He kissed her skin, liking the way she unabashedly let him know with her body that she approved his every touch. He nibbled at her bottom rib, then pressed his cheek to her belly and settled his head down there. Exhaustion stole over him. They’d been at it like rabbits. Couldn’t help it, couldn’t get enough of her. She was like an untouched canvas that evolved into a beautiful picture with each stroke of his body. His muscles were as depleted as his dick. He looked past her generous cleavage to the two beautiful sea green eyes framed by the longest lashes he’d ever seen on a woman.
The impish grin produced a dimple in her right cheek he noticed for the first time. Here he thought he knew every inch of her body. He smiled back. It was easy with her. But as easy as it was to be with her, it was exhausting.
“You wore me out, Pink.” He closed his eyes, and as he drifted off to sleep, he felt a tremor pass through her. Tightening his arms around her as she stroked his hair soothingly, it occurred to him that for the first time in his life, he was actually sleeping with a woman.
“Rest up, Slick, I haven’t even started.”
He smiled against her skin and drifted off to sleep.
He woke with a start, unsure of his surroundings, but quickly registering where he was and why.
The sexy little furnace plastered to his chest made a soft sobbing sound that speared him straight in the gut. She mumbled something and then shook her head. Her fingers twitched against his arms. He looked down at her worried brow, then held his breath as a lone tear rolled down her cheek. He touched his fingertip to it, catching it before it fell onto his chest. The warmth surprised him. Unthinking he pressed it to his lips, the saltiness of her tear jabbing at the high walls he had surrounded himself with for so long he’d forgotten why or when they’d gone up. They had protected him not only from himself but from disappointing those he could come to love.
The fact of the matter was that the thought of committing to one woman terrified him. He didn’t want a divorce. He didn’t want to have children and wake up one morning only to realize that their mother no longer interested him. He didn’t want to stay in a loveless marriage for the kids’ sake. No matter how much he could come to dislike his spouse, he’d never cheat. He’d learned that honor code from his paternal grandfather. A great man who taught Flynn the importance of patience and honoring your word. “A prolific dick doesn’t a man make,” Pappy had told him. “Honor defines a man. Without honor, you are only half a man, and therefore no man at all.”
Earlier, when he realized the condom broke, a cold hard fear gripped him so completely he couldn’t breathe. Oddly, now that he had the time to think about it, something else had happened. His breath released with the realization he wanted children. Damn if the thought of having them with Pink didn’t intrigue him.
But she was a stripper. From what he remembered of the breed, strippers weren’t the maternal type. He looked down at the sleeping woman on his chest. He wasn’t naïve. She had been willing to drug him, make a video, and hand it over to a criminal to use against him, for what? To find her sister? He wanted to believe her. The cop part of him was always wary. More than that, he knew what her kind was capable of. He’d heard all the lies his father’s women had conjured to win his favor over another. Flynn trusted no woman. Had learned the hard way not to. If Pink was still angling to play him, he’d know it.
There was something completely contradictory to her stripper act. She had been a virgin. Was wholesome and fresh. Yet, she embraced her sensuality. He admired that aspect of her. Loved how she delighted in his touch and how it made her feel.
His mother would roll over in her grave if he brought Pink home. Exhaling loudly, Flynn clamped his hand over his eyes and shook his head. He never should have gotten in that cab with the little hellion. He sure as hell should have run as fast as his legs could carry him when he suspected she was a virgin. Even though she’d said she wasn’t. He’d believed her lie.
How the hell was that even possible? She was a stripper, for Christ’s sake. She’d flashed her tits to the men he worked with, many of them his friends. He had left the room so quickly, he didn’t know if any of the guys had gotten out of line and touched her. She moved like she’d been born to dance. Came on to him like he was the only man on earth. Had he been that easily set up? Blinded by lust. It had ruined his parents’ marriage. At least now he understood the power of it.
Flynn looked down at the pink-haired firecracker who had rocked his world all night long. If she was yanking his chain, he’d find out soon enough.
Early morning rays of sunlight filtered through the slatted blinds. The room was small, the full-size bed taking up most of it. The sheets had been clean, but now they were a rumpled, sexed mess. There was a battered white dresser that matched the nightstand. Flynn wasn’t sure if it was what people considered shabby chic or just really used. It wasn’t broken down. Colorful rag rugs covered the wooden floor. It was small, not his style, but it was clean, and suited Pink.
He caught sight of the long mirror that was propped up against the wall behind the closed door. Next to it was a brass coat tree with several colored wigs hanging off the hooks. He scowled. Hanging lower were several micro-sized bikinis. Possessive anger burned hot in his chest. The foreign emotion stunned him. He’d watched Jack get worked up when he thought Stevie and Flynn had been flirting. It wasn’t pretty. He’d watched his mother, the lovely socialite Diana, reduce herself to a miserable drunk because of her jealousy. Ultimately, the alcohol killed her. His sister Genevieve had gone from a beautiful, confident artist to a closet wino because her husband, like their father, brought his women home. Jealousy was as ugly as it was debilitating.
He needed out of here.
As if sensing his flight intent, the woman in his arms stirred, her hand sliding down his belly and with that his dick instantly stirred.
“Son of a bitch,” he cursed.
“Mmm, that’s not a nice thing to say,” her sleepy voice said. Her breath rushed across his chest as her hand moved lower. He grabbed it just before she brushed the head of his now raging hard-on.
She propped up on her elbows and blinked back the sleep from her eyes. Her full, kiss-swollen lips pouted in such a way he wanted to ravish them. Her pink and blond hair was a wild halo around her pretty face. Free of makeup, her youth and innocence hit him hard. Shit, she looked like a teenager. Had she lied to him about her age, too?
“How old are you?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Twenty-four. Why?”
“You look like jailbait.”
“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”
“I want the truth, was I really your first or did you somehow pull one over on me?”
Her body stiffened and he knew by the hurt in her eyes that not only had he been her first, but he had just insulted her.
She slid off the bed and grabbed a silky green wrap of some sort from the top drawer of her dresser. As she tied the sash around her waist, she looked hard at him and said, “You can leave now.”
Two minutes ago it was all he’d wanted, but now– “I’m not going anywhere.” He snatched her phone from the nightstand and quickly removed the SIM card.
“Hey, that’s mine!” She lunged at him, trying to grab the card from his hand. He pulled her toward him and rolled her over on the bed, and grasping her hands with one hand, he pressed his hips against hers as he opened his wallet with his free hand and slipped the card in. Then he took the wallet and slid it between the mattress and the box spring.
“You have no right taking that! I can’t afford another SIM card!”
He turned his attention back to her. His gaze swept the length of her. The little robe gaped open, exposing her luscious tits, and taut belly. He was a sucker for those tits. He dropped his nose to her neck and inhaled her. “I swear to God, you make me fucking crazy.”