“Shit.” I cringe. “I sort of, kind of, maybe turned it off for a bit, and then the battery died.” But I also moan. Because Flynn’s mouth is on me. I can’t not moan when his mouth is on me.
“Next time you get upset about something, upset with me, promise me you won’t do that. Promise me you won’t run away from me without giving me any idea of where you’re going. I was really fucking worried about you.”
“I swear.” I gently bite down on his bottom lip and tug. “Cross my heart.”
“Fuck,” he mutters and slides his fingers into my hair to deepen our kiss again. “I know we need to go into that interview soon, but I need you, babe. I can’t think straight. I have to be inside you.”
“What?” I question with wide eyes, but also, a desperate, throbbing ache makes itself known between my thighs.
“I have to be inside you, Daisy. Right now.”
Oh, holy moly. This man. He’s my guy.
Master of my universe.
Father of my child.
And crazily enough, my fake husband who, without a doubt, is my real husband.
He’s also the only man who spurs the kind of sexual desire and intensity that have me sliding my panties to the side and going right along with his quick-fuck-in-the-alley plan.
“That’s my girl.” He smirks, and my nipples tighten beneath my dress—the same rehearsal dinner dress I’ve been wearing since last night thanks to my emotional-breakdown-freakout-and-bolt moment.
Flynn doesn’t waste any time, though. In a matter of seconds, his pants are unzipped, and his cock is filling me up in the way that only he can.
“Daisy. My Daisy,” he mutters and greedily presses his mouth to mine. “I needed this. I needed you.”
I’ve spent most of my life, even as a kid, thinking I didn’t need anyone. But I was wrong.
I needed him too.
Flynn
“Daisy, how long have you and Flynn been living together?” Fran, the all-business USCIS agent, asks, her eyes filled with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Though, after forty minutes of sitting across from this woman, I’m not entirely sure a suspicious demeanor isn’t just a staple for her. Fran is the kind of woman who takes her job seriously. She lives and breathes her position within the immigration department, and she even takes pride in her own American citizenship.
I know this because every photo on her desk includes her in various patriotic gear. American flag T-shirts and hats, shooting off Fourth of July fireworks, Fran’s pictures show she’s an all-American kind of gal, and I can appreciate the display. Any old girl—even a country—has her problems, but I can’t deny she’s been pretty great to me. Hell, without “her,” and her roots in tradition, I’d have never gotten here with Daisy.
“Uh… Well…I moved to New York April 22nd,” Daisy answers, and her knee bounces in erratic movements beneath the table. “Basically, as soon as my boss would let me shift my work duties from the West Coast to the East Coast, I made the big move.”
Fran nods, jots something down on her notepad, and Daisy glances at me out of the corner of her eye.
She is completely freaked out by this interview, but truthfully, I’m enjoying it. This is Daisy at her most beautiful, her mouth moving a mile a minute and her curls bouncing with every move. Watching her work through her emotions in the middle of the room for the world to see makes me fall in love with her all over again. As such, I couldn’t feel any more at ease. There’s nothing in this world realer than Flynn and Daisy Winslow.
She’s my wife, the mother of my child, and the only person on the planet from whom I’d answer an uninvited FaceTime call. She might’ve burst into my world like a spiraling tornado of long-winded words and crazy eyes, but fuck, I’ll forever be grateful she did.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to let Fran do anything but approve her green card. My wife is going to stay right here, with me, and that’s the only future I’ll accept from here on out.
I reach out to place a reassuring hand on Daisy’s still-bouncing knee, and her movements slow to a stop. Her body even tilts toward mine ever so slightly, and my whole chest swells with my smile. I fucking love it.
I love her. Everything about her.
I love the way she gets insanely excited over things like funnel cakes in Central Park and rambles when she’s nervous. I love that she lets me do crazy shit like fuck her in an alleyway because I can’t stand to not be inside her, even if that means she’s sitting in this interview with still-flushed cheeks, wet panties, and snags from the alleyway brick on the back of her dress.
I love that when I wake up in the morning, I know there’s going to a head full of unruly curls on the pillow beside mine and that all the blankets will be wrapped around Daisy like she’s a Chipotle burrito.