‘Do you remember the rest of that statement? I’m only interested in consulting with one thing.’
I remember all right. And that particular part of my anatomy remembers, too, as it begins pulsing. Because he’d said he wanted to consult with my pussy before proceeding to convene with it in the most intimate of ways. He gave me more orgasms that night than I thought were possible, and certainly more than I’d had in the previous six months. It’s like I’d been storing them just for him or something.
I clear my throat, not trusting myself to speak. Flynn Phillips is like a ninja at dirty talking and probably holds a bachelor’s degree in innuendo. And this is coming from someone who makes their living by thinking up sexy, barely there plots.
‘Invite me inside, duchess, and I’ll refresh your memory.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ I tighten my grip on the door even though my statement is only partially true because my body is all for letting him in.. . wherever. Wherever he’d like to go.
‘Paisley tells me you’ve got a killer coffee machine in there.’That accent. Kills. Me.‘Says she’s the only one who’s been able to work out how to use it.’
‘And that’s supposed to spur me to make a decision?’ I answer as I fold my arms. ‘To prove to you that I can master the coffee machine?’
‘You master a lot of things, including me,’ I think he says, but he speaks his words so quietly and quickly, I can’t be sure. He shrugs, then looks around, his hand rasping against the days’ stubble on his chin as he whispers an almost inaudible, ‘Fuck,’to join his other mumblings.‘Hold that for me, would you?’ he adds in a more normal tone, though just as quick, and he thrusts the helmet at me, forcing me to unfold my arms.
In the haste of the moment, I drop my keys into the bowl of the thing. And as my head comes up, I have neither the time to notice nor complain, not as Flynn takes my face in his hands to deliver the most perfect of kisses—sweet and soft but not without a delicious edge. The vibration of his groan as I open for his tongue brings my lust for this man from a simmer to a flame. But regretfully, it isn’t long before he pulls away and leaves me standing there, panting and almost without breath.
‘Put me out of my misery, Chastity. Let me in.’What am I doing here?I ask myself, even as I step to the side to allow him to pass.
I close the door, the majority of the light cutting out, and honestly, I’m still wondering what I’m doing—whathe’sdoing—as I set his helmet down on a stack of boxes in the hallway.
‘We’re just hanging out, shooting shit. No need to worry.’ His tone is mild as I turn to face him with my apparently questioning face. ‘Just like mates.’
I don’t for one minute think of us as friends, though it occurs to me he probably is the kind of person who makes a good friend. He’s quick to laugh and to make others join in, whether with him orathim, and his carefree nature is almost infectious and certainly good to be around.At least, when he’s not bugging the shit out of me.But something tells me Flynn Phillips isn’t all laughs and frippery. The man has substance to him, too.
But his is all moot as I’m not in the market for new friends, especially with him.Friends don’t fuck like we have. Like we... do?
‘But what are you doing here—here, exactly?’ I point at the industrial carpeted floor of the hallway. ‘How did you even know where to find me?’
‘I told you. Paisley.’ I find myself narrowing my gaze as I consider the conversation the pair seem to have had.What was said?‘You look like that worries you, duchess. Like you’ve got something to hide.’ Cue a further narrowing of my eyes and add to it a little bite of the tongue. Not that I think she’ll have spilled the beans on... on my broken bean.
Not Paisley. Not her. Not to him.
‘So this is where the magic happens,’ he says, turning to the entrance to the studio. Bracing his hands solidly on the frame, he gives me his strong profile and not the bruised side. Not that it’s a terrible sight, especially coupled with the darkened scruff of his stubble and his impeccable suit. He still looks sexy, though in a thoroughly disreputable way.
Flynn sticks his head into the studio, and before I can tell him to stop, he steps out of the hallway and into the room. What’s a girl to do but follow him?
I try to see the space like he might, wondering if it’s titillation he’s after, because if it is, he’ll be seriously disappointed. The most visible tell in the room is a small rack of hangers containing robes. There’s no St Andrew’s cross, no whips or chains, or exposed dildos. On one side of the room is a set that could be a bedroom in some trendy loft—exposed brickwork and a contemporary four-poster bed dressed in pale linens.Nothing salacious. Move along, there’s nothing her to see, folks.
‘Details right down to the specs and the beside lamp.’ He gestures to the nightstand, a hardback book lying open and splayed on the wood, a pair of feminine glasses folded next to it.
‘Women notice the small details.’ Yes, even when there’s a ten-inch penis involved.
‘I bet the drawer holds a treasure trove of naughty delights.’
I smile and shake my head. ‘Looks like someone’s been watching my stuff.’
‘Someone can’t take his eyes off your stuff.’ As though to reinforce the point, his gaze makes a slow perusal of my body, and I have to bite my lip to halt the stuttering release of my breath.
‘Sorry to disappoint,’ I add swiftly, steering the topic away. ‘The content of that particular treasure trove is currently being sterilised.’ Not really. We haven’t been filming that kind of scene today. I expect more questions—demands for particulars—when he turns away, moving to the other side of the large space housing an abandoned office set.
‘Naughty secretaries?’ he asks, casting a wicked glance over his shoulder, a look that makes me wonder what mischief this devil has in mind for my soul.
‘Something like that.’
‘And don’t you look the part today.’
‘So do you.’ The words are out of my mouth without thought.
