Willing Victim (4 page)

She grinned. “Not a chance.”

He nodded. He went to the front of the apartment and flipped off the lamps so only the dim, sickly glow leaking in from the city illuminated the room. The orange streetlight exacerbated everything industrial and ominous about Flynn’s home, made the space feel at once hidden and exposed.

Laurel took a seat on an easy chair, not sinking in but perching on the edge as her eyes adjusted, still clutching her purse for dear life. Pam drank a glass of water at the counter while Flynn sat on the mattress and took his shoes off. Laurel wondered how he had the energy to do
anything
after what she’d witnessed at the gym.

Pam set her glass in the sink. Flynn stood as she approached, looking twice as dangerous now in the shadowy privacy of the space.

Laurel saw his expression shift, eyes narrowing, features hardening. He reached out and clasped Pam’s jaw in both hands, thumbs digging into her cheeks. The kiss that followed was less a show of affection than of dominance and ownership. He pressed into her, chest to chest, forcing her backward until she dropped onto the bed. Laurel felt the cushion under her own butt, imagined it was the mattress, that she was the one at the center of Flynn’s attention.

“Strip,” he said, cold. In her head it was Laurel who peeled her clothes away, skin bared to the humidity and this man’s hungry stare. He stepped back a couple paces. “On your knees.”

Laurel sucked in her breath, yanked back into her own body for a moment. This was actually happening. A part of her screamed that this was wrong—chauvinistic and cruel. Another part wanted to see him served, wanted to be the one at the mercy of his selfish demands.

Pam knelt before him on the floor and Laurel rubbed her own knees, wishing for the rude bite of hardwood boards beneath them.

“Get me hard, girl.”

“Yes, Sir.” It was Pam who reached out to unbuckle his belt, but Laurel could practically feel the cool metal releasing in her hands, feel the excitement as she unzipped Flynn’s jeans.

“Take it out,” he commanded.

She tugged his pants and shorts down a few inches to expose his cock. She stroked him, the gesture worshipful, just how Laurel felt. She got him stiff, made him long and thick and ready. Her lips parted, anticipating, and Laurel’s own mouth watered.

Flynn voice came, low. “It’s been a whole week. You been missing this?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve missed your dick.”

Flynn’s eyes flashed across the room, right into Laurel’s. He held them for just a moment then addressed Pam. “You look hungry, girl.”

Laurel swallowed, watching her small hand running up and down his heavy-looking cock. She conjured heat off his skin, the stiffness of him in her hand.

“Suck it,” Flynn ordered. As her face lowered he tugged the elastic from her long ponytail and wrapped a hand in her hair, yanking her closer. “Suck it.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her mouth closed around his head, hand still stroking. Laurel could see from her hollowed cheeks how hard she was sucking, could feel that aggression building in her own body. Flynn sniffed in a harsh breath and a vein rose along his neck.

“Good. Make it nice and wet.”

She drew him out and ran her tongue up and down the length of his shaft, bathing him in her spit.

“That’s right…now more.”

His hand set the pace, drawing her mouth down his dick in slow, deep swallows. Laurel suppressed a moan to match Pam’s, pushed a rough hand through her hair, wondering how it would feel to be held that way.

More,
she thought. Desire and fear hummed in her pulse and her cunt clenched painfully tight, impatient.

“More,” Flynn commanded. His other hand cupped Pam’s head, pulling her closer as his hips began to pump. In seconds he had her taking all of him, her lips meeting his base with each thrust. Laurel’s neck and face heated, her hands damp as she imagined holding Flynn’s sides, feeling the flex of muscle and bone beneath his jeans.

“Good girl. I wanna see you choke on that cock.”

More,
Laurel thought again. She watched and felt Flynn bury every last inch, shut her eyes and clawed her nails against her own thighs, what she’d be doing to him if she were the one on her knees.

Flynn’s arousal began to overshadow his callous self-control—Laurel heard it as his breaths turned raspy. She opened her eyes, frozen as she found his trained right on her face.

He looked back down at Pam, tugged the bottom of his shirt up, giving himself a clear view of her mouth and giving Laurel a spectacular look at his fierce stomach muscles. “That’s it. Keep that up. Keep that up and I’ll fuck your pussy so hard you’ll be begging me to stop.”

In her imagination Laurel gave him all this pleasure, sucked him until his composure waned. Even in the dim light she caught his cheeks and neck and ears darken, saw the faint trembling of his arms and shoulders.

“Good,” he said. “Good.” He slowed her head, made the thrusts shallow then pulled his cock from her mouth. He stroked his head across Pam’s lips a few times and Laurel could swear she tasted him on her own tongue.

“You love that cock, don’t you?”

Yes.

“Yes, Sir.” Pam lapped at his head, kissed the swollen skin.

“You wanna drink my come later, sweetheart?”

She gave voice to the thirsty noise Laurel ached to, lavishing more wet caresses on his dick.

“Good… You give me what I like and I’ll reward you with a mouthful.”

Laurel nodded, parched for it herself.

“Turn around,” he said. “Hands and knees.”

Pam shuffled in place and put her palms to the floor. Laurel felt the grit under her palms, Flynn’s eyes on her back. He shed his shirt and dropped his jeans and shorts and socks, walked to a shelf. Laurel heard a box being opened, a wrapper crinkling. Flynn turned back, rolling the condom down his erection. There was a stern placidity to his face, that same look Laurel had seen him wear just before the bell rang to start a fight.

He dropped to his knees behind Pam, their bodies in profile to Laurel. He glanced to Laurel and all at once it was her before him, dying to be taken, all that heat coming off his body making her woozy.

“Eyes on the floor,” he ordered.

For a second Laurel obeyed, forgetting who she was in all this. As she raised her head she saw Flynn gripping his cock in one hand, the other teasing Pam’s pussy.

“Nice,” he breathed. “You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.” He angled his cock to her, pushing in. He made a sound of bone-deep satisfaction. Pam made a different noise—a sharp intake of breath followed by a sigh and his hips set a rhythm, slow and steady.

“You been thinking about this all week?” he asked.

Fuck yes.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he demanded.

“Yes, Sir.”

Laurel saw his fingers dig harder into Pam’s ass as he fucked deeper, his thrusts echoing through her body, through Laurel’s. She watched his driving cock, knowing just how it must feel, all that hot, thick flesh taking what it wanted in greedy strokes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and Laurel blushed from the praise, needing it to be for her. He fucked, steady and calm, for several minutes. Then one palm slid up from Pam’s ass to the small of her back, the gesture oozing with possession. He sped up, pumping deep and fast and selfish. “Lower,” he said, a new meanness in his voice.

She obeyed, moving onto her elbows, hair pooling on the floor like a curtain and hiding her face.

“Lower.”

She dropped to one shoulder, then the other, face and neck turned awkwardly to one side. Laurel imagined it, letting her discomfort be Flynn’s pleasure. Pam slid her arms to her sides and he took her wrists, crossing them behind her back and pinning them with one big hand. Laurel held her breath, grasped her own wrist, disturbed and turned on and concerned and
hungry.

“You want this?” This time Laurel knew the question was meant for her. She held her tongue, letting Pam speak for the both of them.

“No,” she said, almost too faint to make out.

Flynn turned to Laurel, expression cold as he nodded, the exact moment the play shifted from rough to far rougher.

He grunted in time with his hard thrusts, his free hand running up and down Pam’s thigh. He brought it down on her ass with a harsh slap and she cried out just as Laurel gasped. Chemicals released into her bloodstream, the same confusing mix of adrenaline and shameful intoxication as when she watched a rape scene in a movie. In both cases, no one was really being violated, but she felt that same hot guilt she had her whole life, finding the visual powerful and horrifying but undeniably arousing.

“You like that?” Flynn asked, sneering, body hammering Pam’s.

Fuck yes.

“No. Stop.”

Flynn laughed, sharp and cold and his eyes darted to Laurel. “I saw the way you watched me tonight.” He looked back to Pam. “You were dying for this cock, weren’t you?” He pounded her fast, hips slapping her ass for a handful of violent beats.

“Stop. Please, stop.”

“You think I can’t feel how wet you are for me?” His body slowed, drawing his cock out, easing it back in, controlled and explicit and mocking.

“Don’t, please.”

“Shut your mouth, bitch. Shut up and get fucked.”

“No—” Her protest was cut off by another hard smack of Flynn’s palm on her hip.

“Shut your mouth.”

Laurel gulped for air, lightheaded and breathless, assaulted by a hundred conflicting emotions. Her awareness flashed in and out of the scene, torn between red-hot curiosity and icy fear. Part of her wanted to run for the door, but she remembered everything she’d been told at the fights, about how women came to Flynn specifically for this treatment. There was consent, a core of respect buried inside the cruelty.

She watched Pam’s arms jerk uselessly in Flynn’s grip.

“Go on,” he said. “Struggle all you want. Just gets me hotter when you fight it.” With that, he let her hands go. He pulled out long enough to turn her roughly onto her back before grabbing her wrists again, pinning them to the floor as he shoved his thighs between hers. Even in the dim light, even with her black hair strung across her mouth and her face set in a fearful grimace, Pam looked unmistakably aroused. Her eyes blazed up at Flynn’s as she flailed her legs, kneeing his ribs as he tried to get his cock back inside her. Laurel felt her own arousal return threefold, felt the floor under her spine and Flynn’s weight against her pinned hips.

“Hold still, bitch.” He flinched as Pam spat at him and Laurel saw his eyes narrow as though they were mere inches above hers. “You’ll fucking pay for that.”

Pam gasped and jerked and Laurel imagined his penetration between her own legs, mean and merciless.

“Yeah, that’s what you get.” He found a rhythm, graceless now, working against her thrashing body. “Harder you struggle, the harder I fuck you,” he warned. “Open your mouth.”

She bucked and spat again.

“Don’t piss me off,” Flynn said. He yanked at her wrist, making her back arch, making Laurel’s ache alongside it. “Do what I say or I’m gonna get mean.”

She twisted under his hold and he yanked again and this time her body quieted.

“Better,” he said. “Now open that mouth.”

Both women parted their lips as Flynn lowered to kiss Pam, violent, hips still pounding. For a moment Laurel could feel his firm, wet tongue taking her mouth, then he jerked away with a gruff noise, released her wrist to touch his fingers to his mouth.

“Fucking bitch.”

Laurel watched Pam slap uselessly at his slick chest and stomach with her freed hand as he wiped the blood from his bitten lip. Flynn squinted down at his victim, hips going still, his face full of hatred so cold it made Laurel shiver from ten feet away. Without warning, he jammed his blood-streaked fingers into Pam’s mouth before moving the hand to her throat, pushing her head against the floor. Her assaulting hand froze between them.

Laurel froze too, body so tight with arousal and adrenaline she felt faint. She tasted copper in her mouth and her throat closed up.

Flynn’s next words came slow and dark and dangerous. “Now you’re going to do what I say. You understand?”

Pam made a noise, strained but coherent enough to tell Laurel she could breathe just fine, that Flynn wasn’t actually choking her.

“Right. Now you be a good girl and reach that hand down and touch yourself.” When she didn’t respond he seemed to tighten his hold on her neck.
“Now.”

She obeyed, snaking her hand between their bodies to finger her clit. Laurel ached to do the same, her pussy begging for it. She held back, reminded herself of her role and made her obedience into an unspoken order from Flynn.

“Good.” He moved his choking hand to the floor by Pam’s shoulder. “Now you make yourself come, bitch. And I’ll know if you’re faking. You make that cunt clench around my cock or I swear to God I’ll make you regret it.”

Words gave way to moans and grunts as both bodies turned frantic. Laurel smelled the heady mix of sweat and sex and latex, felt the heat peeling off them against her own dampening skin. Her eyes drank in every shape of Flynn’s powerful body as it twitched and tightened, his thrusts looking punishing, the brutality real. Her cunt was screaming to experience him, throbbing deep and hot with curiosity.

Pam came apart. Her breathy grunts matched Flynn’s harsh ones and her legs came up, knees at his waist, inviting him deeper. He let her pinned hand go and she moved it to her chest to palm her breasts and tweak her nipples. Laurel’s fingers twitched, dying to do the same.

They fucked like nothing she’d ever seen in a porno—technically missionary, technically vanilla, but the intensity between them was incredible, palpable, crackling with electricity. All at once that energy was rerouted, shot straight across the room between Flynn’s eyes and Laurel’s and she felt him, all the aggression and strength of his body pummeling hers.

Pam groaned beneath him, head turning to the side as the hand stroking her breasts lost coordination.

“Good girl. Come all over that hard cock.” Flynn froze, pushed deep inside.