I lowered my knees so that he could dive even further, digging into his shoulders with my fingernails. I loved the way he hovered above me, so strong and powerful, his weight leaning against my crotch. When he moved, it was deliberate and productive. He dragged his length up, almost breaching the surface. Then he thrust down, filling me up again, causing my cup to overflow.
I wanted him faster and harder. I reached around to cup his backside, urging him on to completion. I was so close to relief myself. The concept of morning sex was enough to burn through every ounce of restraint I had. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough unless he let loose and rode me to completion.
I pulled him deeper, tilting my pelvis up to coax every last centimeter from his cock. That was it, the magic ingredient that rocked my world. Once I felt the base of his shaft connect with my core, my body shivered. The orgasm overtook me with a quiet determination that surprised and delighted. I wanted a pounding, but when he filled me completely, the sensations rose up within, drowning me with their sudden arrival.
Flynn sensed what had happened and geared up for his final thrust. He rode hard, just as I wanted him to, pinning me to the mattress. In a matter of seconds, he was emptying his load, his stomach and ass rock hard as he came.
I relaxed into the sheets, letting my body cool down. My breath returned to normal, but my energy stayed up. I was wide awake and ready to start my day. Wouldn’t it be nice to do this every morning? If I could move into Flynn’s bedroom, then we could have many more exciting preludes to morning activities.
Even Flynn seemed ready to go afterwards. Instead of collapsing on top of me, he bent his elbows in a kind of push up to bring his chest toward mine. He kissed me on the lips, the fire temporarily quenched.
Rolling off, he retrieved his pajama bottoms and the button-down shirt he had worn to bed last night. I sat up, pulling the covers up to my chin. I wasn’t exactly shy, but with the conclusion of our lovemaking session, I felt more comfortable under the blanket.
“Flynn?” I asked.
“Hmm?” He sat back down on the bed, ready to listen.
“I want to thank you for talking to Dex and Connor.”
He gave me a look that told me he had forgotten all about the two other men. I couldn’t blame him; the sex was good enough to take my mind off other people as well. The baby monitor began to hum, the sounds of blankets being tossed and little feet hitting the floor a clear sign that Seanan was awake.
“No problem,” Flynn said, standing up again.
“Are you sure you’re okay with the polyamory thing?”
“Take your time,” he instructed me. “I’ll go get Seanan.”
“Flynn.” I held a hand out to him as he moved toward the door.
“Yes, I’m okay with it,” he responded. “You’re worth it.”
I lay back down, happy as could be. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day, and it had only just begun.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
DECLAN
Three weeks after the meeting with Flynn and the crisis with his daughter, I was in my office at my private practice. I didn’t have a rotation at the hospital, and while my nursing staff was busy prepping the patients, I was getting ready to see a few of my favorites.
Mrs. O’Donnell was a ninety-year-old woman who was fit as a horse. She came in for regular bloodwork due to all the medications she was on, and she insisted on wearing inch-high heels. The first time I saw her, I suggested she might want to try flats.
“Oh no,” she said. “My husband, God rest his soul, likes the look of me in these high heels.”
I stifled a grin. While the rest of the staff tore their hair out in a panic, assuming she would slip and fall, breaking dozens of bones, I just told her to watch her step. I couldn’t take away that connection to her late husband, one of the reasons she had for getting out of bed in the morning.
I made a deal with her, that I wouldn’t mention the shoes as long as she kept current on her appointments and remembered to take her medication every day. She agreed, pleased that I understood. I checked her vital signs as the intake nurse had written them in her chart, chatted briefly about the weather, and sent her on her way.
The next patient was a little boy who had fallen out of a tree. He had a cast on his arm, and he was in to see if he could get it removed.
“How’s it going there?” I asked, inserting myself in the room.
The mother stood up and offered me her hand. I shook it, but then doused my hands in sanitizer, rubbing them together before beginning the examination. It looked like the bone was healing, but I wasn’t ready to take the cast off yet. The little guy was disappointed.
“It itches,” he complained.
“I know buddy,” I apologized. “But we’ve got to keep it on just a little while longer.”
He groaned, stomping his feet in distress.