Laurel didn’t wait for an order. She reached for his belt, getting the buckle open and letting the worn, heavy leather fall aside. She freed one button then the next and the next until she spread his jeans open, revealing a strip of black cotton and getting her first hint of his scent, one that kicked her salivary glands into action. He eased his jeans down a couple more inches and adjusted his cock, centering the impressive bulge in his open fly.
She glanced up and met his eyes a second, wanting an order this time.
“Touch it.” Cold.
Laurel swallowed and put her fingertips to the ridge, feeling his flesh react. She flattened her palm, surveying his broad, heated erection and listening to his sharp inhalation. His hand covered hers, wrapping it tight around him, making her feel how thick and hard and ready he’d grown.
He moaned above her. “Yeah… Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all week, making you touch my dick. Get it out, girl.”
She tugged his waistband down, exposing every throbbing inch, wrapping her hand around him again and loving the smooth texture.
“Good girl.” His hips flexed into her slow, gentle exploration. “Harder.” He guided her hand again, tightening her grip and quickening her stroke. “That’s good. That’s good. I want this so bad.” He made their shared rhythm fast and rough and groaned in time with the pulls. “I’ve been jerking off thinking about this. About making you taste me.” Pre-come beaded at his slit then slid down his head to slicken the motions.
“Flynn.”
“I’m so fucking ready, you’re gonna get me off before we start playing. Taste me,” he ordered.
Laurel lowered her head, brought her mouth to him as their hands continued to work. She kissed his head, gave him a light lick.
“Yeah. More. Tongue me.”
She lapped at his slit, lavishing it with wet caresses.
“Good girl. Tease it. Tease it and I’ll reward you with a nice mouthful.”
Her face burned as she took his orders, the sounds of his panting breaths and the salty taste of him making her lightheaded. She flicked her tongue over him, savoring a thrill of power as his bossy hand faltered and his grunts turned to shallow gasps.
“God, fuck.” His hand released her and he tangled his fingers in her hair, holding her head but not forcing her mouth. Not yet. “Keep it tight,” he said, and she squeezed him harder. “Keep teasing me.”
She fluttered her tongue across his slit, the taste of his pre-come greeting her in steady bursts. She freed her mouth for a second.
“You taste so good.”
“Yeah. Take more of me. Suck my cock.”
Bitch,
she added to herself, the word seeming implicit from his harsh tone. She took him into her mouth, sucking hard. Any discomfort was worth it just for the sounds he made.
“More. Nice and deep.”
She worked her mouth lower, letting his head bump the back of her throat and trigger her gag reflex. It didn’t ease as she bobbed her head, but the sensation only heightened the experience, the taboo.
“All of it,” Flynn ordered, starting to force her. Though he was rough, he knew what he was doing. His demanding hands made her swallow every inch but he withdrew with each protest from her throat, gave her a chance to find her breath. He pulled out after a minute and got to his feet, making Laurel shuffle back a pace on the hard floor. He brought his cock back to her lips, adding his own thrusts and showing her the deep rhythm he craved.
“I love it,” he whispered. “I love fucking that sweet mouth of yours.” His hips sped up for a few beats, emphasizing, overwhelming Laurel a moment before he returned to a tempo she could handle.
“You’re so good at sucking that cock, girl.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “I’m gonna reward you. You want that?”
She moaned an affirmation around his shaft. He pulled her hair, yanking her head back and holding it at arm’s length. “Jerk me. Hard as you fucking can.”
She wrapped her hand around his slick cock and stroked so aggressively she feared she’d hurt him.
“Good. Keep going. Keep that up.”
A desperate, needy feeling clouded her mind as he held her hair, keeping her mouth just out of reach of his cock head. She jerked him until she could see his hips and stomach trembling, his breath racing from her mean strokes.
“You’re gonna get it,” he rasped. “You’re gonna get a big fuckin’ mouthful of me.” He groaned, the sound reverberating in Laurel’s bones. His free hand pushed hers away, taking over the pulls as the other hand brought her head close, forcing his cock past her lips as he released. His stroking fist bumped her chin as the come lashed her tongue, a long, hot stream of him bathing her taste buds and sliding down her throat. The roughness of his commands blended with the helpless sound of his moan, making Laurel feel in control for the briefest of moments. His hands released her as his body stilled.
“Clean me up,” he said, panting.
Laurel reached out and took his softening cock, laving it until he stepped away. She watched him walk to the sink and fill a glass from the tap. She looked to her top and her bra slung over the loveseat and wondered with a stab of panic if the evening’s activities were already over—if she was supposed to be getting dressed and making a decision about whether or not she was staying. Flynn set his glass on the counter and turned to face her.
“Okay. We’ve got about twenty minutes before I get mean again.”
She laughed, relieved the night was still young. “What are you, some kind of sex-werewolf?”
He let out a heavy sigh, blinked a couple times and walked over.
“Here,” he said, putting out a hand. “Get up. Looks weird having a topless girl on my floor when I’m not in barbarian mode.”
He helped her to standing and she dusted her knees off before meeting his eyes. “So. What do we do for twenty minutes?”
Flynn’s eyes dropped as his hand went to Laurel’s jeans, undoing her button and zipper. She giggled.
He looked up. “What?”
“Sorry. I can’t get over how big your fingers are.”
He stared at his hands a moment.
“Not just your fingers, I mean. All of you.” She looked to his eyes, probably eight or nine inches above hers, and she wasn’t particularly short. “How tall are you?”
“Six-three-and-a-half.”
“Damn.”
He shrugged and went back to her pants, pushing the snug garment down her hips. He sucked in a soft breath.
It was her turn to ask, “What?”
“I dunno. Just your skin. You’re so…white.”
“One of my roommates calls me Ghostie.”
He shook his head. “You’re like that famous chick, what’s her name?”
Laurel knew exactly what name he was looking for but refused to supply it. Pale skin and red hair, but she lacked Nicole Kidman’s height and bone structure and glamour and didn’t feel like hearing their differences listed if Flynn made a project of comparing them.
“So what do we do now?” she asked again.
“You get in my bed and I figure a few things out about you before the beast returns. If you’re still in the mood.”
She kicked off her jeans with gusto and jogged to toss herself across his rumpled comforter. She heard him laugh at her enthusiasm as she stared into the maze of pipes and vents traversing the ceiling, anticipating. His footsteps faded and the lights went out. More steps, and a dim reading lamp clamped to one of the bedside shelves flipped on. Flynn sat on the mattress, the heaviness of him thrilling Laurel deep down to her marrow.
“Lie on your side,” he said. “Away from me.”
She complied and he slid up behind her, pressing his bare chest into her back, pushing a hard, jean-clad thigh between her knees. He ran his warm palm up and down her hip and made a soft noise, a whisper crossed with a grunt. His hand slid up her ribs to cup her breast, the sensation tightening her legs around his.
“I wanna know what you like,” he said.
She realized that with his mouth this close and his tone hushed, the voice she’d found brash and a bit grating was actually rather sexy. She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here because I want to see what it’s like to be with someone, you know…like you.”
“Have you thought about it? Since the last time you were here?” His fingers pinched her nipple gently, then rougher.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it. A lot.” She’d gotten off about ten times in the last four days, imagining fucking Flynn. No, not fucking Flynn—being fucked
by
Flynn.
His hand moved down her belly to rest on her mound. “Tell me.”
Laurel hesitated. She’d always been lousy at dirty talk.
“Listen, kiddo,” he said. “I’m a selfish prick, and I want to be the greatest fuck of your life and ruin you for every man who comes after me. But I’m not a mind reader, so I need some help. Otherwise I could end up as the douchebag who’s got shitty taste in wine and totally traumatized you when you were thirty.”
“Twenty-nine.”
“So tell me,” he breathed, right behind her ear. “What do you want me to do to you?”
She took a deep breath, held it as his hand slid low, two fingers just barely pressing into her lips through her underwear. “I thought about everything you did with her,” she said. “And what it’d be like to do that with you.”
“What else?” His fingers turned and ran up and down her crease, flooding her pussy with heat and pressure. Confession became far easier.
“I thought about you making me get on my elbows and knees, on your floor, like you did with her.”
“Uh huh.” His touch intensified, his thigh pushing her knees wider as his fingers strained against the cotton.
“Except you tie my wrists,” she said. “And instead of telling me to keep my eyes on the floor, there’s like a mirror against the wall in front of me, so I have to watch you while you fuck me.” Her throat was tight, as tight as her pussy under his touch.
“And how do I fuck you?” he asked, voice turning harsh, hand slipping beneath her panties, tickling her pubic hair before his fingers found her folds and banished all other thoughts and sensations from reality. She moaned.
“Tell me how I fuck you.”
“Hard,” she managed to say. “And mean.”
“Am I forcing you?” Two fingers penetrated.
“Oh God.”
“Tell me. Do you want me to force you?” He pushed deeper.
“Yeah,” she said, barely able to form the syllable as his fingers thrusted into her.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, sounding smug. “I can’t wait to ram my dick inside you. See your hot body below me as I take you.”
He fucked her fast, his slick fingers curled into a hook, the pad of his hand stroking her clit each time he withdrew. Against her ass she felt him growing hard. The buckle of his belt made her think of her hands bound again, escalating her excitement. She groaned with each exhale, drunk from his touch and his smell, his voice. He was turning back into the other Flynn, just as he’d promised.
“You like that, don’t you?” She could hear his sneer. “Bet you wish that was my cock, don’t you?” His fingers fucked her hard for half a minute and she writhed against him, desperate. “You sucked me so good before. I loved watching you take every inch.”
“God, Flynn.”
His dick was stiff, as hard as it had been when she’d sucked him.
“You’ll say my name just like that when I make you come, bitch.”
Her breath hitched at the word but the intimidation wasn’t unpleasant.
“You want to live out that fantasy tonight?” His hips pumped, rubbing his erection against her bottom.
“I’m not sure.”
“We can do the training wheels version,” he said.
She gasped when he pulled away, turned her onto her back and knelt between her thighs, spreading them wide and bringing his groin to hers.
“I love your fantasy,” he said, looking down at her, fire in his eyes. He thrust his cock against her, the layers of fabric taunting. “I wanna watch you in that mirror, watching me. Close your eyes and think about it.”
She obeyed. His cock rubbed her pussy with hot, frustrating friction. Flynn’s face was fresh in her mind, that mean smile, dark expression. Plus his bare body with all those strong muscles, flexing with each thrust.
“I want that,” she said, and opened her eyes.
“Good.” He changed, suddenly businesslike. He stopped thrusting, wedged a knee under hers to kneel wide before her, put a hand on each of her shins. “We’re gonna keep things pretty tame tonight. I won’t actually tie your hands, but you’re gonna pretend I am. And you’re going to set the tone. You think you want to pretend I’m forcing you, you make it clear and I’ll play along. Okay?”
She nodded.
He slapped her calf. “Okay. Go make a trip to the ladies’ room if you need one, and I’ll get things set up. When you come back it’s game-on.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your safe word?”
“Michael.”
He slapped her calf again. “Good girl. And if for some reason you can’t say it and you need to, you grunt three times, fast, or hit your foot or your hand against something, three times. Okay?”
She nodded again.
He got his legs out from under hers and stood beside the bed. “Bring me back a towel. A big one.”
Laurel grabbed her purse and went to the bathroom, tidying her makeup for a couple minutes, the whirring fan drowning out whatever Flynn might be doing in the other room. When she emerged with the bath towel he was crouched by the open closet near the sleeping area, a toolbox by his foot. He unscrewed the bottom of a full-length mirror from the door then stood and detached the top. He walked it over to a bare stretch of wall and leaned it there. Turning to Laurel, he took the towel and lay it on the floor, apparently thinking her having her knees and elbows savaged by the not-so-recently swept hardwood was too varsity for her first night.
Flynn straightened up and the cold look on his face said the fantasy had begun. A chill trickled down Laurel’s spine as she stared into his narrowed eyes.
“Sit on the bed,” he said.
She hesitated a second and it was enough to earn herself some correction. Flynn took her by the shoulders and forced her back a couple steps, pushing her onto the edge of the mattress beside a pair of wrapped condoms, a bottle of lube and a roll of duct tape. The sensation of being physically controlled by someone she knew she couldn’t ever hope to fight off was both arousing and terrifying. This man could
actually
rape her, if he was so inclined—he was physically capable of it. She felt her throat constrict as if a fist had closed around it.