Fighting Shadows (On the Ropes #2)(55)

“Fuck,” she breathed, tilting her hips into mine.

“Close your eyes. We’re going to bed and I’m not risking another freak-out about the inside of my house. We’ll deal with that in the morning. Tonight, your only worry is how deep you can take my cock.”

“Jesus. Stop talking already.” She caught my mouth with her own.

“Not a problem. I can’t talk with my tongue occupied by that sweet *.”

“Flint.”

“And that’s just the first time you call my name tonight.” I stepped away from her and proffered an elbow. “Eyes closed.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, linking her arm through mine.

“Even. Better.” I laughed.





FLINT’S FOUR-BEAT STRIDES LED ME blindly through his house. I heard him close a sliding door, and some sort of hard surface, which I immediately recognized wasn’t carpeted, welcomed my feet. I wanted to open my eyes and take in every nook and cranny of where Flint dwelled, but he was right. It would have done me no good. In the weeds on the side of his house, he had managed to convince me that I belonged with him—that I deserved him, even. But convincing and believing were two separate issues. However, I was more than happy to ignore that for a night spent in his arms.

“Okay. Open them,” Flint said after a door clicked behind us.

I peeked my eyes open, and a simple, clean bedroom lay in front of me. Everything was neat, and bookshelves lined the walls. I felt at ease. While everything was a hell of a lot nicer, the room was reminiscent of his old apartment.

I glanced over my shoulder to find him warily watching me—purposely positioned in front of the door.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I really am.” I smiled, and he let out a relieved breath. “Can I . . . um . . . use your bathroom to . . . maybe freshen up?”

Using his crutch, he pointed to a closed door adjacent to his bed.

“Thanks.” I walked away.

Flint called out from behind me, “Don’t get too excited. There’s no window in that bathroom.”

“Ha. Ha,” I deadpanned, closing and locking the door behind me.

I looked around his modest bathroom. It had a large garden tub with a glass stall shower at the foot, complete with a glass bench inside. The double vanity made me smile, and I was so much more than pleased to find that the stone countertop was faux.

I took a deep, calming breath.

Then freaked the f*ck out.

“Shit shit shit!” I started rummaging through his drawers. I need a shower, razor, and toothbrush—stat. I was about to have sex with Flint Page and I had spent the morning sweating my ass off on breakfast deliveries.

I knew for a fact that my legs weren’t clean-shaven, and I had never had sex, but I knew that men liked a smooth palette to work with in the lady regions as well. The electric trimmer resting next to the sink explained how he kept that sexy stubble so neat, but it did me little good. After starting the shower, I continued my search until I found his linen closet, where I hit the ultimate jackpot. Towels, razors, and shaving cream were all meticulously organized, complete with printed labels to assign their location.

God, he’s anal.

I suppressed my smile, nabbing the necessities, including his toothbrush, off the counter and got in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out a new woman—or at least a clean and hairless version of one. I would have given anything for some sexy lingerie or, at the bare minimum, a clean bra and panties, but my two small bags were still in Flint’s SUV. Really, what was the point though? He had made it more than clear that they would be coming off—a fact that excited me.

After finger-combing my long locks, I wrapped myself in one of his plush, white towels and took one last glance in the mirror.

I should have been nervous.

I wasn’t.

I was ecstatic.

Once I’d allowed myself a final silent schoolgirl scream, I collected myself and headed out to him.

“I told you there wasn’t a window,” he joked.

He was lounging on the far side of the bed, shirtless, and judging by the way the covers showed off the sculpted muscles just above his hips, he was pantsless as well. His hair was no longer styled but rather appeared to still be damp. A book sat in his lap, and a sexy smirk played on his lips.

I wasn’t nervous at all—regardless of the way my heart began to race.

“Well, aren’t you presumptuous. Showered and naked,” I quipped.

“I could say the same to you.” He winked. “Drop the towel, Ash,” he ordered, closing the book and setting it on his nightstand.

Mayday! Mayday! I lied. Totally nervous!

“Um . . .” I stalled, but it was only for a second.

I had wanted this with Flint since the day I’d first laid eyes on him. Nerves had stopped me the first time all of those years earlier, but I wouldn’t allow that to happen again.

So, while staring into the bright-blue eyes that had haunted me, I brazenly released the towel.

“Fucking hell.” His gaze raked over me from head to toe then back again.

I sauntered to the foot of the bed. “Sooo . . . I owe you a razor.”

I leaned down on my hands and began to prowl up toward him, but I didn’t make it very far. As soon as I got within arm’s reach, he grabbed my shoulders and dragged me on top of him. Then his mouth slammed over mine and a hand thrust into my wet hair.