Chapter 9
FLYNN
I send her a text. I get no answer, my expression twisting when I note it’s been almost immediately read.She might be busy, I reason, so I chuck my phone down on the couch cushion, telling myself I’ll leave it a while. I flick on the TV, a little fucked off.
Two one-night stands months apart is hardly the foundation of an addiction, but maybe I should be examining this. Is my eagerness a warning? Bad enough that I’ve been thinking about her since the wedding. What’s that about? We fucked, and while I was sleeping, she fucked off. That should’ve been that. End of. Her prerogative to leave, and certainly no skin off my nose. Only, it wasn’t like that. Not then and not since. In St Lucia, at the wedding, I was frustrated that she wasn’t there the next morning, but I shrugged it off. Ate my brekkie under an endless blue sky that reminded me of home, then boarded a plane back to London, my second home. And then . . . I might’ve thought about her a little. Usually with my cock in my hand. But I haven’t obsessed. No way.
But yesterday—what the fuck was I thinking? I sure as shit wasn’t thinking with my big head. Yesterday wasalllittle head thinking. I didn’t consider the consequences of planning some half-cocked seduction, only that the ingenuity or the cuteness factor might get me laid again. If I’d thought about it properly, I might’ve realised I was running the risk of feeling like this again. Used. Not good enough. Because despite saying all was hunky-dory waking in an empty hotel room, I was still left with a sense I’d been dumped like a used cock sock—a used condom.
It gives the adage “treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen” a whole new meaning. I mean, I’ve never had that mindset with womenpersonally, but I can tell you it feels pretty shithouse being on the receiving end. The reverse psychology has totally worked on me because I feel like I need to see her again real soon. And what the fuck! I didn’t even get a full night out of it this time before she had me pulling up my jeans, saying her brother might walk in. She couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. So why am I so eager to get into her knickers again?
With a huff, I chuck my head back against the sofa, ignoring the itch in my fingers to pick up the phone. Until, what do you know, it rings.
‘How do you have my number?’
Nohello, noI’m just returning your call.Noaprès sexcoyness or seduction. All the same, I’m still smiling.
‘Magic.’
‘No, really,’ Chastity huffs.
‘I should’ve been called Mike,’ I say with a happy sigh. ‘Magic Flynn just doesn’t have the same ring to it.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Her words run together a little too easily, which makes me think she might’ve been drinking. ‘Something tells me you’ve got moves Mike couldn’t compete with.’
‘Was that a compliment?’ Alert the press!
‘It might be,’ she says, all teasing tone.She’s definitely been drinking. The only compliments she’s ever paid me were in the throes of sex.
‘Duchess, I’ve got moves you wouldn’t believe.’
‘I’m always suspicious when a man needs to blow his own horn...’
‘Have you met me?’ I say, pointing at my bare chest like she can see. ‘I don’t need to blow myself.’
‘You probably could if you tried.’ Her words are an equal weight of titillation and taunt.This woman.I find myself laughing, a deep burst of laughter springing from the depths of my chest.
‘Two compliments in one minute? Watch yourself, you’ll get a nosebleed.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ she says crisply, her tone all business. Chastity is the kind of woman who can cut you down from the knees with a look or a sharp word.I wonder if I’m turning into a bit of a masochist?It’s hard to reconcile her with the girl telling me she’s imagining me with my lips around my own dick.
Note to self: Find out her favourite tipple for next time we’re in touching distance. Tipsy chicks are fun.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ I respond. ‘I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.’
‘Are you going to ask me what I’m wearing? What colour lingerie I have on?’ Before I have a chance to protest or correct her, she carries on. ‘Pink. And lacy.’
I close my eyes and tip back my head, my mind going exactly to there.Pale pink . . . no, dusky. Same as her nipples.
‘Right, my turn.’
‘Sorry, duchess. While that was good to hear and imagine, it wasn’t what I wanted to ask.’
A frustrated noise rattles down the line before she adds, ‘Oh, go on, then.’
‘On a scale ofsmashedtojust tipsy enough to legally consent to me coming around and fucking you senseless,exactly how drunk are you?’
‘The latter.’
