Liam: Come to my apartment. 10 minutes.
I don’t want Miranda seeing her leave and heading to my place. Not that my ex-wife has ever been here, but she’s psychotic enough to find me.
After several agonizing minutes and four fingers of scotch, the thud of knuckles against my door has me sighing in relief and my dick already hardening in my pants. I open the door and pull her into my place before she can say anything snarky. The force almost knocks her on her ass, but I catch her. She smells like champagne and her exotic, feminine perfume. It makes me want to fuck her right up against the door so all my neighbors can hear.
“Why am I here, Dr. Whitmore? Is this a home session? Since I’m just a patient and all.” Her tone is jilted and I want to stick my dick in her smart, sarcastic mouth.
“I couldn’t very well tell my ex-wife that I plan to fuck you until you don’t know which way is up.” And it’s true. Fuck the rules. Fuck my morals. They weren’t working for either of us anyway. “Here’s the deal: when we fuck, it’s just sex. You are not ‘Flynn, my patient’ and I am not your doctor. In therapy, we pretend like none of this happens, but you need to start taking your sessions seriously. Do we have a deal?”
She nods slowly, but I can read how eager she is. Her thighs are all but cemented together as she rubs them against herself. She’s doe-eyed, her brown orbs wide and curious. She bites her lip and I’m a goner. I want to kiss her, but if I do so now she’ll end up with bruises on her spine because I’ll take her right here on my hardwood floors.
Walking to my couch, she places her jacket and purse over the back. When she bends over to unbuckle the strap of her heels, I stop her.
“Leave them on.” The words are a growl erupting between my lips and she stands tall with a proud smirk.
Like a dutiful fuck, she follows me into my bedroom and stands before me while I sit, legs spread on the edge of my bed. “Strip.”
I swear I hear her purr.
Flynn doesn’t mess around. She doesn’t tiptoe around the goods, no. Instead, like a hungry predator, she goes right for the throat.
Her hips sway side to side as if music is playing, even though my apartment is silent aside from our labored, excited breathing. She grips the straps of her black tank top between her fingers and peels the shirt up and over her head, tugging it from where it was tucked into her skirt.
Of course she’s not wearing a fucking bra.
Her tits are perky and they call to me. They’re begging for my attention—the tannish-pink peaks beckoning me to lavish them with attention. Her piercings catch the stream of city lights pouring in the window and reflect it, bringing even more attention to her perfect chest.
Spinning around slowly, she gives me a cheeky over-the-shoulder look that almost has me coming in my pants. Ass still facing me, she pushes her leather skirt over her hips, bending low and giving me a nice view of how little her thong conceals. It sure as shit doesn’t hide how fucking drenched she is.
Fuck, this girl is a force to be reckoned with.
And God, do I want to partake in the reckoning.
Her skirt joins her shirt on the floor and my patience has worn thin. I stand and grab her hip, ripping the flimsy fabric from her body and tossing the shredded lace on the floor.
I kiss her like a dying man’s last wish and my fingers find her soaked center. I push two fingers into her core with ease and her sharp intake of breath is music to my ears. I work her over, pumping my fingers into her drenched sex until I’m all but holding her up; until her legs shake and her muscles are tense; until she’s moments away from exploding all over my hand.
And then I stop.
Her groan is fiery, full of anger and frustration. Good.
“Liam.” Flynn isn’t a girl who begs easily, but I like to push her past her limits. “Please.” Her word is all grit and I’ve never found a word so satisfying.
“On the bed. Ass up.” She scrambles onto the mattress like a greedy slut eager to please. She’s the type of girl who wears sex appeal like a comfy, go-to t-shirt and has never had to beg for it in her life.
But she’ll beg for me.
I join her on the bed, burying my face into her sweet, dripping pussy until I’m wearing her like she’s my pie in a pie eating contest. Within moments, her body is shaking and she’s coming all over my face. She tastes so fucking sweet, a stark contrast to her devil may care attitude.
The minute her body sags with relief, I plow into her. I’m pounding her cunt, releasing all my anger into her tight little hole. I’m relentless and she screams out, not bothering to shield her cries with my pillow. No, my Flynn wants people to hear her.
No. She’s not my Flynn. She’s just Flynn. Nothing more, especially not when my cock is inside of her. And if I’m being honest, I want to keep fucking her, consequences be damned.
I lick my thumb and push it into her ass. Her moans grow louder and she thrusts up to meet me. She wants more and I can’t wait to fuck her there. But for now, my one finger will have to suffice. She comes again, squeezing and milking my cock until I explode right after her. God, she’s going to be the death
