Brutal Game (13 page)

“I guess so.”

He headed for the bathroom and Laurel’s shit-eating grin bloomed anew. He’d find more than the relief of a steaming shower in there—she’d slung the old red towel over the rod. The note on the mirror read, simply,
Whatever you want.

She’d better hold off on starting the risotto. It’d only wind up a gluey mess if Flynn decided to take her up on that invitation the second he stepped out of the bathroom. She finished chopping the veggies, lowered the blinds and got comfy on the bed, studying the apartment. She bet she could convince the landlord to let her paint the walls. Heather’s place was painted. It might take the edge off the starkness of the space—

The bathroom door swung in and the fan and light flipped off. “Whatever I want?” Flynn asked as he appeared. The red towel was knotted around his waist.

She nodded. “Whatever you want.”

He walked to the closet. “What I want,” he said, opening the door and reaching up to the top shelf, “is for you to wear something very special, tonight.”

Her eyebrows rose. Flynn wasn’t the lingerie type. Then the surprise changed to confusion when he turned, holding a gray box as big as a milk crate—a safe.

“What— Oh.” The ring, duh. “I’ll have you know I looked all over for that, while you were out.”

He set the box on the bed and crossed the room to unhook his keys from his abandoned pants. “That rock’s worth more than everything else in this apartment put together,” he said, opening the safe. “This shoulda been the first place you looked.”

And there it was—from the big gray box came the tiny, gleaming wooden one. He sat at her side and popped it open. Just one glance at the diamond and her breath was gone, sucked clean out of her lungs.

“Wow.”

“You finally gonna put it on?”

She nodded, mesmerized.

He slid it free and held it out. Laurel accepted it with a surprisingly calm hand, studying it by the light of the reading lamp. “I have a job and a diamond ring,” she whispered.

“That you do. Put it on.”

“Aren’t you supposed to do it?”

“Am I?”

She shrugged. “That’s what they do in movies.” She was stalling, feeling tears brewing, emotion rising like a tide.

“As you wish.” He took it and Laurel offered her ring finger, unable to hold back a sloppy, quavering smile as he slid it on. It couldn’t have been a better fit.

Laurel had never been the type to lie around daydreaming about proposals or rings or weddings or babies, but it was undeniably powerful, this moment. Like stumbling across a threshold into a new stage of womanhood.

“Nice work, Anne,” Flynn said.

“Ha, indeed. I’ll have to take her out for a seriously overpriced dinner when my first engineering paycheck clears.” She angled her hand this way and that, watched the light dancing in the stone. “Jesus, it’s so beautiful.”

“Glad you like it.”

She paused her ogling long enough to pull him in for a kiss. Then another, another, probably a dozen before she finally let him go. “Wow. Thank you.”

“Thanks for proposing. Saved me a lot of anxiety.”

“I was a little worried you’d be all old school about it. About the dude doing the asking, I mean.”

He shook his head. “Long as I still wear the pants in bed, I’m easy.”

She laughed, then looked to his bare torso. “You’re currently wearing nothing but a highly contentious towel. What comes first—dinner or depravity?”

“Seems pointless to get dressed, only to get naked again in a half hour.”

“Very well. What’re you in the mood for?”

“You’ll find out as soon as you get your clothes off.”

She stood, smirking, and made a little show of stripping down, flashing her ring at him between shed garments. Heat sparked in his eyes with every item that hit the floor, his lips parting, lids drooping. Such a glorious sight, this strong man looking foggy and half helpless from lust.

When she was completely naked, she joined him on the bed. He tugged the towel off and urged Laurel back until she was lying down and he was braced above her. His cock was ready, resting warm and stiff along her belly.

“Fiancée,”
he whispered.

“Weird, huh?”

“A little. I like it.”

“Me too.”

“Can I take a rain check on the goring?” he asked. “I don’t feel like any fucked-up shit tonight. I just want you and me.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Lemme get you ready. Tell me how.”

She blushed, from the sweetness of that order as much as her own reply. “Your mouth.”

She let her nails graze up his back and shoulders as he edged his way down her body, raked them through his damp hair when he brought his mouth close. Cool fingers parted her sex, warm breath caressing her folds, then his lips. She shut her eyes and searched for his scent behind the aroma of dinner, finding only his soap, not his skin. No matter. In minutes he’d be all around her, his sweat and the smell of his arousal, and the sounds of his excitement ringing in her ears.

Mine, and no one else’s,
she thought, registering the subtle weight of the ring on her finger. In time the feel and the sight of it would grow as familiar as any other part of her body, and she welcomed that change as well. Like the presence of Flynn beside her as they slept, there was a comfort to be found when something once novel turns mundane. It was the taking-for-granted you had to be wary of. For decades to come, Laurel hoped to slip this ring off and polish it lovingly, feeling dazzled by it all over again, just as this man’s rare smile always did to her.

When his mouth had her slick and aching, she tugged at his shoulders, welcomed that sinful weight atop her. He sank deep, slowly, gaze moving between her face and the spot where their bodies met, eyes restless and needy.

“No cramps?” he asked.

“No.” A few times in the last couple weeks the IUD had triggered a sharp twinge—unwelcome reminders of the miscarriage—but nothing tonight. “Go as deep as you want.”

He did. Still slow, as though savoring each long slide in and out. As though he, like Laurel, was feeling all of this for the first time, somehow.

Before long came those scents she’d searched for, then the sounds of his mounting excitement. Her own rose in tandem, pleasure shifting from a curious hum to a growling hunger. She eyed the cock surging between her thighs, eyed the ring shining where she gripped his shoulder. She reached her other hand between them but he knocked it aside.

“Let me.”

She did. She marveled at his strength and physicality in the way he held himself up on one arm, amazed by those deft fingers and by how well he knew her body and what she needed. It was strange to think she’d ever had to teach him a thing about touching her; he could please her as easily as she might herself.

When she came it was his face she sought, locked in those eyes, his name riding the crest of a moan as the spasms swept through her. When she was spent, his hands splayed across the covers beside her ribs and his pumping hips began to pound. “Gimme your nails.”

She traced his arms, teasing, then gave what he was after—the mean dig of her fingers in his back as he chased his release. Whether he reveled in the possession of her touch or imagined it as something more akin to resistance, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the anguish of his pleasure, the set of his jaw and the power of this body, claiming hers.

He came in no time at all, transformed to a panting, wild-eyed beast, only to go tame and dozy as the pleasure ebbed. He dropped to his forearms and pressed his face to her throat, groans guttering to a happy sigh.

“Good?” she teased.

“Always.” He moved to her side and grabbed her a washcloth.

She tidied herself and passed it back. “We’ve been engaged for all of two hours and it’s already Missionary City. You going vanilla on me?”

“Never. Plus missionaries don’t eat pussy, do they?”

“If I meet one, I’ll ask him.”

He tossed the cloth aside and pulled her close, kissing her forehead, filling her up with the scent and sounds and heat of him. His voice was a low and lazy rumble. “If you’re worried marriage is going to mellow me, next time I’ll fuck you in such disgusting ways you’ll be sprinting for the nearest confessional.”

“That’s so sweet. Thank you, my betrothed.”

He pulled back. “Lemme see that ring.”

She slipped her hand from where it was pinned between them, showing him.

“It’s so shiny.”

“I know. I could stare at it for an hour, but I better get busy finishing this dinner.”

“It’ll keep. Gimme ten more minutes.”

“You’re the boss.”

“In this bed, yes, I am. And I’m not done with you.”

“No?”

He urged her to turn so he could pull her close, her back plastered to his front. “Mm.”

For a while they lay in silence, rain pelting the shaded windows and the faint tick and whir of the thermostat the only sounds. In time Laurel said, “Things feel right again. Between us.”

His only reply was a kiss pressed to the back of her head.

“I worried maybe they’d changed for good.”

“They probably have,” he said. “Not sure how they couldn’t, when two people go through something like that together.”

“No, of course. But us, this… It feels the way it should again.”

“Amen.”

“I hope it always feels this easy. Even after we’ve been married a decade or three.”

“We’ll be okay.” His deep yawn pressed them tighter together. “We’ll both fuck shit up now and then and hurt each other, too.”

“I guess that’s inevitable.”

“But even when we’re a hundred there’ll still be times when it feels like this.”

“When
you’re
a hundred and
I’m
ninety-seven,” Laurel corrected.

Another “Mm” warmed her scalp through her hair, sleepier than the first.

She ought not to get too comfortable, but she couldn’t bear to leave this bed just yet. In a few more minutes, when Flynn predictably passed out. He could nap and she’d dress and finish dinner, and they’d eat and later watch a movie, or maybe just lie here, talking, or not talking, or maybe nothing so innocent as any of those things. Like the shape of their future marriage, like the details of her new career, she’d have to wait to find out.

And until the answers arrived, she’d savor every second of the anticipation.

L
aurel made
her way back from the bathroom, edging through a bustling kitchen and out onto a spacious back deck. South Boston was awash in spring sunshine, neither warm nor cool but promising longer days, balmier nights.

It was just past three on a Sunday afternoon, two hours into the party.
Laurel’s
party, thrown by Heather to celebrate her new job. She’d been touched at the offer, remembering how she’d envied Kim this attention only a few weeks earlier.

The family had gone all-out in the barbecue department, and when Flynns were told to BYOB, it seems they all arrived with a case, so the beer and wine were flowing like the Charles. The venue was some cousin or other’s place in a humble but quiet corner of Southie, strands of Christmas lights and paper lanterns cascading from the second-floor fire escape down to the fence. Folding tables were set up along the perimeter, overflowing with every side dish imaginable. Laurel couldn’t help but think this wouldn’t make a bad wedding reception.

She and Flynn were seated at the head of a picnic table. He stood, stole Laurel’s wine glass and clanked it with a fork to call for silence. “Everybody got a drink handy…? Good.”

Laurel took her glass back, feeling her cheeks flush pink, knowing what was coming. They’d kept the engagement a secret these past couple weeks. She found her purse at her feet and hauled it into her lap, rummaging through the inner pocket.

“Toast!” Heather bellowed from the grill.

“Fuckin’ right.” He held his ginger ale aloft. “A toast to Laurel—officially an engineer, with insurance and business cards and all that awesome grown-up shit.”

A collage of clapping and glass-clinking and whoops answered him, and Laurel raised her wine in bashful appreciation, her other hand balled in her lap.

Flynn cast her a meaningful glance and she nodded.

“And a toast to me,” he went on, “because despite her brains, I somehow convinced her fool-ass to marry me.”

A second’s pause, one filled with raised eyebrows and curious murmurs, chased immediately by Heather’s, “You what?”

He looked down at Laurel and she stood, passing him the ring. He made a little show of flashing it around at the crowd, then took her hand and slid it onto her finger.

A flurry of surprised exclamations clashed with more clapping, the odd swear from the Flynn camp and incoherent squealing from Anne. Laurel had managed to keep the news a secret from her roommate, much as she’d hated taking the ring off.

“You set a date?” Heather demanded.

They exchanged a look. “Maybe next fall, or the following spring?” Laurel ventured. “I’m not in a rush.”

“Little Miss Cautious wants us to live together for a while first,” Flynn said.

“Don’t put off planning,” Heather warned. “If you wanna have it at Holy Cross you—”

“For fuck’s sake, come
ooh
and
ahh
at the ring. Let’s save the church-wedding-versus-hell-bound-heathens fight for Thanksgiving, okay?”

“I’m just sayin’, you gotta book this shit in advance.”

“And I’m just reminding you, I’m an atheist and so’s Laurel, so don’t hold your breath. All right, now everybody get trashed and manhandle my gainfully employed fiancée’s sparkly hand, please.”

Heather was first in line. “Jesus. Nice work, Mike.” As she made her inspection, she asked Laurel, “You gonna be a Flynn?”

“I thought maybe I’d combine them, and be Laurel White Flynn, but your brother said a whiteflynn sounds like some kind of fish, so now I’m leaning toward just taking yours.” It wasn’t as though Laurel was especially attached to her name, or close with anyone who shared it. In fact, she felt far more endeared to this salty crew than she ever had to her own parents.

“You’d be welcome to it,” Heather said. “Class this family up.”

Laurel settled in for a good hour’s interrogation about all things bridal, disappointing everyone by having zero clue what she wanted her wedding to look like. Flynn excused himself to help man the grill. He reappeared just as Laurel was getting a bit of a break, refilling her glass at the cluttered beverage table.

He wandered over, popping the tab on another ginger ale. “You survived the frenzy.”

“I did. Do you think this gets us out of having to endure an engagement party?”

“I’m afraid that may be up to my sister. And she likes occasions.”

“The natives were thoroughly perplexed that I didn’t have any ideas about dresses or venues or color themes, but they let me live, in the end. I smell brats.”

“That you do. Everything’s done but the steak.” He tapped his can to her glass. “Thanks for making a decent man of me.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure the second I get you down that aisle you’ll quit swearing and fighting and find yourself a desk job and a briefcase, Michael Flynn.”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Laurel lowered her voice. “And I would be very, very disappointed to discover that wedded bliss somehow cured you of your depravity.”

“Can’t be a cure unless there’s a disease, and I’d like to think my tastes are part of my appeal.”

She tapped his can again. “Hear, hear.”

“Only difference’ll be that now when you fight back, you can scratch me with your ring.”

Something growled low and hot in her belly, and it had nothing to do with hunger. “Is it weird that I just got a little turned on?”

“Nope. Only makes me more certain I found the right woman.”

She could feel her cheeks burning but welcomed that heat, letting it wash over her and imagining summer breezes yet to come, the sizzle of champagne on her tongue as they toasted something else in a couple years’ time. She didn’t care much about dresses or registries, or whether they were married in a church or a park or in the boxing ring in that stinky bar basement, frankly. She only cared who was waiting for her as she crossed the floor. It could only be this man. It could only be those strong hands and those blue eyes, those lips on hers, that body against her own in their bed when the time came to tell their guests goodnight.

“We’ve got a lot to learn about each other, once that U-Haul’s been returned,” she said.

He eyed her. “I’m not scared. Are you?”

“No. I don’t think I am.” They’d been through a hell of a ride together these past two months and held hands through every dip and buck of the rollercoaster. In many ways she’d still felt like a girl for nearly all the time she’d been with him, trapped in a post-college purgatory. She was proud she’d be moving in with him feeling like a woman, at last.

“Lemme see it,” Flynn said, nodding down at her hand.

She tilted the ring this way and that, enjoying the slow, smarmy smile that spread across his lips.

“That’s a nice fuckin’ rock.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“You realize it’ll only make me ten times more possessive than I already am.”

“That a promise?”

He snaked his arm around her, fisting her belt at her waist. “The worst kind.”

“If this wasn’t my party I’d say let’s pound these drinks and get the heck out of here.”

He let her go, shaking his head. “You waited too long and worked too hard for this.”

“I suppose I did.”

He flicked his finger between the two of them. “This’ll keep for a few more hours. Go find yourself a sausage and another drink. Soak up the love.”

She looked around, floored all over again to think these dozens of people were here for her. “That sounds like a very good idea.”

“I’ll still be here, ready to escort your giggly ass home.”

“I’ll look forward to that.” She pulled him down by the collar for a kiss, smelling ginger, feeling the familiar heat of his skin. A humble and happy awe settled over her as he straightened once more, to know this man loved her the way she loved him, and to trust that she deserved it.

With a final stroke of his jaw, she said, “See you in a bit.”

“That you will. Go have the fuckin’ time of your life, kiddo.”