Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel #2)(5)

“Please.”

He got back onto the bed, forcing her legs wide. “That’s good. I like you better cooperative.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I don’t have to do jack-shit, apart from exactly whatever the f*ck I want. This is my house. What I want, I get. You f*ckin’ knew that when you stepped through the door, didn’t you?” His fist was stroking, hips edging their centers closer, closer. Finally, contact—the bump of his smooth head against her clit. She bucked, letting the pleasure masquerade as revulsion.

He traced her lips, no friction. “Fuck, yeah. I knew you wanted this, you lying little bitch.”

She flinched at the word, a chill snaking through her. “D-don’t. Please, don’t.”

“You feel that?” He began to push, his cock a relentless intrusion, spreading her open.

Her eyes shut and her nails bit into his shoulders.

“Yeah.” He pushed deeper, deeper, in harsh thrusts until their hips met. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this. I feel how f*ckin’ wet you are.”

“I don’t. Please, don’t do this.”

He gave her his length, slow and mean. “I know you never had a cock half this big, bitch, have you? Tell me.”

“Stop, pl—”

“TELL ME,” he bellowed, as loud as he dared without risking a neighbor pounding on the wall or calling the cops.

“Never,” she stammered. “I’ve never had anyone…” She trailed off.

“Had anyone what?”

“Big as you.” Her voice was a trembling little mouse-squeak of a thing.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He owned her in rough strokes, making every inch a punishment. “Take that cock. Just like you been wanting.”

She shut her eyes, turned her face away.

“Watch me f*ck. Watch me.”

She opened her eyes to slits.

“Yeah, look at me.” He made his motions long and filthy, hypnotizing. “Look at me, bitch.”

All at once, Laurel craved her name like water in the desert. She often hit this wall when they indulged his kink, the work of arousal and impatience, not discomfort. She didn’t want to be some stranger, some anonymous “sweetheart,” some “bitch”. She wanted her own name in that gruff accent, wanted it to slip free as control eluded him, same as she wanted to see helplessness glazing those eyes.

She could end the charade now, murmur “Flynn” in a telltale voice and turn this from fantasy to plain old f*cking in a breath. But no. It was magic—ugly, dark, scary magic—the way this game affected him. She may be playing a powerless woman, but what she could give this man… She could turn him inside-out with a few whispered pleas. He might be on top, but she held his pleasure in her hands, as truly as she could feel his flesh under her fingernails.

His body punished hers, voice lost to grunts and moans. Her breaths had no choice but to sync with his as each thrust huffed the air from her lungs. She was dying to touch herself, praying for a shift in the angle that might rub him against her, give her relief, when—

“Turn over.” He didn’t give her a chance to obey. The second his weight lifted, he had her by the shoulder and arm, forcing her onto her hands and knees.

Touch me. For the love of God, touch me.

“Fuck, yeah.” He held her hips and drove deep, savored for the barest moment before the brutality resumed. “You get exactly what you were after, bitch?”

“Please.” Barely a whisper now.

“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.