Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
He continued more carefully, taking his sweet damned time and watching my eyes to make sure I was okay. When he was finally fully seated inside me, I wrapped my arms and legs around him and held him tight.
“Flynn,” he breathed against the side of my face. “Holy fuck.”
He pulled out, resisting my hold and lighting up my channel until I threw my head back and arched my body toward him with a cry. From the moment my voice hit the air, he was almost out of control, pounding me into the bed the way he’d originally promised, grunting commands for me to take it, to like it, to hold on and not come yet.
His words made me crazy, made me want to explode. Made me want to cry with the rightness of them… and run from their overwhelming intensity. But it was what he said after we both came in a screaming rush that terrified me most.
We lay in a sweaty, panting heap while trying to catch our breaths. When he finally grabbed the condom to pull out of me, I winced.
He shot me a look of apology that turned tender the minute his eyes landed on my face. And then he reached out and brushed the damp hair off my forehead with his fingertips.
“Wait here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”
He didn’t stick around for a response… which was good because I didn’t have one.
Sweetheart?
Let me take care of you?
He shuttled down the staircase ladder and found the bathroom, turning on faucets and moving around to clean himself up while he whistled a low tune.
I stared at the top of the stairs with an open mouth. What the fuck had just happened? I was still processing when JT returned to the loft with a damp cloth.
“Uh… thanks,” I said, reaching for it.
He batted my hand away and cleaned me with gentle, efficient movements, then flung the cloth toward the stairs and pressed an affectionate kiss to my nose.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “You probably need to…”
He moved his lips down and shut me up with a soft kiss, then moved me under the sheet and slid in next to me.
“Flynn?”
“Y-yeah?”
“What did I say about thinking?” he muttered. “Cut that shit out. You promised. Now, go to sleep.”
He arranged me into a spoon position against him and tucked his face into the curve of my shoulder.
I let out a deep breath.
Sleep? With Frog Wellbridge in my bed? Ha. Easy for him to say. JT made me feel many things, but relaxed had never been one.
I yawned hugely. He’ll probably get bored soon and go home.
My tired eyes slid shut, and I allowed myself to relax into him, too worn out to do anything else. Might as well enjoy his arms around me for a few minutes.
It was the last thought I had until morning.
Chapter Nine
JT
Spending the night in Flynn Honeycutt’s bed was one revelation after another.
Revelation number one: Flynn was a snuggler.
The man was pricklier than a cactus and spent way too many hours of the day killing his own joy by overthinking, so I never would have imagined that he’d tolerate being held for long. But two minutes after I’d wrapped my arms around him, he’d dropped into sleep like a stone into a pond. He’d rolled with me in the night, too, keeping our connection, like once his body was sated and pliant and his brain shut off, he could finally let himself have what he needed.
Which led me to my second revelation.
Carly from the Premiere Sleep Shoppe at Lexington and Twenty-Third had steered me wrong. The secret to a good night’s sleep was not, in fact, the plush topper and premium king-sized mattress she’d talked me into. It turned out, squeezing onto a smallish mattress filled with organic oat hulls in an un-airconditioned loft in the height of a humid Maine summer while a gorgeous man nearly as large, broad, and hot-blooded as me drooled into my chest hair and made my left arm go numb was the true key to a good night’s sleep…
As long as the drooler was Flynn Honeycutt.
I brushed back a lock of his dark hair with the back of my finger and stared down at his face. The pinkish dawn light highlighted a faint spray of freckles on his cheeks and gilded his morning scruff. The acres of his smooth skin—paler across his back and shoulders, deeper gold where the sun had tanned him—were slightly bruised from my mouth and fingers and reddened from beard burn, and every mark felt like a victory. A visible reminder that Flynn wanted me, too.
He should always look this way.
I traced my finger down his hairline and over the curve of his ear, and Flynn’s forehead scrunched. His arm wrapped around my chest more firmly, and he burrowed into me like I was his own personal pillow before going boneless once more.