Oh, God. Just the sound of his dark command is almost enough.Almost, but not quite.But it doesn’t take long, a second orgasm building on the first.
In the year I’ve loved Flynn, I’ve had more orgasms than I’ve eaten roast beef dinners.Fact.I no longer have problems in that department at all. Not with him and not without, though myménage à moiis enhanced by his sometime audience.
As I begin to pant around him, he pulls me up from the chair, his hands hooking around my thighs as he carries me to the bed, following my body down to the mattress.
He enters me slowly, his dark blue gaze intent on my own, our joint appreciation hitting the air as hungered, helpless sounds. My arse in his hands, he lifts me, setting the pace and depth as I pulse around him, squirm under him. He fucks me deeply, thrusting from tip to base, then feeding me short jabs of his hips.
And I love it. Love it all.
‘I can feel you pulsing around me,’ he grunts, driving his cock into me like my body is something he owns. ‘Tell me how it feels.’
‘I-it feels like I’m yours.’
‘That’s right,’ he rasps, pinning me into place. ‘I own this pussy. I own every inch of you. From your wild curling hair to your abundant heart.’
I grind against him as he whispers his sweet filthy promises, whimpering and calling out his name again and again, the edges of my last orgasm tied to this one.
And when I’m an aching and sated, a sensitive twitching mess, Flynn brings my hands to my head, pinning them there against the bed. His arms shake as he delivers long urgent strokes, his face contorted in ecstasy as he finally comes.
Epilogue – Flynn
‘I reckon her IQ must’ve dipped since she’s been hanging around with you.’
I turn my head to my brother, Rafferty, and scratch the centre of my nose... with my middle finger, my eyebrows raised like a taunt.
‘She’s a stunning woman,’ he continues, ignoring the insult, ‘but I don’t know what she’s doing with a drop kick like you. Just look at you.’Look-at-cha.‘You’ve got a face like a dropped fucking pie. A woman like her should be with someone who’s got their life together. Someone who takes care of himself.’ As though to make a point, he turns to the window, straightening his tie in his reflection.
‘Mate, if there was ever any chance of you stealing Chastity away, today was not that day.’
‘You reckon?’ he asks with a quirk of his brow. ‘She might not have cold feet yet, but you never know when she might need pair of warm strong arms to fall into.’
‘She seemed pretty hot for me this morning. And pretty happy when I married her an hour ago.’
His gaze snaps to mine and I realise what I’ve said. ‘Fuck, my bad.’ Still, I can’t help but chuckle at his expression. I thought Camilla was the only attending maiden aunt.
‘Fucking hell...’ He blows out the curse on a long breath. ‘You’re not supposed to root on the morning of your wedding.’
Now, there’s an Aussie term for you. Root, verb or noun.
To root: to fuck
Rooted: you’re fucked.
A good root: a desirable sort.So, not Rafferty, then.
When in Aus, never say you root for your favourite sports team. And if you’rerooting around in the cupboardI hope you’re both having a damn good time.
‘Let me get this straight,’ I begin. ‘On the morning of my wedding—on the morning of the day I tie myself to one woman for life, I’m not allowed to show that woman a little affection?’
‘I don’t make the fuckin’ rules,’ he grumbles. ‘And is that what you’re calling your cock these days—affection? I remember the days when you used to call it Peter the Dancing Penis.’
‘I was three years old. And piss off, those stories are for mum to tell.’
‘You fucking root rat,’ Rafferty complains good naturedly. I think that insult speaks for itself. ‘You’ve got no decorum. Your supposed to wait ’till your wedding night—and then be too drunk to get it up.’
‘I suppose that’s where you’ll come in?’
‘I am your best man,’ he reasons. ‘Some would go as far as to say thebetterman.’
