Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel #2)(6)

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 f*cking 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?”

She shivered at that word. “Please.”

“I like that. Beg for it.”

“Give it to me, please. Deep.”

His back arched and his words devolved to grunts and moans and the odd, “Yeah.” He was lost, helpless, and Laurel lived for these moments.

“Come on. Please.”

He sounded more animal than man, riding on the brink of madness, then all at once, he froze. He rammed so deep, Laurel winced through a cramp. Every muscle in that astounding body clenched, softened, clenched again, and ultimately went still.

She wrapped her arms around him, memorized his weight, the smell of his skin. Never let this moment cease to floor and humble her. Never let this man fail to amaze, and never let her fail to excite him. Never let familiarity curdle to boredom, she prayed.

Let this feel so easy and so wrong and so right, always.





3





Flynn rolled over, drunker than drunk. Drunker than he’d been for real in the better half of a decade. “Fuck, honey.”

Laurel chuckled and he could see the round shape of her cheek where the lamplight hit it. It made him smile in return.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You,” he proclaimed grandly, “can ask me any goddamn thing you want, as long as it doesn’t require me to leave this bed.”

She turned to face him, rubbing his chin with her thumb and seeming to address the spot. “I feel like more and more, when we’re doing the kinky stuff, by the time it’s over, we’re not acting.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Just that by the end, we’re you and me again. I’m not fighting you anymore.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s probably true.” His chest unknotted. He’d worried she’d meant it had gotten too real for her comfort.

“Do you mind that?” she asked. “I can’t figure out if I’m the one who changes things. By the time I’m about to come it’s hard to pretend not to like it, is all.”

“Nah, I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

He nodded, then caught her lingering thumb between his teeth, biting softly.