Page 75 of Gold Rush

One hand circles both of my wrists, pinning them behind my back. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” I whine.

Flynn smirks. “Not very polite, Florence.”

I’m too overwhelmed to correct his use of my first name.

I roll my hips into his. “I need more.”

“I know.” He nips at my collarbone. “You’ll get what I give you.” His tongue trails a lazy, wet line down my chest. “What’s your favorite position?”

“Uh …” My brain is blank. Not only because his mouth is close to my boobs again, but because I have no clue of the answer. “Under?”

“Facing down or up? Legs in the air?”

“I’ve never … just, like, normal missionary.”

“That’s your favorite? Or that’s the only position you’ve tried?”

“Um …”

Lust is starting to fade like a soda going flat. The more I try to hold on to the fizziness, the faster it fades. I’m in my living room, in the middle of the night, on the lap of a guy who has probably tried every position ever invented. A guy who is best friends with my cousin, so I’ll have to see him long after this strange arrangement ends. I’ll have to wonder if he’s thinking about this embarrassing moment, realizing I’m as vanilla as everyone says.

I try to pull my hands free so I can scramble away, but his grip is tight.

“Let go,” I snap.

“Answer the question, and I will.”

“It’s—I’ve—” It’s easier to discuss this while I’m irritated with him. It’s closer to our old dynamic. “I’m—it feels better for me when we’re facing each other. I’ve never come when the guy is behind me.”

Flynn releases my wrists.

I don’t move. I’m still embarrassed, but it’s a bearable burn.

He says nothing, just stares at me.

“Was that … it?”

“Do you want that to be it?”

“No! I’m—” He waits, so I continue, “I want you to give me more.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want whatever you’ll give me.”

Flynn grins. “You’re a fast fucking learner, Rory Kensington.” He kisses me.

My entire body is tingling as I feel his tongue slide inside my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck. His hands slip under my ass, lifting me. Then we’re moving. I squeak with surprise as he carries me down the hallway. Flynn veers left, into his bedroom, then abruptly turns right and enters mine.

“Why’d you come in here instead?” I ask, twisting so I can see his face better.

Remorse flashes across Flynn’s face before he says, “Finch is asleep on my bed.”

I huff. “She would still be living in a shelter if not for me.”

“She just needs more time to get used to you.”