The Pact (Winslow Brothers 2)

“You okay?”

She nods, but that’s all she gives me. No rambling explanation or adorable hand movements punctuating her words. Just…a nod.

“How did your appointment go?” I ask, and when she furrows her brow in confusion, I expand. “Your physical…?”

“Oh,” she acknowledges, and her mouth forms a little “O.” “It was fine.”

I might not be the type of man who has a track record of long-term relationships with women, but I have a sister and a mother and an aunt who have shown me that “It’s fine” never means that.

Fine means the opposite.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep.” She nods again. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

“Would a steak help make the day not feel so long?” I grin and nod toward the skillet.

“I’d love to say yes to that, but…” She pauses, cringes, and explains, “I’m not hungry, and I still need to finish up some staging plans for a property by tomorrow.”

Daisy not hungry? Not talkative? And choosing work over her favorite Friday night Netflix binges that she always forces me to join in on?

I can’t shake the sense that she’s shutting me out. Like, she has shit on her mind that she doesn’t want to talk to me about. It’s the opposite of what I’m used to with her. Sure, sometimes it takes her a bit to open up to me, a sort of rambling in circles before she reaches her end destination, but she always gets there in the end.

Though, tonight, she appears steadfast in not saying much. Not saying anything, really.

And that’s not sitting well with you.

But before I can decide if I should ask more questions and try to figure out what has her in such an off mood, Daisy is out of the kitchen.

Damn, it appears she just wants some space. From you.

I turn back to the skillet and flip over the steaks, but the idea of eating right now isn’t holding the appeal it did ten minutes ago.

Stove off—and steaks most likely ruined—I set down my spatula and head into the living room where Daisy is sitting on the sofa with her laptop in her lap. Her fingers move across the keys in quick succession, and I decide right then and there she needs something to help take the edge off.

Whatever is causing that edge, I don’t know, and I’m hopeful she’ll eventually get around to telling me, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s to help my woman relax.

To make her feel good.

I grab the edge of the coffee table and slide it away from the couch. Daisy’s feet fall to the floor, and she looks up from her laptop screen in confusion.

“Don’t mind me, babe. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

She scrunches up her nose, but her eyes widen as she watches me get to my knees in front of her.

“Flynn…?”

“Like I said, don’t mind me. You keep working,” I tell her and place both of my hands on her thighs and spread them farther apart. I’m thrilled that she’s wearing a skirt and all it takes is my fingers sliding her panties to the side to reveal her gorgeous pussy. “In fact, ignore me completely.”

I dive right in, face between her legs, I latch my lips around her clit and gently suck.

Daisy’s hips jolt forward. “Flynn!” she exclaims, but for the first time since she got home, she also giggles. “You’re insane!”

After one long stroke of my tongue against her, I smack my lips in approval. “Yes, baby, I am insane for this sweet-as-fuck pussy of yours.”

And then, I get back to work. Sucking and licking and eating at her. Sliding my tongue inside her and feeling the way her walls clench around me.

I give her no mercy. I don’t hold back. And I enjoy every fucking second of her on my tongue.

She moans, and her laptop falls to the cushion beside her. And eventually, her fingers find their way into my hair, urging me to keep going.

“Good girl,” I whisper against her. “I want you to feel good. I want you to come hard on my tongue. Will you do that for me, Daisy? Will you let me make you come?”

“Y-yes. God, yes.”

Once her breaths become tiny pants of air and her legs begin to shake, I know that, in a matter of seconds, Daisy will fall off the cliff and straight into the pleasure abyss where all she can do is feel good. Where whatever had her so quiet and reserved when she got home this evening will no longer be weighing her down.

She doesn’t disappoint. She never disappoints.

Her moans turn raspy, sexy-as-hell, and just as she hits her peak, I look up to watch the way her full lips part, her cheeks flush, and her breasts heave up and down.

Fuck yes. That’s my wife.