The Mighty Flynn

by Sierra Dafoe

  "That's right,” Russ answered. Geena could see the muscles bunching in his jaw.

  "Matrimonium in festinaio, paenito procul otium,” Flynn murmured, looking down into his empty cup.

  What was that, Latin? Confused, Geena looked at Russ—but Russ was staring at Flynn, his broad, easygoing face suddenly clenched in fury. He stood abruptly, jostling the table, and pulled Geena up with him.

  "My car's in the D section. You can drive yourself to my place.” Reaching into his pants pocket, Russ threw his keys onto the table. “I'm taking Geena home."

  Flynn didn't seem in the least perturbed by Russ's anger. He waved a negligent hand at them, and Geena couldn't help noticing the length of his strong, graceful fingers, the neatly manicured tips, and the dark hairs that dusted the back of his hand.

  "You kids go on ahead. I've got a bachelor party to plan."

  "I don't want a bachelor party, Flynn.” Russ's voice was tight with anger. “We discussed this."

  Flynn grinned, looking more wolfish than ever. “Russ, you can't expect me to fly all the way here and then forego the pleasure of surrounding you with strippers.” He gave Geena a slow, insolent smile.

  Geena felt her temper flare, even as his smirk and the lazy heat in his eyes increased her own inexplicable arousal. Bastard. “Just don't bring him home with any STDs."

  An amused light sparkled suddenly in Flynn's green eyes. “So you do have some fire after all,” he said. “I was starting to wonder."

  Wrapping an arm about her, Russ glared down at him. “There was no call for this, Flynn. None at all."

  Geena could feel his body trembling with suppressed fury as he led her through the airport and into the parking lot. Which was good, actually. It meant he was too distracted to notice her rapid breathing or the trembling in her own limbs. When they reached her car, she was more than happy to hand him her keys.

  Russ pulled her into a hug. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know he was going to be like that.” She laid her cheek against the warm expanse of his chest, and felt him kiss the top of her head. “Flynn can be a real bastard sometimes."

  "So I noticed.” Geena's tone was drier than she'd meant it to be, but Russ let out a bark of laughter and hugged her tighter.

  Then he tilted her head back, his warm hazel eyes gazing intently down into hers. “Don't let him make you doubt what we have, Gee. Don't let him do that. He's a manipulative prick when he wants to be."

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her as they stood in the parking lot of the airport with jet-planes roaring overhead. Geena opened her lips, kissing him back warmly, knowing even as she did that there was no way on earth she could ever tell him about her own doubts now.

  Chapter Two

  Russ was silent all the way back to her apartment, steering her Volvo smoothly through the afternoon traffic, his jaw still tight with anger.

  As he parked the car, Geena thought it best to try and ease his ruffled feathers. “Russ, he's your friend. I'm sure he only wants what's best for you."

  "You're what's best for me, Geena. Even if Flynn's too damn stubborn to see it.” He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look, if it's not too much of an imposition, can I stay the night?"

  "Are you sure?"

  Russ nodded grimly. “I don't trust my temper at the moment."

  He'd never actually spent the night at her place before. They always went to his place—among other things, his bed was twice the size of hers. Not that they ever used the half of it, she thought wryly. “Of course,” she replied, wondering what Chell would think.

  Michelle, as it turned out, had already left for the club. The apartment seemed echoingly empty without her presence, despite the mass of boxes piled in the living room.

  Russ eyed them in surprise. “Where the hell did you keep all that?"

  "Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She spoke more tartly than she'd meant to, and saw Russ grin.

  "Sorry. Hit a nerve there, did I?"

  "No. Yes. It's just moving, and the wedding, and everything."

  "I know.” Gently, he looped his arms around her waist, and Geena laid her cheek against the broad expanse of his chest. She could hear his heart beating, warm and steady, under his shirt. “I know, Gee. But by Sunday, all of this will be over, I promise you."

  "You make it sound like a threat."

  He chuckled at that, his voice rumbling, low and warm, through his chest, and tipped her chin back to lower his mouth to hers. She loved his mouth, both firm and mobile, and the taste of his tongue probing between her lips.

  If only he'd probe a little harder! She pressed against him, willing him to drag her against him, and seize her lips in a hard, searing kiss. But he merely murmured, his lips whispering gently against the skin of her neck, “Tell me you didn't pack the bed."

  She rolled her eyes. “It came with the room."

  "Good."

  His arms closed around her, a little tighter, but she pulled back against his embrace. “Shouldn't you at least call Flynn?"

  "He'll be fine. He's a big boy ... Yeah, I suppose you're right.” Reluctantly, he released her, and while Russ borrowed her cell phone, Geena dug a spare pair of sheets out of Chell's closet. He joined her in time to help tuck in the top sheet.

  "So what's the manipulative prick up to?"

  Russ grimaced. “I don't know, and I don't care. But he knows where the remote is, and there's stroganoff in the freezer. He'll be fine.” Reaching for her, he pulled her onto the bed and tugged off his shirt, then lay back with Geena in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

  "How about you?” she asked. He glanced down at her, surprised. “I've just never seen you that angry before."

  "That's because I've never had you to be angry about."

  Oh, she liked the sound of that. She snuggled closer, and Russ closed his arms around her, turning his head to nuzzle her hair as his hands caressed her back. She rolled slightly, and he slid one hand to her breast, kneading it through her blouse and bra. “Maybe we should take this off."

  Don't ask! she wanted to scream. Don't ask, just do it!

  Instead, she sat up and unbuttoned it as he watched, his eyes studying her appreciatively. He reached up, cupping her breasts through her bra, and gliding his thumbs over her hardening nipples.

  "Nice,” he murmured.

  Geena lifted her ribcage, pressing her breasts into his palms, and moaned as he squeezed them more firmly.

  Sitting up, he reached back, unhooked her bra, and lowered his mouth to one aching nipple. Geena bit her lip, wishing he would suck harder, maybe even use his teeth a little. But he didn't. Instead, he lowered her to the bed, deftly removing her jeans as he kicked off his own. Then he was above her, entering her carefully, moving inside her with his usual considerate gentleness.

  The room was so bare around them, like an already-abandoned shell, and Geena closed her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Russ's broad, muscular back, trying to will herself to orgasm as Russ's breathing quickened. It's too late, she thought in some desolate corner of her mind. Too late now to go back.

  Is it? The voice, cool and amused, whispered in her imagination. She could picture Flynn so clearly, his ice-green eyes gleaming with their cold, arrogant humor. Is it really, Geena?

  It was easy, far too easy, to imagine Flynn standing there in the doorway, watching as Russ made love to her so gently, so...

  Tamely, her traitorous brain whispered.

  His strokes were controlled, undemanding. He never plunged into her, never simply took her the way she dreamed about. The way, she knew instinctively, Flynn Davies would. That saturnine smile, those long, powerful fingers ... She could almost feel them, grabbing her roughly, pinioning her on her back with her thighs forced wide, spread below him, at his mercy as he thrust down into her, hard, harder still. Distantly, she heard the small moans of pleasure spilling from her throat, felt the heat in her crotch spike upward as she imagined Flynn's eyes, glowing in that chiseled
face, watching her intently as he pounded into her.

  With a cry, her orgasm lanced through her in a hard, burning burst of ecstasy that left her shuddering and limp. Quivering, she clung to Russ as he groaned in her ear, his body going rigid as his semen flooded her cunt.

  "Oh, Gee,” he murmured when his spasms eased. Brushing her long, straight-as-a-board hair back from her face, he kissed her gently. “Sounded like you liked that."

  "Mmm,” she murmured, unwilling to lie, and drew him down against her so she wouldn't have to look at his warm, honest face.

  Oh, this is not good, Gee. This is so not good.

  * * * *

  Michelle yawned hugely as she shuffled into the kitchen, watching through sleep-puffed eyes as Geena distractedly opened cabinets and closed them again.

  "Hey, was that Russ I saw leaving? Did he spend the night?” Michelle pulled out a chair and sat down.

  "Damn it, Chell, where's my coffee mug?"

  "Uh, you packed it. So, I take it you two talked."

  "Shit!” Geena slammed the cabinet shut and leaned against the counter.

  "You didn't talk?” Michelle stared at her. “Geena!"

  Grimly, Geena opened the cabinet again and pulled out one of Michelle's mugs. Lifting the coffeepot, she cursed as her hand trembled violently.

  "You sure you even want that coffee?"

  Geena slammed the mug down, sloshing brown liquid onto the counter. “I don't know. I don't know what I want, any more."

  The movers had arrived promptly at eighty-thirty, and Russ had supervised them while she hid in the bedroom, unable to make herself watch as her things were carried out. It felt too much like the final safety-cord being cut.

  Then he'd kissed her, lightly, standing by the open apartment door, gazing at her with those steady hazel eyes. “Gee."

  His soft, intent tone had made her acutely aware that the next time she'd see him would be at their wedding. Swallowing rapidly, she'd looked up at him. “Gee, I want this. Don't ever doubt that. I want a life with you. I want my whole life with you."

  He was so good to her. So sweet, so loving. He was perfect. Any woman would be a fool not to want him.

  Geena's breath hitched in her chest as she stared down at the spreading puddle. Uncurling herself from her chair, Michelle deftly wiped up the spilled coffee, steered her to a seat, refilled the mug and added a judicious dollop of milk, and placed it in Geena's hands. “So are you gonna talk to me, or do I have to resort to brute force?"

  "I don't ... There's nothing to tell."

  "I've got rope around here someplace. Don't make me use it."

  Geena glared.

  Michelle shrugged. “Hey, it's your fantasy, not mine."

  "Yeah.” Geena's voice crackled with bitterness. “And a fantasy is all it's ever going to be."

  "Oh, I don't know. Give him a few months of the same old same old, he might be amenable. You could always do a Kathy Bates and greet him at the door in Saran Wrap."

  "That's not funny, Chell."

  "Are you kidding? It'd be a riot. You can take Polaroids for your grandkids."

  Geena's mouth twisted as tears welled up and threatened to overflow. Her shoulders quivered as she took a quick, shuddering breath.

  "Hey. Hey.” Michelle sat down beside her, lifted the coffee mug from her trembling fingers, and tilted Geena's chin up. “Maybe I'm getting the signals wrong, here, but Gee, I really think you should talk to the man."

  "Yeah. Which one?” Geena turned away quickly from Chell's puzzled look. “I gotta get going. I've got stuff to do."

  * * * *

  She didn't, really—which was, Geena thought as she tugged off her jeans, one more advantage of a small wedding. No muss, no fuss, no months and months of stress. Here it was, the afternoon before her wedding day, and she wasn't panicking over details. In fact, everything had pretty much already been done.

  Maybe that was why she felt so at a loss. Maybe that was why her unruly mind kept returning, over and over, to the image of Flynn, sprawled back in the coffee shop booth as he watched her from out of those keen, predatory eyes.

  Oh, stop it, Geena!

  In the small, carpeted dressing room of Victoria's Secret, she unfastened her bra and stood in just her panties, examining herself critically. Decent boobs. Well-shaped calves. Her ass had always been on the big side, but it didn't seem to bother Russ any. Voluptuous, he called it.

  Unhooking the filmy white nightgown she'd selected for her wedding night from the hanger, Geena pulled it down over her head and turned back to the mirror.

  It made her look like some fairy-tale princess, sweet and innocent. Just the way I always look, Geena thought grimly. But it was pretty. Her hair floated about her exposed shoulders, crackling with static. The stretchy bodice cupped her breasts which, while nowhere near as big as Michelle's, were firm and full and nicely shaped. The white lace dragged against her nipples, teasing them to erectness.

  Turning sideways, Geena trailed her hands over her breasts, enjoying the way they swelled above the seductively low neckline and wishing that once, just once, the fairy tale fantasy would come true. Not the prince in shining armor fantasy—hell, she already had that. But the other one, the darker one. The one in which innocent little Red Riding Hood meets the Big Bad Wolf.

  And she knew exactly who the Big Bad Wolf would be. It was far too easy to imagine eyes watching her. Green eyes. Green, hungry eyes under raven-black hair.

  Her fingers grazed her nipples, and she shivered at the tingle of pleasure that shot down into her crotch, making her almost painfully aware of the damp heat lurking between her thighs. Running her hands down over her belly, she pictured Flynn coming toward her, that cool, mocking half-smile curving his lips.

  Well, hello princess.

  She could almost see the way he'd look down at her bosom, which would heave, of course, as she pressed herself back against the wall, her eyes wide in terror as she stared up at the dark beast towering over her. He'd reach out impatiently, grabbing her wrist roughly as he ripped the filmy concoction of lace and silk from her body, leaving her standing naked, trembling, and exposed to his every whim and desire...

  What was she doing? With a jerk, Geena straightened, realizing she'd been leaning against the wall of the dressing room, her fingers pressing her throbbing clit through the silky fabric of the nightgown, caressing it. Blood rushed to her face. Shit! Had she been moaning? Murmuring aloud in the tiny, cramped dressing room?

  Yanking the nightgown off, she dressed hurriedly and took it to the register. Blushing furiously, she surreptitiously studied the cashier, but the girl seemed utterly disinterested, swiping her credit card without so much as a second glance at her. Clutching her shopping bags, Geena hurried out into the crowded mall, and then found her feet lagging as she wandered aimlessly through the press of Saturday shoppers.

  Was she doing the right thing? Oh, there was no doubt in her mind that she loved Russ, and that he loved her. But it seemed like everywhere she went today, a pair of mocking green eyes followed her, igniting a fire of arousal and annoyance deep inside her.

  She'd picked up her wedding dress from the drycleaners—and had found herself wondering what Flynn would think of it. Her bridal bouquet had already been delivered, and was sitting now in the refrigerator back at her apartment. Daisies and miniature white roses—she could almost see Flynn's disdainful smirk.

  What did it say, that she was thinking about Flynn? Flynn's opinions, Flynn's reactions? Why should she give a damn what Flynn thought of her? She should be thinking of Russ, Russ, not Flynn with his haughty attitude, his dark, dangerous looks, and his long artist's hands.

  And she wasn't interested in Mr. Oh-So-Arrogant Flynn! Not in the least!

  I want nice, dammit!

  Yeah, Michelle's voice whispered back in her memory. Everywhere but in the bedroom.

  And Flynn, Geena knew instinctively, was anything but nice in the bedroom.

  Her clit throbbed beneath her
jeans as she imagined him again, looming over her, tearing the nightgown from her body as he pinned her hands behind her.

  Jesus! Stop it, Gee!

  This was stupid. Sure, she might wish Russ was a little more dominant, a little more forceful. But that didn't mean she wanted Flynn Davies! Marching straight across the mall to a beauty salon, she yanked open the door. Michelle had told her to do something about her hair, and God damn it, she would.

  It wasn't until she was actually sitting in the chair, her wet hair draped around her and the stylist inquiring what exactly she wanted done, that panic hit her.

  God, what am I doing?

  Then she remembered the flash of amused approval in Flynn's green eyes. So you do have some fire after all.

  "Cut it off,” Geena ordered. “Cut it off and perm it."

  Then she shut her eyes tightly.

  Chapter Three

  "Oh my Gawd!” Michelle stared at her, her eyes shifting from confusion to surprise as Geena walked into their kitchen. “Gee, I didn't even recognize you! Girl, that is fantastic!"

  Geena grinned and shook her hair, still startled at how light it felt. Instead of her long, thick, straight-as-a-board brown locks, she now sported a mop-top of gleaming curls, traced with golden highlights, that fell to just below her chin. “So, you like it?"

  "Like it? I love it. You should've done that years ago.” With a grin, Michelle glued another sequin onto the cat mask she was decorating.

  Geena poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Michelle at the kitchen table, nodding at the mask. “What's that for?"

  "Guess who booked the club for a private party tonight?” Michelle gave her a sly smile.

  Geena stared disbelievingly. “He didn't."

  Michelle nodded. “Your friend, Flynn. He called the club this afternoon."

  "He's no friend of mine."

  Michelle's eyebrows shot up at her curt tone. “Well, he sure is one of Russ's. Last minute booking, and he wants me to close the whole place on a Saturday night? In June?"

  "Jesus. How much did you charge him?"