Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“And go back into the closet?” He sighed. “Didn’t it feel better to sit with me in that restaurant the other night, and not worry about who saw us and whether they thought we were friends, or a couple, or whatever?”
It had, there was no way I could deny that. Even if the clench in my chest, the one which always left me feeling I was on the cusp of being “found out,” had been difficult to shake.
“We could just meet up, every so often,” I suggested. “When I was visiting, or when you’re back here.”
Even without looking at him dead-on, I could tell from Flynn’s body language that he wasn’t happy.
“Look, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep things solely physical with guys.
I’m not criticizing you for liking sex, and casual hookups.
” He made a sound, in the back of his throat.
“I mean, that’d be pretty hypocritical of me.
But it’s not where I am in life, and I want something more than just regular sex. Even if the sex is great.”
I chuckled, but it rang hollow.
“I guess I’m just saying that the physical side of it isn’t enough for me, not any more.
What I had with William clearly wasn’t working, but at least there were moments where it felt like we were a couple, a partnership.
He wasn’t the right fit for me, and I wasn’t that for him.
All the same, it gave me a taste of what it could be like, if I found that right-fit. ”
“And you think that could be me.” I felt presumptuous even just asking it.
“You underestimate your own appeal.”
I shook my head. “You just want to fuck me again.”
Flynn flopped back onto the bed, with a sigh. “I genuinely don’t know if you only think about things in terms of sex, or if this is your way of telling me you’re not interested in me.”
He couldn’t see my wince, but that didn’t leave me feeling any less guilty. I eased myself down next to him. “Would you believe me if I said it was neither?”
He rolled onto his side. “Maybe. If you actually explain it.”
“Sex feels like...” I paused, trying to find the right words. “Freedom, I guess. Or a sort of escape. It’s not something I associate with being home.”
Flynn made a face. “Is that ‘home’ as in here, this town; or as in where, and who, you choose to settle down with?”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
He chewed his lip for a moment. “I guess I’m wondering how separate the ideas of being with someone - dating them - and having sexual encounters are, for you. Like, are you always going to want an open relationship?”
“You say ‘always’ like that’s been something I’ve done before. I’ve not had a relationship, period, remember.”
Flynn nodded. “Sure, and I’m not saying that open relationships can’t work. I’m just trying to... understand you.”
“Am I really so strange?”
“Not strange.” His shrug was lopsided, given how he was balanced on his side. “I just think that you’ve sliced your life into so many parts, I’m not sure even you know how they all fit together, now.”
“I’m fine with monogamy.” There was a part of me which felt like I was being tested; that my worthiness as a potential partner was being assessed. I hoped I was just being paranoid. “It’s just not been an option for me, yet.”
His palm felt warm on my chest, the gentle weight of it pleasantly reassuring. Anchoring me against some of the uncertainty his questions had created.
“What if I told you,” Flynn suggested, softly, “that you could have all of those parts satisfied.”
I smiled at him. “That sounds pretty dirty.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was referring to the parts you sliced your life into, pervert.”
It felt like second-nature to place my hand atop his, and guide it down to my crotch. Watching Flynn’s expression as I did it, how amusement shifted into something hungrier, more raw.
“If I’m gonna be accused of being a pervert, I might as well make the most of it,” I told him.
“Your mom’s downstairs,” Flynn reminded me.
“Guess we’ll just have to be quiet, then.”
For a moment I thought he was going to argue. Pull his hand away - it wasn’t like mine was doing anything more than resting on top of it, now - and accuse me of trying to change the subject from what we’d been talking about. A criticism I wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t deserve.
And then I felt his fingers tighten around me, groping me through my jeans. Feeling how I was already excited, just from being there on the bed with him, from his heat and his scent.
“Is this because of me?” His tone was teasing.
I stuck out my tongue. “Unzip me and ask it.”
Flynn laughed, but that didn’t stop him taking my suggestion. Part of it, anyway; his fingers tugging at my button, then pulling down the zipper. Until he could push his hand inside my jeans, and stroke me through my boxer-briefs.
“Y’know, I missed this.”
I snorted. “Let me guess, you came all the way back home just to jerk me off.”
His hand shifted, fingertips digging under the waistband. “Something like that,” he agreed.
Lifting my hips, I pushed myself through his fist. “I prefer this hands-on version of you.”
“Me too,” he said, already leaning down.
His head was blocking my view; no way for me to prepare for his tongue lapping across me as though he was licking an ice cream. A firm grip holding me in place, even as I squirmed from the rush of near-overwhelming sensations.
“W-wait...”
No reaction to my shuddering protest, only that infernal rasp of his tongue. And then - just when I thought I maybe couldn’t take it any more, would have to drag him off me - Flynn slipped me between his lips.
I flung my arm across my mouth, choking back the hiss as he worked me with ruthless efficiency. Fighting the natural reaction to gasp, and squeal, and gurgle; resisting the urge to grab him by the hair and rescue myself from the unstinting pleasure that qualified as torment.
He pulled off me with an audible pop, fist stroking. When he sat up, twisting to sit cross-legged alongside me, Flynn’s smirk glistened.
“Take your jeans off.”
Clumsy obedience, not exactly helped by his insistence on toying with me while I attempted to strip. Fingers stroking and twisting around me, until - scowling at him - I flopped back, panting.
“What do you think the chances are, of your mom or dad knocking on the door while this is inside me?” Flynn grinned at me, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“There are probably safer places to do that.”
The boy I remembered, from our play as kids, saw danger as a challenge not a restraint. I was wary of making the possibility sound too tempting to resist.
“You’re probably right,” he agreed.
The gasp escaped me, loud until I muffled myself with my wrist, as he bent to my crotch again. Another full-body shudder, my legs kicking instinctively.
There was no stopping him, then. Mouth hungry on me, fiendishly determined.
Only my teeth digging into the meat of my wrist, and the mortifying idea of my parents hearing me whimper through the closed door to keep me vaguely quiet.
Not that Flynn seemed to find my squeaks and gurgles anything but encouraging.
From that, so quickly, to too much to resist.
Bucking and writhing, my body feeling like it was trying to turn itself inside-out. The texture of his mouth shifting; by the time he relented, released me and sat up, my cheeks were wet with tears.
“Tastes better without the mask,” he said, thoughtfully.
I thought my face would burn up from blushing, cheeks on fire.
He chuckled at my exhausted expression. “You look really cute right now. All limp and worn-out.” A sly glance down. “Well, not entirely limp, anyway.”
I twisted away from his fingers’ toying. Suddenly deeply self-conscious, as I reached for my underwear and jeans and yanked them up my legs. Heedless of their tangle, only of the need to cover myself as he watched me.
“If I promised to wake you up like that every morning,” he suggested, still grinning, “would you move to the city with me?”
“Maybe the fact that you treat it like a joke is why I don’t take you seriously,” I snapped. Knowing I was overreacting, reading too much into his teasing, and yet the feelings of vulnerability were making me spiky and defensive.
I didn’t get the angry response I expected, though. Instead, Flynn leaned down and - just as I braced for the kiss, for another attempt to steamroll my concerns with physical distraction - proceeded to wipe his mouth on my shirt.
He pushed himself up off the bed. Apparently unmoved by my indignant glare.
“I remember you trying to pick fights when we were kids,” he said, watching me. “And how it always seemed to coincide with the times you couldn’t handle something you had strong feelings about. So, forgive me if I take this particular example of Oli angst as a compliment.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, momentarily lost for words.
Flynn winked. “I need to go convince my mom that there’s no secret disaster behind this unexpected visit. But don’t think I’m done with you yet, okay?”
The door clicking shut behind him was my cue to fall back in frustration. The ceiling offered little consolation.