Page 17 of Fools Rush Flynn

ME: Are you back at the house?

FLYNN: Almost.

FLYNN: In the back of the town car while your douche-wagon of a cousin regales me with his most recent investment success.

ME: Don’t believe anything he says.

FLYNN: I’m not even listening. I’m thinking about your sweet, wet .

My husband is legit sexting me. I’m not even sure what to do with myself, other than to cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together to try and alleviate some of the pressure.

FLYNN: Are you going to let me touch you?

ME: Yes.

FLYNN: Thank fuck. Now get your sweet ass home.

chapter

eleven

Temple

By the time I make it back to my grandmother’s house, it’s dark outside and my panties are ruined. My nerves were pretty well shot by the time I climbed into the back of the limousine. So I’d helped myself to a glass of champagne for the drive back to the house.

That alcohol had taken the edge off so I wasn’t the sick kind of nervous. No one wants a nervous tummy before sexy times.

That’s what was about to happen, right? I mean that’s what he’d more or less implied in his texts.

When the sleek black car pulled up into the circular drive, I saw a lone figure leaning against one of the big white columns that flanked the double front doors. As soon as the car is parked, Flynn shoves off the column and opens my car door.

“Wife,” he says, holding his hand out to me.

I let him help me out of the car and immediately his hand falls to cup my ass. “Upstairs. Now.” His tone is deep and demanding and my nipples pebble in response.

“Are we going to have sex?” I whisper.

“Yes. A lot of it.”

That makes me giggle.

We climb the stairs in silence, then he’s pulling me towards a room.

“Is this the one they put us in?” I ask, curious that they didn’t just give us my room from when I lived here full-time. “Because my old room⁠—”

Flynn’s lips crash down onto mine as he closes the bedroom door behind us. He doesn’t seem to care about what I was trying to say because he’s crowding me into the room.

“Fuck, Temple, I’ve never been this hard in my whole goddamn life. And in full honesty, I had to take the edge off once already so I didn’t come at the first sight of your tits.” His voice is ragged as if he is suffering a bit.

Then he’s kissing me again and backing me into the room until my legs hit a mattress. His mouth licks down the column of my throat and I slide my hands under the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Warm, hard skin meets my palms, and he groans at my touch.

“To answer the question I think you were asking, I moved us to this room because I wanted some privacy. While I want to prove to Rick the Dick that our marriage is very much real, I don’t want to do that by letting him hear you scream my name.” He cups my face and leans back a little to meet my gaze. “This is for us. It’s not for show. It’s not to prove anything.”

I swallow hard and nod.

I want to ask what this means for after Houston. If our marriage is real and legal so we get to have sex, but then we will also be getting divorced? Is that what he means?

But, I realize it doesn’t actually matter what he means. I’m going to let him fuck me either way. I can’t tell him with my words how I feel about him—how I’ve always felt about him—but I can show him with my body.