What is he thinking? He can’t possibly want to have sex when there isn’t a spot on his body that doesn’t hurt.
‘You’re thinking too hard,’ Flynn murmurs against my lips.
‘Someone has to.’ I try to sound stern but can’t help smiling.
“No one needs to be thinking now.” His blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes all rational thought vanish. It’s crazy, his effect on me. I’ve always prided myself on being independent, focused solely on my career and getting the next big story. But Flynn’s presence makes me feel safe, protected, something I apparently crave to feel.
‘You know this is probably a terrible idea.’ I gesture between us, wanting to be clear that I’m not just talking about sex.
‘Most of my ideas are.’ His hand slides up my belly, just below my breast. ‘Hasn’t stopped them from working out so far.’
I laugh despite myself. ‘Is that supposed to be reassuring?’
‘Is it working?’
The playful glint in his eyes makes me want to throw caution to the wind. To live in the moment. I’ve dated plenty of nice, safe guys, the kind my sister would approve of. None of them made me feel this alive, this seen. Even bruised and battered, Flynn radiates a dangerous sort of charm that draws me in.
‘Maybe.’ I try to sound noncommittal, but the way his lips curve tells me he sees right through me.
He holds me closer, his lips capturing mine again. Helpless. That’s what I am.
“Flynn, you’re in pain—”
“Only when you don’t kiss me.” His voice is rough with desire as he tugs my shirt over my head.
“You should rest,” I say, but only half-heartedly.
“I can rest when I’m dead.” He tugs his shirt off, and my hands immediately trace the tattoos covering his chest, fascinated by the intricate designs. He watches me with hooded eyes, his breathing growing heavier.
“I need you’ he growls, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my neck.
My back arches as his teeth graze my collarbone. ‘Flynn…’
His hands make quick work of our remaining clothes. The raw possession in his touch sets my skin on fire. Every brush of his fingers, every kiss marks me as his.
‘Mine,’ he breathes against my ear as he pushes inside me. God, he feels so good inside me. But then I remember…
“Flynn… protection…” My words come out in gasps as he moves inside me.
He stills. “Fuck… I didn’t think…” But he doesn’t withdraw. Instead, his hand holds my chin. “You feel so good, Lucy. I’ll pull out before I come. Okay?”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, warning bells are clanging. “Okay.”
He kisses me again, at first tenderly, so tenderly my heart swells with emotion. But then he turns up the heat and begins to move. I dig my nails into his shoulders as he sets a punishing pace. He lifts his head. Intensity in his blue eyes pins me in place as much as his body does. This connection between us feels like gravity pulling us together no matter how much I try to resist.
His movements grow more urgent, desperate. “Come, Lucy… I need to feel you come.” He lifts my thigh, opening me up as he drives in again, finding that one perfect spot. Stars explode behind my eyes. I cry out his name as pleasure crashes through me.
“Yes… Lucy… fuck…”
Just as my orgasm starts to subside, he withdraws from me. He quickly gets on his knees between my thighs and holds his dick over me. I watch in fascination as he strokes himself. His dick is wet from my juices, and long and hard. Without thinking, I sit up, bringing my mouth to it.
“Ah, fuck…” He gasps, pushing his tip into my mouth. I taste myself, and a moment later, I taste him, thick and salty. “Yes… yes…” He lets out a feral growl as his cum fills my mouth, drips from the edges of my lips.
He sags back on his heels and gives me a satisfied grin. “Works better than pain pills every time.”
“You’re—”
“Impossible. I know.” He lies down, wincing as he settles in next to me. “Stay.” It’s his last word to me as sleep overcomes him. I watch Flynn’s chest rise and fall. His face looks younger in sleep, the hard edges softened.
My fingers hover over the bruise blooming across his ribs. Even unconscious, he radiates heat like a furnace. The urge to curl into that warmth, to let him wrap me in his protective embrace, hits me hard. It isn’t just a physical attraction. I’m falling for him.
I always thought falling in love was a sweet surrender, but that’s not what I feel now. No, my feeling is closer to panic. I can’t afford feelings. Not with someone whose life revolves around danger, whose work is mysterious. Is he even from here?
No, I need to stay focused on my career, on breaking this story. But the way he looks at me, like I’m something precious he needs to protect… The possessive edge to his touch that should frighten me but instead makes me feel cherished… I want that.
Flynn shifts in his sleep, his arm reaching for me. Even unconscious, he seeks me out. The gesture makes my heart ache.
I need to get out of here, but I don’t move. Instead, I watch him sleep and try to ignore how right it feels to be here beside him.
I sigh, knowing that these warring feelings aren’t new to this moment. The minute I saw that mountain of a man enter the ring and clock Flynn, I knew my feelings for him were more than just friendly. Next to Flynn’s lean frame, his opponent looked like a grizzly bear ready to maul its prey, and I was terrified for him.
I tried warning someone, anyone, about how dangerous that fight looked. The referee, if you could call him that, just laughed when I expressed concern about the size difference. ‘That’s what makes it interesting, sweetheart,’ he’d sneered, looking me up and down like I were some squeamish girl who’d wandered in by mistake.
Even the other spectators brushed me off. ‘Your boy signed up for it,’ one woman told me with an eye roll. ‘Nobody forced him.’
‘He can handle himself,’ another man had drawled, clearly amused by my distress. As if Flynn’s being capable somehow made it okay to watch him get beaten half to death.
The frustration burns. I’m used to people dismissing me. It comes with being a female journalist in a male-dominated field. But this was different. This wasn’t about my career or my capabilities. This was about Flynn’s safety, and no one seemed to care.
The fear I felt helplessly watching him take blow after blow is seared into my bones. The crowd’s bloodthirsty cheers made me sick. They wanted violence. Wanted blood. Wanted to see someone break.
I’ve never understood people’s fascination with boxing. The blood, the violence, it all seems so senseless. Flynn is good at it, clearly, but it’s part of his job, his mission. That tells me whatever his job is, he’s used to danger, expected to walk into it even if he could be hurt or killed. Sure, this time, Flynn found the strength to fight and overcome his opponent, but there is no guarantee that next time he’ll stagger out on his own two feet, and I don’t know that I can live like that.
I study him, wondering when this stranger became someone whose pain affects me so deeply. How did I let myself care so much?
I slip out of bed while he sleeps, gathering my scattered clothes. I tug on my shirt, fighting the urge to crawl back into his warmth.
This has gone too far and I can’t let it go further. Yes, I’m being a coward to not face him and tell him this. I’m cruel to leave when he’s hoping to make pancakes in the morning. But I need to get myself together. To focus on my life… my safe, orderly life.
I’m a journalist. My job is to uncover the truth about the Keans, not fall for the mysterious undercover cop investigating them. Getting attached only makes everything more complicated, more risky.
Flynn shifts in his sleep, and I freeze. His face is peaceful despite the bruises. My heart aches at the sight. I want to trace the line of his jaw, kiss each mark left by tonight’s fight. The urge is so strong it scares me.
I grab my purse, moving silently toward the door. I tell myself it’s better this way. Safer. But even as I slip out into the night, I know I’m lying to myself. Distance won’t stop me from caring, won’t erase the way my pulse races when he looks at me or how safe I feel in his arms.
My uber arrives, and I slide into the backseat, forcing myself not to look back at his window. The further we drive, I expect my resolve to grow and common sense to return, but it all crumbles until I’m nearly telling the driver to take me back.
No. Distance is safer. Distance is smarter. I repeat it like a mantra even if my heart is saying something completely different.
I press my forehead against the cool window, watching Boston blur past. The Keans could kill me for asking the wrong questions. Flynn’s investigation could blow up in both our faces. There are a dozen ways this could end badly.
Somehow, losing my heart to him feels like the biggest danger of all.
