Never Too Late

Chapter Nine

Finn giving me permission to touch opened the floodgates and, whether it was gentle touches on the shoulder, or a hand on his hip to guide him away from crowds, I didn’t seem able to stop myself. We chatted about meaningless stuff while we were in the queue for the Louvre, and then we wandered around its galleries for hours until we could no longer ignore the rumbling of our stomachs.

Deciding we didn’t want to eat within the packed confines of the museum when there were so many wonderful places in the city, we headed back outside. We found a small bistro instead, both of us bypassing the snails on offer to have French onion soup—because if you can’t have it when you’re in France, when can you?—with crusty bread.

By the time we went for a stroll along the Champs-élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, I could no longer resist the urge to reach out and take Finn’s hand. There was a risk it would jerk him out of the peaceful thrall we’d fallen into, as comforting and cozy as any blanket, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

Finn stopped suddenly as I slipped my hand into his, looking down at our entwined fingers with an unreadable expression. “Is this okay?” I asked, my heart thumping an irregular rhythm in my chest. I hadn’t asked a boy if I could hold his hand since I was fifteen, and I was just as nervous now as I’d been then. Maybe even more nervous because I knew how much was at stake.

He stared at our hands for a few seconds more before a small smile slipped onto his face. “I never took you for a hand-holder, Mr. King.”

I shrugged, ignoring the heat I could feel invading my cheeks. “I’m discovering a lot of things about myself on this trip.”

We started walking again with our fingers interlocked, the simple intimacy feeling so right that it was embarrassing to contemplate why in six months of having Finn in my life, I’d never held his hand. Not even once. What an absolute waste. If I needed any more proof that I’d been a prize idiot, there it was.

Finn gave my hand a squeeze. “Like what?” I groaned inwardly. I should have known Finn wouldn’t let a statement like that go by without questioning it. I tugged him over to a shop window, hoping the display of expensive watches might distract him. He didn’t even look at them, his gaze remaining locked on my face. “No, really. Like what?”

I gave up on the shop window, and we started walking again. “Do you want a list?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m interested.”

“I work too hard.”

“Well, duh!”

“I’m in danger of ending up a rich but lonely old man.”

“You missed handsome. You’ll be a rich, handsome, lonely old man.”

“Oh well. That’s so much better.”

Finn shrugged. The quirk of his lips gave away his amusement, though.

“I’ve learned I’m a prize idiot.”

“I already knew that.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I need to make changes. A lot of changes.”

“How are you going to do that?”

There was an edge to Finn’s voice that said the answer mattered more than he was willing to let on. It was a shame, then, that I didn’t have any answers for him yet. “I don’t know. That’s the tough part. It’s going to take time to work out.”

Silence crept in for a while after that. We kept holding hands, our fingers finding their way back together when crowds forced us apart. We ate dinner as part of a river cruise that took us on a tour of Paris along the Seine, Finn joking that if I’d come looking for my phone, he’d jump off the boat and swim back home.

We didn’t arrive back in front of Finn’s building until gone eleven. It had been a long day, but a perfect one. Or at least that was my interpretation of it.

“So…” Finn said as he came to a stop and turned to face me, the glow of the streetlight making his cheekbones appear even sharper than they already were. “I suppose I better go in and check that Quasimodo hasn’t gotten up to any mischief in my absence. I expect he’s hungry as well.”

“Probably.”

Despite his words, Finn made no move to turn and go inside, staying exactly where he was, like his feet had become glued to the tarmac. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“What I’m doing?” As I wasn’t aware I was doing anything, my confusion was genuine.

“This whole not kissing me thing. You’re trying to drive me crazy.”

A strangled laugh escaped from my throat. “If I am, it’s backfiring, and I’m driving myself crazy at the same time.”

Finn moved closer, tipping his head back to regard me with an inscrutable expression. “So… you should kiss me. And then you should come inside with me and we can go to bed together. It’ll make spending the day together tomorrow easier, save you having to traipse all the way back to the hotel, just to have to come back in the morning.”

I brushed a lock of hair back from his temple while I contemplated the fact that his words made perfect practical sense. More than that, though, it would mean getting to strip him out of his clothes and see the body I hadn’t seen in so long. The sharp line of his collarbone. The hollow of his hip. Dusky pink nipples that pebbled at my touch. Soft inner thigh. A cock that curved slightly to the right, and that felt like the perfect size when I sucked it.

The list of things I wanted to do to Finn was almost endless. And I wanted to take my time like I never had before. Not just suck and fuck him until we both came in a shuddering orgasm, but to tease him and see what noises he might make if I slowed everything down and tormented him a bit. And he’d just invited me to come upstairs and do all of those things.

My intention had been to drop my arm back to my side once I’d brushed his hair back, but I found my fingers lingering, Finn not helping matters when he turned into my touch. “Why are you waiting for me to kiss you? You could kiss me.” My voice was husky. With emotion? With arousal? Both probably. Nerves no doubt played a part, too. I hadn’t kissed him because I wanted to get it right. Was now the right time?

Unfortunately, there was no handbook to be had on how you dug yourself out of a metaphorical relationship mineshaft that you and you alone had dug. I’d come to Paris with only one certainty: the knowledge that I wasn’t ready to let Finn go without a fight. How to do that had required constant strategizing and rethinking in the few days that I’d been here, as well as a refusal to take Finn’s words at face value and read between the lines. Like walking a tightrope.

A weaker man would have balked on the first night when Finn had made it clear how unhappy I’d made him. No man liked to hear that. Especially when I’d remained oblivious to it, too wrapped up in myself to see the signs. I was in this for the long haul. Not for a night or two, so in my mind, as impractical as it might seem with him in Paris and me in London, we had all the time in the world.

Even as I thought that, my fingers drifted to his chin, and I leaned forward to bring our lips together. The day hadn’t been perfect, I realized, as Finn wound his arms around my neck and we kissed. Now I had him in my arms and he was responding enthusiastically. Now it was perfect.

Enthusiasm didn’t mean we rushed things. We savored the kiss like we were tasting fine wine rather than each other. It was inevitable it would eventually deepen and that tongues would get involved, that hands would grasp at fabric, and small sounds of pleasure would escape between kisses. His? Mine? It was impossible to tell.

When we eventually eased back from each other, we were both breathless. I drank in the intoxicating sight of Finn’s desire for me: the flushed cheeks; the dilated pupils; and the redness of his lips. He looked like a man who’d been well and truly kissed, and I was insanely pleased to have been the one to do it. “Our first kiss,” I said quietly.

Finn laughed. “Yeah, right?” He cocked his head to one side and regarded me curiously. “Why wasn’t our actual first kiss anything like that?”

I thought about it, recalling pushing Finn against the wall the very second I’d gotten him inside my flat. It had been all simmering lust and haste. A means to an end rather than something that should have stood alone. “Because I was too busy getting you out of your clothes,” I answered honestly. “My priorities were skewed.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s right,” Finn said in a tone that wouldn’t have been out of place if I’d just revealed the eighth wonder of the world.

We were still pressed together and I luxuriated in his body heat for a few extra seconds before reluctantly putting some distance between us by stepping back. I knew that in the short-term accompanying him upstairs would be wonderful, but I needed to keep thinking long-term, which meant forcing my brain to decide rather than my cock. We’d rushed everything the first time, and it had crashed and burned.

Finn let out a little huffing sound. “Just a kiss.”

It was more a statement than a question, but I answered it anyway. “For now.” I jerked my head to the doorway a few feet away. “You should go before my resolve crumbles.”

This time, Finn didn’t argue, smiling as he stepped back. “What time, tomorrow?”

“Eleven,” I said. “It’s been a busy day and we’re both tired. We need a good night’s sleep if we’re going to do tomorrow justice.”

Finn nodded. “Eiffel Tower, tomorrow. I’m never going to find a Parisian to go with me. Laurent would rather die than go there.”

“Eiffel Tower,” I agreed. “Whatever you want to do. I’m at your disposal.”

Finn didn’t comment, but there was a softness in his eyes that said he understood the sentiment. “Night, Cillian.”

“Night, Finn.”

Only once he’d disappeared into the building and the door had closed behind him, did I turn and walk away. I was still smiling when I reached my hotel, one or two of the night staff giving me a quizzical look as I passed. “It’s been a fantastic day,” I said to one in explanation. “Très bonne journée.” He nodded, looking even more confused.