by Nia Farrell
She crawled back onto the bed. The way her muscles were complaining tonight, she felt like a young person trapped in a crone’s body. Any soreness that he could work out would be great.
“How do you want my arms?”
“Down by your sides. I’ll work your shoulders and arms first. You can raise them to pillow your head after that.”
She positioned herself and turned her face towards him. The man was still naked as the day he was born but at least he was flaccid now. He was distracting enough without being hard.
Pouring coconut oil into his palm, he rubbed his hands together, then curled his fingers around her shoulders and started working the muscles on either side of her neck.
She straightened her head and pressed her face into the towel, giving him equal access to the left and right sides. He kneaded the muscles and worked the ligaments while she focused on breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling fully, feeling looser by the minute. He massaged each arm all the way down, stretching her wrists, pressing into the palms of her hands, and lightly wringing her fingers.
It shouldn’t have surprised her that he had a natural talent for this, too. His hands worked wonders, especially when he started in on her gluts and thighs. He kept his touch clinical, but she found herself becoming aroused anyway, especially when he started massaging her feet. Once he had worked his way up to her knees, he straddled her calves to do the rest of her legs.
Flynn worked the backs of her thighs, digging in deep with his fingers while his thumbs rubbed the insides. It felt like he was enjoying it, too. His cock hung heavy between her legs, sliding along the seam as he moved. When he hit a sore spot in the crease of her buttocks, she grunted between her teeth and inhaled sharply.
“Hurt?” he asked, keeping pressure on the point.
Bastard.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Then it needs to be worked out. Just breathe through it. It will get better.”
Surprisingly, it did. When she heaved a deep breath, he moved his thumb from where he’d been pressing and started massaging her again. He worked her thighs, her hips, her buttocks, making her want to rub against the towel—anything to relieve the pressure that was building.
He came perilously close to her crotch.
She bit back a moan.
He slapped her ass. “Settle,” he ordered, “and turn over.”
She knew better than to tell him what to do once he got there, but she was hoping like hell that after touching her front, he’d at least give her a happy ending.
He spent a lot of time massaging her feet, working the balls, massaging her toes, rubbing her arches and her heels. The feel of his hands and the soft scent of coconut were quickly becoming an aphrodisiac that made her incredibly aroused. He worked his way up her legs but when he reached her hips, he moved to her shoulders and arms.
She bit her tongue and swallowed her frustration.
Once he’d kneaded the muscles down to her fingertips, he started on her chest, massaging her collarbones, stroking her sternum, sliding his hands out to circle her breasts and moving down her flanks to the sides of her hips.
Keeping well clear of her groin, he made his way down to her thighs. He put more coconut oil on his palms and started massaging her quads, working the tops, then the insides from above her knee to within an inch of the promised land. When he seemed determined to keep on his side of the River Jordan, she finally broke the silence that she’d been keeping.
“Please, Flynn,” she pleaded. “It hurts.”
“Where?” He acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about.
She slid her hand between her legs and pressed against her clit. “Please, I need to come.”
Flynn plucked her hand away. “That’s my pussy,” he informed her. “You don’t touch it without permission, do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered meekly. It was useless to argue. She’d heard enough about BDSM, she could guess how this part worked. “I’m sorry, Sir. Please, Sir, may I come?”
Hearing the honorific mellowed him a bit. “Only good girls get orgasms,” he told her. “Do you think you’ve been good?”
She gave him an honest answer. “I’m trying, Sir. This is all so new. Except for touching myself without asking, I think I’ve been good. I hope that I’ve pleased you.”
“You have,” he rumbled in that delicious Dom voice of his. “And you’ve earned an orgasm. I want you to touch yourself, fuck your hand, and get yourself off. I want to watch you come.”
Chapter Eleven
Flynn saw that his suggestion catapulted Sara right out of her comfort zone. He didn’t explain why he wanted her to masturbate, but he wanted to know her erogenous zones. Every woman was different, and women’s orgasms were one of life’s great mysteries. Once he saw what felt best for her, he’d have a better idea of how to tease her and how to please her.
Sara’s face flushed pink with embarrassment. “You want to watch me?” she squeaked. “I don’t know if I can get off by myself. I haven’t touched myself since college, and then, I used a little bullet vibrator.”
Her confession came as a shock. He knew that she’d been celibate since her kidnapping, but who the fuck didn’t touch themselves?
The thought only made him harder. It wouldn’t take much for him to jack off and mark her as his.
“Tell you what,” he said, grasping his erection and stroking his shaft, making it glisten from the coconut oil coating his hand. “You can watch me while I watch you. If you absolutely can’t bring it home, I’ll help you finish.”
Sara’s gaze dropped to his cock. She stared, mesmerized by the sight of him fisting himself.
“Sara,” he snapped. “Eyes up here. Answer the question.”
Her eyebrows knit, and she frowned. “What question?”
Crap. “Never mind. I’m going to watch you, and you can watch me. When I see that you’ve tried your best, if you haven’t climaxed yet, then I’ll take over. Got it?”
She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. Now, touch yourself.”
Flynn played with his balls and fisted his length, giving it a slight twist at the end and working more pre-cum from the slit. It pearled on the tip, threatening to drip. Catching it on his finger, he brought it to Sara’s mouth.
She was rubbing her clit with one hand and pinching her nipples with the other. Opening her mouth, she lifted her head, wrapped her lips around his finger, and sucked it like she would his cock. Her moan vibrated his skin and made his dick swell impossibly larger.
He took back his hand and worked his length, squeezing his balls like she played with her breasts. She was beautiful lying there, her skin glistening with oil, her chest moving with each panting breath. Air soughed between her teeth when she started getting close. She straightened her legs, heels pressing out. Her back arched slightly when she stiffened her body. She fanned her clitoris, rubbing with keen desperation, but she stayed on this side of the precipice, unable to go over.
He climbed onto the bed. Grasping her knees, he spread her legs so that he could fit between them. He stopped with his mouth hovering above her pussy.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, please…!”
Parting her labia, he saw the swollen nub of flesh at the apex of her inner folds. He thrust his tongue against it, flicking it, licking it. The short beard around his mouth provided extra stimulation. Parting his lips, he fastened his mouth over her clitoris and sucked it in, making her hips torque and push against him.
“That’s it!” she cried. “Don’t stop. Please. Right there.”
She was twisting both nipples now, pulling so hard, it looked like she was trying to lift herself off the bed. Wetting his thumb on her juices, he stuck it in her ass. She jerked and exploded. Her body undulating, she came all over his face in an extended orgasm that seemed to last forever.
Thrusting her pelvis one last time, she rode his beard and thumb to completion. “Jesus.” Her body went limp. It
was like the strength of her orgasm had drained the energy right out of her.
Now it was his turn.
She was so mellow, it didn’t take anything to roll her onto her stomach. His erection was shiny with oil. Wetting himself on her juices, he dragged the head of his cock up to her bunghole and felt her tense up beneath him.
“Let me in, sugar. It won’t take much to get me off. I’m hard enough to hammer nails.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and forced herself to relax, letting him push into her backdoor and bury his length in her most intimate place. “Fuck, you feel good. I wish I could tell you what it’s like, being able to go deep and fuck you without hitting bottom. There’s no limit here. No barrier. No hitting your cervix and making you cringe. You can take me balls-deep, right down to my root. When I fuck your ass, you don’t have to worry about getting knocked up. I love being able to finish inside you. Fill you with my cum. Let your body know that it’s mine.”
This, while he was pumping into her, keeping his strokes short, letting her get adjusted to his size. It felt so good, he was able to finish before he was tempted to cut loose on her, which was a good thing. He wanted her to enjoy anal as much as he did. She’d have to get used to taking him there before he could ream her out like he wanted to.
“Stay put,” he said. “I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute.”
Flynn rolled to the side and climbed off the bed, headed for the bathroom. He could hear voices coming from the far side. Planning to be in the shared bathroom only long enough to wet some washcloths and grab some towels, he didn’t bother locking it.
He should have. The door to Hawk’s room opened and Jolene stepped inside.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
She eyed his erection, which was still half-hard. “You need some help taking care of that?” she asked.
He didn’t have to hear how she slurred her words to know that she’d been drinking. He could smell the whiskey on her breath. Tequila might make pants fall off, but whiskey had made Jolene forget that she was pissed at him.
“Save it for Hawk,” he advised, wetting the washcloths in the sink and wringing them out.
“I can handle him just fine. You, too, if you remember. Hey, did you know that I’ve never been double stuffed? How about we have a threesome? I know he’s a pussy man and you wanted it up my ass.”
Flynn glared at her. “Shut your fucking mouth, and do not ever speak to me again without permission. Now get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass out myself.”
“Jesus!” she whined, edging toward the door. “I was just trying to be nice!”
“Out. Now,” he grated. “Or else…”
“All right! Get a grip!” She finally took the hint and went back into Hawk’s room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Flynn turned to find an ashen-faced Sara framed in his open doorway. She looked like she was about to throw up.
He moved out of the way just in time.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was bad. He didn’t know what the hell he could say to make things right. But surely she’d heard him. He didn’t invite Jolene’s attention. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want any part of her and had done his best to get rid of her. Sara wouldn’t hold his past against him, would she?
He tried to help her up but she waved him off. “Don’t touch me,” she choked out, still leaning over the stool where she’d emptied her stomach. “Just…don’t.”
Struggling to her feet, she locked the door to Hawk’s room and turned to face him. The look on her face…this wasn’t the Sara he knew. This woman was a pale shadow. God, he hoped that she hadn’t regressed to the wounded soul that she’d been after her kidnapping.
“You need to leave,” she said tiredly. “I’m going to take a shower. Alone. When I’m done, you’re taking me back to my car. I’m sorry. I’m not sharing a bathroom with her.”
She seemed so fragile now, Flynn was afraid to push the issue. They needed to talk. He needed to explain. But now was not the time.
“I hear you,” he said. “I don’t agree, but I do understand. Take your shower. Clear your mind. I’m not gonna take you back without at least talking about it. Later,” he said when she opened her mouth to argue. “It’ll wait until you get done.”
Leaving her to her shower, Flynn grabbed the wet washcloths, returned to his bedroom, cleaned his junk, and started getting dressed. He had his socks and jeans on when knuckles rapped on the hallway door.
“Picasso? You in there? We got church. Papa Bear wants everyone there pronto.”
Church at this time of night? It had to be something major. He wondered if there had been trouble at Paradise Found. Shit. Sara was in the shower. He wouldn’t put it past her to get dressed, call a cab, and sneak out. Covering bases, he hid her purse separately from her clothes and shoes. When he finished dressing, he scribbled a note, taped it to the door, and headed out.
Most of the guys had just gotten back from Paradise Found and were still randy after seeing all that skin. In the meeting room, President Patrick “Papa Bear” McLanahan was in the front with his son and VP Mad Dog. Sergeant-at-Arms Jack Daniels, the club enforcers Beast and Hawk, and Iceman, the club assassin, were close by.
“I know you’re wondering what gives,” Papa Bear said, raising his voice to carry to the back rows. “We just got word that Reaper’s been sighted in the area. Fucker should know better than to show his face around here, but he’s got the balls to match his brain. He’s a walking dead man, but until we finally nail the bastard, we’re beefing up security and watching the women. No one goes out without protection, you hear me? Especially Mama Mare, Rose, and Isabella.”
Fuck. The three women who’d been taken by Reaper. Only Rose had escaped unscathed.
“And Lee,” Mad Dog added grimly. “I’ve let the Viscontis know.”
Flynn remembered the battered wreck that the Paradise Found manager had been when Val Visconti had found her. Mad Dog said it might be months before Lee could return to work. The last he’d heard, she was still in rehab.
“And I’ve told Michael.” Rose’s fiancé. The man who rescued her before Reaper’s son had a chance to steal her virginity. If only Flynn had said something, told Rose how he felt about her, their lives could have been so very different. She wouldn’t have been working late. Wouldn’t have been taken. She could be carrying his child inside her.
Flynn shook himself. There was no sense playing a game of what ifs. The fact was, Michael “Crash” O’Flaherty had won the girl. He needed to let go of the idea of Rose and move on. He wanted to be able to wish her well and mean it.
Crash and Rose seemed happy. Didn’t he deserve to be happy, too?
The answer yes was slow in coming. Maybe that was his problem, stemming back to when he was a kid. He’d been taken away from his mother. Obviously, he didn’t deserve her. His father had disowned him. He didn’t deserve him, either. At the time, he thought that his mother had taken him back because she had no choice, but she could have washed her hands, turned him over to Children and Family Services, and been done with him.
But she hadn’t. He came to understand that she’d always loved him, but he was so damaged by then, he still had a hard time believing that he deserved it.
BDSM allowed him to take control. To earn a woman’s submission, he had to prove that he was worthy. In the playroom, he could believe it. Out here, he still struggled with self-worth.
Which made it that much harder when dealing with Sara. She deserved to be safe, to be happy. What the fuck could he offer her besides sex? The culture of club life had inherent dangers. They didn’t always operate inside the law. They had enemies, Reaper first and foremost among them. Flynn didn’t fit in her world, and she might never fit into his.
Thinking about everything that had happened in the short time that they’d been together, he was still willing to give it a shot if she was, but he wasn’t going to force her, not after what she’d been throug
h. He would do everything he could to persuade her to stay, but in the end, her word was what mattered most. Nothing was going to happen without her consent. He was going to do his damnedest to see that she gave it.
She was waiting in his room when he got back, wrapped in a towel and as pissed as he’d ever seen her. Good. Anger was an emotion, at least. She’d been a zombie by comparison when he’d left her.
“I’ll get your clothes,” he said. “I hid them on the off chance that you’d try to leave while I was gone.”
She said nothing, just glared at him.
Flynn went to his closet, pulled his jeans and T-shirt out of his hamper, and retrieved the bundle that he’d stashed in a spare pillowcase.
“Your clothes and shoes are in there. Get dressed, then we’ll talk.”
She didn’t go into the bathroom like he’d thought. Probably to torment him, she emptied the pillowcase onto his bed, ripped off her towel, and started shoving on her clothes, not stopping until she’d jammed her feet into her shoes.
“My purse,” she grated tightly.
“Here.” Reaching behind a pile of pillows, he pulled out her purse and set it on the bed. He didn’t let go of the handle, though. He wouldn’t put it past her to get the hell out of Dodge before giving him a chance to explain.
“She’s nothing,” Flynn told her, ignoring the daggers she was throwing. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. “Ancient history as far as I’m concerned. If you were listening, you should have realized that. You said for me to keep my dick in my pants unless I’m with you. That’s what I aim to do.”
She bit her lip and looked away, focusing on his artwork. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t see how this can work. The two of us—we don’t make sense. I teach little minds and you ink grown bodies. I look at your art and see your talent and wonder why you’re not doing more with it.”
Flynn felt her words like a punch to his gut. “I do art every fucking day of my life,” he told her. “I just choose not to shove canvases in people’s faces, hoping they’ll like them.”
