The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2)(17)

“My mind…it keeps running and running like it’s Usain Bolt or something,” I ramble, because, well, why not? It’s not like Flynn hasn’t caught on to the reality of my manic mental state. I mean, I was like this before he married me. You know, when I hopped onto his bike without even knowing his first name. “Big night, huh?” I question, even though I know the odds of him answering are slim to none. “Lots of shifting life parts or whatever.” I stick a fist in the air and do some kind of weird cheer thing, and that’s when he moves. Up and out of his chair, he comes toward me, stalking almost, his walk is such a prowl.

My back hits the counter as I try to work my way through the concrete, but it’s no use. Between one breath and the next, his front is six inches from mine, and I can’t seem to keep any air in my lungs.

“You’re worked up,” he says, his big hands tenderly running a path up my arms and knocking my equilibrium right off planet Earth and catapulting it straight to flipping Mars.

All I can do is nod.

“Too worked up.”

I nod again.

“You know what I think you need?”

“A tranquilizer dart to the neck?”

He smirks, shakes his head, and his hands go to my hips. My mouth gapes, and before I know it, I’m two feet to the left and my bare ass is on the cold stone of his counter and a rush of pent-up frustration floods between my legs.

Hell’s bells, why am I so turned on right now?

“You can’t seem to calm down, and in order to sleep—which I haven’t been able to do in two fucking nights thanks to babysitting my drunken brigade of brothers—I need you to.” His voice rumbles and rasps in the most delicious way, like it’s my own personal ASMR soundtrack, only suited to what triggers my desires. “So, I’m thinking the only way to make that happen is to fuck the anxiety right out of you.”

Time halts and my ears bleed—and my soul? Well, I’m pretty sure it just up and leaves my body.

Holy shiiit. Is this happening right now?

Please, please, please say this is happening right now.





Flynn

“Do you think I’m right, Daisy?” I ask her. “Do you think you need me to fuck the anxiety right out of you?”

She nods, and the way her green eyes blaze makes my cock grow hard beneath my zipper.

Fuck me.

Daisy gasps as I cover the flesh of her bare ass with my hands and pull her closer to the edge of the counter. With pressure on the insides of her knees, I spread her legs apart to the point at which I know she’s on the brink of pain and grab a handful of those sexy goddamn curls to pull her head back and expose her throat.

“Do you want this? Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

A long, purring moan rolls out of her mouth, and her eyes flash with both surprise and arousal.

I seal my lips to the skin of her neck and suck, the sweet perfume of her body making the tip of my nose tingle. It’s been several months since I’ve had sex, but it’s not been from lack of opportunity.

Truthfully, I’ve been bored—unexcited—and if there’s one thing about me that’s absolute, it’s that I don’t ever do anything with the intention of going through the motions. Sex without pleasure, words without meaning, friendship without life enrichment—it’s all frivolous. I don’t need pointless fucking, and I don’t need pointless people. Period.

That said, I don’t have to be in love either—quite the contrary. All I need is the thrill of a partner who’s willing to push the limits with me. Someone who’s interested in doing more than lying back and spreading their legs. Someone who’s open to being pleased and eager to please me in return.

And if there’s anything I’ve surmised about Daisy Diaz in the last four hours, it’s that she’s extremely eager to please.

Her knees rise up, skimming my sides and tucking into the flesh just above the bones of my hips. Her core gyrates toward me, and her tension increases. Her body bows with each breath, suggesting she’s all too eager to get my cock inside her dainty little cunt.

I push her knees wide again and sink down to the floor, and the direct view I get of her bare pussy is enough to make my cock jump inside my jeans. She smells sweet, and I can tell without even touching her that she’s making my counter wet.

“I’m going to tongue you so deep, I’ll remember the taste of you every time I eat in this kitchen.”

Her fingernails dig into the muscles of my shoulders through the thin material of my T-shirt, and my cock swells some more. If she got off on that, this is going to be good.

“Lie back,” I instruct, reaching up with a flat hand to press on the center of her chest. She acquiesces immediately, and the new position makes it that much easier to get her legs as wide as they’ll go and anchor her heels into the cool concrete counter.

Her breathing is heavy, her whole body shaking, but for the first time since I met her this afternoon, she’s quiet. And it’s not because she’s scared—I can tell by the glisten on my finger as I run it around the rim of her pussy—she’s excited.

I skim my finger over her clit, eliciting a moan and a jerk of her hips, and then suck the juice off the surface of her pussy. She tastes like a cherry popsicle on a hot summer day. Fuck.

Easing her open, I push one finger inside, and the squeeze of her around me is enough to make me sink my teeth into the flesh of my bottom lip. It’s a stretch, so I go gently, but adding a second finger to the first is as sweet as I imagine.