Chapter 14
CHASTITY
‘Duchess, can I ask you something?’
‘Why won’t you go tosleep!’
It’s late, or early, depending on your perspective. The only light in the room is from the street lamp peeking through the plantation shutters at my window, the relative darkness barely concealing the fact that my bedroom is in disarray.London is never really dark. Not really.But the mess can wait until tomorrow because I’m comfortable. Sated. I may well have stocked up enough orgasms to get me through until the summer, courtesy of the man lying next to me. I’m on my front, naked but for the bedding tangled around my legs. Iachein all the right places, and I refuse to move. In fact, I don’t think I can. I’m exhausted and ignoring the fact that my clothes are strewn around the room—condom wrappers, too—and that a tray of food lies abandoned on the floor on the other side of the bed, and I’m not even sure I’ll get the fig juice stains out of my sheets. There a couple of sodden towels draped over my Kurt Olsen chair from our earlier shower. That would be our shower prompted by a messy food fight that devolved into a messy fuck. Flynn’s stomach had complained loudly from missing dinner, so after I reassured him that Max wouldn’t be around, he bounded naked downstairs to raid my fridge. His feet sounded on the stairs not ten minutes later before he reappeared in my bedroom—ta-da!—holding a laden tray including several slices of reheated pizza, a piece of Chevre, a small vine of red grapes, and a few figs. Plus a bottle of champagne but no glasses.
Essentially, we’d had a naked picnic in bed, while swilling champagne from the neck of a bottle like a couple of fancy louts. In a revisit to the theme of his arrival, Flynn insisted I give him a tip. Apparently, telling him not to eat yellow snow wasn’t what he was looking for, and neither was the fig I’d squashed to his lips when he said so.
Game on, apparently, and when he eventually strapped me to the bed, both of my wrists pressed in one of his hands above my head, he’d kissed me so sweetly—not just from the fig juice—and announced he’d givemethe tip instead.
And he did.
Just the tip.
Only the tip.
And nothing else.
Using his free hand, he’d held his cock, sliding it through my wetness, nudging my swollen clit. Nudging it. Petting it. Let’s call it what it is—torturing me with the frenulum and head. Making me watch him get himself off using my wetness and his fingertips.
The. Hottest. Thing.
And believe me, I’d know.
Leaving the spilt champagne and fruit pulp in my bed, we’d showered. And even that had led to sex. The man has more energy than my fully charged vibrator! I don’t think I’ll ever have a night like this again. He owned me body and soul.. . if only for a few hours. Owned me with his honeyed whispers, his threats, and his promises.All delivered tenfold.Pleasured me with his fingers and stubble, his cock and tongue.
Beside me, Flynntsks, an almost convincing reproving click of teeth and tongue. I lift my head and twist to peer at him, aware of what a mess I must look. A shower and no tending to my hair makes for tight spirals rather than soft curls.Think orphan Annie without the ginger.
‘What’s with the scowl?’ he asks, lips quirked in some semblance of a smile.
‘You’ve stopped tickling my back.’
Yep. Partway during the night, he’d discovered the one thing to make me completely submissive, the one thing apart from his cock, I mean, is light twirling fingers dancing along my back.
‘Because I wanted your attention.’
I try to gather the sheet from my legs to shield my modesty but give up.Too much effort.So I turn to face him. ‘There. What?’
‘Earlier, you said this thing. Actually, you kinda whimpered it. Cried. Called out.’ His eyes widen comically. ‘Come on, Chastity. You watch people fucking for work—you know I’m asking you why you say what you say when you come.’
‘I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,’ I answer evenly. ‘People cry out all kinds of strange stuff when they climax. Most of it nonsense.’
‘Your actors don’t.’
‘What?’ I pull my head back to better examine him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I might’ve subscribed,’ he answers with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder.
‘Oh. Well. That’s.. . odd. You’re not exactly our demographic.’
‘Nah, odd would be asking if you’ve got any jobs going. What’s with the funny face?’
‘Max, my brother, asked exactly that.’ But also, the thought of me watching Flynn—directing Flynn—having sex with someone else is enough to make me feel... weird. There’s a tightness in my stomach that doesn’t feel very nice. But unaware of my internal reactions, Flynn carries on.
‘No way! Watching your brother fuck would make you never want to bone again—make you want to boil your eyeballsandchop off your ears.’
