The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2)(18)

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself and your tight little cunt into, Daisy. But I’m sure as hell about to show you.”

“Oh my God,” she breathes, her legs shaking so hard you’d think Vegas was experiencing an earthquake. I run my hands up the length of her thighs firmly, settling them in their place again.

My dick throbs in my pants, and I know I can’t wait any longer to taste her again without breaking in half from the anticipation. With steady hands, I hold open the spread of her legs and put my mouth to her pussy. It spasms against my lips, inciting a pointed flick of my tongue at the entrance before dipping it inside to really drink her in. She’s soft and supple and every bit of the woman I imagined she’d be when I first wrote her off.

She’s immaculate—tidy—and used to a certain amount of restraint. Her back bows, and she scratches her hands at the top of my head, desperate to find purchase in the dark locks of my hair, though. And I know it’s because the way I’m eating her—the messy, voracious strokes of my tongue—is better than anything she’s ever felt before.

I suck and stroke and lap at her patiently until I’ve drunk every drop of come her pretty little pussy has to offer and make it give me more. It spasms and quakes with her orgasm, and the sound of her howl echoes off the walls of my kitchen like a boomerang. She’s as slick as silk, and my cock is going to love the feel of her around me.

Standing softly, I unbuckle my belt and undo the button of my pants. She’s motionless, the only indication that she’s still with me, the heave of her returning breath.

I realize that then I don’t have a condom. Ironically, I should’ve had the foresight to have one in my pocket to keep a drunken Ty out of trouble this weekend, but apparently I dropped the fucking ball.

My cock is pulsing, damn near purple from arousal, and Daisy is right here, with her thighs spread and her pussy wet with need.

Fuck.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“It’s fine,” she breathes out in a raspy, needy voice, but her eyes are still half closed. “I’m on the shot. I’m clean. And I haven’t had sex in, like, eleventy-billion years.”

Her commentary almost makes me laugh, but again, I’m so fucking hard right now, I could hammer nails.

A rational guy like me doesn’t have unprotected sex, but tonight, I don’t fucking know. I can’t stop looking at her, staring at how gorgeous and downright tempting she looks with her legs spread wide for me.

And you sure as shit can’t find the will to stop whatever is happening here.

“I’m clean too,” I tell her, and like a fucking masochistic psycho, I slide a finger inside her to remind myself of how damn good she feels.

“Then we’re all set.” A tiny moan escapes her lips, and she wiggles her hips closer to my hand. “It’s allllll good. All set to consummate,” she rambles, and it’s only then that she gathers enough strength to lift her head from the counter, her glazed-over eyes landing squarely on my girth. “Uh…wow…” She licks her lips. “Uh…you’re…”

“Big,” I finish for her. It’s not a brag or a flex or some stupid ego type of bullshit. It’s just a fact. To be honest, I’ve found it scares more women than it excites.

“How… Is that… Is it going to fit?”

“Oh yeah. I made sure your sweet little cunt would be ready for me.”

And just imagine how she’s going to feel wrapped around your cock…

Fuck.

I don’t miss the way she swallows hard, the bob of her throat visible even in the moonlit kitchen.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Her head stutters, but she ultimately nods. By the fifth or sixth bout up and down, it’s much more resolute. “Yes. I-I want you, Flynn. I need to know what you feel like.”

Fuck it. I can’t hold back. I have to be inside her, too.

Her words hit like a buzz, sending my mind into a tailspin of naughty—really fucking dirty thoughts. If she wants to know what I feel like, I’m going to make sure her pussy walls remember every goddamn stroke like I’ve written them in braille.





Sunday, April 7th

Daisy

I pull open the bedroom door—Flynn’s bedroom door—to the hallway, my clothes back in place thanks to a stealth mission at the crack of dawn and Flynn’s folded T-shirt in my arms, and head for the kitchen. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the door, working up the nerve to come outside and face everything I did last night in the light of day, but it’s bordering on way too long.

His bed. The walls. The black chair in the corner in front of the closet. They all know things. Things I’m not even sure I knew about myself before Flynn opened up an erotic portal to a place I’ve never been before.

Sweet land of the living, the man is…well-informed about the female body. He knew all the spots, all the buttons to push. I swear, if I weren’t sure it would make me sound entirely crazy, I’d consider asking him if he went 50/50 with God on all the details of the clitoris.

Deep breaths in and out, over and over again, I straighten my spine and force myself to walk toward the kitchen with my head held high. I’m a strong, independent woman. So what if I had insanely hot—condomless—sex last night with my husband who isn’t really my husband but a conduit in helping me get a green card. It’s no big deal.