Chapter Nineteen
With hindsight, I should’veinsisted on using the bathroom first.For one, there were the usual post-bottoming sensations - which it’d been so long since I’d last been fucked, I’d forgotten quite how that felt - but also, stickier and more rapidly cooling, the fact that my midriff was a mess.
By the time Flynn emerged, I’d gone past the uncomfortable, tickling, trickling sensation, and decided to embrace the chaos.He could throw his damn sheets in the laundry.
“You look like you need a shower,” he said, eyeing me up and down.
I flashed him an unimpressed look.“Very hospitable of you.”
Flynn laughed.“Are you always this grumpy after sex?”
I opened my mouth to snap something back at him.Ready to lean into this sparring, bickering dynamic; one which was already starting to feel familiar from our earlier conversions.Only I was realizing I didn’t really want that any more, even if it felt easy.
“The sex was good,” I told him, plainly, then gestured between my spread thighs.“But this isn’t.”
He eyed me with an expression that could only be described as lascivious.“I dunno, it all looks good to me.”
I pushed myself upright, chuckling.“What happened to self-control?”
“Would you rather fuck William again,” he suggested, “and I just watch?”
Something about the tilt of his smile made me wonder just how much of a joke that question was.
“Absolutely not,” I told him, picking honesty again.
Flynn nodded, slowly.“Probably for the best.I think that ship has sailed, now.”
My wince was instinctive.“I’m sorry.About your relationship, I mean.”It felt fairly ridiculous to say, given we’d just had sex together, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t commiserate with him over something important ending.
He sighed.“It’s weird, how you can regret something being over, even though you also know it was bad for you.”
“Life can be messy that way,” I agreed.“And, though I don’t want to be the one ruining a moment, I’m kinda messy myself right now, too.So...”
Flynn laughed, standing aside.“Sorry.Be my guest.”
He slapped me on the ass as I hurried past him.
#
Ifollowed the soundof broken glass to the kitchen.Feeling a whole lot less sticky, even if I’d pulled my clothes back on before I was entirely dry again.
Flynn was wearing sandals, sweatpants, and a white sleeveless shirt, nosing the edge of a nylon-bristled broom under the breakfast bar.A sizable heap of shattered wine glasses, plates, and other kitchenware had already been gathered in the middle of the floor.
“If you were hoping for a drink that wasn’t consumed straight out of the bottle,” he said, glancing up, “you may be out of luck.”
He was smiling, but it looked as brittle as the shards he was sweeping.
“Are you okay?”
