She’d been sloppy about that when she’d first started hanging out in his absence, and he didn’t like it. The thought of anything bad happening to her, let alone in his place, with him not there… Made him paranoid and protective, even if his building was pretty safe.
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He felt a flash of the heat that possessed him during a fight and pushed the worry from his mind as he opened the door.įlynn’s apartment was a studio-bedroom, living room, and galley kitchen all in one high-ceilinged square space, plus a full bath.
Laurel was sprawled across his bed, a pillow on her belly and a closed book atop that, sock-clad feet flexing idly. “Hey, you.” Her smile was dozy and sweet, hair a coppery tumble he’d be more than happy to mess up if she’d let him. He dropped his gym bag on the loveseat by the door. “You must be wiped.” She knew better than that, though. She knew what fight nights did to Flynn, the way the adrenaline turned to lust the second he stepped out of that basement gym. He might be exhausted, but his body didn’t plan to rest until his cock got its way. “I like your violent musk, but suit yourself.” She opened her book. “Yes, ma’am.” He gathered a fresh tee and shorts and some flannel bottoms from the dresser then headed for the bathroom. He’d been up against his toughest rival in the final fight of the night.
He’d won but that bastard always gave Flynn a run for his money, underlined the fact that he was thirty-three now, no longer invincible. They fought for glory and for fun, not for money, but that was no reason not to go hard each and every time. Flynn spent his days working construction, which wasn’t kind to his body either, and in the past couple years he’d come to feel it. He ached in ways he hadn’t before, even if his lust for the sport hadn’t cooled a jot. Something caught his eye as he set his clean clothes on the toilet tank-an old red towel slung over the shower curtain. Hunger rose inside him, exhaustion forgotten. Sure, this was the towel Laurel used for a day or two after she dyed her hair each month, and the one they f*cked on when she was on her period, but it was more than that. Laurel had teased Flynn about being a bull when it came to sex, and that towel was their inside joke. If he came home and found it hanging on the rod it was her way of taunting, Gore me. A red cape but also a green light, one that told Flynn when he exited the bathroom, it was on. The things he craved in the darkest, homeliest shadows of himself were his to take.
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