I am putty in Flynn’s hands. I can’t seem to keep us on track. And when he touches me like this, I don’t want to stay on track. Flynn is inside me and it feels oh, so good. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, in deeper.
He lets out a feral growl and leans me back on the table. I’m vaguely aware that I’m having sex on my research. But again, I can’t seem to care enough to do something about it.
He leans over the table, one hand by my head, the other gripping my hip. He gives himself full rein, his body pistoning in and out of me, each plunge inside me stealing my breath.
“So fucking good,” he grunts out. “Do you feel it? Do you feel me?”
“Yes.” I feel so much. Not just physically, but deep inside. It’s crazy. It’s scary. And I’m helpless against it.
“Come again, Lucy… Fuck… I want to feel you come.” His hand slides between our bodies, his fingers rubbing over my clit.
It’s like an electric shock, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through me. I arch off the table and cry out.
“Yes!” Flynn cries out, his own pleasure overtaking him until he collapses over me. For a moment we stay there, catching our breaths. Finally, he straightens and extends his hand to help me up.
I slide off the table, adjusting my clothes. Flynn’s touch lingers on my skin, and I hate how easily he can derail my thoughts. One minute, I’m pressing him about what he knows about the Keans and the Ifrinns and the next, I’m spread naked on the table as he takes me.
‘You’re doing it again,’ I mutter, more to myself than him.
‘Doing what?’ His blue eyes sparkle with that infuriating mix of charm and mystery.
‘Distracting me when I ask important questions.’ I gather my scattered papers, trying to focus on the investigation rather than the way his muscles move as he pulls his shirt back on. But that’s the problem with Flynn Tine. Everything about him is a distraction.
‘I should be treating you like any other source. Getting information, following leads, staying objective.’
‘But?’
‘But I can’t seem to think straight around you.’ The admission costs me, especially when his expression softens.
Flynn steps closer, and I force myself to hold my ground. ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.’
‘It is when I’m trying to break a story and you keep’ —I wave my hand between us— ‘doing this.’
The truth is, I’ve never felt this kind of magnetic pull toward anyone before. It’s more than physical attraction, though there’s plenty of that.
But I have to fight against it if I want my story. Flynn’s reaction to my research nags at me. The darkness and maybe pain that crossed his face when I gave him the list of names of the deceased in the Ifrinn fire, it wasn’t the response of a detached investigator.
Before I can pursue my suspicions further, Flynn’s arms sweep under me. My breath catches as he lifts me effortlessly, like I weigh nothing.
‘What are you doing?’ My voice comes out breathier than intended.
‘Taking you to bed.’ The rumble in his chest vibrates through me where I’m pressed against him. ‘Unless you object?’
I should object. I should demand answers about his past, about his real connection to this case. But I’ve never been swept off my feet and it turns out, I like it.
So my fingers curl into his shirt, and my head tucks naturally into the crook of his neck. ‘This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ His lips brush my temple, and the sweetness pulls me deeper into him. Every protective instinct screams that I’m falling too hard, too fast for someone who clearly has secrets. But the way he holds me, like I’m precious, the center of his world… how can I resist that?
He nudges my bedroom door open with his foot, and anticipation coils low in my belly. I’m already aching for him again, despite having just had him on the table. It’s maddening how easily he can switch my brain from investigation mode to sex.
‘Flynn,’ I breathe, not sure whether I’m protesting or pleading.
His grip tightens fractionally. ‘Yes, Lucy?’
The way he says my name, dark and possessive, scrambles whatever coherent thought I was trying to form.
“What are you doing to me?”
“I’m going to start by getting you naked again.” He sets me by the bed.
“I don’t mean that.”
He stops and stares at me. “You’ve got it wrong. It’s you who is doing something to me.”
I don’t see it, but he’s kissing me now, and I don’t want to think about how this could turn out badly. All I want to do is feel.
His hands and lips discover every inch of my body until I’m writhing and whimpering, then coming apart. He quickly follows.
I lay curled against Flynn’s chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. Our legs tangle in the sheets, and his fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. This feels different from our previous encounters, slower, more tender, the desperate urgency replaced by something deeper. I wonder if he feels it too or if I’m being silly.
“I’m not complaining, but why do you always seduce me when I’m trying to get answers?”
He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. ‘I need you to be safe.” There’s something raw in his voice, and I wonder how hiding information from me keeps me safe.
I trace the lines of a tattoo on his chest, wondering about its meaning, about all the stories written on his skin that he hasn’t shared. ‘Will you ever tell me who you really are?’
His muscles tense slightly under my fingertips. Instead of answering, he tips my chin up and kisses me with such tenderness my heart threatens to burst.
When he pulls back, I’m breathless again. ‘Flynn…’
‘Shh.’ He strokes my cheek, and I lean into his touch. ‘Just stay here with me. Like this.’
‘I want to know you better,’ I whisper. ‘Not just physically. I mean really know you.’
‘I know you,’ he says, his voice rough. His hand slides down my bare back, leaving trails of heat. ‘I know how your breath catches when I touch you here.’ His fingers ghost across my ribs. ‘I know the sounds you make when you’re close.’ He presses a kiss to my neck. ‘I know every inch of your body.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’ But I can’t help arching into his touch. ‘Though I can’t deny you’re very… thorough in that department.’
His answering chuckle vibrates through his chest where I’m pressed against him. ‘Is that a complaint?’
‘Definitely not.’ I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him properly. In the shadows, his blue eyes seem darker, more intense. ‘But there’s so much more to you than this. I feel it every time we’re together. Like you’re holding part of yourself back.’
I trace the outline of a particularly intricate tattoo on his bicep. ‘Tell me about your family.’
Flynn’s muscles tense under my fingertips. ‘Not much to tell.’
‘Everyone has a story.’ I press gently. ‘Are you from Boston?’
‘Yes.’ His voice turns clipped.
‘Brothers? Sisters?’
A shadow crosses his face. ‘Brothers.’
‘Are you close?’
‘Very.’ His thumb strokes my hip in a way that threatens to derail my thoughts. ‘What about you? Tell me about growing up in… where was it?’
‘Maine. Small town near Portland.’ I recognize his deflection but decide to play along. Maybe if I share first, he’ll open up. ‘Me and my sister Kate, and Mom and Dad. Pretty normal family.’
“Are you close?”
“Yes. My sister is super protective. You should have heard her lecture when I told her about the alley incident and the strange man who brought me to his home and tended my wound.’
‘Smart woman.’
‘Yeah. She thinks I’m crazy for pursuing this story.’ I glance up at him. ‘What do your brothers think about your undercover work?’
His jaw tightens. ‘They understand what needs to be done.’
‘And your parents?’
Flynn shifts, his body language screaming discomfort. ‘They’re not in the picture anymore.’
The pain in his voice stops me from pushing further, but my reporter’s instincts are firing. There’s something about the way he talks about his family. Like there’s loss and pain that have left scars. Were they victims of the Keans too?
His hands slide over my body again. His lips wrap around my nipple and suck.
‘You’re impossible, you know that?’ But I don’t push him away. ‘Every time I try to get to know you, you…’
His breath blows on my nipple, making it ache. ‘I what?’
‘You do that.’ I fight to keep my thoughts coherent as his touch sends shivers through me. ‘Use physical attraction to distract me.’
‘Is it working?’ His voice drops lower, rougher, and heat pools in my belly.
‘Yes,’ I admit, frustration warring with desire. ‘But that doesn’t make it fair.’
Flynn rolls us suddenly, pinning me beneath him. His weight feels delicious, and I can’t help arching up against him. His lips brush my neck, and rational thought starts slipping away.
‘Life isn’t fair, Lucy.’ He nips at my pulse point, making me gasp. ‘But this…’ His hand slides under my back and holds me close. ‘This is real.’
I want to argue, to demand the answers he keeps dancing around. But then his mouth finds mine, and the kiss is so passionate, so consuming, that I forget what I was going to say. My fingers tangle in his hair as he deepens the kiss, and I lose myself in the physical connection we share.
I melt into Flynn’s touch. ‘You drive me crazy,’ I whisper against his lips, torn between desire and frustration.
“Let me help you with that.”
Our bodies move together with increasing urgency. Flynn’s hands seem to know exactly where to touch, how to make me gasp and shiver. I lose myself in the sensation, in the safety of his arms, in the way he makes everything else disappear. We come together, our cries of release echoing through my room.
After, I curl against his chest, spent and satisfied, again. His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath my ear. Sleep tugs at my consciousness, but my mind won’t fully let go. Flynn’s steady breathing beside me should be soothing, yet questions swirl through my foggy thoughts. The way he tensed when I mentioned family. His careful deflections. The darkness that crosses his face at certain topics. Even his protectiveness feels deeper than it should for someone I’ve known for such a short time.
My journalist’s instincts whisper that there’s more to Flynn than he’s showing me. I will figure you out, I think but don’t say. Whatever he’s hiding, whoever he really is, I’ll find out.
But even as the inquisitive side of me commits to learning his secrets, another part of me feels guilt. I should respect his need for privacy. We haven’t been at this very long. Perhaps he just needs time.
Except, I can’t help but feel what he’s hiding isn’t about feeling safe enough to tell me. It feels like a secret he never plans to reveal.
As consciousness slips away, I make a silent promise to myself. I’ll uncover the truth about Flynn Tine, about his connection to my investigation, about everything he’s keeping from me. Not because I want to expose him, but because I’m falling for him and I need to know who he is. I just hope when I learn the truth, it doesn’t change who I know him to be. That it doesn’t ruin everything.
