“You feel good, girl. Don’t tell me you don’t love it.”
She did love it, in a way. If she thought too hard about it all, things grew murky. She got caught on questions, like, what did it mean that this was the thing that turned him on like nothing else?
It means jack, she could imagine him saying. It means the random thing my sexuality got snagged on is creepy as shit. Period.
It didn’t mean he wanted to hurt a woman, not any more than a woman who enjoyed such games really wanted to be forced. It was the taboo, the wrongness of wanting it that made it hot. Or for Laurel, it was Flynn. It was the balance of a man strong enough to hurt her for real also being the one she trusted above all others. And it was having the power to grant his darkest, dirtiest wishes, and to see and hear and feel what it did to him.
Behind her, the beast was loose and wild. His palms were slick on her hips, his cock hard in that way that only this game could make it. She longed to see his face, but more than that, she longed for selfish things. And finally, he gave her what she wanted.
He pulled out and his hands were urging her forward. “Up, on your knees. Hold the shelf.” When she hesitated he barked, “Now.”
She knew what he was after. It was something they often did when they weren’t role-playing. She cast him a faux-fearful glance over her shoulder then moved, kneeling upright at the head of the bed, holding on to the edge of a shelf. He entered her roughly with a grunt that made her legs tremble. Her hair was twisted up and pushed to one side, his mouth claiming the bared side of her throat.
And finally, it came—his touch. One hand slipped around to palm her breast, the other moving between her legs, finding her clit.
“Yeah.” He said it so softly, it wasn’t part of the game. There was wonder in his voice, the tone that overtook him sometimes when he found her wet, or found her clit as stiff as it was now. It excited her nearly as much as the rough fingertips circling her and the thick cock gliding in and out, in and out.
For Laurel, the narrative fell away. He could imagine whatever sinful things he liked, but she didn’t need anything more than exactly what this was—a powerful man using her and serving her at once. No lover had ever understood her body the way this one did. His fingers knew the exact speed, the precise pressure, his touch masterful even as his body pounded into hers, harsh and frantic. Always contradictions, with Flynn. Selfish and catering. Cruelty underpinned by blind trust. A no-nonsense, frequently tactless man, but under the surface possessing so much tenderness and loyalty and intuition.
She was losing it, falling to pieces. Her hands shook on the shelf, sweaty and crampy and weak from the pleasure coursing through her body. Her legs were water, sex molten. Her breathing came in long, low groans, sounding pained and crazed and intoxicated. She hoped maybe it was standing in for some facsimile of fear for Flynn, but honestly, she was beyond caring. All she wanted was more, more of this, until she broke apart completely.
His mouth was at her neck, just behind her ear, his breath as hot as steam. “You love that cock, girl?”
She could only gasp and pant.
“I think you do. I think you’re gonna come on that cock, aren’t you?”
“Please.” Her last stab at feigned resistance, though that plea was genuine. Make me come. Please, please, please.
“I know what you need,” he told her. “I’m gonna make you come harder than any man ever has.”
She was dying to say his name. It echoed in her head, through her body, pulsing in every cell. It was that syllable as much as his rushing cock or taunting fingertips that pushed her over the edge.
She came hard, knuckles chalk-white where she clung to the shelf, body bucking into his, seeking and trying to escape his touch at the same time, all of it too much, never enough. Her cry was deep and animal, telling him every filthy thing she had no words for.
Behind her, that perennial chant: “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” punctuating every twitch, every spasm, until she was nothing but a sweaty, trembling mess.
From Flynn, a massive groan, then, “On your back.”
She obeyed, flopping gracelessly across the bed, feet on the pillow. She welcomed the heat and weight and desperation of him. Their game felt done and she held him, tugged at those same arms she’d pretended to push away not long ago.
“Fuck, honey.”
She smiled to herself, slid her palms low and rode the motions of his hammering hips. “You look so fucking good.”
He smiled, the gesture all but lost to the agony of his pleasure. “You’re one to talk.”
“You gonna come for me?”
“So goddamn hard.”
“Show me, then.”
She let her hands and gaze wander his body, stroking his back and arms, feasting on the spectacle of his surging cock.
“Yeah, watch me.” His voice gave him away, and his half-shut eyes, the pace of his thrusts.
“Come on, Flynn.”
“Yeah. Say it.”
“Flynn. Show me.”
“You want my come?”
“Always.”
“Where? Your cunt?”