Serve Me

“Never,” I whispered.

Flynn nuzzled into me and wrapped his arms back around my body, but it was the way he started trailing his fingertips along my back that made me grind into his thick morning wood.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

“I do, actually,” I smirked. “Because you tell me all the time.”

He rolled me over onto my back and fell between my legs, and my morning scent covered his pelvis before he slowly slid into me. He brushed my hair from my eyes and looked at me deeply when he slowly began to roll his hips into my body, and the electricity that puckered my nipples against his strong chest caused my body to shiver. I rose my hips to meet his, and my hands clung to his back, and our lips messily danced on one another’s while the sun slowly streamed through the curtains of my room.

His breath was hot on my skin, and his dick was thick in my body, and I felt myself quickly approaching my peak, and it caused me to wrap my legs around his waist. His morning musk peppered my body, and his cock massaged all the right parts of me, and I could feel my essence slowly dripping down the balls that were lightly smacking against my skin. His rippling muscles pulsated and contracted underneath my movements, and his grunts covered my skin in a warmth I’d never found with anyone else, and when my toes began to curl, I knew exactly why I’d knocked on his trailer when I saw his name on that poster board.

I knew exactly why I had sought him out.

“Please, Flynn,” I breathed.

“Anything for you,” he murmured into my skin.

Faster and faster he went, and soon our skin was slapping against one another’s. He cradled my head and looked deep into my eyes, and when I felt his hips begin to stutter against mine, I nibbled at his shoulder and nestled my nose into the crook of his neck.

“Oh God, yes,” I whispered.

His body tensed with heat and his hips sunk deep into mine, and my pussy fluttered around him and pulled him as deep as he could possibly go before he spilled wholly into my entrance. The way his body was writhing against mine and the way his skin felt, sweaty and stained from the love we had just made, the words that tumbled from his lips didn’t shock nor scare me.

“I love you, Chelsea.”

I panted and felt his body collapse onto mine, and he stayed sheathed inside of my wet heat while his morning wood sat and pulsed with its desire for a second round. I wrapped my arms tightly around him and closed my eyes, and when I parted my lips the same words tumbled from them just as naturally as they had years ago in college.

“I love you too, Flynn.”

He raised up and looked me in my eyes and the smile that crossed his face stirred something deep in the pit of my soul. I’d always loved Flynn, and I knew I always would. I knew, in college, that he was the only man for me, and all the men I had ever come across in Paris didn’t hold a candle to the strong, rugged, strapping, gentle human I’d fallen in love with.

Fallen in love with and left.

“I’ve always loved you, Chelsea,” he began. “From the moment I laid eyes on you until the moment you appeared at my trailer until now. Jesus, when your mother called and said-”

He slid off my body and out from between my legs, and I shifted and felt him spill out of me. But, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I was lying in a mess and I didn’t care that I hadn’t brushed my teeth and I didn’t even care that we still hadn’t addressed why I left in the first place-- much less the fact that I was leaving next week.

All I cared about were the words he was about to say and how they obviously affected him so deeply.

To anyone else, Flynn was a stubborn ass. He listened to no one, took no advice, and always took the long way ‘round when it came to his goals. He shrugged off opinions and sometimes even told others to flat out shut their mouths, and he kept to himself at all costs whenever he could. He would always tell you that people exhausted him and that if they were exhausting they were stupid and he didn’t want to waste his time anyway.

But with me, he always relented. With me, he always yielded.

Why the hell did I ever think he would stop me from going to Paris?

“I thought I’d lost you, Chelsea,” he said lowly.

“I’m right here,” I whispered. I brushed his matted nighttime hair back from his face and studied his features, committing them to memory just in case this never happened again. Just in case I never got to lay here with him naked and vulnerable while still feeling beautiful and loved and cared for.

We had to talk, but for now, this was enough.

For the first time in three weeks, I didn’t wake up with a headache. My body didn’t hurt, and my stomach didn’t churn, and when I came down the stairs to Flynn making pancakes my mouth salivated out of a hungry need rather than from deprecating nausea I couldn’t shake. I slathered homemade molasses on them, and Flynn challenged me to an eating contest, and I watched him shovel down 10 pancakes to my four while we covered ourselves in sweet, sticky goodness.

“I gotta get back to the ranch today,” Flynn mentioned.

“I was wondering when you were gonna resume your life,” I smirked.

“Not until I knew you were alright. And obviously, by the way, you wolfed down breakfast, you’re doin’ just fine.”