Her palms cupped her own breasts, thumbs brushing over the peaked, sensitive skin, watching his reflection react: his sharp inhale, and the way his eyes shut for half a second—like it physically pained him to not touch her himself.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “aren’t they soft?”
She rolled her shoulders back deliberately, arching into her own touch; all the while, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. The power of it all sent a thrill straight through her.
Flynn stepped closer; close enough that she could feel his heat and the solid line of his body behind her. He released the claw clip holding her red curls back, and they watched as her hair tumbled down and settled on her breasts.
He leaned in, and with his mouth almost touching her ear, he breathed, “No one will ever hurt you again.”
Heather’s breath shook as she exhaled.
His hands stayed exactly where they were at his sides, which somehow made it worse.
Flynn’s gaze dropped to her hips in the mirror, then lifted deliberately back to her eyes. Not rushing or filling the silence, he let the quiet stretch until her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it too.
“Jeans,” he finally said.
Heather obeyed. Her fingers moved to the button, clumsy at first with nerves, heat, and the weight of his attention. She popped it open, then the zipper, and the sound pierced the silence in the quaint bedroom.
Flynn leaned in unhurriedly, and brushed his nose into the loose curtain of her hair. He inhaled deeply as if he were committing her scent to memory.
“God,” he breathed. “you smell like home.”
His words sliced right through her. She was positive that her knees were seconds away from giving out.
Steeling herself, she slid the denim down her hips, inch by inch, watching his face in the mirror; the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and the way his breath hitched slightly when her jeans fell past her thighs.
When they pooled at her feet, she stepped out of them, and all that was left were her matching dove gray lace panties.
“You havenoidea,” he sighed, “how hard it is not to touch you right now.”
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.”
Sheshouldbe embarrassed.
Sheshouldfeel ridiculous.
But Flynn was different.
He made her feel like the most beautiful woman on earth, and seeing the effect thatshehad onhimwas 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 sohotthat 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.
