One Week to Score, NSFW Excerpt

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Warning! This excerpt is NSFW . . .

A knock sounded on the door, ripping her from the past that still had a bite on the present.

“Liv, open up.”

She twisted the knob and flashed the door open for a second. “There? See? Fine.” But of course she knew that wouldn’t be enough for him. Maybe she’d hoped it wouldn’t be enough for him, because what girl wouldn’t want the hottest guy she’d ever known to crash through any and all barriers to get up close and personal with the woman he desired? Before she had a chance to make a token effort to shut the door, his big clown foot was already propping it open.

“I brought you some more things to try on.”

His hands were filled with lace and frills and silks. He must have picked up every piece of lingerie in the store.

“My luggage will be here soon and it’s got plenty of that, thanks. My trousseau.”

“Oh, the sexy unmentionables you were going to wear for your new husband? The minute your suitcase shows up, I’m burning all that underwear in the fire pit by the pool.”

“You’re such a dick.”

He pushed into the fitting room. Cell really, because it was not designed for two people, especially when one of those two people was six feet and two inches of Grade A Texas beef. He hung the bras and panties on the rail above the mirror.

“This is the week you’re going to use to get over him, Liv. By getting under me, and I’ll not be worshipping your body while you wear skimpy bits you bought for another man’s eyes. In the suite, you’ll be spending most of your time naked, doing what I tell you, but when we venture outside our nest of sin, I want you wearing beautiful things I’ve chosen next to your skin.”

This domineering, take-charge side of him astonished her. She should not, under any circumstances, be enjoying this. Should she?

“You don’t understand. It was my…this was supposed to be my fucking honeymoon, Flynn. I had sexy underwear and slinky dresses and a million other things designed to make my husband crazy about me.” Her eyes strained with the need to keep them wide and open because, dammit, she would not cry.

His expression softened. “Liv, those are the last things you need to see. And if you needed them to make the Pecker crazy about you, then the guy clearly had a major fucking problem.”

“Stop calling him that. It reminds me of where I saw his pecker last.” Turning flaccid as he stuffed it in his tuxedo pants. She sniffled loudly. God, she was a hot mess. “And I know we had problems. He obviously wasn’t excited enough by his own fiancée. We hadn’t been—” Abruptly, she halted.

“Hadn’t been what?”

“Never mind.” Even on their rare bouts of sheet-diving, it had been less than satisfactory. When Peter finally found her clit, he rubbed it like he was trying to scrub a very difficult stain on a frying pan.

She suspected Flynn would know exactly which button to press on the dishwasher.

He moved closer and the air she breathed was full of him. She felt herself weakening, falling under the thick wave of his masculine essence.

“I haven’t agreed to your offer and even if I did, I’m not seeing how doing what you tell me comes close to fulfilling my fantasy.”

He crowded her against the mirror. “Don’t you?”

So maybe she was having a moment of clarity, but damned if she’d let him get away with being on top in everything.

“The point is that you’re my sex slave, right?”

His gaze dipped to her lips, unmistakable hunger in it. “Sex slave. Yeah, sounds about right.”

“You’re supposed to do as I say. Every wicked thing I want.”

Inclining his head to the well of her neck, he breathed her in. The sensual proximity popped her nipples hard against the bikini cups.

Okay, harder.

A very male sound emerged from his throat. “Every. Wicked. Thing.”

“Then go get me a supersized pina colada in a to-go cup. If I have to listen to you while you sex me up, then I’d rather be trashed.”

“I usually need a little more romance, but okay,” he whispered. “Try again.”

“What?”

“Another order. Fuckin’ turns me on when you get all bossy.” He moved closer, his body practically covering hers like a sexy blanket of all Flynn. Wrapping her up, smothering her senses. Between her legs, wetness bloomed, and hell, it looked like she was buying this bikini whether she wanted it or not.

“Someone might come in.”

“Makes it more exciting.”

So true, and wasn’t that what she wanted on this trip? A chance to lose herself in pleasure, to dull the edges of the pain, to feel wanted and desired? But she refused to let him call every shot.

Control, she needed a scrap of it. “On—on your knees, Cross.”

Without hesitation, he folded to the floor, dragging his rakishly-stubbled jaw down her sensitized body, his head now aligned with her belly.

The reality of the situation suddenly crashed over her, not just the danger of discovery but also the danger of him. The boy she’d pined over, the man she’d hated for so long. How could she even be considering him as her savior? So they were on the same page about a week-long fling, but she was already skipping ahead a few chapters to the end, which she was pretty sure did not include a HEA. More like heartbreak, and she was done with that.

It’s just pleasure, her body argued against that downer bitch of a brain. You deserve this.

“Do it,” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“Can’t you just cooperate, fuck toy?”

He chuckled, a warm vibration against her core. She squirmed in anticipation. Slowly, he drew down the bikini bottoms all the way to her ankles with a fiendishly lazy pace.

“C’mon.”

“Patience, Livvie.”

“Don’t call—ahh!” He stroked a thumb through her soft, slick folds and her knees melted, her back softening by degrees as she fell against the wall. Her gaze slid sideward and found her reflection in the mirror, mouth slack, eyes drugged, already looking like she was three quarters of the way to paradise. Flynn’s dark head was perfectly positioned right where she needed it, but she would not beg.

She would demand. “What are you waiting for? I could have taken care of it by now.”

He kissed her thighs, and gave a cheeky look up. Stop being so damn adorable. “Not sure you’re ready for that yet.”

And then he stood.

Fury rolled through her, unlike anything she’d ever known.

“Is this your plan? Humiliate me over and over?”

He cupped her jaw and drew his mouth close. “Got a better idea for your pleasure.”

“But I wanted you to—”

“What, Livvie?”

“Eat me, you—you bastard!”

Cue evil chuckle. “All in good time.” He lowered his big frame to the fabric-covered bench in the fitting room and pulled her down in his lap, her back to his front, both of them facing the mirror.

“Think you’ll like this more, sweets.” His fingers delved between her thighs and pushed them apart. “Spread ’em,” came his gruff command.

Maybe he was onto something. She draped her legs on the outside of his thighs, her glistening center now in full, unadorned view.

“I want you to see everything I’m doing to you. Every pump of my fingers, how you drip all over them, how you gush when I send you over. I want to see your face when you come for me.”

It was easier before. His face between her thighs, that Lucifer-dark head she could pretend belonged to someone else. So much safer. But this…this was every dream she’d ever had. Every dangerous fantasy made flesh in a boutique fitting room on the Mexican Riviera.

He positioned his fingers, rubbing the already considerable wetness there through her seam. Tantalizing brushes against her clit spiked her pleasure, but he refused to linger.

“Flynn,” she moaned.

“Show me how you like it. It flashed by so quickly before in the three minutes you gave me upstairs.” He grabbed her hand and placed it where his had been. “You like it fast and furious? Slow and languorous? Let me learn you, Livvie.”

Let me learn you. Such a sexy-sweet thing to say.

She happily played naughty teacher, showing him exactly how she liked it, exactly where she needed it. Sensual swipes with the callused side of his fingers alternated with deep plunges inside her. The slick, juicy suction just about undid her.

A quick study, he took over completely, then ordered, “Play with your breasts. Squeeze ’em together while I finger all that hot, wet heat.” He unknotted the bikini strap at her neck and watched with lust-stoked eyes while it fell down, revealing her full, ripe nakedness. “Touch those beauties, give ’em some love.”

She had never felt so … wanton. But damn, wanton was working.

While she fondled her breasts, he tenderly bit down on her ear lobe then sucked the sting away. She couldn’t believe how responsive she was to his bossy demands. Other guys had tried to dominate her in the bedroom, but it had never done anything for her. And as for Peter? His sex drive was considerably lower than hers.

At least, that’s what the bastard had told her. He just wasn’t that into her.

But Flynn was—oh, God, how he was—his eyes flashing blue fire as he held her gaze in the mirror. Either that or he was faking it like a champ.

A conclusion she couldn’t draw about her own oncoming orgasm. It happened so quickly, a pummeling assault of her senses, climbing high, high, higher until it peaked and crashed and wrecked her to the limpness of a rag doll.

If orgasmic mind-wipers like that were on the week’s menu, then who cared whose fingers were providing this perfect oblivion?

It looked like the pro-Flynn contingent had won the day.

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