Chapter Eight
Laurel held her breath the whole way down the hall, heart hammering as the door shut and deadbolt clicked. She turned to face Flynn. He tossed his bag by the door and approached her with slow, even steps. She swallowed. His eyes looked wild in the faint light leaking in from the city.
“Michael,” she said. “Sorry. I just really need to use the bathroom. Hold that glare.”
She peed and tried to gargle away her beer breath with a mouthful of tap water, checked her makeup and stepped back out into the dangerous dark. The absence of the bathroom light left her momentarily blind and she gasped as a hand grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back, rough, nearly painful. Flynn had taken his shirt off—she felt his damp skin plastered against her bare arm as he leaned down to speak just behind her ear.
“Scream and I swear I’ll kill you.”
The blood drained from Laurel’s face and fingers, her extremities going numb as her pussy clenched and flooded with heat.
He smelled dangerous, like sweat and blood and dirt, and she forgot how to breathe. She found the barest squeak of her voice as his hand tightened around her wrist.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what?” He pushed her, walked her roughly to the bed, forcing her down onto her chest, legs hanging over the edge. He let her wrist go to reach beneath her, both hands tugging at the button of her jeans. Adrenaline shot through her veins, mixed with her excitement, made her tingle with aggression and fear. She thrashed, flailing onto her back and wedging her feet against Flynn’s stomach, trying to push him away, determined to make him work for it, wanting to feel the power and danger of his strength.
He yanked her jeans down her thighs and off her calves, hooked her around the waist as she made it to her feet and tried to bolt. His arm half-knocked her wind out and in a blink she was on her back on the bed again. Flynn’s knees pushed between hers, one hand unbuckling his belt as the other pinned her by the shoulder. His broad, black silhouette blocked out the jaundiced glow from the windows and made him seem anonymous, deepening the pulse throbbing between Laurel’s legs.
She slapped his arm with both hands, buckling it a moment with a hard hit to the inside of his elbow.
“Bitch.” He ignored her next strikes, finishing with his pants and wrestling to get her wrists in his grip. He’d gotten his hard cock out—Laurel felt it straining along the crotch of her panties as he brought his body down to hers. He made a deep, hungry animal noise that raised the hairs all down her arms. She yanked and pushed as hard as she could, barely budging him.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He held both her wrists in one fist, pinning them above her head as he reached for the shelf. He ripped the condom open with his teeth and got it on so fast Laurel could only marvel. She forced herself back into character, bucking her body under his.
“Fucking lay still.” He reached down and pushed the crotch of her panties to one side, big fingers finding her pussy wet and ready. “Oh yeah, you’re gonna feel beautiful.”
Two fingers slid in deep, thrusting, and Laurel did what she hoped was a convincing job of feigning disgust and terror. He had her pinned so well she couldn’t move anything but her head more than an inch. She did the only thing she could—spat in his face.
Flynn froze and she was suddenly glad she couldn’t see his expression.
He held both their bodies so still his flaring breaths rang out like shouts in the dark. Anticipation held court until finally he lowered, fearfully slow, covered her mouth with his as his hand left her panties to clasp her jaw. He forced his thumb between her lips, got her teeth apart even as Laurel bit down as hard as she dared. His tongue slid into her mouth, finding hers and giving her as explicit and dirty a kiss as he could manage. He pulled away, keeping his face close, pressing his forehead to hers and sliding his thumb free.
“You don’t wanna know how rough I can play, girl.” His lips brushed hers. “Now I’m gonna let your hands go and you’re gonna be good, or else I’m gonna be real bad. You got that?”
“Don’t do this.”
Flynn ground his rock-hard cock against her pubic bone. “You didn’t give me a choice, bitch.”
He released her numb hands, leaned back and pulled her underwear aside again. She felt the head of his cock pressing hard between her legs, seeking entrance. Laurel hauled off and slapped him dead across the face, harder than she’d ever hit anyone in her entire life. The noise must have been scarier than the force, as Flynn’s head barely moved. A snort that belonged to a pissed-off bull hissed from his nose.
His whispered words were deadly calm. “You are so fucked.”
Laurel grabbed both his arms as he angled his dick and pushed inside. Fuck, he felt amazing. She stifled a moan as he forced his way into her clenched pussy.
“You’re so tight when you fight me, girl.” He took the whacks and slaps she laid on his arms, all his energy focused on the penetration. He eased in slow, halfway, then pulled back and rammed himself home.
Laurel cried out, the surprise all real.
He made a filthy, satisfied noise and thrust again. He yanked his arms out of her grip and grasped her wrists, pinning them together again above her head, one hand free to wrap around her throat.
“Tell me you love it,” he ordered.
Laurel gave a good thrash then froze as the hand on her neck tightened. Not hard enough to choke but plenty hard enough to intimidate.
“Tell me.”
She swallowed, the motion thick and labored under his palm. “I love it.”
“I thought so. Tell me how I feel, bitch.”
She whimpered, the noise utterly authentic. “Hard,” she managed to say.
“What else?”
Another thick swallow. “Big. And long.”
“Yeah.” He pumped deep, seeming to luxuriate. His hips felt powerful, thighs strong and hard, spreading her wide. He released her throat, took a wrist in each hand and held them on the mattress at either side of her butt. Laurel wanted to drown in the grunts that punctuated each rough thrust. She kept her arms tugging and her pussy clenched and kept her ecstasy to herself.
After a couple minutes’ hard fucking Flynn released her tingling hands, pulled out, lifted her legs and flipped her onto her stomach. He yanked her panties down her legs and pinned her thighs together with his clothed knees. His hands found hers again, bringing them together at the small of her back, forcing her head to one side. She was too turned on to muster much of a fight, just moaned as his dick brushed her butt, slid between her thighs and plunged back inside. His zipper scraped against her ass.
“God yeah.” He sounded close to release, the words strangled, his body losing coordination. Laurel felt drops of sweat land on her back and wished she could see that hard body working, all those glistening muscles and his angry cuts and bruises.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna come. Fight me, bitch. Fight me.”
Laurel did her pathetic best to struggle and whatever little resistance she managed was enough. He pounded hard for a half minute and came apart, hips hammering as he groaned through his release.
She expected him to collapse but the opposite happened. He let her go and rolled her onto her back, ditched the condom and curled his body beside hers. She relaxed her head into the pillow as his hand found her pussy. He dipped two fingers inside to wet them then teased her clit, fast and frantic.
“Oh God—” His mouth cut her off, claiming hers rough and deep. She touched his face, his damp hair and skin, let her legs twitch as his hand set her on fire. When the kiss broke apart she watched his slick arm flexing to pleasure her, the contour of his side and hip and jeans-clad ass in the ambient light.
“God, don’t stop.”
He rubbed harder, bringing the pleasure to a boil.
“Use your thumb,” she stammered. “Fuck me with your fingers.”
He tucked his body closer, got two fingers inside, then three, then all four, thrusting, and finally pressed his thumb to her clit.
“Flynn. God, fuck me.”
“Come on, girl. Come on.” He circled her clit, the touch so intense she felt a wall form between her mind and reality. Pleasure jerked her deep into the climax, bubbled up from her core and spilled into her arms and legs and out of her mouth in a long, wild moan. His hand slowed as her clenches became twitches, until the last drops of orgasm were wrung from her quaking body.
Her breath rang out in the quiet room, then her voice. “Holy fuck.”
Flynn slid his fingers out, wiped them on the bedspread. His warm, slippery chest pressed against her as his arms wrapped around her waist. He rested his mouth against her collarbone and a long, satisfied sound oozed out of him to heat her skin.
“Shit, you’re so hot.”
Laurel giggled, smiling up at the ceiling. “You’re real pretty yourself.”
“Let’s quit our jobs and fuck all day.”
“Works for me. Think somebody will subsidize that? Maybe we could apply for some kind of research grant.”
Flynn made a happy noise and his arms tightened. They lay quietly for ten minutes, until their collective breathing was even, sweaty bodies cooled. Flynn pulled away, got to his feet, wandered across the apartment to switch on the lights. Laurel sat up and watched him puttering, tossing clothes from his gym bag into a hamper. He disappeared into the bathroom briefly and the sound of the shower left her sad, made her wish his smell wasn’t being washed away. He emerged shortly with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping. She studied his body, those familiar injuries like angry, transient tattoos.
She rolled herself off the bed, went to the bathroom to tidy herself and retrieve some first-aid accessories. Flynn eyed the items as she approached and took a seat obediently on the coffee table.
“God, you’re such a mess.” She sat at the edge of the chair and soaked a wad of toilet paper with antiseptic, tilting his head up to swab his latest cuts. She smeared Bactine over the deep ones, studied his eyes under the guise of scrutinizing his injuries. He moaned as she daubed at a scrape on his throat, not a sound of pain.
He pressed his neck into her touch, spoke through a heavy sigh. “I like when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know…” His words faded to a mumble. “Fuss over me.”
“Take care of you?”
He nodded, just the briefest dip of his chin.
Laurel wasn’t sure what to do with this information. It was tough to write things off with Flynn, as he so rarely made sentimental proclamations, and the ones he did make couldn’t be blamed on alcohol.
She finished swabbing the scrape, blotted his skin until none of the tiny lines offered any fresh blood.
“You’re a strange man, Michael Flynn.”
“Can I call you Nurse White? That’s such a good porno name.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I bet there isn’t much porn out there that does it for you, huh?”
“Why d’you say that?”
“Because the normal stuff’s probably too boring, and the things that you are into… Well, I guess I just imagine it would be icky, watching other people pretending to do rape stuff and all that. Or worrying if it wasn’t really simulated. I mean, I feel grossed out just trying to imagine Googling the keywords for that.”
“You’re not far off.”
“Plus I don’t think you own a computer. Or a TV.”
“There’s a laptop around here someplace,” he said, sounding suddenly sleepy and distracted. “I haul it to the coffee shop if I need to do something online.”
“You know…”
“What do I know?”
“I was just thinking, when I first met you, you seemed really…obvious,” she concluded. “And you’re not. Not just how you are in bed,” she said, rambling. “On the outside you’re, like, über-macho, Mr. Toolbelt-and-Boxing-Gloves with your bossy accent and your attitude and your…tallness.”
“My tallness?”
“And your body and everything. But you’re really something else on the inside. Sorry,” she said after a pause. “That sounded way more squishy than I meant it to. Should I insult you, to take the edge off all that squishiness?”
“Nah. I’ll just take it out on you next time.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you will.” She eased a bandage over his nastiest cut, pressed it gently into place. “Done fussing.”
He nodded.
Laurel carried the supplies back to the bathroom, took a quick shower and reemerged naked. Flynn was stretched out on the bed in his shorts. He sat up as she flipped the bathroom light and fan off. As always, his gaze lacked subtlety and, as always, she liked it.
“Can I steal another shirt to sleep in?”
He managed to stare even more pointedly. “Fuck no.” But he rose a moment later and tossed her a tee from his dresser, looking disappointed as it swallowed her torso.
“Thanks.”
“Hit the lights and get over here.”
Laurel turned the overhead lights off, came back to the bed, dusted the grit from her feet and lay across the rumpled covers. Flynn rolled to his side, coming close. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her damp hair, his breath flaring in hot, slow intervals.
“You said you don’t do spooning,” she said.
He shushed her.
“Are you the only one allowed to break the rules you make?” she asked.
“I dunno. Try sometime and find out.”
They lay in silence for a long time. As Laurel grew drowsy she felt Flynn’s body calm then turn restless. His sticky arms shifted around her.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Christ, your skin smells so fucking good.”
Before Laurel could offer a sleepy reply she was turned onto her back and Flynn was braced above her. Her body roused a few seconds ahead of her brain. “Hello.”
“Like vanilla custard.”
“So you say.”
He leaned in and kissed her, light and slow, a lazy drag of his warm lips against hers. “You too sore?”
“Nope. Have at it.”
He smirked. “You need lube?”
“Find out for yourself.”
The smile deepened and he slid a hand between their bodies, two fingers dipping inside her pussy. “Oh fuck.”
He found a condom and kicked his underwear away. Laurel peeled her shirt off and watched him stroke himself stiff, knowing the mere fact he hadn’t ordered her to do it marked this occasion as different. By the time he rolled the condom on, his breathing was labored, heavy and impatient. She propped her legs open as he knelt between them, his palms flat on the mattress beside her ribs. His hips angled his cock to her pussy and he sank in slow.
“God,” Laurel muttered. “I love your cock.”
He lowered to his elbows and pushed his face against her neck, muffling his words. “I love your cunt. You’re so fuckin’ warm. I can’t get enough of this.”
She whispered above his ear. “Do you want me to struggle?”
“No. I just want to fuck you.”
She ran her hands up and down his body, admiring his back, his ass, the week-old rope-burn scar still raised along his shoulders, the damp bristle of his short hair. Eventually her palms settled on his hips. She memorized how he felt. She brought her legs up, wanting to wrap her entire body around him, possess him as he was possessing her.
He took his time, pumping deeply, savoring, giving his cock whatever it needed as his curt, hungry breaths warmed Laurel’s neck.
In time his thrusts shifted, turned frantic, the change in this domineering man fascinating her. She curled her nails against his skin and shuddered at the power she felt, sensing how helpless he’d grown.
“Michael.”
Flynn shot up on locked arms and froze.
“Oh God, sorry,” she said. “That was supposed to be a sweet-nothing, not a safe word.”
His rigid body fell slack. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry. Is it okay if I call you that? Can I change my word?”
“To what?”
“Uh…parakeet?”
“Fine.” He leaned in close again, bringing his slick chest back to hers, breathing into her shoulder. “I’m not used to being called that though.”
“What, parakeet?”
He snorted. “No, genius—Michael. Doesn’t really feel like my name.”
“You’d rather I called you Flynn?”
He pushed back up on to his arms. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I will. But let’s keep the new safe word. In case I slip up again.”
His body got back to work. The desperate quality from before hardened, transformed at least partly into his usual, aggressive style. He felt good, but she missed that tiny taste of what she suspected was a rare glimpse at a softer side of Flynn. Of Michael, maybe. But she made a mental note to not get her hopes up about seeing too much of this man’s gentler alter ego.
Above her, he moaned. He hammered her deep, their thighs slapping with each pump. “Take my fucking cock.”
She grasped his hips, tugging in time with his thrusts to spur him on.
“God, I wish I could fuck you bare. Come right inside you.” He slammed into her then suddenly stopped, pulling out and moving back on the mattress.
“Is everything okay?”
He was already lowering himself, moving his face between her legs. “I need to taste you.”
She gasped as his tongue lapped at her clit, hot and wet and hungry. He hooked his arms under her thighs and clamped his hands to the creases below her hipbones. Laurel had gotten plenty of head in her time, but never like this. Flynn fucked her with his mouth—tongue driving deep, lips suckling, the stubble of his jaw scraping her tender skin to fan the flames. He set a rhythm of firm licks from her lips to her clit, punctuating each with a grunted, “Yeah.”
“God, Flynn.”
“You taste so fucking amazing.” He brought his head up and Laurel could see the violent rise and fall of his chest. “Sit on my face,” he said.
She got up and they swapped places, Flynn lying back with his head just below the pillows. She swung a leg over and wedged her calves under his arms, settling her pussy against his mouth and grasping the edge of a shelf for balance. She fussed with the position until he yanked down on her hips, pulling her closer. “Oh God.”
His voice was thick and desperate. “Fuck my mouth.” He made his tongue stiff, spearing her, nose grazing her clit, and Laurel rocked her hips and let the sensations and textures of him drive her insane. One hand left her and she felt the motions behind her, knowing he’d started stroking himself. She let go of the shelf and leaned back, craned her neck, wishing she could see more. A flash of his pumping fist and swollen cock, the condom stripped—then her balance faltered and she faced forward again, grabbing the shelf.
Flynn broke away, and his next order unnerved her a little. “Turn around.”
She obeyed, fascinated by how he still managed to be in charge, even as he served her. She got in position and tried to ignore how vulnerable she felt, spread open with her ass in his face. But as she braced herself on her palms, facing his feet, the view made it entirely worth it. Flynn’s mouth went back to work, followed by his hand.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Gimme a good show, Flynn.” It wouldn’t be hard to stroke or suck him herself, but Laurel wanted to make him do the work, to be spoiled by this bossy man. She watched that tight fist pulling on his thick cock, luxuriated in his flicking tongue and sucking lips. Her brain projected a screen over the visual and she imagined him losing control. Each time she conjured the image of him shooting, bathing his belly in all that hot come, she edged closer to climax.
When the pre-come glistened at his tip she reached out to rub it into his head, teasing his slit with her thumb, loving the moan he rewarded her with.
“I can’t wait to watch you come, Flynn.”
His grip seemed to tighten, the pulls slowing for Laurel’s enjoyment, turning more explicit. She cupped his tight balls in her palm, squeezing, fondling, rubbing the smooth skin just behind them. His body jerked beneath her, sending her tumbling into her release. Her thighs fluttered around his face as the pleasure rocked through her. She watched that fist crank into overdrive, fucking his cock fast and rough, getting him there just behind her. His chest and stomach clenched, and the first spasm lashed come against his damp skin, followed by two more, a deep groan, then peace. He swore softly.
Laurel fumbled off of him and flopped onto the mattress. He grabbed the towel and cleaned himself up, then his body wrapped around hers again, warm and damp from the summer and the sex.
“Man,” she sighed. “That visual should keep me going ’til the next time I come over.”
“Pervert.”
“Oh right. Me, the pervert.” She reached back to pat his damp hair. “You keep telling yourself that.”
They fell silent, sleep soon coming down on Laurel like a narcotic curtain. Clothes, covers and no-cuddling rules abandoned, she fell asleep to the rhythmic hush of Flynn’s breathing in her hair.