as bad as I am, I can see why you use his name in vain all the time.”
“This is serious! You could have been spit-roasted alive by demons. This Pit of Anguish doesn’t sound like a vacation spot.”
“You’re telling me.” Blake shot Flynn an evil look that Flynn pretended not to see. “But I’m in one piece, and now we know some important details so we can stop Daigh.”
“There’s something else we know.” Flynn lifted an eyebrow. “We’re all alone up here.”
“Why, I hadn’t even noticed. But now that you mention it…” Blake peered over the edge of the gangway. “Nope, not another soul.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Guys, this is serious. You can’t just go off and do your own thing like this. If either of you had been hurt, or if you’d accidentally revealed something more to Daigh?—”
“I solemnly swear that I won’t be doing anything like that ever again,” Blake’s eyes flashed. “There’s nothing like dangling over the Pit of Anguish to make one reassess one’s life choices. I’d like to forget all about it, and nothing would do that better than making good on Flynn’s suggestion.”
My breath hitched. “You want to do it here, in the middle of this rubble?”
“Why not?”
Flynn grabbed my hand and dragged me down the ladder. My heart pounded, and the ache inside me flared to life once more. Blake pulled over one of the old office chairs, its wheels squeaking across the hardwood floor. A delicious shiver pulsed through my body as Flynn wrapped his arms around me, stroking my breast through the thin layer of my dress until my nipples stood hard.
Blake dusted off the chair and sat down on it, spreading his legs wide and fiddling with the buttons on his fly. “Climb on board, Princess.” He licked his lips.
How could anyone resist that invitation?
I straddled the chair, placing my feet flat on the ground to steady myself. I caught Blake’s face in my hands, pulling him against me as my lips met his. Blake’s kisses stole my breath, and all thoughts of his journey into the underworld fled from my mind beneath the attentions of his strong hands and sensuous tongue. Being kissed by Blake was like a quantum reaction – you never knew what was going to happen, butsomethingwas going to explode.
Behind me, Flynn’s arms wrapped around my body, sliding under the collar of my dress to touch my nipples. Blake snaked his hands up my thighs, tugging up the hem of my dress. Flynn’s tongue slid over my earlobe and a fresh shiver rocketed through my body.
Blake’s fingers reached under my panties, slipping inside me. “She’s dripping wet,” he smirked at Flynn. “Someone wasn’t as opposed to shagging in the middle of the rubble as she made out.”
“If you’ve got all this time to chit-chat, then you’re not doing enough with your mouth,” I murmured back, wrapping my lips around his.
“Oh, Princess. You havenoidea.” Blake’s tongue slid across my teeth as he stroked a finger over my clit. I moaned against his lips as he battered that little nub with ferocious strokes until my knees shuddered around him. Flynn clamped his fingers over my nipple, and the pain and the pleasure slammed together and exploded in a hard, fast orgasm that left me gasping.
