Page 74 of Gold Rush

“You looked on purpose.”

I don’t deny it this time. “Yeah, I did.”

We stare at each other.

I break eye contact first, glancing down at my silky tank top. “Can you really see …”

“Yep. Why do you think I wouldn’t let you talk to the cops? You would have been arrested for indecent exposure.”

Impossibly, my face burns hotter. “I-I had no idea. These pajamas are new.”

“I like them. Think about them a lot actually.” He reaches past me, thumb grazing my knee, grabbing the water glass I set down and taking a sip.

I squeeze my thighs tight together, trying to ease the throbbing there. And then think, Why? I’ve wondered what sex with Flynn would be like before. This awareness isn’t new; it’s just become impossible to ignore. I’m single. He’s single. Everyone thinks we’re together.

He watches me, tongue swiping to collect a water droplet on his lower lip before he sets the glass back down.

Take a risk.

“We could …”

Flynn rests his elbows on his knees. “We could what, Florence?”

I love and hate that he’s making me spell it out. He knows exactly what I’m trying to suggest. Yet he’s allowing me full control of where this conversation goes.

“We could have sex. While we’re doing the fake-dating thing. As long as …” I force myself to hold his gaze. “Would it, uh, bother you that it takes me a while to come?”

I can’t believe I just said that. I might as well have announced, I’m bad in bed. Want to fuck me anyway? But I already mentioned that tendency to him, and it’s not like he won’t notice.

“The only thing that would fucking bother me was if you tried to fake it. Sex isn’t for the guy to get off solo. If he came, you should have too.”

I’ve never been more attracted to someone. To him. Not just his face or his body, but his assured confidence. It doesn’t strike me as cocky. It makes me feel invincible, simply being in his orbit. Like we’re on the same team. Like we’re partners.

I grasp the hem of my tank top, lifting it inch by inch until the silky fabric blocks my view, then falls to the floor.

He looks. I want him to look, but it doesn’t make my being topless feel any less vulnerable.

Flynn reaches out, sliding his hands up my thighs. When they reach my hips, he tugs, pulling me onto the couch with him.

My knees land on either side of his legs, sinking into the soft cushion so I wind up straddling him. I can feel his cock, hot and thick and hard, directly between my thighs, rubbing exactly where I want him. His hands leave my hips once I’m on his lap. I can’t pull in a full breath as his palms pass over my ribs, moving closer to my breasts.

I’ve never been more aware of my own body, of my hammering pulse and rapid inhales as I audibly react to his touch. My inner muscles clench around nothing, wanting him inside me. My breasts feel heavy and full, the brush of air against my pebbled nipples practically intolerable.

He cups them, and I moan.

“Such pretty tits,” Flynn says, then sucks my left nipple in his mouth.

I gasp as his tongue circles the point. His teeth scrape sensitized skin. My hands slide into his hair, needing something to hold on to. Also attempting to ensure the erotic torture continues. He chuckles, the vibration fueling my impatience. I squirm on his lap, grinding against his erection. Desperate for more friction there. Everywhere.

His mouth moves to my other breast. Slowly, his tongue leaves a wet trail across the valley between my cleavage, like there’s no sense of urgency at all. If the evidence of his arousal wasn’t under me, I’d think he was entirely unaffected.

I’ve never been the impatient one. I’ve always encouraged foreplay, hoping it would make me come faster and avoid the letdown of leaving dissatisfied.

Is this Flynn proving a point, or is he always this attentive?

I banish the question immediately because the thought of Flynn doing this with other women bothers me a lot more than it ever has before.

I reach between our bodies, toward his waistband, so I can stroke him. Ridiculously eager about the prospect of seeing his penis again. At touching it. He’s bigger than any other guy I’ve been with. Skill matters more than size, in my experience, but I’m unconcerned Flynn lacks the former.