by Cara McKenna
She kept her back to him so he wouldn’t see how pink her face must be. Her lips felt thick and tight from the emotion she was holding in. “No, thanks. I would like some beer though. If I give you some cash would you mind going out and grabbing me a six-pack?” She turned her face halfway to meet his eyes, away from the light.
“Course. You brought dinner. You’re making me dinner. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
“Just Newcastle or Bass or something like that. Bottles.”
“Sure thing.”
Laurel listened as Flynn moved around the apartment then left.
She slid two pies into the oven, set the timer, wrapped the third in foil and scrawled the cooking instructions on its top with a Sharpie from Flynn’s junk drawer. She made a home for it in his freezer and leaned against the counter, staring at the strip of linoleum under her feet. The pattern reminded her of her kitchen growing up. She’d play in there for hours, pulling pots and pans out of the cupboards and building cities with them on the floor. Then hunger always set in and she’d abandon her project to go in search of food. Self-raising toddler, just add water.
Laurel walked to the couch, gave the padded armrest a couple of lame punches and burst into tears.
11
When Flynn got back they made small talk about the neighborhood and listened to the game while the pies cooked. Each swallow of cold beer loosened Laurel’s throat by a degree, cooled her flushed cheeks. She felt in control of her emotions in time, steady if not relaxed.
She turned her own panic around in her head, trying to make sense of it. She thought about her mom. She thought about herself, craving a drink when she probably needed a slap up-side the head. She wondered—not for the first time—if she was depressed. She didn’t linger on that final worry. It was too heavy to carry into this place, and too soon besides.
One thing did come clear, though: she knew why she was attracted to Flynn now. Attracted to being with a man who could completely dominate her in bed. It was what she’d been doing in every aspect of her life lately, wanting to hole up in the backseat and not be asked to drive. Just hand over the keys to someone else.
She glanced at him, wondering if that made him her pusher or her therapist.
They ate on the couch, finishing just as the Sox tied the score at the top of the seventh.
Flynn scraped the last of his pie from its tin. “This was fucking amazing.”
“You want the rest of mine?” He accepted her dish and ate the few bites she couldn’t cram in.
It felt oddly comforting to be taking care of somebody again. Somebody grateful, who could give something of himself back.
“I love cooking,” she said, swirling the last of her beer around in its bottle. “Or I used to. I used to cook something good every night. Then I got out of the habit when I started waitressing and bringing home leftovers. Now I look at food and all I see is people’s orders.”
“Well, you can cook for my ass any night you like.” Flynn cleared the coffee table and did the dishes. He looked to Laurel as he dried his hands, something cautious tightening his features.
She felt it too. Hesitation, uncertainty. They had a routine of sorts and she estimated it was eighty percent fucking, most everything else—the fights, this meal—mere foreplay. The transition into sex was complicated now, Laurel’s fault for introducing a downer topic. She wished she hadn’t brought it up, even if it was a relief to have told someone. But Flynn shouldn’t have been that someone. As stupid and impossible as the impulse was, she wanted to be perfect for him. She wanted to be what he was looking for and that surely didn’t include crying unless it was part of some fucked-up role playing scenario.
She left the couch to approach him, knowing it was her job to give him the green light but also trying to gauge exactly what she could handle without risking a meltdown and officially wrecking the evening. She put her hands on his chest, tilted her head up. He kissed her slow, soft.
Laurel made a decision to stop over-thinking everything and respect her body’s wishes. She pulled away.
“Flynn.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not sure I’m up for anything too rough tonight. I feel sort of…jangled.”
He nodded, leaned in, cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “No problem.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I don’t look at you and just see chicken pot pies and rape fantasies, you know.”
She swallowed, determined not to cry. “What do you see?”
“I dunno. Just Laurel, I guess. The smart, good-smelling redhead who’s been nice enough to put up with me for the last couple weeks… Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to find somebody who seems to be into what I like, but just knowin’ I get to have that once in a while is enough. Not every meal has to be Thanksgiving.”
“You can still be bossy,” she said. “I like that. I like…you know, giving up control. It feels good, not having to be in charge.”
He tucked her hair behind her ears. “Sure. Whenever you’re ready. Whatever you want.”
“Can we make out for a while?”
Flynn extended an arm, inviting her to head for the bed and get comfortable. He kicked his shoes off and lay down beside her, and Laurel felt the tightness in her body intensify, then ease nearly to nothing. He propped himself on an elbow and smoothed her hair back from her face with his other hand, and smiled.
“What?”
“I kinda like when you’re all vulnerable,” he said.
“I’ll bet.”
“No, not like that. Just when you’re all…”
“Weepy?”
Flynn rolled his eyes. “When your guard’s down, I mean.”
She blinked. “Do I come off as guarded, usually?”
He nodded.
“Oh.”
“That surprise you?” he asked.
“Kind of.” She thought of people she knew, worked with…of hyper-defensive Christie and her guerrilla Post-Its. “Do I seem prickly?”
“Nah. You just seem like you’ve got an extra layer on, sometimes.”
“Really?”
“Not like armor, but like you’re wearing an invisible sweater. Like you’ve got your arms crossed over your chest, even when you don’t. Don’t feel bad, though. This is New England, home of the cagey motherfuckers.”
Even as she ached to deny it, she could feel herself tugging that psychic sweater down over her head and burying her arms in its sleeves. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
Laurel didn’t reply, not in the mood for Flynn’s sanctimonious tone, no matter if he was kidding.
“It hit eighty-six today,” he said a few moments later.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in close, eyes watching his fingers as he played with her hair. “Too hot for that extra layer you just put on.”
Laurel sighed.
“Good thing I know how to get you to take it off.” Flynn put his lips to her neck.
She sputtered a derisive laugh. “Smooth, Romeo.”
Flynn shut his eyes and half whispered, half sang the chorus to Sexual Healing. Laurel smacked him on the chest and crushed her head into the pillow, rubbed her palms over her face.
“Fine, keep your shield up. But get your clothes off, huh?” He plucked at the strap of her tank top. “You could use a distraction right now.”
Yeah, right. More like he could use an escape from her unsanctioned show of emotion.
“Fine.” She arched her back to peel the top away. “But don’t think for a second that you’re tricking me into believing this is some huge sacrifice you’re making for me.” She cracked a smile at him but looked away quick, anxious from the eye contact.
They shed their clothes and came together. Flynn’s mouth tasted just like her own when they kissed, like salt and butter and gravy, and his hand against her face crowded all the worries from her head. She pulled away to stare down at h
is body, to put her fingertips to his ribs, to the damp skin stretched over his oblique muscles, the yellowing bruise just below his armpit. So many details, intimacies…only they weren’t hers alone.
His cock hardened as her palm drifted to his belly, rousing her in turn as she felt that new power—power to excite such a strong man. She wanted him helpless for a change, revenge for how he’d made her feel the other night, teasing her about marriage at the gym, and for being tacky enough to point out her defensiveness a breath before hitting on her.
“Make me come, Flynn.”
He spoke against her throat. “You want me to fuck you?”
“No. You have to wait your turn tonight.”
She felt and heard his laugh, a quiet, happy noise.
“Yes, ma’am.” He slid farther down the bed beside her, face at her chest, free hand creeping up her thigh.
Laurel folded her arms behind her head, intending to be as lazy and selfish as possible.
Pleasure overshadowed intention as Flynn’s tongue traced a curve along the side of her breast. She brought a hand down to touch the back of his head, hummed a sigh as his lips closed over her nipple. Her fingers raked his short hair, fisted it as he suckled and as his hand edged close, teasing the sensitive crease where her thigh met her hip.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Flynn.”
But he did. His mouth dominated the action, lips sucking, tongue flickering, teeth grazing until Laurel writhed against him, so ready for his fingers she felt crazy.
“Touch me.”
His mouth retreated by millimeters, breath cool on her wet skin. “Ask nicely.”
“Touch me, Flynn, please.”
His hand inched closer, the tips of two fingers glancing her lips. Her hips bucked and Flynn moaned his satisfaction against her breast. Even when he was the one taking orders, he still had all the control.
Or nearly all. Laurel surveyed his body, the stiff, beading cock at attention between his legs, surely hurting with insistence. Two big, warm fingers flirted with her entrance, his touch still slow, still light, tightening her with need and impatience. She memorized his face, the arch of his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose marred surprisingly little given how many times it must surely have been broken in the last two decades. A little white bandage next to his sideburn seemed to glow against his skin. Laurel forgot her arousal for a moment, hypnotized by him.
Fall in love with me.
His fingers pushed inside, pushed the ridiculous thought from her head. She gasped and jerked as he penetrated, two fingers thrusting then curling, caressing and teasing and coaxing the little knot of nerves inside her pussy. Shit, he was good. Heat flashed, then chills, then pure, maddening need. Tension pulsed through her veins and made her fingertips and toes tingle, collected in her belly, pounded in her clit. She felt the weight and the smooth, hot skin of Flynn’s cock on her thigh, just above her knee, and imagined him ramming it in deep, all hers.
“Fuck, you’re good, Flynn.”
He intensified the touch, setting a steady pace he echoed with his own body, small thrusts of his hips that rubbed his erection along her leg. His mouth stayed hungry, moving to her other breast to make the pleasure burst into bloom all over again.
“Make me come. Touch my clit.”
Still he made her wait. When his thumb finally grazed her hard clit she gasped, gripped his hair, raked his neck with her nails. He gave her a couple more light teases and stopped.
“Jesus, Flynn, please.”
She could feel his smile from the way his lips tightened around her nipple. He pulled away, kept his fingers taunting as he got his body lower, lower, until she felt his cheek scrape her inner thigh. Two licks to her clit and the pleasure tore her apart. Heat and electricity shot through her sex, down her legs, clenching them around Flynn’s back. His hand and mouth kept working, coaxed a second, borderline-painful orgasm from her, hot on the heels of the first. When he released her, Laurel watched white spots dance in front of her eyes and realized she’d quit bothering to breathe.
“Oh,” she said dumbly.
“Oh?”
She melted back into the bed as Flynn lay beside her, one arm shoved beneath her head and the pillow, the other draped across her stomach, fingers fanning over her ribs.
“Hot.”
Laurel mustered a wrung-out laugh and tapped her knuckles against his temple. He rested the side of his face on her sticky shoulder and she could sense his smile in her periphery.
“You’re pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
He shrugged, way too innocent.
“Well,” she sighed, “you should be. So what would you like? You broke my brain, so I’ll do just about anything right now.”
“Nothing crazy,” he said. “Just play with me, I guess.”
Laurel turned her head to meet his eyes. “I can do that.”
She pushed up onto her side. Flynn covered her mouth with his as her hand wrapped around his half-hard cock. That familiar heat grew against her palm, stiffened, swelled. He abandoned the kissing to stare down at her hand.
“Good,” he mumbled. He rolled onto his back and Laurel sat up so she could stroke his hard belly as her other hand masturbated him. She gave him sensual, slow pulls, taking her time, loving how he changed as he got closer, how his breathing grew shallow and his face flushed, arms twitched.
“Good, Flynn.”
“Harder, sweetheart. I need it rough.”
“Do you need me to pretend—”
“No,” he said. “Just hard and fast. I need it rough to get off.”
She tightened her fist and upped the pace.
“God, yeah. Just like that. Fuck… I want to watch. In the mirror.”
Laurel looked to the floor in front of the bed. The full-length was still leaning against the wall from the last time they’d used it. “Okay.”
She let his cock go and Flynn got up, grabbed the comforter and tossed it on the floor. They sat down side by side, Flynn’s thighs spread, inviting her hand. Two pairs of eyes watched the reflection as she resumed his torture with hard strokes. She rested her chin on his shoulder.
“You’re so big, Flynn.”
“Yeah.”
“Look at that thick cock.” She gave him slow, luxurious pulls, worshipping his length with a greedy hand. “I love it.”
“I love watching your hands on me. Wanna watch when you make me come.”
Even hotter than Flynn’s ready cock was his face. Laurel studied his tensed features, all the evidence of his excitement and desperation. His eyes looked unfocused, hungry lips parted, nostrils flared. He dragged a hand across his flushed chest, stroking his own skin, his ribs, his nipples, his neck.
She brought her lips to his ear, made her voice sweetly evil. “You gonna come for me? Gonna let me see all that hot come shoot across that gorgeous stomach?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Oh good,” she whispered. “That’s what I fantasize about when I’m getting off, thinking about you.” She tightened her fist to hear his moan.
“Please.”
“Yeah, it’s your turn to beg now,” she said.
“Please. Make me come. Please.” His hand moved lower, covering her small one for a few thrusts before he cupped his balls, kneading as he came undone. “Fuck, yes.”
“Good. Let me see.” She eased her pulls as he came, keeping her fist tight to milk every drop, watching in the mirror as it bathed his skin and feeling the wet heat slip over her knuckles. Fever flooded her face and breasts and pussy and she bit her lip just to feel the sting.
Bossy Flynn returned after a few labored breaths. “Fuck. Clean me up.”
Laurel relocated, getting to her knees between his legs, leaning in to lick the come from his skin and hers. His hand cupped the back of her head, warm and heavy and possessive.
He sighed as she sat up, sounding tired in the best way. “You’re staying the night, right?”
She swallowed and nodded.
&n
bsp; “Oh good. No way I can operate a car now,” he said.
They made it to their feet and he collapsed back across the bed. Laurel knelt beside him, dragging her fingers through her sex-messy hair and staring down at the length of Flynn’s naked body. She’d miss this when their arrangement came to an end. She’d miss feeling like the temporary owner of this strong man, if only for an evening at a time.
She’d miss selfish things too, like how easy it was for him to get her off. He was the best lover she’d had by miles and the pain that came with knowing she’d eventually lose that shifted Laurel’s mood again. Her armor didn’t snap on this time. Instead she felt as if her skin were falling away, leaving her a tangle of exposed nerves and brittle bones.
She gazed out the tall front windows, wishing she wasn’t flooded with ridiculous, manipulative impulses, like the desire to suddenly leave so Flynn would rush after her, try to talk her into staying.
If he would. He might not.
“What’re you thinking about, sub shop girl?”
“Nothing.”
“There’s a vein ticcing in your neck.”
She turned to frown at him, hoping she looked bored and that the hurt didn’t show.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just not looking forward to work tomorrow.”
“Shit, I must be losing my touch if you’re already thinking about work two minutes after we stop fucking.”
She flopped back down against the pillows. “No, you’re still the best lay of my life.”
He clenched a triumphant fist in the air and they fell silent for a little while.
“Is it about what you said earlier?” he asked in time. “What you told me about your mom?”
“No.”
“You want me to not ask you if anything’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I’m just a bit off today.”
“Would you like me to compliment your taste in shoes or listen while you bitch about your female coworkers?” he teased.
“Fuck off.” Laurel pretended she was teasing back but rolled onto her side to stare at the wall, knowing her face was no good at keeping secrets. Flynn shifted a minute later, his hand closing around her arm, voice by her shoulder.
