Her long black hair cascades down her back, landing near her trim waist and giving me a perfect view of her large, perky tits.
A sinister smirk is plastered on her lips as she watches me check her out. It’s no wonder she has nothing to be ashamed of. She’s fucking flawless.
She tugs on my shirt the moment she reaches me, begging me to undress. With every button she undoes, she gets more eager, moving quickly to pop the final button undone. Her hands graze over my shoulders as she pushes the shirt off my back.
The white cotton falls to the floor and Flynn’s hands trail over my biceps, dragging down my torso as she inspects every inch of me. My abs tighten under her fingers and once she hits my pants, she unbuckles them as well.
I step out of them after she pushes them down my legs. My cock pushes against my briefs, begging for her attention. I’m glad she blew me in the car or I’d probably come the second I got inside her.
Her fingers hook inside the waistband of my boxers, ready to push them over my hips, but I stop her. If my cock comes out to play now, I’ll never last.
Flynn doesn’t seem like the type to stick around. She won’t get clingy or beg for seconds. Tonight is the definition of a one night stand and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it. Tonight, I’m going to devour her. I’m going to savor her. I want her to wake up tomorrow sore and shocked to find out sex could be that good.
I saw the boy at the bar. The one she toyed with who drooled at her feet. She’s in the big leagues now and I plan to make my cock ruin her.
Three
Flynn
“Get on the bed and spread your legs.” Goosebumps pebble on my skin at his command. I’m not used to such a bossy man telling me what to do in bed. The boys I tend to sleep with have to be told what to do. They don’t do the telling.
Liam doesn’t look like the typical damaged Dom ready to inflict pain on me. No, he’s polished and maybe a little sad behind the eyes. He’s rich but welcoming, not intimidating. His voice wavers the slightest bit, barely detectable under the command, like this is new territory for him as well.
His mattress envelopes me as I lie down. I do what he says and spread my legs and my hand instinctively makes its way down to my pussy. I’m already wet, so I tease myself, pushing my middle finger in and out slowly and spreading my wetness up to my clit.
“Are you wet for me?” His voice is husky and strained, raspy and almost inaudible under the gravelly timbre.
“Drenched.”
“Can I find out for myself?” I knew he was a gentleman.
I nod, but he doesn’t move. “Please.” I’ve never had to beg before, but it’s the right answer because he stalks toward me in an instant.
He joins me on the bed, though my head is on his pillows, he stays at the bottom. He watches me play with myself until he can’t take it anymore.
He pounces on me. I barely have enough time to move my hand out of the way before he clamps his mouth over my pussy.
And holy shit, the man can eat pussy like a God.
You’d think his job was sitting around and perfecting the art of cunnilingus. Give the man his certificate because he’s perfected it, all right.
I’m a talker in bed. I thrive off dirty talk and make porn sounds like it’s my job. Sex is fun and I like a show. But I don’t even need to pretend with Liam.
When he nibbles on my clit, I scream. “Fuuuuck, Liam. I’m coming.” He doesn’t stop. If anything, he ravishes me harder.
My body is still coming down from the aftershocks of my first orgasm when the tidal wave knocks me under again. Every nerve in my body is sensitive from the two back to back orgasms. I can’t even handle Liam’s gentle kisses trailing up my body.
He makes his way up to my breasts and sucks a nipple into his mouth, allowing his tongue to dance along the metal bar piercing the bud. I arch my back and a mangled cry escapes my lips. “Fuck.”
My tit pops out of his mouth and he places hungry kisses along my neck, likely marking me for the next several days to come.
When his mouth teases mine, I latch on with fervor. The passion between us is off the charts; our sexual chemistry can’t be matched despite the fact we haven’t even fucked yet.
My hands roam over his back, trailing down the muscles of his hard body. He’s sexy as fuck and obviously takes care of himself. I can’t help but wonder what his damage is keeping him single.
We all have damage. Hell, I’m riddled with it. I’m not judgmental, just curious.
His mouth leaves mine as he reaches into his bedside table and grabs a condom. For the first time in my life, I want to throw caution to the wind and have this guy fuck me raw. Lucky for me, the logical part of my brain is still intact which helps me keep my mouth shut. Nothing screams ‘crazy’ quite like asking a stranger to stuff his bare cock in you.
He positions his dick at my entrance, teasing me, spreading my wetness along the head. I lift my hips to push him in, but he backs away, torturing me with his restraint.
“You may be used to being the driver in bed, but not tonight. Tonight, you submit to me.” He holds my gaze until I nod, giving him my permission to do whatever he wants to me.
A smirk equal parts devilish and gorgeous spreads across Liam’s face. With one hard thrust, he’s inside me to the hilt.
“Liam.” His name is a moan on my lips. I’m full, so damn full, and the delicious pressure builds, taking me sky high.
At these heights, there’s only one thing you can do: fall.
My brain and body are flooded with pleasure, the ripple effects similar to the aftershocks of a magnitude seven earthquake. My back bows off the bed and the new angle is delicious and all-consuming. Liam holds me there, pounding into me like a fucking animal.
In the next second, he pulls out, flipping me onto my stomach and pulling me up on all fours. My arms give out and he growls from behind me. “Keep that ass in the air or I’ll fuck you there instead.” I’m tempted to defy him for the hell of it, but I refrain, holding myself up on unsteady arms.
He plows into me and I scream. His hand grips my hips, holding me in place as he takes whatever he likes. The angle is pure bliss as he rubs against my ass and hits my clit at the same time. I’m unprepared for my orgasm as it torpedoes through me, ruining me and everything else in its wake.
“God, baby, you’re going to make me lose it.” His voice is a heady combination of lust and anger. “I want the world to see what I do to you.”
Liam pulls out of me, his cock standing proud and glistening. He hops off the bed and walks around to stand in front of me. He offers me his hand and my arms are noodles as I reach out to grip his fingers.
My legs are jelly as my feet hit the floor, but he steadies me. He walks behind me, skin to skin, his fingers on my waist and his cock at my back as he walks us to the glass wall.
Liam presses me against the glass. The cold bites at my hot skin and goosebumps erupt on my flesh. My already pert nipples stiffen further and I’m afraid they’ll cut into the windows in front of me.
“Imagine all the people looking in this window, watching me fuck you.” He thrusts in and I moan. Voyeurism is such a fucking turn on, whether I’m the one being watched or doing the watching.
People mill around the city streets below us, oblivious to the dirty deed happening above them. It’s almost as if we’re trying to get their attention. Every time Liam thrusts into me, my palms slap the glass.
One of his hands tangles in my hair and he pulls it, angling my head back to capture my mouth in a searing kiss hot enough to ruin me. His other hand reaches around my hip and finds my clit.
Goddamn, it’s like this man’s cock was made for me. Our mouths part and his lips find my ear.
“Come for me, Flynn. Let everyone see what I do to you.” My head lolls back and rests on his shoulder.
“I can’t.” Another orgasm will break me, destroy me.
“You will. Come with me, baby. I’m close.” Pet names make me crin
ge. The affection behind them is a lie designed to make a person feel better when the reality is, most dudes just don’t want to call you the wrong name. But with Liam, I’m ready to run to the courthouse to get my name legally changed to Baby.
“Fuck me, Liam.” He goes to town, pounding into me like this is our last night to live. The road to this orgasm is slow and scenic, but the fall is the most magnificent of all. My legs buckle and he catches me, as he finishes, moaning loud in my ear and chanting my name over and over. It’s my new favorite album and I want to play it on repeat.
My eyes flutter closed and air whooshes under me. Strong arms support my body before I’m laid on his bed. Then everything goes black.
Mmm. A delicious soreness lingers between my thighs and despite the beating my poor pussy took last night, I find myself spreading my legs again when Liam wakes me up with his searching fingertips. One digit enters my dripping core and my back arches off the bed.
My state of bliss is interrupted when I notice a stream of light sneaking behind the blackout curtains over the windows. I sit up and search the dark room for a clock and come up short.
My one night stand moves his hand up my body, a sexy moan pouring from his lips as he palms my heavy breast. “Good morning.”
I sit up, my heart racing in my chest. What time is it?
I never sleep over after sex. Hell, I pride myself on that fact. I don’t want to be mistaken for a clingy one night stand who hangs around, not getting the hint.
I stretch as I finally ask, “What time is it?” My voice comes out raspy, making it sound sexy which, for once, I’m not aiming for.
“Quarter to eight.” Fuck.
“I have to go.” My mom is going to kill me. Not that I’m scared of her or give a rat’s ass about my appointment, but if I don’t go to therapy, my ass has to do community service thanks to my affinity for fights. Whatever, the bitch deserved it. But now I have to return to treatment, the lesser of all evils. My lawyer was good enough to get an assault charge knocked down, but couldn’t get me out of fucking therapy.
Then again, my parents have been forcing me into therapy my entire life, so nothing has really changed. This time it’s a new court-appointed therapist, but the doctor will still probably be a joke. I haven’t been cured in the last five years; I’m sure I won’t be cured overnight by this guy.
If I don’t show up on time, I’m toast and my appointment is at ten. Not only that, but my mom is driving me. Apparently, she doesn’t trust me to show up on my own and she claims sitting in my best friends’ apartment and bitching about life isn’t as effective as a licensed medical professional. Gag me.
I scramble out of bed and pull my dress from last night back over my head before heading out of the bedroom to find my shoes. I pick them up and carry them like I’m the fucking textbook definition of a walk of shame. Then again, I never cared before, so why start now?
Finding my purse, I dig around until I find my phone and scroll through my contacts. My phone is pressed to my ear as I stride toward Liam’s front door. “Come on, answer,” I mutter.
“Do you need me to drive you home?” Nothing says bottom of the barrel quite like your one night stand pity-offering you a ride to get the fuck out of his place.
“Nope.” I end the call and immediately hit redial.
“About last night—”
I put up my hand. “Save it. It was fun. You surely know how to fuck. Thanks for the orgasms, see you never.” I’m out the door before he can respond and thank fuck Cara answers.
“Can I fucking help you?”
“Good morning to you too, Sunshine. I need you to pick me up. I’ll drop a pin to my location and explain everything as soon as you get here.”
“No shit. You finally did it, didn’t you? You broke your own rule. You spent the night.” I can hear her snarky grin through the phone and it’s too damn loud for this hour.
“Shut up. And hurry.” I hang up before she can decline.
When she pulls up outside of Liam’s place, she looks at me over her sunglasses. “Get in, bitch.” I slam the door as she peels away. “Couldn’t you have just called an Uber?”
“Yeah, but the Uber driver wouldn’t give a shit about the dirty, phenomenal sex I had last night.” I fill her in on all the explicit details and the God who gave me more orgasms than I can count.
“Are you going to see him again?”
I scoff, though, for the first time, I wish I would see one of my hookups again.
We don’t have time to shoot the shit any longer once Cara pulls up to my house. I bolt through the gate to the pool house where my room is.
While I’m in the shower scrubbing off the scent of stale sex, my mother’s screech permeates my peaceful shower.
“Flynn Amelia Fletcher if your ass is not in the car in the next ten minutes, I will personally drive you to the courthouse and get you fitted for an orange jumpsuit. Chop chop.”
Times like this I wish I opted to go to college, and one that is far, far away.
Four
Flynn
My mother is not a bad person. If I were emotionally stable enough to admit it, I’d say she was a damn good mom for putting up with my shit, my brother’s shit, and my sister, the college drop-out who was practically a teen mom. Given the three of us, she’s done her best. She never hit us and only offered tough love when necessary.
That didn’t stop me from raising hell at every opportunity or getting kicked out of school or getting caught with alcohol and drugs on more than one occasion.
Hence my extensive history with therapy.
Everyone wants to fix me, but maybe I like being broken.
This therapist, Dr. Whitmore, apparently specializes in young adults with behavioral and substance abuse issues. That’s my label anyway.
As if specializing in a topic will allow him an intimate understanding of the workings of my brain. He doesn’t know me or why I’m like this. No amount of hypnosis or psychotherapy will uncover some dark, hidden truth within me.
I was never abused physically, sexually, emotionally, or anything like that. I’ve lived like a goddamn princess for most of my life with a good, stable, and happy family. My parents never divorced nor have they had any problems. I practically lived in fucking Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood.
I turn into a sick little game for most of the doctors I’ve seen. The human version of a Rubik’s cube. They want to be the one to solve the puzzle that is Flynn Amelia Fletcher. My life is like the Olympics where everyone is competing for a gold medal in psychoanalysis. They don’t actually care about me or why I am this way. They just want the satisfaction of the win.
The longer my list of doctors gets, the worse it gets. My first therapist was a man who looked like Freud and seemed to follow his practices as well. Barf. After him, I saw a woman doctor because my parents thought I might open up to someone I could relate to more: i.e. a person with a vagina. She wasn’t the worst of the bunch, but she was frustrated as hell with me.
How could a privileged white girl have this many problems with no real damage? Then she couldn’t handle my sarcastic retorts to her offensive questions. I thought dealing with people’s problems was, like, her job, but whatever. Thank you, next.
Each successive doctor had their own set of issues I couldn’t get past. Number three smelled like cottage cheese. Number six was a straight up Chester the Molester. Number ten didn’t even study adolescent psychology and I’m still unsure how I ended up in her office to begin with.
That brings us to lucky number eleven.
I’ve become even more skeptical as time goes on. If any of the previous ten prestigious doctors can’t figure me out, why bother? My parents should give up already.
Except Christopher and Alice Fletcher would sooner die than give up on one of their kids. I respect them for it; for being one of the few sets of stable parents in a world of deadbeats today.
Carson was the perfect first child. Meek and pliable from day one. Dark brow
n hair and light blue eyes. The perfect girl next door. A straight-A student without even getting a single detention.
Well, she was perfect until college when she got knocked up her first year. But my parents got over that when they met their granddaughter.
Then came Lucas. They were ready to stop there; one girl, one boy – the American dream, the perfect family. He was a troublemaker compared to Carson, but even he still got into a good college and got a good job with the perfect cookie cutter fiancée. The fun loving prankster hardly got in trouble, but I think he’s merely more clever and never got caught.
Then came me.
A vasectomy gone wrong plus nine months equals child number three.
My sophomore year of high school, I was expelled for punching Becca Smith in the eye during homecoming weekend because Sarah Miller told me Becca was sleeping with my boyfriend. Let’s just say that wasn’t my first offense. My parents sent me to Catholic school, which was the worst thing they could’ve done. Do you know how much sex and weed Catholic school kids have?
Then there was the time the cops caught me and my friends with said pot on a local park’s soccer field. We were underage and the cop was cool, but he still called our parents to pick us up. I didn’t bother lying – my parents knew I was smoking it. Hell, they even assumed I was the one to supply it.
They weren’t wrong.
That wasn’t my last run-in with the cops either. There was the public indecency incident, but to be fair, I was at the beach. I thought skinny dipping sounded fun, and it was. The cops didn’t agree with my choice to do it in the middle of the day on a family friendly beach, however.
There have been so many incidents over the course of my teenage years that I can’t even keep track of them all anymore. Yet, despite my rap sheet of events, my parents are most offended by the fact that I’ve forgone college. They think I’m throwing my life away, as if I’ve ever had a great track record with school.
Reckless (A Carolina Coastal Novel Book 3) Page 2