by Paige North
My face reddens, and suddenly I find myself backtracking for Flynn’s benefit. “He might’ve just been having a bad day, of course. But I’ll—“
“Every day for Flynn Taylor is a bad day.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully, then pages to his survey page. He reads the answers and shakes his head. “This won’t work.”
Suddenly, guilt floods me. What does that mean? Does Professor Morgan have it in his power to make Flynn’s life a living hell? I don’t know why I care, after the way Flynn treated me.
But still, I do.
“I’m willing to try to push through it, though,” I say. “I mean, maybe I just need to pursue a different angle of questioning to—“
“It’s not you, clearly, Miss Shaw,” he says, throwing the half-completed survey on his desk and swiveling around in his chair to grab his telephone. “It’s him. When somebody shows you who he is, believe him. And he’s shown us all what kind of person he is. Participation in this study—effective participation— was a requirement to avoid more serious penalties, and he’s blown it.”
That sounds serious. I swallow, a sour feeling rooting at the pit of my stomach. Am I the only one who thinks there may be more to Flynn Taylor than meets the eye? “I don’t want him to get in trouble on my account.”
“Oh, trust me. He’s already gotten in enough trouble on his own.” He starts dialing, but stops when he realizes I’m still sitting there. “I’ll see you later today, and rest assured this will be dealt with. Close the door behind you.”
That’s my cue to leave. I know I should, but I feel rooted to the chair. What have I done? Reluctantly, I step out of the office as he speaks into the receiver, “Earl Jacobsen, please.”
I slowly close the door before he can say any more, and with the door closed, everything the professor says is so muffled he might as well be speaking a different language. Hoisting my backpack onto my shoulder, I decide to go down to the library and get some studying done.
Studying, which is the reason I’m in Boston to begin with, and the thing I haven’t managed to do yet.
Chapter 10
The following evening, as I’m riding home on the T, I get another call from my mom. She’s been trying to call me all week, but I haven’t had the time for one of our marathon conversations. I text to her that I’ll call her later and that I’m fine so she knows I’m not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
But really, I’m not sure if I am fine.
I should feel better now. After all, I made the decision to put my studies first, and that’s the right one.
But that doesn’t stop me from thinking non-stop about Flynn.
He didn’t even look my way, all during practice. Without Flynn to bother me, today’s study was simple. The men were polite and helpful and really wanted to be there. Ordinarily, I’d have been thrilled. But even though the surveys only lasted a half-hour, I found myself watching the clock.
Without Flynn to complicate things, life almost seems . . . boring.
Boring is good, I tell myself. There are worse things that life can be than boring. Really, boring is what you need.
Even if it’s not what I want.
When I trudge up the crumbling stairs to the apartment, night has already fallen. The days are getting shorter and there’s a crisp autumn chill coming in with the night. I’ve been sweating all day in these Cambridge College sweats, but now, I’m glad to be wearing them.
When I push open the door, Jen is standing in the foyer, going through her purse. Her lips are blood red and she’s wearing a miniskirt. I have to look twice because this is the first time I’ve seen her made up, and she almost looks like a different person. “Hey! I’m glad you’re back,” she says to me. She leans in and whispers, “How did things go?”
I shrug. “Fine. I mean, I talked to Morgan and he must have told the coach. Flynn didn’t even look my way at practice, so I guess it worked.”
Too well, I think miserably.
“Cool. We’re going to grab some dinner right now. Want to come?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Can’t. I have a lot of studying to do, and I promised my mom I’d call.”
“Oh, well, if you change your mind, I’m texting you the name of a bar we’re going to be at later,” she says, her thumbs skipping over her phone’s display. “Pat’s roommate Ethan is going to be there.” She looks over her shoulder and whispers, grinning, “He’s pre-med, and scorching hot.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
That’s probably what I need. Nothing like a new guy to put some distance between me and Flynn. But right now, I can’t help thinking that any new guy will only make me think of Flynn more. I really need to swear off all guys and throw myself into my studies, once and for all. My phone dings with her message. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. Have fun.”
Alone in the apartment, the full effect of my loneliness hits me full-force. I can’t even think about sports, or responsibility. I’m already wearing my comfy sweats, so I kick off my sneakers and put on my scuff slippers. Then I go down to the kitchen and find a nice, full quart of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. I attack it. I turn on cheesy reality TV to keep me company and settle into the comfy couch, intending to stay here until the cushions are forever impressed with the outline of my butt. My mom’s endless inquisition about my new life in Boston can wait until tomorrow.
I’m halfway through the carton of ice cream and deeply embroiled in a Real Housewives of Somewhere marathon when the doorbell rings.
I open the door, still licking the last bit of caramel syrup from the spoon, and then I nearly choke on it. My heart jumps into my throat.
Flynn.
From the scowl on his face, I can tell he isn’t happy with me.
So why am I excited to see him?
“What the fuck, Savannah?” he snaps at me.
Cool, Savannah, play it cool.
I push the door open and walk back toward the couch. “Hi, to you, too. Come in,” I tell him, still licking my spoon. I offer him the carton. “Ice cream? It might help cool you down a little.”
He rushes forward and gets in front of me, putting an arm out and blocking me from my precious couch. I stop short.
His eyes are boring into me as his voice comes out with an edge. “For a college girl, you don’t have brains.”
I stare at him. He’s breathing hard, fists clenched. I’ve definitely ruffled his feathers this time. My eyes trail to the spot in the wall where it looked like a fist had punched through the drywall. Jen had put a giant kitten poster over it, but as angry as he is, Flynn definitely has the potential to put another hole there.
I cross my arms. “So, what? I was supposed to let you treat the study like a joke and destroy everything I’m working for?”
“Everything you’re working for,” he repeats with an ironic laugh, running his hands through his hair. “It’s a shit study. It thinks it can fit us into types, but athletes aren’t like one of those hockey games in the arcade where the players only go up and down and spin around. Some of us want to go our own way.”
“Oh, like Flynn Taylor? He’s just so complicated, huh? He’s above everyone’s understanding.” I scoff, setting down the ice cream container and throwing up my hands. “You are not nearly as interesting as you seem to think you are. I had you figured the second you went out on the ice. You have a big chip on your shoulder because you grew up poor. Well, big deal. So did lots of people. So did I. You won’t get any sympathy from me.”
“You’re wrong. And you telling your professor screwed me over big-time. They’re dropping me to third line and making me see the staff psychiatrist to deal with my anger issues.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Good? I’m not angry. The only anger I have right now is for the girl who’s standing in front of me.”
“Funny, you look angry all the time, considering how many fights you get in on the ice.”
“That’s the game,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry. I thought the game was
about scoring goals.”
“See, you fucking know nothing about hockey, if that’s what you think. I like to play hard. The fans expect that of me. That I’ll take no shit and give them a good show. I’m not going soft on anyone.”
“So that’s what you are? A puppet for your fans? The athletics comes second? It’s all about giving the audience their ticket’s worth?” I snort. “This isn’t pro wrestling. You’re in a league with real athletes, and maybe you should start acting like one.”
He shakes his head. His eyes are blazing. And I thought he looked angry on the ice. Now there’s an intensity in them that scares me. “You don’t know anything about me, or any of us. Go back to Ohio, little girl.”
“You don’t think you can scare me home, do you?” I say, steeling myself. “I’m not as naïve as you think. You, on the other hand, are a spoiled little boy, thinking you can behave any way you please and have whatever you want, regardless. If the coach is punishing you for your actions, it has nothing to do with me. You made your bed, and you deserve everything you get.”
By the time I finish, I’m breathing hard. He’s breathing hard. We stare each other down, unable to move. That tension in the room is back, but this time, I’m scared. I think he’s dangerously close to lashing out at me with his words, hurting me worse than he already has.
We stay that way, frozen, as many seconds tick by, and he’s the first one to break the gaze. “You’re wrong,” he finally says, his voice quieter.
“Well. Set me straight. What am I wrong about?” But he stalks away, facing away from me, vising his head between his hands. When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Look. I have a job to do. You have a job to do. Why can’t you just ignore me and do your job?”
He whirls around, shaking his head, then looks up at the ceiling and lets out a short, ironic laugh. Then his eyes are back on me. “Because I can’t stop thinking about tasting you.”
All the heat in my body floods into the low part of my abdomen. Images of that night teem inside my head, I forget how to breathe. He moves closer to me, and closer still, until I can feel the electricity bouncing between us. I shake my head. “Flynn, don’t . . .” I start, my protest too weak to have any effect. “This can’t happen. Right now—this—can’t happen.”
“But it already is,” he murmurs, staring at my lips again, and I know what’s coming next. Now, what little resolve I’d managed to scrape together is crumbling again.
Before I can pull myself together, he bridges the distance and slams his mouth onto mine, crushing me, pressing me back against the door. His hands, warm and rough, find their way under my t-shirt, smoothing over my back. The kiss is hot and feverish and even that is not enough to sate me. I wrap my legs around his waist and he’s already so hard, pressing against my core.
I need him. I need him now.
One hand still on my back, one threaded through my hair, he pulls my head away, tearing his mouth from me, those sapphire eyes boring into mine. “Say what you want,” he breathes. “Tell me you want it, too.”
“Yes. I want it, Flynn. Please.”
He lifts me off the wall and eases me down on the couch. I lift my ass up off the cushion him, helping him to shimmy my sweatpants and thong down to my ankles. He lifts my legs and lowers them down on either of his shoulders, his head between my legs, so I can feel his hot breath on my skin. I close my eyes, aching for that feeling, and it’s like he knows it, because he times his assault for when I’m most desperate. There’s no tentative tasting, no nibbling. With no warning, he plants his open mouth, full, on my core.
It’s too much. I cry out.
I bring my hand to my mouth to silence myself, but he reaches up and grabs it, holding it rigid against my belly. “No.” His command is low and growling, startling me. “I want to hear every little sound you want to make, Savannah.”
He takes his time, now. He moves his hands to my thighs, spreading me apart. His hot wet tongue slides slowly up the crease of my folds. My head falls back against the back of the couch, and I whimper with a combination of relief and delight. He licks upward, slowly, fully, from bottom to top, again, and again, lapping and lapping at me. I gasp, and my hands instinctively want to fly to my mouth. It’s everything I can do to obey him and keep them on my belly. Then he digs in with his tongue, pressing against the nerves of my sensitive nub.
I moan. “Oh, god, Flynn . . .”
His tongue circles my clit and pushes inside me, wrapping his arms around my thighs and caressing my ass. It’s setting a fire alight inside me, something wild and unstoppable. It’s building, and I’m shaking as he takes me to the brink of ecstasy, only to pull away, leaving me gasping in frustration. It’s like he knows I’m close, and wants me to beg for it.
I open my eyes to look at him, and it’s that same wolfish look . . . he’s playing with me. As frustrating as it is, I want it to continue. Those liquid blue eyes meet mine, his mouth wet with my juices. “Please, Flynn. Please . . .”
“What do you want?” His voice is a low rumble. “Say it.”
“Make me come.”
He attacks my clit again, his tongue relentless, flicking my clit, bringing me close again. I teeter on the edge, and I feel release so close. I arch against him, meeting his tongue, wanting more and more of his tongue on me. I’m panting and writhing now, and it he stops now, I might kill him. He’s sucking it, pulling on it gently with his teeth, and I grab the edge of the cushions to keep my hands out of my mouth. I’m so close, the fire inside me an inferno, consuming everything in its path.
And then he inserts a finger into me, and I lose it. “Oh, god . . .Flynn. Oh, fuck . . .”
The orgasm rips through me, and I come so hard my breath leaves me. He suckles my clit deeply as I scream aloud, throwing myself forward. I come, and come, and come.
Chapter 11
“You have one dirty mouth, girl,” he says, sitting back on his haunches.
I’m not done. I reach for his belt buckle, loosening it. I want him naked, on me. I want as much of his skin against mine, right now. “Fuck me,” I say, shameless.
“Hold on,” he says, standing up, contemplating.
“What, you don’t want to?” I ask.
“No. Fuck, I do. But . . . are you a virgin?”
I shake my head.
He gives me a look like he doesn’t believe me.
“Really,” I tell him. “Fuck me.”
He leans forward, capturing my face in my hands. He kisses me, almost gently. I thrust my tongue desperately into his mouth, wanting him to take control and command me. I reach for his t-shirt and pull it over his head, then go again for his jeans. He starts to strip them off, so I pull off my own hoodie and tank top, then finish removing my sweatpants. I sit back down on the couch, watching him. God, he’s beautiful in clothing, but he’s even more exquisite naked. I want him so badly I take in a shuddery breath.
His gaze rakes down my body. “You’re fucking sexy, Savannah, you know that? Fucking gorgeous. You don’t ever have to ask if I want to fuck you. The answer will always be yes.”
He scoops a hand under my hips and twists me around with no effort, so I’m facing the back of the couch. He runs his hands over the globes of my ass, then brings his body close to mine. I feel his hard cock at the crack of my ass, and he whispers, “I love it when you talk dirty, Savi.”
“I love when you call my Savi,” I murmur, as he runs his hands over my front, cupping my breasts. He kisses my neck, and his fingers delve between my legs again.
“You ready?”
I nod. “Are you?”
“Fuck, I was born ready for this.” I hear a packet rip, feel his hand withdraw from my core, and I turn to watch him slide a condom on one-handed. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the back of the couch, watching him guide his cock to my entrance. A gentle nudge. I push back against him and feel him enter me, filling me.
I gasp and hang my head as he pushes into me, inch by inch, stretching me. Oh, god. He’s so
huge. I thrust back against him, wanting more, wanting every inch he has.
“Fuck, Savi, you’re so fucking tight and sweet,” he breathes into my skin. He plants his hands on my hips and pulls me closer to him. He’s flush against me, his hips against my ass. “I’m not hurting you?”
“No,” I murmur. I’m so the opposite of hurt that I nearly giggle. “This is amazing.”
He slides out, leaving just the tip inside me, and then plunges in, deeper. I let out a cry. He hesitates then. “You sure it’s okay?”
“I like it,” I tell him. “As fast and hard as you can.”
He lets out a surprised groan. I know he likes things rough, and what do you know, I like that, too? He does it again, his tip nestled in my entrance, then thrusts in harder. Soon he’s pounding into me, making me whimper with every thrust, and I love it. It’s so intense, so primal, so wild, I’ve never done anything like this before. I push against him as he slides in deep, getting into a rhythm, feeling my breasts sway and his hands dig into my hips. Whatever he’s hitting inside me, it’s a chord that has never been struck, ever. Another orgasm is building inside me, and somehow I know it’ll be even fiercer than the first one.
The rhythm increases to a frantic pace, and my hovering climax crashes down around us.
He must be able to sense it. “Come, Savi.”
“But I want you to . . .” I protest.
“Don’t worry about me,” he growls, and the second I have his permission, I come, hard.
“Now you.”
Groaning, he lifts me and tips me so that now he’s hovering above me. Now, I can see his face, have his entire body pressed flush against mine. His cock continues to drill into me, not missing a beat as he kisses my neck. I wrap my legs tight around him, and our eyes lock. His muscles flex and tighten, and crashes into me, growling, rough and hard and so like Flynn. His body is jerking and raw, his fingers digging into my skin. It’s amazing, unlike anything I’ve ever known, watching a man like him, lost completely in ecstasy as he pounds into me.