The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2)(75)

Though, tonight, she appears steadfast in not saying much. Not saying anything, really.

And that’s not sitting well with you.

But before I can decide if I should ask more questions and try to figure out what has her in such an off mood, Daisy is out of the kitchen.

Damn, it appears she just wants some space. From you.

I turn back to the skillet and flip over the steaks, but the idea of eating right now isn’t holding the appeal it did ten minutes ago.

Stove off—and steaks most likely ruined—I set down my spatula and head into the living room where Daisy is sitting on the sofa with her laptop in her lap. Her fingers move across the keys in quick succession, and I decide right then and there she needs something to help take the edge off.

Whatever is causing that edge, I don’t know, and I’m hopeful she’ll eventually get around to telling me, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s to help my woman relax.

To make her feel good.

I grab the edge of the coffee table and slide it away from the couch. Daisy’s feet fall to the floor, and she looks up from her laptop screen in confusion.

“Don’t mind me, babe. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

She scrunches up her nose, but her eyes widen as she watches me get to my knees in front of her.

“Flynn…?”

“Like I said, don’t mind me. You keep working,” I tell her and place both of my hands on her thighs and spread them farther apart. I’m thrilled that she’s wearing a skirt and all it takes is my fingers sliding her panties to the side to reveal her gorgeous pussy. “In fact, ignore me completely.”

I dive right in, face between her legs, I latch my lips around her clit and gently suck.

Daisy’s hips jolt forward. “Flynn!” she exclaims, but for the first time since she got home, she also giggles. “You’re insane!”

After one long stroke of my tongue against her, I smack my lips in approval. “Yes, baby, I am insane for this sweet-as-fuck pussy of yours.”

And then, I get back to work. Sucking and licking and eating at her. Sliding my tongue inside her and feeling the way her walls clench around me.

I give her no mercy. I don’t hold back. And I enjoy every fucking second of her on my tongue.

She moans, and her laptop falls to the cushion beside her. And eventually, her fingers find their way into my hair, urging me to keep going.

“Good girl,” I whisper against her. “I want you to feel good. I want you to come hard on my tongue. Will you do that for me, Daisy? Will you let me make you come?”

“Y-yes. God, yes.”

Once her breaths become tiny pants of air and her legs begin to shake, I know that, in a matter of seconds, Daisy will fall off the cliff and straight into the pleasure abyss where all she can do is feel good. Where whatever had her so quiet and reserved when she got home this evening will no longer be weighing her down.

She doesn’t disappoint. She never disappoints.

Her moans turn raspy, sexy-as-hell, and just as she hits her peak, I look up to watch the way her full lips part, her cheeks flush, and her breasts heave up and down.

Fuck yes. That’s my wife.





Saturday, May 18th

Daisy

Eyes bleary and brain begging for coffee, I shuffle out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

After I came home last night, all stressed out and anxious and locked inside my own head, I was prepared to burrow myself into work that could’ve waited until Monday and just…I don’t know…ignore—more like, avoid—everything.

But the night took an unexpected turn.

A “Flynn’s head between my legs” kind of turn, and next thing I knew, we were naked, in bed, and I was giving my best impression of a rodeo queen while he was gripping my ass and whispering dirty things into my ear.

Sometimes, it feels like Flynn just intuitively knows when I need a distraction.

Because he does. Which begs the question, what are you going to do without him?

As I step into the kitchen, the soft sounds of classical music playing from the Bluetooth speakers fill my ears, and I find Flynn sitting at the table with a newspaper in his hands. And not the digital newspaper most people read from their phones, but the actual newspaper with real paper and ink.

I don’t know why, but there’s something so sexy about a man reading the newspaper. Especially when it’s Flynn and he’s wearing only a pair of boxer briefs.

Boxer briefs that give quite the show of the kind of heat he’s packing…

“You doing okay over there, babe?”

I blink past the fantasy fog and realize I’m just standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at him quite…crudely. Well, hell. Apparently, I’m a pervert.

Flynn quirks a questioning brow, and I bumble my way through an awkward nod, mumbling, “Mm-hmm,” as I head over to the coffeemaker.

“Coffee, huh? Seemed like you were headed in my direction.”

I glance over my shoulder and find him smiling at me in a way that makes me wonder if he has any clue how attractive he is.

Seriously. Why’s he gotta be so damn good-looking?

Hand to my hip, I turn around and face him with a cheeky grin. “Maybe I was. But now I’m thinking you should come over here.”

Flynn doesn’t hesitate to set down his newspaper, get out of his chair, and stride straight toward me. I’m in his arms between one beat of my heart and the next, and his lips move against mine, slowly provoking an ache to stir between my thighs.