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On a quiet sigh, I shut the fridge door and actually use the creamer for something other than an excuse for me to bend over and entice Flynn to show me his penis. But once I get my coffee all made and take a few sips, I decide to give it another shot.
Ain’t no rest for the wicked-ly horny, amirite?
Up on the counter with a little hop, I sit in the type of—hopefully—seductive position that has my body facing Flynn.
“Reading anything interesting over there?” I question as I make a point to spread my thighs as far as they can go.
“Just the usual shit.”
Four words. No eye contact. That’s it.
Okay, yeah, I’ve had about enough of this nonsense…
I hop off the counter and stride right over to the man who is apparently oblivious to all the “I’m horny for you” signs I’m sending his way. And it doesn’t take long for me to edge myself onto his lap, making damn sure I’m between him and that dumb newspaper that’s stealing all my thunder.
Flynn doesn’t react, though. Instead, he flips to the next page, something involving the business section, and even adjusts his hands so we can both read the paper together.
“Anything in particular you want to read, babe?”
Your penis. I’d like to read your penis.
“Nope.” I purse my lips.
“Here, can you hold this for a sec?” he asks and puts the newspaper into my hands.
“Sure.” I discreetly roll my eyes. “Love to.”
“Fantastic.”
I almost roll my eyes again, but when his big hands grip my ass and lift me off his lap for a brief second, I’m surprised to feel the warmth and hardness of his cock slowly sliding between my legs.
Oh myyyyyyy.
My nipples tighten. My pussy clenches. And over what feels like the longest seconds of my life, Flynn eases himself inside me until his cock is completely filling me up.
I’m talking, inch by motherfucking inch, he pushes his cock inside me. It all feels so good, so intense, that tears fill my eyes and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from shouting out over the soft music that’s still playing from the speakers.
But Flynn doesn’t say anything. He just fills me up and then gently takes the newspaper back out of my hands and goes back to reading. Hell, he even flips through three pages with me just sitting there, on his lap, with his cock inside me.
What is happening right now?
Whatever it is, it just might be the hottest, most confusing thing you’ve ever experienced.
I shift my hips, and the sensation that builds inside me causes a little moan to escape from my throat. This is…intense. And insane. And feels So. Damn. Good.
“You wanted my attention, that much was clear,” he whispers into my ear, and the warmth of his breath urges a shiver to roll up my spine. “So I’m going to tell you again—because it seems like you didn’t really hear me the first time…if you want sex, Daisy, all you have to do is ask.”
Oh, holy hell.
“What kind of attention does my girl need right now?” he asks and brushes his lips up the side of my neck. “Did she just want to feel my cock inside her? Or does she want more than that?”
“More,” I whisper back. “Lots more.”
He sets down the newspaper and places his big hands on my legs. With a squeeze, he spreads them until they’re as wide as they can go, completely astride his lap, and grazes his fingers from my knees to my inner thighs.
“You want me to fuck you?”
I swallow. “Yes, please.”
In an instant, the newspaper flies into the air and Flynn’s coffee cup hits the hardwood floor in a crash. My back is on the kitchen table, and my nightgown is up and over my breasts, leaving my body bared for his covetous gaze.
He stares down at me, his blue eyes heated, and his big hands adjust my thighs until they’re perfectly wrapped around his waist.
“Anytime you want my cock, Daisy,” he repeats as he slides himself back inside me, “all you have to do is tell me.”
I moan. Flynn doesn’t repeat himself, ever. The fact that he’s doing it now is such a turn-on, I can hardly keep my eyes from rolling back in my head.
“You don’t need to work to get my attention,” he whispers and grabs both of my breasts in his hands. “Because, baby, you always have my attention.”
His words make me clench around him, but they also spur a pounding rhythm to vibrate my chest and hiccup the breaths falling from my lips.
This man, I swear, he’s too perfect for my own good. He’s everything. And I’m having a hard time seeing a future where I won’t want his attention.
But the immigration interview is scheduled, planned, and set in stone, and I know in the cold, dark, scary part of my heart what comes when it’s finished.
