He took Flynn's statement, not only about what happened in front of Zeke's, but also about my rescue from the fire. I sat there and listened to him as he recounted everything in an extremely organized and linear fashion. As I watched him talk, I literally watched as a bruise appeared on his temple. Once, he raised his right arm to rake his hand through his hair, and I saw his elbow was bloody. My chest actually cramped over the thought that Flynn got battered in an effort to defend me.
When it was my turn, he asked if I wanted to do the interview in private. I shook my head no, not quite having the courage to say out loud that I wanted Flynn there. It was a comfort that he sat beside me--not even touching--but just his presence was palpable.
Detective Matheson's questions were straight and to the point. He only had to interrupt me twice for clarification, but otherwise let me tell the story I wanted
Yes, I said. I had been dating Teddy "Juice" Jones for over a year. I moved in with him about eleven months ago.
Yes, I said. I had wanted out of the relationship and tried to leave the house with Capone. I hadn't made it down the front porch steps before his hand grabbed me, pulling me back in. He chained me to the bed and when I wouldn't stop screaming for him to let me go, he injected me with some type of drug to keep me quiet. I believed he kept me there for three days, naked and chained, only allowing me to go to the bathroom a few times a day. He never touched me sexually during that time and was hardly ever around.
No, I admitted. I wasn't sure that Juice was the one that started the fire. Without giving away names, I heard through the grapevine that Juice had been upset about the fire and said he knew who did it and would make them pay.
No, I concluded. I had nothing else to add.
My words seem to be enough for Detective Matheson because he didn't push me further, although he said he might be back in touch with more questions. To my relief, he told me that he felt there was enough based on my statement for probable cause to arrest him--at least for the kidnapping charges.
The only other thing he did was encourage Flynn to get some medical attention, but Flynn declined. He said he was fine, but I know he wasn't. We walked back to the train in silence. He rested with his head against the window and his eyes closed for the entire ride back to his neighborhood.
And other than his short announcement that he was going to take a shower, there hasn't been any other conversation. I feel nauseated over it because I'm seeing my first real opportunity at a friendship starting to circle the drain. Why would someone like Flynn even want to have a freak of a friend like me? I'm sure none of his other friends have psycho kidnapping, drug-dealing ex-boyfriends stalking them.
So lost in my thoughts, I'm unprepared when the door opens and a waft of spicy, scented steam billows out of the bathroom. Flynn steps out and my tongue practically sticks to the top of my mouth. He wears only a blue towel wrapped around his waist, with another smaller one hanging around his neck. I can't help it when my eyes flick across his chest, taking in the beads of water still clinging there before I meet his eyes.
"You shaved," I say with surprise.
For the past three days, Flynn has let his beard grow in, claiming I ruined his blade when I shaved my legs. It was only after I was headed out the door to buy him a new razor that he laughingly told me he was joking, and that he's just too lazy to shave on his days off.
Flynn rubs his fingertips over his chin. "Yeah. I figured I'd go ahead and knock it out since I have to be at work early tomorrow."
"You're going in to work?" I'm surprised, given the fact he looks like he's been through a meat grinder.
"Sure, why not?"
I look down at his ribs pointedly. "Maybe because of that."
His gaze follows mine down to where a dark purple bruise, just about the size of a boot, covers his right ribcage. A slight grimace passes over his face and then he looks at me, shrugging his shoulder, "No biggie. I've had worse."
He moves to the left to walk by me, obviously heading to his room. My hand snakes out and wraps around his forearm. His warm, moist skin is almost electric against mine but I hold on. He stops and looks at me in question.
"Are you mad at me?" I don't know why I blurt that out but if he's going to end this short-lived friendship, I'd rather get it out on the table.
Flynn looks genuinely surprised. "Why would you think that?"
My hand falls away from his arm and I jam both of my hands in my pockets. My gaze lowers and I stare at the tips of my combat boots, shrugging my shoulders like a shy child.
Gah... since when is Rowan Page at a loss for words? Or since when does Rowan Page lower her gaze in embarrassment to anyone?
Flynn sticks his forefinger under my chin and pushes up. My head follows and the last thing I raise is my eyes to his. When I do, he's looking at me with understanding, warmth, and amusement.
Amusement?
Yes, there it is.
I amuse the man and that fact immediately causes the constrictive feeling in my chest to ease up.
"You find me funny?"
"I find it adorable that you would think I was mad."
His words send a course of pleasure through me, not only because he has reiterated our friendship is intact, but because he thinks I'm adorable.
Suddenly, I'm no longer focused on my own insecurity but I become painfully area of his closeness and near-naked state. I can smell his soap and feel the warmth radiating off his skin as he stands near me. We just stare at each other, both of our eyes locked.
When he starts to lean in toward me, his eyes lower to my lips and I know he's going to kiss me. I am both elated and scared all at once. I want him to kiss me but I don't want to hurt our friendship.
Panicking, I take a quick step back and blurt, "Did you disinfect your cuts?"
The heat stays in his eyes for just a few seconds and then simmers down. His lips curl upward in a smirk, but he shakes his head no.
Moving past him into the bathroom, I reach under his sink, where I had seen a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I grab a few cotton balls, a box of Band-Aids, and turn to him.
"Sit down on the toilet and I'll patch you up."
He turns his back on me and walks to his bedroom. "Come patch me up in here. It's too damn hot in the bathroom."
My eyes close briefly at the thought of sitting in his bedroom with him while he wears nothing but a towel to cover himself. I utter a small prayer for the strength not to drool over him and head that way.
When I enter his bedroom, I find him sitting with his butt perched on the very edge of his bed, his legs slightly apart. The position causes the towel to gape open over his right thigh, exposing several inches of powerful muscle. Just a few more inches of movement, and I'll be seeing what is in between his thighs. I hope he holds absolutely still for the sake of my sanity.
I walk to stand beside him and lay my supplies on the bed near his hip. Pulling his left arm out, I look at the elbow I had noticed was bleeding. I briefly flick my eyes over the tattoo on the inside of his bicep. It's in the same size and font as the "Semper" tattoo on his other bicep, except this one says "Fidelis". I start to ask him what the words mean when my gaze captures the gash on his elbow. It's oozing blood from the ragged wound.
"You got a really nasty cut back here," I tell him as I reach for the cotton balls and alcohol.
He turns his shoulder inward, causing his arm to rotate so he can see his elbow. "Good. I thought I caught that motherfucker in his mouth. I hope he lost some teeth."
I try to keep a stern look on my face but I smile inside. Opening the alcohol, I warn him, "This may sting."
Glancing at him, I see his eyes are leveled at me and I wonder what he's thinking at this moment. I break the connection and look down to his elbow. Holding a few cotton balls underneath the cut, I tip the bottle and pour some alcohol over it. I expect him to wince, or hiss, or even try to pull his arm away. I sneak a peek at him and he's still just staring at me. He hasn't even flinched. I quickly avert
my eyes down and watch as the alcohol mixes with this blood and runs away from his wound in a pink river.
Sopping the mess up with another cotton ball, I open up one of the larger Band-Aids and stick it firmly on his elbow.
Clearing my throat, I stand straight. "All right...any other open wounds?"
Those serious eyes continue to just stare at me, but he says, "I'm not sure. You better give me a once over."
I know he means nothing by it. I just know it. But damn if his words don't sound like sin, and my skin tightens in anticipation of looking over his body.
"Okay," I say, internally wincing at the fact that my voice sounds breathless.
Flynn doesn't move and I assume he expects me to inspect him from where he's sitting. I do a quick lean across the bed to take a look at his back. I didn't expect to see anything there, but it didn't stop me from enjoying the smooth skin and hard muscles that greet me.
As I straighten up, I look over the side of his face that is nearest to me, since I know he took a few blows up there. I see nothing but a purple bruise near his temple and my fingers reach out to touch him. Gently prodding the skin, I assure myself there is no cut and let my fingers drift away.
Sneaking a quick glance at Flynn, he's still looking at me with the same somberness as earlier, but now his eyes look a little more heated. If I'm not mistaken, my touch has done that and that thought alone causes my stomach to flip end over end with awareness.
Walking around to his other side, I check out that part of his face, relieved to see it looks fine. I look over his other arm and it is also unmarked. Outside of the large bruise to his ribs, I can't see any other injuries that need tending on this side, and part of me is a little disappointed.
I reach over for the bottle cap and say, "I think that's it."
"You missed one."
Straightening up with the bottle still in hand, I look at him. "Where?"
"My lip. One of those guys caught me under the chin with his knee and my lip got caught in between my teeth slamming together."
I can't see an obvious wound so I walk around to his front and lean in, peering at his lips. They are full and look soft, and in my dream, they felt like satin. "I don't see anything."
"It's there. You might have to look a little closer." As he says this, his legs shift apart just a tad more, making room for me to walk closer.
Whether the move is made innocently or not, my blood chooses to surge through my veins the minute my brain considers stepping in between those powerful legs. I pull my eyes up from his lips and when they meet his, my lungs contract painfully. His brows are furrowed in slightly and his eyelids are at half-mast. He's looking at me with a lazy, sensual appraisal and in that moment, there is no doubt that Flynn Caldwell is sexually attracted to me. It causes my lower stomach to tighten and my panties immediately get wet. The sudden rush of sexual awareness is so intense on my part, I actually have to squeeze my legs together to alleviate the pleasurable pulse I'm feeling there.
Before I can even think what to say, Flynn's hands come up to my hips and he pulls me closer. My hands reach out to grip his shoulders, not because I'm in danger of falling, but because I want to touch him the way he's touching me.
We are so close now; our faces are only inches apart. There's just as much room separating the tops of my thighs from the dark mystery that lays beyond the blue towel, which I'm sure has even parted further, although I don't look for fear of perishing from pleasure.
Our eyes are locked on each other, neither one of us moving, neither one of us saying a thing. I move my right hand from his shoulder and bring it up to lay lightly against his cheek. Then I drag my fingers across his face, over to his chin. I lightly run my thumb across his bottom lip and his mouth parts for me.
Just on the inside of his lower lip, I see two cuts, presumably made by his two front teeth. They aren't bleeding but they are red and angry looking.
"Oh my God... you do have cuts here!" I pull his lip down further so I can take a better look.
Flynn starts chuckling. "I told you so. Why did you think I asked you to look closer?"
His words slam into my like an icy glacier and I try to pull back, but his hands hold my hips tight. I start fumbling around for words. "I thought... I mean, you said you had a cut, but then I couldn't see one... and then you pulled me closer... so I thought..."
I feel Flynn's fingertips dig into my flesh and he pulls me in a fraction closer. My hands go back to his shoulders and his muscles jump when our skin makes contact.
"How about you just kiss it and see if you can make it better?"
My confused brain is trying to catch up. I thought he was attracted to me, and then I thought he wasn't... now it appears he is. I'm not even sure I know which way is up right now.
"You want me to kiss you?"
"Well... how else will I know how bad the cut is until I try to use my lips?" His voice is so serious, his eyes reflecting the same, but the slight curve to his mouth tells me he's enjoying this banter.
With Flynn sitting on the bed, my face is at the same level as his. Our bodies are perfectly aligned for me to kiss him soundly. I could just lean forward, ever so slightly, and my lips would touch his. I can tell that is exactly what he expects me to do.
I take one step in further until the outside of my thighs graze the inside of his and our chests touch. The closeness demands I wrap my arms fully around his neck and I do so. I hold my head back just a touch, so our lips are the last thing that will touch.
We stare at each other, silently. Our faces are so close, my eyes glaze over a bit trying to look into his.
"I'm going to kiss you now," I whisper.
His arms wrap around me, squeezing me closer.
"Okay," he whispers back.
I don't waste any time before I press my mouth against his. We mutually open up to each other and I tilt my head sideways. Our mouths move against each other, tasting... testing boundaries.
One of Flynn's hands moves from around my back to hold the back of my head, pushing me in tighter to him. His tongue slips into my mouth at the same time and at the first contact with mine, both of groan loudly.
The kiss turns more fevered and I'm riddled with the need to touch more of him. As if sensing the urge within me, Flynn's hands drop and grip under my ass. In one smooth move, he scoots his butt further back on the bed and hauls me onto his lap. As my legs part to straddle him, my gaze travels down and I see the towel has opened completely. A moan of appreciation slips out when I see how hard he is.
"Fuck," he hisses. "If you keep looking at me like that, I won't be responsible for the way you walk tomorrow."
His sinful words shoot lust through my body as I imagine Flynn fucking me so hard I can't walk and my eyes slam back into his. The gaze only lasts a second before his mouth is back on mine and his hands are tangled in my hair.
I'm completely overwhelmed by the intimacy that swirls around us. Flynn's mouth is almost inducing catatonia in me while his hands are causing mini-volcanic eruptions everywhere they touch.
Falling, falling, falling... fast.
I struggle to clear my head, and remember that we are friends.
Just friends.
I should pull back and stop this before we both do something stupid and ruin our friendship.
Yes...pull back. That's what I should do.
I will.
In just a moment.
After we kiss for just a bit more.
I'm into the second day of my three-day shift and I stare at the loudspeaker on the wall, willing it to crackle and spit to life with a call. I'm jonesing for a call... even if it's to get a fucking cat out of a tree.
Something.
Anything to get my mind off Rowan.
We had made out like two sex-starved teenagers the other day, both of us too hesitant to move past second base. I'm not sure why we didn't go further, because there was nothing more that I wanted to do than strip Rowan naked, lay her out on the bed, and make her
come hard. I wanted her to reach down between my legs, take my aching dick in her hands, and give me the same pleasure.
But none of those things happened. We kissed... deep, long, hot kissing. There was plenty of moaning, lots of tongue, but our hands still remained on good behavior and didn't venture too far. I kept mine mostly on Rowan's head, sometimes stroking down her back and, yes, once... I gripped her ass and reveled at the groan she rewarded me with.
Rowan ran her hands over my shoulders, down my arms... digging her fingers into my biceps. She touched my chest, laying her warm hands flat against my pecs, and lightly stroked my skin. It drove me crazy and I silently begged her to touch my nipples.
I have no clue how long we made out. It could have gone on another five hours and I would have been deliriously happy, despite the fact I would probably be sporting the biggest set of blue balls in the history of mankind. But at some point, Rowan pulled back, her hands resting on my cheeks. She looked at me... the deepest, softest look she had ever bestowed my way... and she said, "We should slow down."
I groaned. I couldn't help it. Guys are conditioned to involuntarily groan when a woman puts a screeching halt on our sex-capades. I flexed my fingers open and closed with frustration, wanting to just pull her back in and start kissing the fuck out of her.
But then, I realized it was Rowan sitting on my lap... a girl that I was apparently willing to lay my life down for on two occasions so far, and I knew that she was right. We should slow it down. Starting an intense relationship under the already bizarre circumstances that threw us together was probably not a good idea.
So I kissed her lightly, one more time, and I gently pushed her off my lap. Her face was flushed, her lips were swollen, and her chest was heaving. I still get a rush of satisfaction over that image. She merely gave me a small nod of her head--after sneaking a glance down at my erection--and walked out of my room. I got up, headed for the shower, and jumped back in so I could jerk off... again... to thoughts of Rowan.
After that, the rest of our night was uneventful. We ate dinner and played cards. I wanted to kiss her again but she put up a wall and maintained a slight level of aloofness that told me it wasn't going to happen. She went to bed early and was still sleeping when I left for work the next morning.