Free Flynn's Kiss (Disarmed & Dangerous) by Diane Saxon Page A

little sandals popped off and slapped onto the wooden floor while he grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his hips, never missing a beat, never losing his rhythm. He hammered inside her, fast and furious, his breath grunting deep in his throat.
    Her head knocked as she tipped it back against the wood of the door and allowed him access to her neck. He cupped the back of her head in his palm to cushion it from further impact. Her pulse thundered, battling to stay ahead of the rhythm Flynn had set. Desperate and breathless, they raced blind to the summit, reaching it at almost the same time, exploding in unison. Holding still, exhausted and satisfied, they clutched each other for a long moment, allowing their hearts to settle.
    Disappointment shuddered through her while he disentangled himself all too soon. He moved away to straighten his clothes and try to shake off her Stetson, which appeared to have somehow become firmly lodged on his boot. He stepped back and left her weak and sagging against the door.
    “Another thing…” His voice wasn’t as stable as she imagined he wanted it to sound. Deep and husky with a definite hitch to it. A small smile curved her lips as she met his intense gaze, waiting for him to say something warm and romantic. “I’m clean too. I had tests.”
    Before she had time to blink, he had gone, like a shadow into the night, leaving her limp and half-naked in the pitch black, leaning against a doorway.
    “Oh, dear God.” She lowered the hand she had started to raise, peered around and hoped there was no one out there in the dark. She crouched, grabbed her belongings, and scoured around for the flattened yellow hat, all the time glancing up to check no one was around. When she couldn’t see it, she shoved her way through the door into the cool, dark, lonely room beyond, amidst a flurry of canary feathers floating from the clothes gripped tightly in her arms.
    •●•
    He slipped into his own solitary bed and lay, eyes wide, staring through the dark at the ceiling. By rights, after a work-out like that, he should have been fast asleep, but the curvy little woman filled his head, even after she’d left him satisfied. Not true. He wasn’t satisfied. His body was, but he’d been left with a deep emptiness.
    Guilt was part of the problem. He’d just fucked the life out of her and left her leaning, half-naked against her door like an abandoned rag doll. He hadn’t even been chivalrous enough to check to see if she was all right. But the moment she’d lifted a hand to touch his face, her mouth mere inches away from his, his system shot into flight mode.
    He shifted position, raised his arm, rested it across his forehead, and huffed out a breath. Flight mode. He snorted. He’d barely been able to command his weakened legs to stagger, never mind run. If she’d had good night vision, she probably would have laughed her ass off as he stumbled through the line of trees, her goddamned hat still attached to his foot as he tried to shake it loose, reaching out to steady himself as he bounced from one tree to the other.
    His mouth twitched into a smile as he glanced at the three small yellow feathers on his bedside table. One had fluttered out from the side of his boot laces, where it had obviously been lodged when he’d accidentally pulverized her Stetson with his large foot, the other two had tickled the hell out of his thigh until he ripped his jeans back off and located them.
    He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his chest and thought of the way he’d had to kick the squashed canary off his foot. Best damned thing that could have happened to the ugly hat. He’d put it out of its misery.
    He let out a long sigh, closed his eyes, and pictured her.
    She’d been so cute standing there explaining why she’d pounded on him a few days earlier, but he couldn’t think for the life of him why she imagined he wasn’t interested. Every time he so much as glanced at her, his dick jumped to attention.