“But we’re not celebrating one mere story.” I pause for effect. “We’re celebrating a job.”
“Seriously? I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t. But I like the work he has for me, and I like that he’s forthright and upfront. I can handle the rest.”
He pours two glasses and offers a toast. “To a fresh start. And to a genius move on his part—securing the best.”
I blush and whisper my thank you.
When we’re done, he leaves the dishes on the table and takes me to the couch. He lays me down and climbs over me, kissing me as he grinds against me.
In seconds, I’m hot and bothered. He flips me to my side, moving so he’s behind me as he pushes up my skirt. My panties come off, his jeans are down, and we’re side to side. He slides into me, his hand slinking between my legs, the other on my breasts as he moves in me, gripping me hard. Electricity crackles under my skin, and I sizzle, burning hotter and brighter with every thrust.
His hold is so tight I can barely move. I feel safe with him, and I feel wanted too. Flynn makes me feel beautiful and sexy and brilliant, and like I don’t have to carry the weight of my world on my shoulders. Like he’s willing to bear some of it for me, even as he takes me to the edge, bringing me incomparable pleasure again and again and again.
When we’re done, he draws me into his arms, pointing through the windows at the sumptuous emerald-green park. “Eventually, I’ll get you into the park. You keep distracting me with sex.”
“I’ll distract you again if you’d like.”
Before he can answer, his phone beeps. “Another distraction,” he mutters and reaches for it on the coffee table. He clicks open a note, and his expression transforms as he reads it. A wild, delighted grin takes over his face.
“There’s something I have to show you.”
“You want to show me an email?”
“Yes. It’s an important one. It’s from your brother’s school.”
“What?” A strange dread courses through me. “Why would they write to you?”
He smiles impishly. He’s good at that. “Because his schooling is paid for.”
A shock jolts into me. The hair on my arms stands on end. “You did not just say that.”
He nods, proudly. Ridiculously proudly.
“Did you pay for the rest of his master’s?”
“I did.” His green eyes twinkle.
“You can’t pay for my brother’s school.”
“I can, though, and I have.”
“Why?” I ask, wonder and surprise etched in my voice.
“Because it makes your life easier. Because that’s what I want to do.”
“But Flynn . . .” I begin, only I’m not sure what I’m protesting. His generosity? “You can’t.”
He sets a hand on my thigh. “I had a feeling you’d be stubborn, so in case you’re worried, this isn’t just for your brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to make sure it didn’t feel like a handout to you. And I didn’t want to simply pay off his bill. So I set it up in a way you can’t refuse.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to say more.
“I set up a scholarship fund for . . .” he pauses, looks at the ceiling, pretends to count, then turns to me, “for all the current students at his divinity school. Everything is covered for all of them from now until graduation, including your brother.”
My jaw comes unhinged. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.” He dots a kiss onto my nose. “Let me ease your burdens, Sabrina. Including the ones here”—he stops to tap my breastbone—“where you think you can’t accept this. This is for everyone, including your brother.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’re talking about my dick again now, right?” He winks.
I laugh and run my hands through his hair. “All of you. You’re too much, too wonderful, too sexy, and too good in bed. And that means I’m not letting you go.”
“Excellent. How about letting me go down on you?”
I shake my head. “It’s my turn.”
I get on my knees for him. He spreads his arms across the back of the couch, all of Gramercy Park and Manhattan and the world unfurled before him, all at his fingertips. He has so much, he gives so freely, and right now, he gets to take his reward.
Like a dirty Prince Charming. Like a man who deserves everything good his woman gives him.
Flynn
This is better than pineapple math. Better than free pizza. This is . . . my brain short-circuits as she draws me in deep.
I groan and curl my hands around her head, threading my fingers through her hair. I want to close my eyes, let my head fall back, and just revel in the feeling.
But I want to watch her more.
Sabrina’s lush lips are wrapped around me, her hands moving over my length, along my thighs, her hair spilling on my skin.
This is . . .
Everything.
Blowjobs are as close to perfection as math and nature have given us. They are pure pleasure for a man and no work whatsoever. Honestly, there’s never anything to complain about when it comes to oral sex.
But this is more.
Even though my brain is in a haze and my thoughts are all static and fuzz as she sucks me hard, her tongue flicking along me, this is an entirely new experience.
In some ways, it feels like the first time ever.
Like that brain-sizzling moment when a woman puts her mouth on you and awareness and utter bliss collide into you simultaneously, and you think yes, fucking yes, blowjobs do reveal the secrets of the universe.
But maybe this is the secret to the universe.
It’s pleasure and lust, but it’s also sex and love, and it’s Sabrina treating me like I’m candy, like I’m hers, and like she wants me to feel so fucking good.
And I do.
God, I do.
My breath stutters as her warm mouth surrounds me. Pleasure crackles down my spine, climbs up my legs. It rolls around in my veins, and I gasp and I groan as I thrust up into her mouth, urging her to open more, take more.
“Angel,” I rasp, and I feel her throat relax, and holy fuck, I can’t stop thinking how extraordinary this feels. How extraordinary it is for all these things to reside in one person. This woman has my body, my mind, and my heart. Right now, she has my dick in her mouth, and hell, that’s where I want to be.
I reach the finish line in mere minutes, coming in her throat as I say her name in a strangled cry.
She lets me fall from her lips and crawls up into my lap, kissing my cheek. She whispers in my ear, “I like the way you taste.”
I shudder and plant a wet, deep kiss on her lips. “Say that again, and I’ll come again.”
“Good.” She wears a naughty look. “I like when you come. I like making you feel good.”
“You do more than make me feel good.”
“What do I make you feel?” she asks coyly.
“You make me feel everything.”
She snuggles against me. Blowjobs, dinner, sex, success, happiness—I’m not sure what I did to deserve her, but I don’t intend to spend a single second taking her for granted. Ever.
Sabrina
The lights of the buildings twinkle across the Manhattan skyline, playing the part of the starlight that’s so rarely seen in this city.
I rest my head against Flynn’s shoulder and sigh contentedly. “I’m glad you were a stealth start-up at that party.”
“I’m glad you were the only one who figured out my costume.”
“I’m glad you twisted my arm and convinced me to escape to the library with you.”
He scoffs. “Twisted your arm? Hardly.”
I laugh too. “I know. I was willing to go anywhere with my masked duke.” I sit up and meet his piercing gaze. “But it’s you I love. I needed to meet you without knowing who you were to fall in love with you as you are.”
“I know that,” he says
with a soft smile.
“With me, you always have an invitation to come as you are.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Your wordplay sounds both loving and filthy.”
“Sort of like you.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
He slinks an arm around me, claims my mouth in a kiss, and takes me up on my invitation, no costumes needed, clothing optional, right there on the couch.
Later that night, we head to Gramercy Park.
He hands me the key, and I unlock the gate, entering the private park. I nearly skip. It’s everything I imagined it to be—a gorgeous, verdant escape from Manhattan.
“It’s like one of London’s squares,” I say, twirling around, taking it all in, the lush green leaves on the trees, the stone walkways, the benches. “At least I think so. I’ve never been.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Do I want to go to London?”
He nods. “Yes. Do you?”
“Obviously.”
“Then we’ll go.”
He takes my hand, and we walk through the park, and for the first time ever, maybe, just maybe, I begin to believe that fairy tales can come true, the kind where the commoner wins the heart of the prince.
And the prince wins the love of the commoner.
All because they make each other uncommonly happy. And that’s what love should do.
Epilogue
Flynn
A few months later
One morning on my way to work, I find an invitation under the door.
It’s from my angel, and when I open it, it puts a fast and easy smile on my face. She’s invited me to a costume party this weekend.
Masquerades, costumes, and a little role play now and then — that’s our thing.
That weekend, I put on the outfit she’s chosen for me. I’m the kissing sailor, and when I find her at the rooftop party, the first order of business is to recreate the iconic photograph of the sailor kissing the nurse. That’s the easiest thing in the world as I bend her back, and kiss her deeply.
Her eyes are glossy when we separate. “That feels like exactly the kind of kiss that will become a famous photo.”
“Every single one with you does,” I tell her.
In the months that follow, we go to many more costume parties and masquerade balls, sometimes attending as movie duos, sometimes wearing only silver or gold masks.
We even find a few fancier fetes, and that’s when we feel as if we’re traveling in time. I don a waistcoat and top hat, and she wears a royal-blue gown. We dance with our Venetian masks on and then slip away to the library where we pretend we’re Angel and Duke again.
Sometimes, Kevin takes the train into the city and joins us for dinner. One night over Thai food, he says, “Do you know why our last name is Granger?”
“She told me she just liked the name.” Sabrina had said they changed their last name when their mom left.
He laughs, shaking his head.
Sabrina flushes pink as she points to her brother. “Don’t believe him. He makes stuff up.”
I sit back, waiting. “Oh, this is good. Now I have to know.”
“Hermione,” Kevin says with a grin.
I turn to Sabrina. “You named yourself for Hermione from Harry Potter?”
She shrugs happily. “I love Hermione. She’s brilliant and clever, and she stood up for the people she loved. I defy anyone to come up with a better reason to pick a name.”
I can’t argue with her on that.
A month later, I take her to London as promised. We fly first class, and her eyes are stars when she lies all the way back in the seat on the plane. I like showering her with gifts and experiences, and she’s learned not to be so stubborn in accepting them.
I show her all the sights—Big Ben, the London Eye, the National Gallery—but we find new ones as well, exploring the city in the way we like best.
That’s what we do when we’re home in New York too. We’ve tracked down bizarre street art in the Village, visited the Met and kissed in the Great Hall, and stopped by the underground gin joint in Chelsea.
Every day, we add to our list of favorite places in the city, and every night, she comes home with me because my home is her home now. The rollout of Haven has gone fantastically well, so well in fact that I’ve earned that extra comma and the billionaire status officially. As for Sabrina, her job brings her the satisfaction of doing exactly the kind of work she loves.
Then at night, it’s my job to bring her satisfaction, and that’s exactly what I love doing too.
Another Epilogue
Flynn
A little later
It is a Sunday.
We have brunch with my sister, her husband, and my little niece. Dylan and Evie join us too, and Evie regales us with how much French toast she can eat at eight and a half months pregnant.
When we’re done, we say our goodbyes and fan out across town, heading homeward. The sun shines brightly on this March day, so I suggest we walk through the park.
“Besides, we can let the lampposts guide us,” I say, and Sabrina furrows her brow in a silent question.
“Did you know most of the lampposts have numbers on them to help you find where you’re going?”
“I had no idea. But obviously, we need to verify this.”
“Clearly. Since the park is one of our favorites places.”
In the last several months, we’ve uncovered even more favorite places within it—the conservatory gardens, the literary walk with its statues of writers, and the Delacorte Musical Clock that sings a tune every thirty minutes.
We search for the lampposts, pointing out numbers to each other for the first few blocks as we head south.
She reaches for my hand. “Do you ever feel like we’ll run out of things to do?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Nope. There’s always something new to uncover.”
She smiles and rests her head briefly against my shoulder before looking at me as we walk toward the Ramble. “I suppose that’s true. We’ll always have to keep looking for things we haven’t seen.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, keying in on something she said. “Interesting word you just used.”
“What word?” she asks curiously. “Seen? Done?”
I shake my head. “A certain adverb, my grammar nerd.”
She scrunches her brow. “Always?”
“Yes. Always,” I say, looking ahead toward a bend in the path in the Ramble. I checked it out yesterday, and everything is the way I want it.
“Always is a nice word,” she adds, giving me a look that says she knows I’m up to something.
I am definitely up to something.
When we pass the curve on the path, a freshly washed green bench with a polished and gleaming plaque greets us.
“But as I was saying, your worries about us finding something new are unfounded. That’s something new to uncover, for instance.” I point to the bench.
She peers at the plaque and anticipation winds tight in my body. Hope fills my cells. When she gasps, that’s my cue.
I bend to one knee and flip open a jewelry box. “What does it say?” I ask, though I already know.
Once upon a time, a duke met an angel and fell madly in love. He fell in love so deeply, so truly, he asked her to marry him. Marry me, Sabrina, and be mine always.
She spins around, tears sliding down her face over a smile more radiant than any I’ve ever seen. “Yes. I say yes.”
I slide the ring on her finger, and the princess-cut diamond shines brighter than the sun. It better. It’s huge.
Well, I wasn’t going to buy her a tiny ring.
She deserves the best.
“It’s perfect, because you’re the perfect guy,” she says, and kisses me as deeply and as passionately as she did that first night.
When she breaks the kiss, she takes my hand and guides me to the bench. “Let’s go enjoy our bench.”
We sit, and we kiss more, and we talk more, and she s
tares at her ring, and I tell her that it was either the bench or a knock-knock joke for the proposal, but the bench won out.
“I still want to hear the knock-knock joke.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Marry.”
“Marry who?”
“Marry me.”
Sabrina
I laugh and wrap an arm around him. “My answer is still yes.”
“Good because we have lots of favorite places to find. Always is a long, long time.”
“I like always with you.”
“You should. Want to know why?” my fiancé asks as a bird chirps overhead. He squeezes my finger and admires my ring.
I admire it too. When I look at it, I see hope, and a future, and love. This certainty was worth every risk. “Why?”
“Because always means we live happily ever after.”
THE END
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The One Love Collection Page 77