by Sierra Dafoe
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.sirenpub.com
Copyright ©2007 by Seirra Dafoe
First published in 2007, 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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The Mighty Flynn
Is Geena just getting cold feet, or is she about to make the biggest mistake of her life? Her fiancé, Russ, is everything a girl could ask for: handsome, caring, and financially secure. In bed, though, he's so gently considerate that Geena's about to go mad with sexual frustration. How can she tell Russ that she fantasizes about being tied up and made love to, hard—and preferably by two men at once?
She can't. Not, at least, until Flynn Davies shows up. With his haughty, dominating manner and darkly dangerous good looks, Russ's best man ignites a fire in Geena that she can't ignore.
But why is he so hostile toward her? Convinced that he's trying to derail their marriage, Geena masquerades as a stripper at Russ's stag party to uncover the truth about Flynn's designs. When she's caught, who knows what delectable punishments Flynn will devise?
Sensuality Rating: SCORCHING
Genre/Theme: Erotic Contemporary Romance, BDSM, Menage a Trois (F/M/M and M/M oral play)
Length: Novella (15,500 words)
THE MIGHTY FLYNN
Sierra Dafoe
EROTIC ROMANCE
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
ABOUT THIS E-BOOK: Your purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.
THE MIGHTY FLYNN
Copyright © 2007 by Sierra Dafoe
ISBN: 1-933563-76-1
First E-book Publication: December 2007
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2007 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
THE MIGHTY FLYNN
SIERRA DAFOE
Copyright © 2007
Chapter One
Crash!
"Gee? You okay in there?"
"I'm fine!” Geena shouted in reply as she stared down at the wreckage, feeling the first incipient sting of tears. The vase was shattered irreparably. Shards were scattered across the floor, a deep, gleaming blue on one side, the dusty orange of fired clay on the other. “Just fucking fine,” she muttered, and bit back a sob.
This was stupid! It was a vase, for God's sake. And not a very good one, either, she had to admit. It was just the way she'd felt while she was making it: the clay whirling under her fingers, the acrid scent of the glaze as she'd pounded and mixed until she'd gotten the exact shade she wanted. She'd felt vibrant, passionate, alive.
And now...
Geena wiped angrily at her tears as she reached for the broom. Her life was great. Great. Better than it had ever been. In two days, she was marrying the best man in the world. So why was she standing here crying?
Emptying the dustpan into the trash, she dumped another armful of clothes into the cardboard box on her bed and carried it to the living room. More boxes were already piled there, waiting for the movers.
On the far side of the heap, Michelle, her roommate, was sprawled on the couch painting her toenails. Staring at the box in Geena's arms, she asked, “How the hell did you cram that much stuff into one room?"
Geena looked at the disarray. “I have no idea. Did you start looking for a new roommate yet?"
"Nah.” Michelle stretched, lithe as a cat, her formidable bosom heaving as she did. “And you're not getting your security deposit back unless you scrub that ring out of the tub before you leave."
"Yeah, okay.” Geena flopped to a seat, sighing. After a moment she asked, “Chell? Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
"Hell if I know. How's the sex?"
"Fireworks every night.” Geena smiled gamely, brushing her hair back from her sweating forehead.
"Yeah, that's why you waited till the wedding to move in together.” Michelle snorted. “Couldn't keep your hands off each other."
Geena glared. “C'mon, Chell! You show me the perfect man, and I'll make you a fur coat out of the Easter Bunny."
"Deal.” Michelle reached for another bottle of nail polish, and started painting elaborate gold swirls over the flame-red on her toes. “So what's the problem?"
"I don't know. I mean, Russ is gorgeous, he kisses like a dream, he..."
"He's employed, healthy, he's got all his teeth. I know the litany. Now spill."
Geena shifted uncomfortably. “He's just ... He's a little tame, you know? A little reserved."
"Some women would call that considerate."
"Would you?” Geena shot a look at her friend. Even after three years of sharing an apartment, Michelle was a mystery to her. A history major in college who looked like a Playboy bunny, sounded like Rosie O'Donnell, and earned her living running a strip club where she performed right along with her ‘girls', Chell seemed to make her life up as she went, an attitude that both attracted and appalled Geena.
Michelle grinned at her. “Me? I'd call it boring. But I'm not the one marrying him."
Geena grimaced. “Once Russ asked me what my favorite sex fantasy was. I told him it was doing it on a park bench."
"Lame!” Michelle made a noise that sounded like a fourth-quarter hockey buzzer. “So, what's it really?"
"What's yours?” Geena shot back, dodging the question.
Michelle shrugged. “Butt-fucking my ex with a ten-inch strap-on. Gets me off every time."
"Chell!"
"Yeah, well, he's a big enough asshole to take it. So give."
Geena winced. “Okay, honestly? Getting tied up."
"Tied up is good.” Michelle nodded sagely.
"And, uh, tag-teamed."
"Hey, the more, the merrier."
"And, um, spanked."
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “Why? Have you been bad?"
"No.” Geena sighed. “That's the problem. I swear to God, Chell, I have never once in my life been seriously bad."
"Maybe you should come down to the club sometime. Wednesday's our amateur night. Have you told any of this to Russ?"
"I can't.” Geena closed the top of the box she'd carried in, and reached for the strapping tape. The hoarse rip of the tape seemed to underscore her frustration. “I'm scared I'd shock him. He's just so nice, Chell."
"The kiss of death.” Michelle brought her leg up at an angle that would've given Geena a charley horse, and started blowing on her toenails.
"No, I like nice,” Geena replied. “I want nice, dammit."
"Yeah, everywhere except in the bedroom. So whaddya gonna do? Bring handcuffs on your honeymoo
n?"
Geena stared moodily at the box as if the right answer might be conveniently written on the side. “I was thinking about it."
She could feel Michelle studying her, but by the time she looked up, Michelle had turned her attention to her inch-long fingernails.
"You know what I always wanted?” Michelle opened the polish remover and started stripping off the neon-orange polish she was currently sporting. “I always wanted to watch two guys going at it."
"Ew!” Geena stared at her. “Why?"
"I dunno. I just think it'd be interesting. See how the other half lives. You know, Gee, you really ought to straighten this stuff out before the wedding."
"I know. I just—” Geena broke off and sat silent a moment. Outside, the rumble of traffic on Bloomfield Avenue carried through the soft June air. Her voice was almost a whisper as she added, “I really do love him, Chell."
"I know you do, sweetie."
Geena looked up, surprised to find Michelle standing by her. She hadn't heard her move. She was even more surprised when the buxom stripper bent and kissed her cheek.
"You should really do something about your hair, too. Get it highlighted or something."
Geena smoothed it back self-consciously. Not that there was anything wrong with her hair. It was just long, straight, brown ... and boring. “Maybe I will."
"Yeah, well, no rush. You've got a whole forty-six hours."
"Shit!” Geena glanced at the wall clock. “Oh shit! I'm supposed to be meeting Russ at the airport. His best man's flying in."
"Finally, the mysterious Mr. Flynn."
Michelle drawled the words, and Geena gave her an annoyed glance as she hunted frantically for her car keys. “He's not mysterious. He just lives in Chicago."
"Which is why you haven't met him on his last two visits."
Geena finally unearthed her keys, which had gotten buried under two boxes and a garment bag. “Maybe he was busy."
Michelle shrugged. “Maybe he's a hunchback and hates meeting new people.” At Geena's glare she added, “Hey, you're the one that was bitching because Russ didn't invite you to meet him the last time he was in town."
"And I'm not going to meet him this time if I don't hurry.” Grabbing her purse, Geena sprinted for the door.
"Hey!” Michelle yelled down the stairway after her. “Hey! If they need strippers for the bachelor party, you know who to call!"
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She was flustered and panting by the time she spotted Russ, striding through the terminal toward her. As always, the mere sight of his broad, handsome face eased the knot of tension in Geena's midriff. He had the sort of easygoing good looks that she associated with blue jeans and rolled up shirtsleeves, despite the fact that he was currently wearing a business suit. His thick honey-brown hair was neatly trimmed, and his warm hazel eyes gleamed with a private smile that was all for her, even though she was twenty minutes late.
He bent to give her a quick peck and before she could even stammer out an apology, said, “Don't worry. We holed up in the coffee shop."
Sliding an arm about her waist, Russ steered her toward the cafe. Geena relaxed into his grip. She loved the feel of his hands on her, sturdy and strong, with a fine dusting of hair across the back. Workman's hands. He was good with tools, and had hung the new cabinets in her apartment last winter, although by trade he was an investment manager for a mutual fund.
Solid, dependable, and definitely sexy. She just wished sometimes his grip wasn't so gentle, so considerate.
God, you're fussy, Geena!
It was true. She was being silly. This gorgeous guy adored her, and here she was, picking at miniscule flaws.
Fleetingly, she wished her mother were still alive. She'd have liked to be able to ask her if this was simply cold feet, the usual pre-wedding jitters. She'd have liked, for that matter, to have her Dad there to give her away. But both her parents had died in a car crash four years earlier, a loss that still stung whenever she thought about it too much.
It was one more reason they'd opted for a small, private ceremony. Russ's family was huge, and he'd known exactly how it would make her feel to have all those in-laws there and no family of her own.
And that was one more reason why she loved him.
Impulsively, she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, just outside the cafe. “Hey, Russ."
"What?"
"I love you."
He smiled down at her. “Good thing, too, since I'm marrying you on Sunday. C'mon, I want you to meet Flynn."
He tugged her eagerly into the cafe, and Geena found herself grinning at his excitement. At least until she caught sight of the mysterious Flynn Davies.
Jesus! Geena's grin froze, feeling suddenly as if it was made out of cement. No, he wasn't a hunchback. Not even close. It would have been easier to handle if he were.
There was no need for Russ to point him out. Flynn's ice-green eyes bored unerringly into hers the second she walked into the cafe. Geena swallowed quickly, trying to ignore the sudden heat between her thighs.
Flynn was sitting in a booth, sprawled back with one muscular arm draped along the top of the bench, looking her over with a lazy gaze that bordered on insolent. His hair was so black it was glossy, falling thick and straight around a face that was both masculine and predatory: strong cheekbones, a jaw that seemed carved from marble, and heavy eyebrows above those piercing green eyes. His lips held a promise of sensual softness—they were full, and finely shaped—but right now they were compressed into a thin, almost mocking smile. He didn't move to rise as Russ introduced them.
Blushing, suddenly nervous, Geena extended a hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Flynn. Russ has told me so much about you."
"Has he?” Flynn's gaze flicked to Russ, one black eyebrow arching. Irish. He has to be Irish, Geena thought. Black Irish, her mother had called them, with a little tremble in her voice as she'd said it. Now Geena understood that tremulous breath. He was the kind of man you looked at, and all you could think of was sex.
Stop it, Geena! You're getting married in less than two days!
And his predatory grin told her, even more clearly than the trickle of alarm in the pit of her stomach, that Flynn Davies was dangerous. Dangerous for her, at least. She had a sneaking suspicion he'd eat her alive.
The thought made her pulse race faster. Her smile slipped a notch even as Flynn's widened, as if he'd scored some initial point and was satisfied with his success. “But forgive me,” he said, finally rising and taking her proffered hand. “I'm keeping you standing. Please."
He gestured to the booth, and Geena sank gratefully to the bench—her traitorous knees were about to buckle. He was tall, taller even than Russ by an inch or so, and his shoulders were as hard and chiseled under his white linen dress-shirt as everything else about him.
Doubly embarrassed by the flush she could feel heating her cheeks, Geena snuck a look at Russ. Had he noticed her reaction? What would he think of her? But he just grinned, his broad, tanned face a comforting anodyne to Flynn's saturnine features. Winking reassuringly, Russ slid in beside her, placing a comforting hand on her thigh. Flynn sat across from them, his smile like a knife, keen and sharp.
"So, Tina,” he started.
"Geena,” she corrected him, and glanced uncertainly at Russ. “It's Geena."
"I'm sorry,” Flynn replied easily. He didn't sound sorry at all. “Geena. So what do you do, Geena?"
"I'm an administrative assistant."
"Oh? And what sort of administration do you assist in?"
"In a bank. I work in the loan department."
"Sounds fascinating.” Flynn sipped his espresso.
Of course it would be espresso, Geena thought. No fluffy lattes for this one, no sirree. “It's not, actually. It's pretty routine."
"Ah.” Flynn nodded. “So, you'll be leaving your job, then? After you're married?” He looked inquisitively at Russ, whose excited smile had dimmed somewhat.
"No, I ...
I hadn't thought about it much. I mean, when we have children, I guess so, but...” She hadn't felt this flustered meeting Russ's parents, for God's sake! “How about you? What do you do?"
"Whatever I like.” He grinned, giving her a quick flash of strong white teeth. The better to eat you with, my dear. Geena gulped, and looked to Russ.
"Don't let him snow you, Gee. He's a securities analyst. One of the best. He got me started in stock broking, way back when."
"Is that how you met?” Geena cocked her head at Russ.
It was Flynn who answered her, though, his green eyes glinting with malicious humor. “I thought he'd told you so much about me."
Geena stared at him, nonplussed. Jesus! It was just a politeness, the sort of thing you said when you met someone. And actually, come to think of it, what had Russ told her about Flynn?
Not much, she realized. Not much at all.
Russ came to her rescue, with a rather sharp glance at his friend. “Flynn and I were roomies in college. I hated the dorms and he had an off-campus apartment, so I rented a room from him."
"Oh.” She looked back at Flynn. She could see a sprinkling of black hair where his shirt, casually unbuttoned, revealed the top of his chest. There was a delicious dip where the powerful cords of his neck met his collarbones, just above the firm swell of his pecs. Geena felt a telltale slick of moisture between her thighs, and yanked her gaze up.
Flynn's smile widened, as if he was fully aware of the pulsing warmth in her crotch. “So. Four months,” he said. “That hardly qualifies as a long engagement, does it? How long were you two dating before that?"
"You know perfectly well,” Russ replied. “I told you. Six months.” His voice sounded strained.
Geena was puzzled. What was going on here? Russ had absolutely insisted on Flynn as his best man, even calling to check Flynn's schedule before they set a wedding date. But ... well, Flynn was right, after all. It had been quick. Maybe too quick.
Russ's hand tightened on her thigh. He shook his head warningly, as if telling her to ignore Flynn's doubts. But...
"I suppose you two lovebirds just couldn't wait any longer,” Flynn drawled, draining his espresso.
