He guffaws. “I don’t have muscles likethat.”
“Most people don’t.” The next moment, I’mstraddling him on the sofa, my hands tugging at his overshirt. I freeze.
We stare at each other. Is it me, or is he getting closer? Or maybe I’m getting closer to him. His breath warms my tingling face. We’re kissing again, his hand hooked around the back of my neck. I’m tearing at his shirt and his T-shirt, desperate for a look at his muscles. At him. We manage to keep kissing as I take them off, sit upright, and stare at him. He’s not built like me, but he’s not scrawny, either. I can tell he does manual labour, even if he doesn’t work out or lift weights. And fuck, he’s gorgeous. My cock leaks precum.
“You’re sexy.” Did I say that, or did he?
We’re kissing again, our hands exploring each other’s torsos. Somehow, we’re lying on the sofa. Weren’t we sitting? My body blankets his. I fumble with the button of his chinos. Why is it so fucking hard to open? My fingers won’t function. I’ve never been this bad at kissing in my life. Or at getting someone undressed. I should not be undressing my brother’s ex-husband. I should not want to get into his pants, but I do. Fuck, I do. And from the desperate way he’s feeling my body, and the frantic way he’s kissing me, he wants it, too.
I manage to get his chinos undone. I yank them off him and toss them. They end up dangling over the TV. The next sock comes off and ends up over the light shade. It was too hard to tug off, so I can’t be bothered with the other one.
We pause, staring at each other. My hands are on his pants. His hands are on mine. He swallows. So do I. Then we’re fumbling to tug each other’s pants off. It’s chaotic and clumsy, and I end up hopping and falling over, then we’re laughing and kissing, and I have a raging hard on, and his hand is around it, and I put my hands on his arse, squeezing, searching with my finger for— Ah! That’s it!
He gasps and stiffens. “Lube!”
“Fuck.” I don’t have any lube. But I have the next best thing. I scoop up the bottle of baby oil.
It’s on again. Every movement is frantic and fumbling. My body is buzzing, my extremities are tingling, the room is spinning, everything swims in and out of focus. This is so wrong, but it’s so right. I hate him. I want him. I need him. We’re laughing, gasping, kissing, and groaning. Sounds meld into one. I can’t tell where I end and he begins. My finger is in his arse, and it’s so fucking tight. He’s stroking my cock. I’m so fucking hard it’s painful. He’s on his back, his legs in the air, and I’m between them. Somehow my cock is glistening with baby oil. I don’t remember doing that, but I must have. We’re kissing. His hands are all over me. He’s groaning, and moaning, and so fucking gorgeous. I’m trying to find his hole, but my cock keeps missing. I’m in him, and he's so hot and tight. We’re kissing and touching, and I’m fucking him.
Fucking him.
Fucking him.
I’m coming, and so is he, and his cum iseverywhere. Over him, over me. And I’m laughing, and gasping, and I can’t fucking breathe. And I’m in his arms, and we’re kissing.
We’re still. Quiet. And the only thing that stops the room spinning is closing my eyes. I’m thirsty. I’m tired. And I’m in his arms.
2
FLYNN
My head is pounding. My mouth is fuzzy, like it’s stuffed with week-old socks. Something heavy is on my chest. From how warm and solid it is, I’m guessing a person. I don’t remember getting back to the farm, let alone with anyone. I don’t remember much at all. From the awkward position I’m in, I think I’m lying on a sofa, my head, neck, and shoulders propped against the arm. My left foot is on the floor. My right leg is pinned to the back of the sofa by the same heavy weight that’s on my chest. I open my eyes and snap them shut again. The light hurts, and there’s too much of it. I'm going to throw up.
I take a few deep breaths and open my eyes. The light makes the pain in my head ten times worse. I was right. The weight on my chest is a person. A guy, to be precise, with dark blond hair and huge muscles. His face is hidden.
Footsteps pad past the open door before backtracking.A man with red hair, wearing pyjama bottoms, and a slice of toast in one hand, stops, stares at me, and uses his free hand to give me a thumbs up.
“Looks like you had a good night.” He grins and wanders off.
Which is when I realise I’m naked. The guy lying on top of me is naked. And a random stranger just saw us. Wonderful.
I nudge the naked guy on top of me.
He groans, smacks his lips, and wraps his arm around me. “Too early.”
I have no clue what time it is, but I can’t stay here, like this, with the door wide open. How many housemates does this guy have? Where am I? How did I get here?
I nudge him again, a bit more insistently.
He moans, pushes up, and lifts his head. Jimmy! How did that happen? The horror on his face reflects the gut-wrenching dread I’m feeling.
“What the fuck?” He gets off me, sits on the other side of the sofa, and stares.
I feel even more naked. More exposed. I glance around for my clothes. How did my chinos end up on the TV? Why is one of my socks hanging over the light shade? Where’s my underwear? I find my overshirt and hug it over my cock. My chest and stomach are covered in white, crusty stuff. It’s all over his stomach, too.
“Oh. Fuck. Did we—?” No. No. We can’t have done. I can’t breathe.
I force myself into a more upright position—bigmistake. The room spins. I clap my hand over my mouth and breathe through the nausea.
