Page 104 of Flirty Fall Fling

“Bad fucking girl.”

A cocky smirk slides across my lips as I kiss the inside of her thigh. I scrape my teeth across her skin, nibbling as I kiss. Her hips lift off the bed, searching for me, as I hook my fingers into her panties and slide them from her body. When I finally taste her, she gasps and says my name with her fingers through my hair.

I groan against her, and the sound makes her hips buck. She’s sweet and slick. I keep going until her thighs are shaking.

“Jamie.” My name comes out of her like a prayer.

I answer by sliding two fingers into her and curling them. Her back arches off the bed. She tries to stay quiet for the sake of the man who’s downstairs and fails immediately. A hand flies up to cover her own mouth. I reach over and pull it away, lacing our fingers against the sheets.

The TV volume increases.

She laughs, breathless.

I work her clit with my mouth and tongue and find a rhythm that ruins her. When she comes hard, she’s not quiet. Her whole body pulls tight and lets go. The last of today’s fear leaves her right there under my hands. I work her as she throbs through it. Whatever she wants, whenever she wants it, the answer is already yes. She hasn’t caught on to that yet, and I’m in no rush to tell her.

I kiss my way back up her body while she’s still trembling. I let her taste herself on my lips. She hums, pleased.

I flick her bra open with one hand, and it joins the dress on the floor.

She raises an eyebrow at the skill. “Of course the Fling King can snap a bra off in one motion.”

“Lucky you.”

When I finally push into her, we both swear at the same time. Her sigh transforms into a moan when I start to move.

“Don’t hold back,” she demands, nails scratching down my back. “I won’t break.”

I give her exactly what she asked for. The TV downstairs is fighting for its life.

Weeks ago, I confessed that love burned out, that it always left me faster than it arrived. This is different from anything I’ve experienced. Tonight, with her eyes locked on mine, I quit calling it anything but what it is. I’m falling in love with her. The words climb up my throat, and I swallow them back down. When I’m ready to admit it, I want her to believe every word.

The second one is more intense than the first, and she takes me with her. My vision blurs, and I say her name into her neck like it’s the only word I know.

We end up wrecked and tangled with blankets over half our bodies. Her lipstick is gone. My hair is a mess.

“I don’t want this to end yet.” She hums, curling up against me.

“Music to my fucking ears.” I hold her in my arms.

I don’t want this to end ever. This stopped being an arrangement a while ago, and I know that. She won’t admit it, and neither of us will say it, so I’ll keep dancing around it.

She lies draped across me, her fingers rubbing the hematite.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this?” she asks, searching my face.

“Of course,” I tell her without a dash of hesitation in my voice.

A month ago, I joked that I was under her spell. She never cast a thing, but I’m bewitched anyway. If this is what breaking the family curse feels like, I’d have done it sooner.

“Blaire.”

“Hmm?”

“Why was the rosemary dropping at Sophia’s interesting?”

She laughs. “It’s a remembrance herb. It’s a wedding herb. Not to be forgotten.”

The adrenaline rush happens.