by Donna Alam
‘Hang on, that didn’t come out right. You are a giver—you give to better other people—you give your time and energy. You give loads of that shit to your mates and those you love. But you don’t give a lot of stuff away about yourself. See, to me,’ he adds ponderingly, pulling his shirt free of his waistband. ‘There’s something going on, and you just won’t ask for a helping hand.’
I might argue, but my words are stolen as he strips from his shirt, exposing his sculpted torso and strong arms, but as the clink of his belt reverberates through the room, I find my words.
‘Flynn, this is ridiculous,’ I say quickly. ‘Put your clothes on. I’m not filming you today.’
‘No?’
‘Please, put your clothes on.’ I sound a little desperate, and if I can hear it, he can, too.
‘I bet you’d like to film me, though.’
‘Yes.’ I swallow quickly as he folds the sides of his pants open, sliding his hand into his boxers. ‘Yes,’ Christ yes, ‘I would, but—’
He tilts his head back, giving himself a concealed tug. ‘What would you call my movie?’
I swallow, my heart pounding both between my ears and between my legs as I watch him touch himself, tease himself—tease me. He’s groaning quietly, all languid, inviting eyes. I watch, mesmerised as his chest rises slowly, then falls, following the cording of muscles in his strong forearm as his muscles pump and flex.
‘In Like Flynn,’ I muse aloud.
His eyes meet mine—dark and widely dilated—but with a challenge burning there. ‘I’ll make you a deal. You get your camera, and I’ll give you a show like you’ve never seen.’ Lord Almighty, I think I just had a mini orgasm. I make to stand because who the hell would say no to that? Flynn Phillips touching himself—getting himself off? And all for me.
‘I have conditions,’ his low voice rumbles, his hand still inside his pants. ‘You have to join in.’ I’m already shaking my head—no way, no deal—when he speaks again. ‘Off camera. But you have to give me some incentive. Be my muse.’
‘Qualify join in,’ I repeat slowly, my eyes not sure whether to watch his hand or his face.
‘Just touch yourself. Let me watch. How about we have a little wager? The last one to come gets to decide what to do with the film.’
‘You don’t mean—’
‘You can put it on the website. If you win.’
I wouldn’t—couldn’t. But I’m not telling him.
‘You’re going down,’ I say with an evil chuckle, to which he replies, ‘Ladies first.’
~*~
It takes very few adjustments to the camera for Flynn’s sequence. In truth, though the camera is worth thousands, this part of the business is a pretty basic affair. I didn’t go to school to study cinematography. As with most things in this business, I’m self-taught.
I move away from the setup, changing the settings for one of the lights.
‘Do your hands always shake?’ Flynn’s voice catches me off guard. The answer is no. Not for a long time. I’m at ease being around naked people and totally at home watching them fuck. In fact, I rarely watch them. I’m more concerned about the scene as a whole, constantly questioning the look. Flynn being here in my studio, making his kinds of offers, has rendered my mind and my control a bust. But perhaps the best defence is an offence, so I make my way back to the desk with a sway in my step as I begin to loosen the buttons of my blouse.
Turning to face him, I prop myself against the edge, letting my fingers trail down my throat, lingering between the sides of my open blouse.
‘You’re a fucking tease,’ he says on a deep chuckle, twisting his hand around the head of his dick. Not that I can see exactly—his trousers abandoned, he’s still wearing his tight boxer briefs, his hand holding the outline of his hardness as he flexes into his palm.
‘Says the man with his cock in his hand.’ The beautiful man. Tanned under the lighting, his legs planted wide.
‘Babe, talk dirty to me.’
‘I thought you were the expert?’
‘Fuck,’ he hisses tightening the fabric over the outline of his substantial erection, displaying for me and the camera both girth and length. ‘You know what I’m imagining? You. Naked. Squirming and soaking wet.’
‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ My retort is without conviction as he straightens his cock, pulling out the head to rest against his toned stomach. ‘You’re on your hands and knees with your pussy glistening and ready for me.’ Despite my retort, I think I might moan a little, especially as he licks the tips of his fingers and rubs saliva over the head until it’s shining and wet. ‘I want to spank you until your arse gleams red and suck on your pussy until you scream.’
I gasp, blood turning molten in my veins.
‘Give me your underwear, duchess,’ he demands.
He rubs and squeezes his thick head, groaning as though he’s in the best kind of pain, the muscles of his abs contracting as though suffering through a solid workout.
I can’t . . . not do as he asks. Out of the shot of the camera, I shimmy my skirt up over my hips, hooking my thumbs into the sides of my knickers and sliding them down my legs.
‘Jesus fuck,’ he rasps. ‘Thigh highs.’ He rewards me and the sight of my stockings by slipping his hand under the soft cotton to release his hard cock from the confines. Tipping his head back, Flynn holds his length in both hands, yes, both hands, his thumb and forefinger teasing his engorged head, the other holding the base as he rubs.
I’ve never seen anything quite so explicit. Quite so erotic. And coming from someone who makes a living from sex, that’s saying something.
I don’t even debate the merits of my actions as I throw the balled-up scrap of lace at him, shucking out of my shirt and blouse. My skin feels alive and the fabric too heavy to bear. And I think my brain breaks a little as he catches my knickers against his chest, bringing them to his nose to deeply inhale. And all the while his other hand doesn’t stop. Holding himself, he rubs hard, then soft. Fast, then slow.
Smooth skin. Wet hand. Gasping, broken breath as he begins to pant.
‘You’re not touching yourself,’ he rasps. ‘Cheat.’
Never let it be said I don’t ever rise to a dare. At least, not when I’m aching and not when moisture is gathering between my bare legs. Not when something heavy and needy causes my heart to beat wildly.
Leaning back against the desk, I spread my feet and slip two fingers between my legs. My body bows at the contact, and I gasp. When did I last feel this kind of electricity when touching myself? Certainly not over the past six months.
‘Wider,’ he grunts. Images and sensations coalesce, drowning me in need as he bites the lace of my knickers, tipping his head back with a groan as he stretches the pale fabric, the colour contrasted against his darker skin. ‘Let me see.’
‘First—first to come gets the tape.’ This from me as my slick fingers reach a place I thought I’d lost—a place I thought had abandoned me. My body arcs into my hand, almost bringing me up onto my toes as I seek a pleasure that my body has denied me for long months.
‘That’s it, duchess. Come here, please.’ I shake my head, unable to form words. ‘The tape, it’s yours. Just, please. Come here.’
I was never going to make it public, anyway. And in a moment, I’m in front of him, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the tape. One hand on my hip, he brings my body over his, and as I straddle him, he tugs me down for a rough kiss. I seek to centre my body.
‘No, love. You need to finish this.’ He slides his fingers through my wetness, making me to buck and hiss. Then with the gentlest of kisses to the softness of my stomach, he takes his rock-hard cock into his hand once again.
‘That’s it—that’s it.’ His eyes are glued to where my fingers move fast and slick, my body bowing forward as I support myself with my hand on the back of the chair.
‘You’re’ killin’ me,’ he groans, his hand moving faster as his body twists, his mouth in line w
ith my breast. ‘I’m gonna come on you.’ He wraps the scrap of lace around the base of his thick length as he begins to jack in earnest now. ‘Come on your sweet pussy and your tits.’
It’s pure sensation overload as I bridge the gap between satisfaction and ecstasy. Flynn’s face is a study in pure contrasts—of agony and ecstasy and everything in between.
I feel each nudge of his smooth head as it brushes my slickness. Feel the coarseness of the hairs on his thighs as they brush between my legs. It feels so good. Too good, and as my fingers continue their wet slide, I try not to look down. Try not to watch his expression, the dark moons of his lashes against his cheeks as he watches where we almost meet.
‘I want you to suck me off,’ he pants. ‘I want my mouth on you.’
His breathless demands and wishes push me immediately over that invisible edge.
There is nothing else but this moment.
And my tears of relief.
And this man whispering his sweet, filthy encouragements as he bucks up into me.
There is nothing but the pulse of my body and the sight of his own climax covering me.
Chapter 20
FLYNN
‘That was . . . that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.’ Her arms around my neck and her arse nestled into the cradle of my thighs, Chastity doesn’t speak. ‘Are you okay down there?’
She nods, so she’s not dead, at least, though seems to rouse herself almost immediately. She stands, taking her heat from me as she furtively wipes tears from her face. I hope those are tears of relief. Talk about a one-track mind as she reaches behind me and slips my shirt from the back of the chair, her luscious tits almost in my face.
‘I . . . I have stuff to say,’ she mumbles, her gaze languid and her expression relaxed. Then she turns, making her way to the desk to grasp some kind of control. Ah, the camera. She switches the lights off, making her way back to my lap.
I like this Chastity. This unguarded girl.
‘How did you know?’ she whispers. She’s slung her arms around my neck, hiding her face against my chest.
Ah. ‘It was an educated guess, I suppose. From watching you. When I made you come, there was something about your face.’
‘Shut up,’ she grumbles, swatting the back of my head. ‘No one has a good come face.’
‘What? Not even me?’
‘No comment.’
I inhale and let the breath out along with my words. ‘Surprised, babe. You looked surprised. And then there was the bit when you welcomed it while your body pulsed around me.’ She twists her head to better see me, her expression quizzical. ‘There it is!’ I repeat. ‘Like you were surprised. Or directing it.’
‘You make it sound like I was using semaphore.’ God, she makes me laugh. ‘I did not wave flags as I came!’
‘Why not. I fucking would.’ I tighten my arms around her. ‘You’d be surprised the lengths I’d go to, to be around you.’
Instantly, her body goes stiff in my arms. ‘Do you mean that?’ Her voice is small and unsure and not like her at all. I don’t like it—don’t like that she’d ever doubt this.
‘Duchess.’ I take her face in my hands. ‘I dunno how you haven’t noticed, but I’m kinda into you like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘What does that even mean? Where are all the grown-ups?’ she mutters. ‘One fancies me, and one is into me?’
‘Who fancies you? I mean, who wouldn’t?’
‘What does it matter?’ she answers, standing abruptly. Before I can put my feelings into English, because apparently, Aussie English isn’t working for this chick, we both hear her phone ring out in the hallway. Her heels click as she makes her way to it, her expression conflicted as she returns with the phone in her hand.
I think for a minute she might ignore it, but she only seems to contemplate this before answering.
‘Hello, Mother.’ I’m surprised by her address given that I got a peek of her screen which read Caroline. It’s not only her words and diction that are stiff because her whole body is rigid.
Dressed in only my shirt, her bra, stocking and heels, she wraps her free hand around her waist, making her way to the other side of the draughty room, the lines of her body drawn tight.
‘Oh, well. No. Actually, I’d made plans for that day . . . well, that’s to say friends have already made plans on my behalf. A surprise, you see,’ she adds coolly. ‘Yes, a party. It was a surprise, Mother . . . No, I can’t . . . You’re right. It wouldn’t be seemly. Yes, invitations have already gone out.’ Chastity turns her head over her shoulder, shooting a regretful smile my way. ‘Well, I am sorry about that. Perhaps we can catch up when Max gets back.’
Her brow furrows as she turns back to the call, so I take the opportunity to slip on my undies. The floor is frigid under my bare feet as I pad over to her, gathering the riot of her escaped hair to place my lips at her neck. Just below her pulse point I suck gently. Wrapping her in my arms seems to melt some of her tension.
She’s so beautiful and so strong, and her visible discomfort makes me want to protect her. Shield her with my body. And as I can’t do either of these things, I offer her my worship instead. Even if she does swat my hands away when I slide them into my open shirt to palm her breasts.
‘What?’ I whisper in her ear. ‘It’s my shirt. Maybe I want it back.’ I sense rather than see her smile as I kiss her neck, feeling her swallow against my lips.
‘I like you a lot, Chastity Landry.’ I kiss her shoulder; my words hot in her ear. ‘I want you to let me in.’
She turns her head then, her dark eyes sparkling and complicit even as she mouths the word, ‘Stop.’
‘Nah.’ Spinning her back to my front again, I begin kissing her ear. ‘I want you in my bed, and I want you in my arms.’ I’ve been around, travelled to a lot of places, and fucked a lot of girls, but I have never taken part in something as hot as just now. I could almost taste her wetness coating my tongue as the pulse of her orgasm beat between us like a drum. This woman is a thing of beauty when she comes. But it’s more than that. This thing we have between us is more than the sum of these parts.
She swats at me ineffectually as I push my hands down her thighs, slipping them inward to drag them up again, my cock pounding against her arse.
‘I want to come inside you next time. Nothing between us but skin. I want to keep you, Chastity.’
‘Mother, I have to go. I’ll call back soon.’ And just like that, she steps out of my arms, switching off her phone.
Gears start spinning in my head, her expression one I can’t make out. ‘What was all that about?’ I ask, gesturing to her phone.
‘My mother.’ She looks down at her phone, then shakes her head. ‘And I’m pretty sure that was my line.’
My expression clouds. She’s not dense, not by any stretch of the imagination. So I fall into default mode.
‘Well, it’s like this, duchess.’ I step into her, taking her reluctant hips in my hands. ‘When a man likes a girl, he kinda wants to . . . come inside her.’
‘Oh, you!’ She swats my arm. ‘Why can’t you be serious for just five seconds? Why must you always try to get on my last nerve?’
‘The short answer is ’cause it’s fun. The long answer is because, and I say again, I want to keep you.’
‘That!’ she exclaims, pointing her finger at me. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Keep me? What am I? An ornament or a doll?’
‘I thought we already established the answer to this. Didn’t we already have this conversation?’ She frowns, though quickly swaps the expression for something a little more irate when I say, ‘You’re my little fuck doll.’ I probably shouldn’t, given the lethal weapons she has on her feet, but I laugh. Fuck, do I ever.
‘Flynn Phillips . . . Put your bastarding clothes on and g-get out of here!’
‘Okay, okay,’ I reply, all placating hand gestures as I back my way up to the chair.
‘Serves you right if I do load your clip to the webs
ite.’
‘Not my clip. It’s yours,’ I reply, slipping into my suit pants. ‘You gonna give me my shirt back? I’ll swap you for your undies,’ I might taunt.
Head held high, she makes her way to the desk, slipping her skirt on under my shirt. Back still turned to me, she slides the cotton off her shoulders, substituting it for her silk blouse. She swings on her heel, making her way back over to me.
‘Here.’ Arm stretched out like she can’t bear to be near me, she offers me my shirt from between her fingertips. ‘You can keep my knickers. Call them a reminder.’
‘Thanks, babe.’ I slide them into my pocket, then pull on my shirt. ‘I’ll add them to my collection.’ She makes a noise that’s a little like a growl. ‘You know, you’re a bit of a paradox,’ I say, buttoning my shirt.
‘I’m surprised you know what that word means.’
‘I’m not just a pretty face.’ Not by any means. ‘But you’re so open about a lot of shit, and I bet I could have a conversation with you about any kind of sex. Cuttlefish porn,’ I say, beginning to count off my fingers. ‘Female ejaculations; myth or fantasy? But, and this is a big but, the minute I pay you a compliment, I become a lying toad.’
‘I must attract them.’
‘That would be your swamp arse attitude!’ I half yell, half say across the room. I’m not angry—I’m rarely that—but I want her fucking attention.
‘Swamp arse?’ she asks with the greatest disdain. And then she starts laughing. Really laughing.
So I grab her. And I kiss her. And when we come up for breath, her eyes are smiling again.
‘Female ejaculation isn’t a myth,’ she says seriously. ‘I’ve seen it.’ I groan and mumble something about her teasing me. ‘And cuttlefish porn? Sorry, but I’m not a fan.’
‘Octopus, then?’
‘God, yes. I’m nothing if I’m not all about the tentacle,’ she says with a gurgling laugh.
‘Duchess, my tentacle is the only one you’re getting. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Exclusive, all in.’
‘Flynn,’ she says, her eyes softening as she rests her hand on my cheek. ‘I haven’t had an orgasm by myself in six months. Do you really think I’m going to let you get away?’
