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“It’s going to be more than once,” he says, and I don’t know what he’s talking about at first. I’m too busy watching him. He drags himself away and strips off his clothes.
Holy shit, he’s absolutely beautiful. He’s beautiful in clothes, but without them he’s stunning. It makes me lose my breath. I’m suddenly nervous, suddenly a little shy, but I can’t bring myself to hide from him. I don’t want to.
When he’s naked, he positions himself between my thighs.
I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll speak to me now. If he’ll praise me like he did before. His eyes meet mine. And I understand that there will be no praise right now.
We’re beyond that. Past words.
He’s entered a space of pure, desperate need.
Without a sound I put my palm on his cheek. Permission and plea.
Take what you need. I want to fulfill you.
With a groan, he pushes into me, not particularly gentle. It feels too good. He’s using me, fucking me, escaping into me. I find it unbearably hot. I must make some sound against his chest because he pulls back, kissing me again.
“More,” he demands, rolling over and pulling me on top of him.
He’s still feral this way. Still in control even though I’m on top.
I truly have no choice but to take what he gives me, to let him do what he wants, to surrender to his thrusts. I don’t have to think about it. I don’t have to worry. I don’t have to manage. His hands and body and mind do the work. I’m something to be used. I’m begging by the time he grunts beneath me.
Climax rains over me like meteors, bright and fiery, destroying everything in its path. Every thought, every worry. I’m pure limitless pleasure as he fucks into me once, twice, three more times, his body hard against mine, locked tight for the final throes of orgasm.
Then I collapse on top of him. Beside him.
I’m breathing hard. My mind wants to drift off to sleep, but I can’t do that. There’s a man in my bed. Does he leave now? Do I invite him to sleep over? I have no idea. Sophia really needs to write a guidebook for women like me.
His large hand covers my breast. He strokes my nipple idly, casually. As if we have all the time in the world. Except we just had sex. I look at him, and he’s gazing back, his expression almost predatory. “Are we doing this again?”
“I had to get it out of my system,” he says. And it’s not the cruel joke that someone can make it into when they pretend that fucking you once is enough. “Hard and fast and a little rough. Now I can do this.” He kisses down the front of my body, and I am lost. How could I ever have survived anyone else but Finn Hughes? He makes me feel alive. I’m so full of pleasure that it’s hard to contain in my body. He kisses down between my legs and when he buries himself there, I find myself gripping the covers, pressing my lips shut.
But then for what? It’s my loft. I’m at home. There’s nothing to hide here.
And in fact, there’s nothing I can hide.
He’s too close. He can see everything. He can taste everything, and he does. I’m out of practice, but that’s because I haven’t had sex with anyone since Lane. He loomed so large in my memory. Even after he broke my heart I assumed no one would ever compare.
I couldn’t imagine someone like Finn.
Athletic. Adventurous. He seems like he could do this forever. He seems like he could go on and on all night—and what can I say? This is what I wanted. I never admitted it out loud, even to myself. But this is what my secret heart always wanted.
Someone who would not be unable to tear themselves away.
Someone who would choose me over everything.
Chapter Sixteen
Finn
I wake up comfortable, which is a problem.
I normally wake up with a thousand things on my mind already. My to-do list haunts my dreams. My dad, my brother, the company. The list of my responsibilities. The list of my failures. But this morning as I come awake, I’m comfortable. A lazy kind of comfort.
My eyes stay closed, because I want to preserve the feeling.
Maybe it’s a dream.
