Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel #2)(37)

“Yes, Sir.” She hadn’t called him that in ages. The formality of it had always seemed corny to Laurel, but it felt right tonight, somehow. She’d read a book about D/s sex after they’d become a couple. Was this subspace? Wait, no—she was thinking far too much for that. She was thinking far too much, period. She needed more. She needed pleasure to let her endure the discomfort. And there was no choice but to spell it out for him.

“I want to come for you.”

His hips kept pumping but his sounds changed, grunts muted to huffs of air. “That so?”

“Yes, please. On your cock, just like this.”

“Beg me again. Beg me again, and maybe I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

“Please, Sir. Touch me, please. I want it so bad it hurts.” She wanted it so badly, just to balance out the hurt.

“You want my touch,” he echoed, his tone maybe mocking, maybe just cocky. One hand moved from her hip to her crack, thumb drawing a shocking line down and over her hole.

Her breath was gone, body tossed between misgiving and excitement, as it always was when he took liberties back there. He reached around to wet his thumb where his driving cock met her slick lips. He swept his fingertips over her clit for a single second’s torturous tease before returning to her ass.

She gave herself over to this moment, still intimidating after all this time with Flynn, but familiar. The faint sting of the intrusion, the warped pleasure of the transgression. It wasn’t the touch she craved, but there was no denying it solidified the need pulsing in her belly.

“That what you wanted?” he demanded.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

His thumb twisted, retreated, delved deep again, feeling better by the second. “Good answer. But don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Tell me what you want.” Such words could have felt reassuring, except he sounded cold, so cold.

“My clit,” she mumbled.

“Tell me.”

“My clit. Please. Please.”

He shifted, knocking her knees wider with his own for balance, then inching the hand still holding her hip forward, seeking her cunt.

She cried out the moment he glanced that blazing, aching spot. There was a spit-damp patch of sheet spreading under her cheek. Her neck was wrenched and her hands were numb, screaming for blood, but all at once she felt none of it. The universe shrank to the point where his fingertips met her clit, blinding bright, nearly too much to bear.

She moaned like a crazy woman when he stroked her there, suddenly breathing so fast she could be hyperventilating. “God. Please.”

“Say my name.”

“Flynn. Fuck, please, Flynn.”

He gave her exactly what she needed—tight, rough circles falling into sync with his punishing cock, his plundering thumb.

She was long gone, half-aware of the mantra of her voice, a pitiful chant of “Please, please, please.” Mere seconds and she was moaning, trembling, begging with every cell in her body.

“Good girl. Come on that cock.”

It was that familiar praise that did her in, plummeting her headlong into oblivion.

Through the quaking of her release she felt him succumb to his own. His cock drove as deep as it went, fingers digging into her hips and promising bruises. Any pain she endured was worth the price to feel the familiar rhythm of his hips as he emptied inside her, to hear the pained groans as pleasure turned him helpless.

Their bodies fell still, rocked in tiny frissons by their pumping hearts and gulping lungs. When he pulled out, Laurel felt the dirty-sweet heat of their mingled sex wetting her savaged panties.

He stretched out on his back, eyes shut, one arm cocked above his head. Laurel got up to use the bathroom and abandon the last of her clothes. When she joined him on the bed, she was spent enough to not overthink things and to take what she wanted—contact. Skin to skin, so quiet after the force of the storm.

She laid her arm across his chest, feeling his heart beating under her palm, under his warm, slick skin. So close, and yet he still felt miles away.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

“What’s that mean?”

“You feel so far away… I understand why. I’m not asking you to be any different. But I miss you all the same.”

“I need time.”

“You can have all you want. Do you need space?”

“I dunno yet.”

“You can have that too. Just say.”

“I don’t know what I need. I’m not used to being this f*cking…” He struggled for the right word.

“Vulnerable?” Laurel hazarded, just as he settled on, “Torn up.”

She held him tighter.

“I’m gonna tell you something right now,” he said, “and I want you to remember it every time I’m angry with you, for as long as we’re together.”

“All right.”

“I wouldn’t be this ripped up if I didn’t love you. I don’t waste my time feeling pissed or hurt or let down unless the person who managed to make me feel it actually matters to me.”

“Okay.” She wished it were more of a consolation.

“I’m not looking to change anything we’ve got. I just need to figure out what the f*ck’s up with me. Or to sit and stew in it for however long it takes me to get over it.”