Page 96 of Praised
His cock slipped free with an unsavory squelching noise, and we both winced at the loss. Flynn flopped onto his back beside me, rolling the condom off before tossing it onto the floor. I ached from where he’d been, but I didn’t stop myself from reaching down to touch the tender puffiness from where we’d been previously joined.
“And now you are?” he asked.
I turned onto my side and quietly studied his face. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes followed mine as they scanned across his features. From the faint lines around his eyes to the stubble across his jaw, and the smallest dimple in his chin, to his mouth…
His mouth.
I leaned in and slanted our mouths together, kissing the taste of my release and our sleep out of his mouth. The whole while, Flynn stroked his hands down my side, down my chest, using his body and his sounds to offer all the praise that he normally gave me with words.
I found it to be a completely different sort of experience, one that I could definitely find myself getting used to in the future. And what a surprise was that? Me getting used to a man like Flynn. To a life like this.
I kissed him until I was certain he knew the answer to the question, but the urge to say the words themselves had only been made stronger with the fire he’d tended. Even with both of us hard again, our still tired and sweaty bodies perfectly aligned, I offered the truth to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his ear.
“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you. I didn’t mean to, but I love you.”
Flynn grabbed me around the waist and hauled me on top of him at the same time he rolled onto his back. He took both our cocks into his fist, eyes narrowed as he tightened his fingers around our lengths.
“I love you,” I said again. “I love you and I mean it.”
“I love you. And please take this for what it is and not anything else, but thank you.”
It could have meant a thousand different things, but I understood the intent as surely as I felt the stroke of his hand between my legs.
CHAPTER31
FLYNN
I’d been slackingoff at work for a month and my inattentiveness to my to-do list had finally caught up to me.
Rose and I had both received clear bills of health, but between his work schedule and the long hours I had been pulling at the office, we’d barely had time for more than a passing meal. I knew from our conversations he’d seen Grayson a couple times, Owen at least once, and Dalton more than I would have liked. But Dalton had been glued to Drake and Drake was Rose’s best friend, and it was to be expected. Neither of those two had any indications that whatever had sparked between them would be real or lasting, but I couldn’t fault them for having a good time.
After all, that’s all I’d meant to do with Rose.
But life had a way, I supposed.
The last time I had dinner with Rose, I’d given him a key but promised not to make it weird. He wouldn’t let me pay his rent, which I respected, but I wanted him to know that my house was as much his as it was mine. So Friday night, I found myself at my kitchen counter on my laptop when I heard his key in the lock. I closed the lid and stretched my arms, ready to be done even if my schedule for the day wasn’t quite where I wanted it to be.
Rose had the night off, and the following day, which he hated but I loved, and I was going to take absolute advantage of the time.
I heard the familiar sound of his shoes landing on the travertine as he kicked them off and the soft pad of his socked feet as he headed inside.
“What did you do?” Rose asked, eyes immediately looking past me and into the living room.
“I bought a new couch.”
I’d ordered it what felt like ages ago, the day after the first barb about my taste in interior design. The old piece was gray and sleek, more angles and lines than curves. It had matched the feel of the house, which I’d only recently come to realize was near sterile and possibly boring. The new one was different, and I knew it wouldn’t suit Rose’s taste, but it suited mine. Even if I was just beginning to learn what that was.
The new couch was a sectional, buttery brown leather with overstuffed cushions, the soft curve of the shape a stark contrast to the exact lines in the rest of the house. But I’d already spent many nights on it watching TV and drinking whiskey, talking to Rose on the phone as he drove home after work.
One day my home would truly be his, but until then, I could wait it out.
“When did you have time for this?” he asked, coming around the island and heading for me.
I stood and jerked my head toward the couch in question, and we both shifted direction and headed for it. The leather groaned under my weight, but wrapped around me almost like a blanket, and the decadent sound that left Rose’s throat when he sat beside me was well worth the five-figure price tag.
“I ordered it a while ago,” I said. “I made time, because it was important.”
He shot me a knowing look, one brow raised toward the curls that hung over his forehead.
