Willing Victim: Remastered

by Cara McKenna

  “More. Nice and deep.”

  She worked her mouth lower, letting his head bump the back of her throat and trigger her gag reflex. It didn’t ease as she bobbed her head, but the sensation only heightened the experience, the taboo.

  “All of it,” Flynn ordered, starting to force her. Though he was rough, he knew what he was doing. His demanding hands made her swallow every inch but he withdrew with each protest from her throat, gave her a chance to find her breath. He pulled out after a minute and got to his feet, making Laurel shuffle back on the hard floor. He brought his cock back to her lips, adding his own thrusts and showing her the deep rhythm he craved.

  “I love it,” he whispered. “I love fucking that sweet mouth of yours.” His hips sped for a few beats, emphasizing, overwhelming Laurel for a breath or two before he settled into a manageable pace.

  “You’re so good at sucking that cock, girl.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “I’m gonna reward you. You want that?”

  She moaned an affirmation around his shaft. He pulled her hair, yanking her head back and holding it at arm’s length. “Jerk me. Hard as you fucking can.”

  She wrapped her hand around his slick cock and stroked so aggressively she feared she’d hurt him.

  “Good. Keep going. Keep that up.”

  A desperate, needy feeling clouded her mind as he held her hair, keeping her mouth just out of reach of his crown. She jerked him until she could see his hips and abs trembling, his breath racing from her mean strokes.

  “You’re gonna get it,” he rasped. “You’re gonna get a big fuckin’ mouthful of me.” He groaned, the sound reverberating in Laurel’s bones. His free hand pushed hers away, taking over the pulls as the other brought her head close, forcing his cock past her lips as he released. His stroking fist bumped her chin as the come lashed her tongue, a long, hot stream of him bathing her taste buds and sliding down her throat. The roughness of his commands blended with the helpless sound of his moan, making Laurel feel in control for the briefest of moments.

  He released her as his body stilled.

  “Clean me up,” he said, panting.

  Laurel reached out and took his softening cock, laving it until he stepped away. She watched him walk to the sink and fill a glass from the tap. She looked to her top and her bra slung over the couch and wondered with a stab of panic if the evening’s activities were already over—if she was supposed to be getting dressed and making a decision about whether or not she was staying. Flynn set his glass on the counter and turned to face her.

  “Okay. We’ve got about twenty minutes before I get mean again.”

  5

  Laurel laughed, relieved the night was still young. “What are you, some kind of sex-werewolf?”

  He let out a heavy sigh, blinked a couple times and walked over, zipping his jeans and buckling his belt. “Here,” he said, putting out a hand. “Get up. Looks weird havin’ a topless girl on my floor when I’m not in barbarian mode.”

  He helped her to standing and she dusted off her knees. “So. What do we do for twenty minutes?”

  His hands went to Laurel’s jeans, undoing her button and zipper. She giggled.

  He looked up. “What?”

  “Sorry. I can’t get over how big your fingers are.”

  He stared at them a moment.

  “Not just your fingers, I mean. All of you.” She looked to his eyes, probably eight or nine inches above hers, and she wasn’t particularly short. “How tall are you?”

  “Six-three-and-a-half.”

  “Damn.”

  He shrugged and turned back to her jeans, pushing them down her hips. He sucked in a soft breath.

  It was her turn to ask, “What?”

  “I dunno. Just your skin. You’re so…white.”

  “One of my roommates calls me Ghostie.”

  He shook his head. “You’re like that famous chick, what’s her name?”

  Laurel knew exactly what name he was looking for but refused to supply it. Pale skin and red hair, but she lacked Nicole Kidman’s height and bone structure and glamour and didn’t feel like hearing their differences enumerated if Flynn made a project of comparing them.

  “So what do we do now?” she asked again.

  “You get in my bed and I figure a few things out about you before the beast returns. If you’re still in the mood.”

  She kicked off her jeans with gusto and jogged to toss herself across his rumpled comforter. She listened to his laugh as she stared into the maze of pipes and vents traversing the ceiling, anticipating. His footsteps faded and the lights went out. More steps, and a dim reading lamp clamped to one of the bedside shelves flipped on. Flynn sat on the mattress, the heaviness of him thrilling Laurel deep down to her marrow.

  “Lie on your side,” he said. “Away from me.”

  She complied and he slid up behind her, pressing his bare chest into her back, pushing a hard thigh between her knees. He ran his warm palm up and down her hip and made a soft noise, a whisper crossed with a grunt. His hand slid up her ribs to cup her breast, the sensation tightening her legs around his.

  “I wanna know what you like,” he said.

  She realized that with his mouth this close and his tone hushed, the voice she’d found brash and a bit grating was actually rather sexy. She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here because I want to see what it’s like to be with someone, you know…like you.”

  “Have you thought about it? Since the last time you were here?” His fingers pinched her nipple gently, then meaner.

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. A lot.” She’d gotten off about ten times in the last four days, imagining fucking Flynn. No, not fucking Flynn—being fucked by Flynn.

  His hand moved down her belly to rest on her mound. “Tell me.”

  Laurel hesitated. She’d always been lousy at dirty talk.

  “Listen, kiddo,” he said. “I’m a selfish prick, and I want to be the greatest fuck of your life and ruin you for every man who comes after me. But I’m not a mind reader, so I need some help. Otherwise I could end up as the douchebag who’s got shitty taste in wine and totally traumatized you when you were thirty.”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “So tell me,” he breathed, right behind her ear. “What do you want me to do to you?”

  She took a deep breath, held it as his hand slid low, two fingers just barely pressing into her lips through her underwear. “I thought about everything you did with her. And wondered what it’d be like to do that with you.”

  “What else?” Those fingers ran up and down her crease, flooding her sex with heat and pressure.

  Confession became far easier.

  “I thought about you making me get on my elbows and knees, on your floor, like you did to her.”

  “Uh huh.” His touch intensified, his thigh pushing her knees wider as his fingers strained against the cotton.

  “Except you tie my wrists,” she said. “And instead of telling me to keep my eyes on the floor, there’s, like, a mirror against the wall in front of me, so I have to watch you while you fuck me.” Her throat was tight, as tight as her pussy under his touch.

  “And how do I fuck you?” he asked, voice turning harsh, hand slipping beneath her panties, tickling her hair before his fingers found her folds and banished all other thoughts and sensations. She moaned.

  “Tell me how I fuck you.”

  “Hard,” she managed. “And mean.”

  “Am I forcing you?” Two fingers penetrated.

  “Oh God.”

  “Tell me. Do you want me to force you?” He pushed deeper.

  “Yeah,” she said, barely able to form the syllable as he began to thrust.

  “You’re so wet,” he whispered, sounding smug. “I can’t wait to ram my cock inside you. See your hot body below me as I take you.”

  He fucked her fast, his slick fingers curled into a hook, the pad of his hand stroking her clit each time he withdrew. Against her ass she felt him growing hard. Th
e buckle of his belt made her think of her hands bound again, fueling the fire. She groaned on each exhale, drunk from his touch and his smell, his voice. He was turning back into the other Flynn, just as he’d promised.

  “You like that, don’t you?” She could hear his sneer. “Bet you wish that was my cock, don’t you?” His fingers fucked her hard for half a minute and she writhed against him, desperate. “You sucked me so good before. I loved watching you take every inch.”

  “God, Flynn.”

  His dick was stiff, as hard as it had been when she’d sucked him.

  “You’ll say my name just like that when I make you come, bitch.”

  Her breath hitched at the word but the intimidation wasn’t unwelcome.

  “You want to live out that fantasy tonight?” His hips pumped, rubbing his erection against her bottom.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “We can do the training wheels version.”

  She gasped when he pulled away, turned her onto her back and knelt between her thighs, spreading them wide and bringing his groin to hers.

  “I love your fantasy.” He stared down at her, fire in his eyes. He thrust his cock against her, the layers of fabric taunting. “I wanna watch you in that mirror, watching me. Close your eyes and think about it.”

  She obeyed. His cock rubbed her pussy with hot, frustrating friction. Flynn’s face was fresh in her mind, that cruel smile, dark expression. Plus his bare body with all those strong muscles, flexing with each thrust…

  She opened her eyes. “I want that.”

  “Good.” He changed, suddenly businesslike. His hips stilled and he wedged a knee under hers to kneel wide before her, put a hand on each of her shins. “We’re gonna keep things pretty tame tonight. I won’t actually tie your hands, but you’re gonna pretend I do. And you’re gonna set the tone. You think you want to pretend I’m forcing you, you make it clear and I’ll play along. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  He slapped her calf. “Go make a trip to the ladies’ room if you need one, and I’ll get things set up. When you come back it’s game-on.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s your safe word?”

  “Michael.”

  He slapped her calf again. “Good girl. And if for some reason you can’t say it and you need to, you grunt three times, fast, or hit your foot or your hand against something, three times. Got it?”

  She nodded again.

  He got his legs out from under hers and stood beside the bed. “Bring me back a towel. A big one.”

  Laurel grabbed her purse and went to the bathroom, tidying her makeup for a couple minutes, the whirring fan drowning out whatever Flynn might be doing in the other room. When she emerged with a bath towel he was crouched by the open closet near the bed, a toolbox by his foot. He unscrewed the bottom of a full-length mirror from the door then stood and detached the top. He walked it to a bare stretch of wall and leaned it there. He took the towel from Laurel and lay it on the floor, clearly thinking her getting her knees and elbows savaged by the not-so-recently swept hardwood was too varsity for her first night.

  Flynn straightened and the cold look on his face said the fantasy had begun. A chill trickled down Laurel’s spine as she stared into his narrowed eyes.

  “Sit on the bed,” he said.

  She hesitated—only for a second but it was enough to earn some correction. Flynn took her by the shoulders and forced her back a couple steps, pushing her onto the edge of the mattress beside a pair of wrapped condoms, a bottle of lube and a roll of duct tape. Being physically controlled by someone she knew she couldn’t ever hope to fight off was both arousing and terrifying. This man could actually rape her, if he was so inclined—he was physically capable of it. She felt her throat constrict as if a fist had closed around it.

  “M-Michael.”

  His posture transformed in an instant. He sat down next to her on the bed, hands clasped between his knees, wary eyes on her face. “Too rough?”

  She gulped a breath. “I’m not sure. I think mostly I just wanted to test the safe word. I think I needed to know you’d stop, if I asked you to.”

  “Always.”

  Then Laurel did something that surprised even herself. She turned and put her palm to his jaw. She brought her face up and drew his down and kissed his mouth. A first-date, good-night kiss. No tongue, just lips finding their way for a few moments. His hand settled on her arm, patient and reassuring.

  Laurel pulled away feeling safe, knowing she was calling the shots. Her relief morphed to curiosity as she stared at his naked chest and arms. Fuck, those arms.

  “I’m ready,” she decided aloud. “You can do whatever you were planning on.” She squared her shoulders and looked expectant, as if he’d just pushed her down onto the bed. He licked his lips and nodded, seeming satisfied that she was back on board. He stood and put his knees between hers, a hand coming down to hold the back of her head.

  “Take me out and get me hard.” Laurel’s new favorite order.

  She undid his belt and fly, let his jeans drop to the ground. Cupping his bulge, she rubbed her thumbs across his ridge, feeling him go stiff. She stroked her hand up and down his length as he grew, measuring and anticipating.

  A tiny pang of sadness struck, as she realized that the first time he penetrated her they wouldn’t be face-to-face. She’d miss out on that cautious, awe-filled, one-time-only moment between new lovers with this man.

  Flynn eased his waistband over his straining cock and pushed his shorts down his thighs. His hand wrapped around hers as before, gripping to dictate her strokes.

  “Yeah, good.” The weight returned to his voice. “Make it nice and big.” He wound her hair around his other hand, possessive.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, eyes on his swollen head above their two fists.

  “Depends on if you cooperate or not. You gonna get on your hands and knees for me, girl?”

  She glanced at the duct tape then nodded.

  He let her go after a couple more strokes and she got to the ground, all fours on the towel, facing the mirror. Flynn kicked his pants and shorts away and grabbed the tape, kneeling behind her.

  “Sit up,” he said.

  She sat back on her haunches. She heard the rip of tape being yanked and detached, glanced over her shoulder to watch him folding the three-foot length in half the long way, closing the sticky side in on itself. He reached around her waist to press her wrists together, wrapping them with the tape, tucking the ends beneath her thumbs so the only things keeping her bound were her own fists. Staring down at her hands, Laurel thought it looked pretty damn convincing.

  “Back on all fours.”

  She settled on her knees and elbows, keeping the bindings tight. Strong hands yanked her underwear down her thighs and out from under her knees. A hungry noise rattled out of Flynn’s chest, the closest thing to a growl Laurel had ever heard a man make.

  She watched his face in the mirror, his eyes cast down at her ass or her pussy, his ready cock just inches away. He reached for a condom, unwrapped it. As he rolled it on his other hand fucked her, fingers thrusting into her wet folds. She pushed her hips eagerly into the touch, watching his roped arms in the mirror, his flexing belly and tight chest. She’d never really prioritized a guy’s physique when choosing a lover before, but right now Laurel wished the whole world could see this man. Powerful—that was the only word for him. Then his eyes caught hers in the reflection and she forgot all about his body.

  “Beg me,” he said, holding her gaze.

  “Please, Flynn.”

  “Please what?” He let his dick rest along the cleft of her ass as he grabbed her hip. He tugged her hard onto his fingers as his cock slid along her crack, balls bumping her. His fucking hand reached around to spear her from the front.

  “Fuck me, Flynn. Please. I want you so bad.”

  “I know you do. I can feel it.” The hand on her hip rose to come down with a slap. “You’re so tight and
hot for me.”

  “Please.”

  “Or maybe you mean something else,” he said. His hips drew back and his fingers left her pussy. She felt them fan across her butt, his thumb slipping into her crack. The wet pad teased her hole. Trepidation tightened her body but with Flynn in control the nerves felt right. She gave herself over to whatever he wanted, trusting he’d sense her boundaries.

  His patient voice returned for a moment. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

  She exhaled, pushing the anxiety out of her lungs. His thumb rubbed in a tight circle.

  “Again,” he said.

  She pushed out another deep breath and he pressed his thumb inside. Laurel swallowed and winced, accepting the violation, trying to welcome the sensation. Still not her favorite thing, but with Flynn she didn’t feel pressured or coerced, cajoled. He was simply dirty, ready to take, seemingly without permission. For some odd reason it made Laurel trust him more than any boyfriend who’d ever tried to win her over by detailing the many spurious feminist virtues of taking it up the ass.

  “Good.” He pushed his thumb in a little deeper, gave her a few slow, short thrusts. “Good. We’ll get you there sometime, but probably not too soon. Not ’til you’re begging me for it.”

  A wave of relief engulfed her as he eased his thumb out and took hold of her hip. She felt the tip of his cock tease her lips.

  “Please, Flynn.”

  She watched his reflection. His mouth was open, eyes on the juncture of their bodies. His broad chest rose and fell, deep and steady. He pushed in, the penetration explicit in its slowness.

  Laurel moaned. “Oh God.”

  He was big, seeming even bigger now that his matching frame wasn’t distorting the scale of things. In the mirror his entire body looked tight and strained, his face harsh. He eased in another inch, the thick, powerful feel of him making Laurel drunk.

  “Fuck, you’re tight.”

  “More,” she whispered.

  He grunted, pushed, gave her another couple inches.

  “Don’t stop, Flynn.”

  “Yeah.” He eased out, pushed back in, over and over until he had her filled. As good as his arms and abs looked in the mirror, she wished she could see his cock, his ass, his back muscles. He gave a few long thrusts, all the way in, nearly all the way out, making her feel every slick, hard inch as it slid deep and withdrew.