Free Willing Victim by Cara McKenna Page A

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 the condom, unwrapped it. As he rolled it down his erection 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 contracting stomach and tight chest. She’d never really prioritized a guy’s body 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?” His 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 moderate slap. “You’re so tight and hot for me.”
    “Please.”
    “Or maybe you mean somethin’ 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 asshole. Trepidation tightened her body but with Flynn in control the hesitance 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, as though he were trying to talk her into it. He was just 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 enumerating the many spurious feminist virtues of taking it up the ass.
    He must have felt her relax. “Good.” His 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 Laurel 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 mean. He eased in another inch, the thick, powerful feel of him making Laurel drunk.
    “Fuck, you’re tight.”
    “More,” she whispered.
    He grunted, pushed in, 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 stomach 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 then withdrew.
    “Tight and deep,” he said through a labored breath. He sped up, setting an even pace, hands stroking her ass and thighs as his hips found their rhythm.
    She craned her neck to meet his eyes, unreflected. “Flynn.”
    “God, I love your cunt. You’re so fuckin’ hot.” One hand left her flank to reach around and tease her pussy and he brought his thumb back