In Like Flynn

by Donna Alam

  ‘I’m afraid I ate earlier.’ My heel meets with the wall at the base of the stairs, Flynn taking two steps closer until our bodies almost touch. But almost isn’t good enough, it seems, as my hand slips between the halves of his open jacket to find his solid chest. It isn’t there long as he takes it between his larger ones to bring it to his mouth where he presses his lips against my palm.

  His eyes are full of mischief and desire, his tongue darting out to lick my palm. The action obscene, the sensation echoing between my legs.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ his deep voice rumbles, ‘I’m gonna stuff you full anyway.’

  Chapter 12

  CHASTITY

  We come together in a rush of heat and need. His hands grip my hair as mine clutch the cotton of his T-shirt, something greedy and grasping driving us on. It’s a kiss full of longing and need—the kind of kiss that steals both breath and sense.

  A bruising kiss, I think as he pulls back, watching me with those hungry blue eyes, his ragged breath matching mine. God, I want to be bruised by him, want to feel his touch on my body into next week.

  ‘The things I want to do to you,’ Flynn rasps as he presses his lips to my neck.

  ‘I’m not eating pizza from your dick.’ Despite being more turned on than I have been since I was last in his arms, it seems nervous ridiculousness is still capable of spewing from my mouth.

  ‘Ah, you’ve seen that movie, too,’ he replies, pulling back and pushing the curls from my face, a look of indulgent amusement curling in the corner of his mouth. ‘Shame I already ordered a pizza with a hole in the middle.’

  ‘You’re ridiculous,’ I murmur, realising the mess I’ve made of his T-shirt. Unfurling my hands, I smooth away the creases with my palms, then slip them higher up his ridiculously defined pecs. I’m surrounded almost daily by near perfect bodies, so why is his so hard to resist?

  ‘I’m ridiculously fucking hard.’ My eyes slip down between our bodies to where the strong, proud length of him is pressed against the fabric of his jeans. I swallow deeply, my teeth digging into my lip to prevent the words on my tongue.

  Give it to me. Fuck me. Fuck my mouth.

  ‘You want it.’ His voice seems lower, harder, all levity gone. ‘It’s all for you, Chastity. I’m so fucking hard for you.’

  Without speaking, I slide my hands higher, tipping onto my toes to push the leather from his shoulders. His jacket hits the wooden floor with a surprisingly solid thunk. ‘Looks like I’m staying,’ he says with a crooked grin.

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘I’m not fucking you in the kitchen this time,’ he says, his grin replaced by something else. ‘So you’d better get your arse up those stairs.’

  Oh, my. Commanding looks good on Flynn Phillips.

  I turn swiftly, excitement building in my chest like a kid on Christmas morning. I reach the first stair, and the absolute exhilaration of Flynn’s body so close behind me has me bolting to the top of the stairs. I can’t explain it. It must be my fight or flight reactions kicking in. I’m lightheaded with anticipation and feel as desperate as a doe on the escape. Each clunk of his boots on the stairs behind me has my heart pounding in my chest until, at the second to last stair from the top, my excitement hits fever pitch when solid hands find my hips.

  I raise my head, catching a glimpse of myself in the large mirror at the top of the stairs. My complexion is flushed and my hair a mess, and it’s no wonder I’m running—no wonder my body thinks it might be under attack—because as I look at the reflection of Flynn behind me, he looks like the devil himself. Dark. Wicked. Self-satisfied.

  ‘Not so fast, duchess.’ Strong arms loop my waist, his body enveloping mine as his hands reach for the fly of my jeans.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I whisper as he flicks the button open. My gaze falls to the sinew in the tanned arms curling around my waist, and I think I might actually moan. Or whimper. It’s a little hard to tell when the man you want so desperately is taking his own time spelling out his plans. I lift my head to the mirror again to try to gauge what he’s thinking by his expression—to see what plans he has in store for me. Standing one stair above him reduces the disparity in our heights, but I don’t feel any bigger or stronger. If anything, I still feel like prey. The willing kind.

  ‘Patience is the key to paradise.’ His deep voice rumbles against my cheek, his face pressed against mine. He really is breathtaking.

  ‘Those are some lofty goals there. You sure you’re going to be able to deliver?’

  ‘I didn’t hear any complaints last time.’ In the mirror, my expression twists. ‘It’s a proverb, duchess,’ he says softly, a lock of his dark hair falling across his forehead as he presses his lips to my cheek. His eyes gleam wickedly as he moves the collar of my shirt to test the soft skin of my neck with his teeth. ‘Read a fuckin’ book.’

  ‘Patience is also apparently a virtue—’

  ‘One you weren’t blessed with.’

  ‘You can’t have everything.’ Why did that sound like a purr?

  ‘Wrong.’ His tongue licks away the sting of his teeth as he begins delivering soft open-mouthed kisses to the space behind my ear. ‘You’ve got the lot, and I’m tasting it all tonight.’

  ‘Oh, God, is there anything as unravelling as kisses there?’

  ‘Was that a rhetorical question?’ he murmurs. I huff a short laugh, not realising my breathless words were fully audible. ‘Because if not, I’d have to disagree. There’s nothing quite like a good hard fuck.’

  I’d have to agree . . .

  In the mirror, Flynn’s expression is the embodiment of wickedness as he lifts his hands to the buttons on my shirt, managing to loosen each tiny hinderance without touching me once. Never before would I have imagined the art of undressing would be so erotic, but it leaves my body trembling as the much-washed cotton brushes my skin.

  As he flips the final one from the placket, his large hands push the sides wider, revealing the ruffled trim of my blue bra.

  ‘Fucking heavenly.’ How can a guttural curse sound so reverent? If I had the answer, it’s lost as he trails the back of his fingers against the soft swell of my breast, before slipping his hand inside. I gasp at the contact, and as he brushes my nipple, my body arches on instinct, chasing his touch. ‘You like that.’ The coarse pads of his fingers rub my nipples. ‘So rosy and delicious.’

  I whimper as his hand slips away, my body sagging against his, but as his fingers find the button of my jeans and work it loose, my attention is dialled once more to ten.

  No longer fastened to my waist, my baggy jeans hit the stairs as every fibre of my being hums for his touch. I watch as he flattens his hand on my belly, dragging it down my skin, my breath hitching as his long fingers disappear under the elastic of my mismatched pink cotton underwear.

  ‘What are we doing?’ I rasp, rolling my head back, giving him access to more of my neck. My nipples ache as between my legs pounds, and while there’s something erotic about being covered yet exposed, I long for him to touch me everywhere. I long for him to fuck me now.

  ‘I would’ve thought that was obvious,’ his deep voice rumbles. If I had anything else to ask, the words turn to dust as his finger finds the wet ribbon of flesh between my legs.

  ‘Fuck,’ he grunts, pressing his erection so solidly against me, it wedges the cotton of my knickers between my butt cheeks, his large body curving around mine like an embrace.

  ‘My bedroom’s just . . . there, oh, God, just there.’ My hips jerk as the pad of his index finger finds my clit, presses it, toys with it, then slips away, leaving me a pulsing, twitching mess. But I don’t have time to object or complain as his full hand cups me. Rocking my body against his, he sandwiches me between his cock and hand.

  ‘That’s it, duchess, ride my hand. Find your relief.’

  ‘Doesn’t work that way,’ I whimper as he rotates his palm. ‘Let me step out of my jeans, at least.’

  ‘I kind of like you trapped like t
his.’

  Instantly, my mind goes to a recent shoot at a local hotel. Sophia was strung willingly between the base posts of a four-poster bed, tortured and teased in the best kind of way until her orgasm, and subsequently her legs, gave out. What would it feel like to be tethered by Flynn? Brought to the brink again and again until both my body and mind are limp?

  ‘You’re so fuckin’ hot,’ he rasps. Grasping my chin with his free hand, he turns my mouth to his. It’s a fierce kiss, one that swiftly becomes a battle of teeth and probing tongues. He tastes of toothpaste and temptation as I grind myself against his hand, and he grinds into me from behind.

  With one last bite of my lip, he twists my face back to the mirror again, my chin still in his hand.

  A moment later, I cry out as his fingers thrust expertly between my legs—I spread out my arms, one hand grabbing the bannister, the other flattened against the wall, whimpering as he gathers wetness from my seam, dragging those long fingers back to my clit.

  ‘Please, Flynn.’ I find myself whimpering as I writhe. ‘Please touch me harder. Please make me come.’

  His answer is a low groan and whispered husky, ‘Fuck.’

  I try once more to widen my stance, my hips moving and chasing his fingers as I chant my litany of need—please, please, please!—as an intensity, white hot and fluid, begins to build in my extremities. The rhythm of his fingertips is sublime, and as he slips his fingers into the cup of my bra again, palming my breast, I cry out.

  ‘Oh my. Oh, f-fuck!’ My knees buckle from an overload of sensations, his fingers sliding fast and wet across my clit, my nipple hard and aching between his fingertips. His sucking bite at my neck, and the look of us in the mirror—my desperation and his absolute determination to draw me to the edge at his will.

  ‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he rasps. ‘So fucking slick.’ But I can’t . . . can’t concentrate on anything but the feeling between my legs, my eyes glued to our reflection, flicking back and forth between his expression and where his hand disappears under the soft pink cotton of my knickers. Between his sucking and licking and dirty encouragement, I can barely make sense of it all. All I know is I need this connection, this orgasm, like others need air.

  From fast finger work to barely there, Flynn teases me with a bare swipe. I’m up on my toes immediately, chasing his touch, rewarded as he thrusts two fingers into my depths. Two fingers, then three, his thumb pressing my clit.

  ‘That’s it, beautiful. Come for me. Come all over my fucking hand.’

  I buck. Cry out. Fall. Come apart. And when cognisance returns, I’m held up only by his arms.

  Chapter 13

  FLYNN

  I carry her into the bedroom, the one she points to with a leisurely wave of her arm. Seems to be the right one, though with dove grey walls and a huge bed in the centre of a velvet covered wall. The place looks like a hotel room. A hotel room with an unmade bed.

  ‘I can see you’re a bit of a slob on the quiet.’ I kick the door closed, just in case her brother is about, though we’ve left her jeans on the landing. But I doubt she’d have let me finger fuck her on the stairs if he was. It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part. I saw the mirror and thought, what the fuck? Seemed like a good idea to strip her there and watch her blush deepen, then make her walk naked into her room. An arse like hers should be available to view. Not universally, of course. I’m not a complete fuckwit Neanderthal, but there’s something about her that makes me want to keep her to myself.

  Jesus, I hope she’s not going to sleep, I think when she doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t seem so as I lay her down on the bed. Her hair splayed out against the mass of pillows like a halo around her head, her body languid and submissive as she stretches out along the bed. What is it about women and pillows and cushions? The attraction, I mean. Beds and sofas worldwide are infected with the fuckers.

  I’m surprised she’d let me carry her at all, intense orgasm or no. Chastity is a rare bird, and I don’t even think she knows it. Keir’s told me what she did for Paisley by taking her in, and how she looks after her brother. How good she is to her employees and her friends, and how she threatened to find a lookalike of Paisley’s ex to use him as a gimp in one of her X-rated movies. Not that, from what I’ve seen, they’re that kind of films. She’s heaps good to her mates—it’s just my balls she wants to bust. But she is a good woman. A strong one, too. I like that she pushes, just the same as I like how she can take the pushback.

  ‘Are you going to get naked or what?’ So much for submissive. Drawing her hands under her head, she crosses her legs at the ankle, the pink painted toes of her right foot pressing against her left.

  ‘I will if you will,’ I drawl.

  As quick as a flash, she sits up and starts pulling the shirt from her shoulders. It gets tangled at her wrists, and she huffs with frustration, pulling it over her head, which leaves her hair looking like a blonde nest. What in the hell do they call that shade, anyway? It isn’t one colour, and I know it isn’t from a bottle, unless she’s in the habit of dying both collar and cuffs. It’s like a riot of summer—flaxen curls mixed in with honey, butterscotch, and gold falling into her face as she leans forward to loosen her bra. Both items are quickly deposited on the floor, my cock harder than ever as she hooks her thumbs into the thin sides of her undies, wiggling them down over her hips. As they reach her ankles, she flicks them from her foot across the room. The woman deserves a round of applause.

  ‘I win,’ she purrs, leaning back against the pillows again like Mata fucking Hari.

  ‘No, no, you don’t.’ My words are delivered with a deep, rumbling chuckle. ‘The prize is all mine, duchess.’

  ‘Flynn Phillips, are you trying to flatter me?’ Something blooms inside me, satisfying and sweet.

  ‘I’m just calling it as I see it. And what I see is pretty damn fine.’ Understatement of the year right there, even if she’s turned a little pink in pleasure. Fuck me, she’s gorgeous. All milky skin and pink bits. How come it gets better each time, seeing her naked? Six months I waited between the first and second time we fucked. This time around, I could barely wait a week. ‘Touch your tits for me, Chastity.’

  ‘Did you just use my name?’

  I feel my smile hitch as I move to the end of the bed. ‘What? Am I supposed to call you something else? You’re not one of those women who like to be demeaned in bed, are you?’ She laughs a low and sultry sound but doesn’t answer, and though something tells this is unlikely, I carry on. ‘I can roll with that. What’s your favourite? Do you like whore or slut? Daddy’s little cum bucket.’ She tries not to laugh but can’t keep a straight face. ‘I think I like Flynn’s fuck doll,’ I say, rubbing a considering hand across my chin. ‘That one has a little something to it. The alliteration, maybe.’

  ‘Why don’t you give it a go?’ she answers all silken voiced. ‘Try it on for size?’

  ‘No, thanks. I like my balls where they are. I expect it’d be a bit painful to suddenly find them in my mouth.’

  ‘Bright boy,’ she answers, her gaze making a slow sweep of my body. ‘Bright man,’ she amends, her eyes suddenly glued to my crotch. ‘Are we going to argue all day, or are you going to fuck me?’

  Fuck me, I like this version of Chastity. I mean, I like all the versions of her, including the Chastity who looks at me like she doesn’t quite know whether she wants to hit me or fuck me, but I know which I prefer. A close second is her slapping me while fucking me so, you know, I’m not fussy.

  ‘Depends,’ I answer. ‘Are you gonna touch your tits or not?’ And she does, fuck me blind. ‘That’s right. Pinch those rosy nipples. Make them hard.’ Just like a posh hotel, she has one of those cushioned benches at the foot of her bed. It’s in the way, but I’ll need it in a bit, so I nudge myself between it and the bed, pulling off my boots. Reaching behind me, I grasp my T-shirt and pull it off from the neck.

  ‘Slowly,’ she murmurs, her eyes dark and avid, her tongue darting out to wet her lu
scious deep pink lips. ‘It’s too nice a job to rush.’

  ‘You’re not at work now. I’ll be the one giving directions from here on in.’

  ‘You’re spoiling all my fun.’

  ‘You say that, yet you look to be enjoying yourself.’ My eyes travel over every inch of her skin, from where her cherry-ripe nipples peek between pink fingertips to the sweetness glistening between her thighs. All for me, my mind roars. Fucking perfect. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got gorgeous tits?’ More than a handful. Full and round. I’m gonna bury myself between them, I think as the buckle of my belt clinks in my haste to loosen it.

  ‘I’m going to guess you weren’t breastfed,’ she murmurs.

  ‘I’m game if you want to give it a try.’

  ‘You really are the most . . .’ Her breath hitches as her words drain away. ‘You aren’t wearing any underwear.’

  ‘I’m not a fan of laundry day.’ I chuckle at her expression, the mixture of scandal and delight. ‘Reckon you’re a fan of me going commando, tough.’ I slide a condom from the back pocket of my jeans, flicking it onto the bed before they hit the deck, then trail my fingers along my length before giving it a decent tug.

  ‘Need you so bad.’ My words are rougher even as things become clearer. Chastity likes the sight of my cock in my hand. She seems to like the direction, too. She might run a porn company, and she might spend her days surrounded by sex, but she wants this. Right now, she wants me.

  ‘Do you shave or wax, and can I volunteer to help?’

  ‘Were you dropped on your head as a child?’ She smiles up at me, and her lips are kiss plump and her cheeks lightly flushed.

  ‘Babe, I’m one of four boys, and in the rough and tumble of that life, I’ve fallen from a horse at least twice and got hit on the head by a two-by-four another time.’ I hiss as I squeeze the head of my dick, but because I like the sound of her laugh, I carry on. ‘I’ve been wiped out in the surf more times than I care to admit, and when I was a kid, Raftery, my younger brother, pushed me off the top of a slippery dip, and I might’ve broke my head.’