Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
VALERIE
FYNN STARES AT me. He's not saying anything, but the shock of my request is written all over his face. Not that I'm looking at it as much as I should be.
No matter how hard I try, my gaze keeps traveling down the broad, naked expanse of his chest. It shouldn't be as stupefying as it is—I've seen it before—but that was on a public beach. A location where partial nudity was expected. Here, in the privacy of his home, it feels much different. More intimate.
"I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to repeat that." He shakes his head a little. "Because it almost sounded like you said you wanted me to marry you."
I force my eyes to stay on his face even as they try to drop again. This is a serious conversation, one that will ensure the direction of my future, and I can't screw it up by getting distracted. "That's exactly what I said. I think we should get married. "
His shock morphs into confusion, the full line of his dark brows pinching together. "Married?"
I stand tall in the face of his less than positive reaction. Part of me hoped he would jump at my offer. Immediately agree. That part of me is an optimist and an idiot who didn't seem to understand I’d have to admit my initial motivations to get to this point.
Seeing Fynn’s face fall when I admitted I sought him out for my own, admittedly selfish, reasons was a gut punch. I hated telling him, but it was the truth, and if we’re going to do this he deserves the truth. I just probably shouldn't dump all of it on him at once, because then he absolutely will not marry me.
"That's right. If we get married everyone will see you as a doting and loyal husband with a happy wife who adores you." I want him to see how good this could be for him so he focuses less on what I get out of it. "It won't happen right away, but it will happen. Everyone loves a man who worships his wife."
One of Fynn’s thick brows angles. "So I don't just have to marry you, I also have to worship you?"
"Publicly, yes." I offer the answer quickly, hoping to soothe his concerns.
As Fynn studies me, a tiny bit of hope blooms in my chest. He hasn't said no outright, and I'm going to take that as a good sign.
"What about privately?" His voice drops as he moves a little closer. "Would you expect me to also worship you privately, Valerie?"
I haven't missed that he's no longer calling me Val, and I guess I deserve that. There has been some trickery on my part. Hopefully my next words will smooth that over a little. "If you're asking about marital relations, then yes. I would hope for consummation." I try to sound as indifferent as I can. Like it doesn't matter to me whether or not we have sex.
But it does.
I know I should be primarily concerned with the role deflowering will play in my plan, but that isn’t the only thing motivating me to wiggle my way into Fynn Hadaway’s bed. Between our little interlude in the ocean and the collision we experienced a few minutes ago, I’m starting to understand just how personally beneficial a physical relationship with this man might be.
I've been a good girl my whole life. Done my best to live up to my family's convoluted expectations because I felt the weight they rested on my shoulders. I convinced myself it would all work out for the best. That if I just did everything right, the chips would fall in my favor.
They didn't.
And when I was faced with the truth of what waited for me—the reality that the husband my father chose for me was neither a good man nor an asset outside of the connection our joining provided my father, the truth hit me square in the face and sent me running for the hills.
Or—more literally—the ocean.
Fynn’s mouth, which up to this point has been flattened into a hard line, quirks at one edge. "So, let me get this straight. You want to marry me, fix my reputation, and spend your nights in my bed?"
He's been listening. Another good sign. "Yes. I would assume it would also provide me a place to stay." I start with the most benign of my reasons. Unfortunately, the only one. "It would also give me a connection to Sweet Side."
Fynn’s narrowed gaze seems to see right through me. "And why do you need a tie to Sweet Side?"
I swallow hard, knowing this could be the moment that everything goes to shit. "So my family doesn't try to make me move back to Minneapolis." I hold my breath, hoping he doesn't attempt to dig deeper.
"Why would your family force you to move back to Minneapolis?" Fynn sounds more curious than suspicious.
Or maybe I'm imagining that.
"My family's business in Minneapolis is..." I fish around for the right word. "Extensive. And they want me to help ensure it expands further."
"And you don't wish to work for your family's business?"
His question pokes at a spot of me that’s still sore. "No. Not at all."
At one point I did. Even went to college believing my father would see that I had more value than simply being a daughter he could marry off for the benefit of the empire he believed should be his. But, even after graduating with honors at the top of my class, I was still nothing more than a virginal vagina to be used strategically.
Knowing now that I wasn't simply untouched because of bad luck, makes my blood boil. It’s humiliating to know my lack of physical connection was yet another area of my life where my father had exerted complete control. And somehow, I didn’t even notice.
"Then simply don't go back. Tell them you wish to stay here." Fynn says it like the solution is simple, and for some people it probably is.
Not me. I know what will happen if my father comes here. I wish I could say I’d tell him I wasn't coming back to Minneapolis and I sure as hell wasn't marrying Warren, but I know I won't. I will collapse back into the woman he raised me to be. I'll lose every bit of backbone I found over the past few weeks, and I’ll end up living a miserable, lonely life with a man who considers me nothing more than a business agreement.
I do recognize that’s still the situation I'm going to be in, but this time I'm the one making this deal.
"That is a lot easier said than done." My stomach twists as unwarranted guilt attempts to make me regret my decisions. "My family feels like I'm obligated, but I'm not, and I don't want to be." I toy with the tie of my dress, needing something to occupy my hands as I try to explain. "I know it's difficult to understand, but sometimes family responsibilities can take your life in a direction you don't want it to go."
Fynn studies me a minute longer, his gaze wary. "Fair enough." He takes a deep breath before summing up my terms. "So you wish to be married. To sleep in my bed and live in my home in exchange for my position as your husband to offer you an excuse to stay in Sweet Side and avoid being pressured by your family into working at a business you don't wish to have a part of." His brows lift. "Am I understanding correctly?"
I offer a definitive nod. "Yes." More or less. There are a few details missing, but it's not like he’ll ever have to be involved with my family in any way, so the truth of who they are doesn't really matter. Especially since the truth of who they are might make him less willing to marry me.
Fynn crosses both arms over the broad expanse of his chest, biceps flexing in a way that once again threatens to steal my focus. "I have concerns."
The little bit of hope I had earlier withers. "Okay. What are they?"
"I've lived alone a very long time, Valerie. I'm not used to having another person in my space."
Okay. That's not terrible. "I'm very quiet. I clean up after myself." I pause, brain racing as I try to come up with another thing to alleviate this particular worry. "And I'm a very good cook."
Fynn makes a sound in his throat, like a hum of consideration. "My closet is practically overflowing as it is."
Once again this isn't really a problem. "I guess it's a good thing I don't have an extensive wardrobe then."
Of everything I left behind me, my clothing is what I've missed the most. Not that most of it would do me much good here in a tropical climate, but still. I loved all of my professional suits and skirts. They made me feel powerful and independent. Right up until my father informed me he'd let my employer know I would no longer be working there because I was getting married and would be a housewife.
Again, Fynn makes that considering noise in his throat. "I don't like to be hot. I keep the thermostat turned down."
My smile widens even more. "You remember I’m from Minnesota, right?"
He continues studying me as he works his jaw from side to side.
"Anything else?" I feel like I'm holding my own. Like I've managed to be pretty successful at pleading my case. It makes me think I have a real chance of getting him to agree. A real chance of—
"What about,” he pauses, “marital relations I believe you called it? What if we’re not sexually compatible?" Fynn's eyes hold mine. "It’s possible you could find my particular proclivities distasteful. You could decide you don’t like it when I touch you."
Heat rushes through my insides, pulling low in my belly as my thoughts go to the gutter. "You've already touched me."
Fynn’s expression hardens. "That was different and you know it. That was before..." His nostrils flare. "Before I knew the real reason you came into my life."
I wince. I know how it seems. I know how he must feel, especially after what he's gone through the past six months. All I can hope is he agrees to this and his feelings toward me soften as he sees I really do want to help him. Almost as much as I want to help myself.
And I really do want him to touch me. His feelings toward me might have cooled, but mine haven't. The attraction I have for him has been there from the first second. The minute Crystal showed me pictures of him, I was smitten. Even when I thought the rumors might be true. Even before I knew he was charming and funny and looked ridiculous with his shirt off.
So my next suggestion is not difficult to make. "Then maybe you should touch me again. Just to be sure." I chew my lower lip, unable to stop my eyes from dropping down his body. "And I should probably touch you, because you might not like my touch either." My heart is beating so fast I think I might pass out, but I can't because then I know Fynn won't touch me and he definitely won't let me touch him. So, difficult as it is, I continue breathing, feeding my brain oxygen even as it spirals into a pit filled with filthy imaginings.
“You drive a hard bargain, Valerie.” Fynn’s hard mouth barely softens. “But I find myself inclined to take you up on it.” I start to smile, but he lifts one finger to stop me. “Provided we both agree it will be a mutually satisfying pairing.”
He’s agreeing. Willing to go along with my plan. That means I won't have to go back to Minneapolis. I won't have to marry Warren. I won't spend the rest of my life hopelessly tangled in a web I didn't weave as the life is slowly sucked out of me.
It also means I get to touch Fynn and that Fynn is going to touch me.
Now .
He reaches out to tap my chin with one finger. "Who goes first, Valerie? Lady’s choice."
I desperately want him to go first. I want his hands on me. I want more of what I had in the ocean. Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'll be able to enjoy myself knowing I still have to perform well enough to convince him this is a great idea. So, rather than putting it off, I decide to dive in head first. "I want to touch you first."
If Fynn is surprised he doesn't show it, but he does smile at me for the first time since discovering I sought him out with intent. He holds both arms out, stretching them wide. "Then touch away."
I hesitate because I'm not sure what to touch first. Will I seem greedy if I go straight for his belt? Will my inexperience show if I start at his shoulders?
Maybe his nipples are where I should begin. Do men like having their nipples touched? I don't know. How do I not know this? I’ve had the whole Internet at my fingertips for God's sake. Why have I never googled ‘do men like to have their nipples touched?’
"Is there a problem, Valerie?" Fynn's voice is deep and almost sounds a little breathless.
Or maybe that's just me hoping I'm not the only one about to suffocate.
"No problem." I meet his gaze. The intensity and heat there is staggering, and has me wishing I asked him to go first, because the throb between my thighs intensifies. "I was just deciding where to start."
"Would you like a suggestion?"
He' s going to give me a hint on how to please him? "Yes, please."
"That's good." His hand comes to my face, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Because I'm more than happy to tell you what to do."
I feel like I'm cheating on a test, but I'm not turning the opportunity down. "Okay." If Fynn can baby step me through this then there's almost no way I can fail, as long as I do what he asks.
His nostrils barely flare as his thumb makes one more pass over my lower lip before both arms drop to his sides. "Get on your knees."
I can happily do that. It's likely a little shameful how quickly I drop to the floor, my hands braced against his thighs for stability as I go down, bringing myself face-to-face with the fly of his pants.
"Take off my belt." This time it doesn't sound as much like a suggestion as it does an order, but I still don't mind since Fynn's orders are likely going to get me where I want to go. I reach for his belt, only fumbling a little as I flip it open and drag the smooth length of leather through the loops, carefully setting it on the floor next to me as I lift my eyes to his face and wait for instruction.
Fynn’s hand comes back to my face, stroking over my skin in a gentle touch. "You're a very good listener, Valerie." His voice is deep and smooth and rolls across me in a wave of warmth.
I've waited my whole life for some sort of acknowledgment. For someone to notice how much effort I put into trying to be the best version of what I could be. It never happened, and it would seem it's left me starved for praise, so I'm soaking Fynn’s words up, letting them sink into the needy, neglected parts of me.
"Do you think you can suck my cock as well as you listen?" Fynn’s dark gaze is locked on my mouth. Like he’s as desperate for it as I am for more of his appreciative words.
I slowly nod, struggling to breath as I wait to hear what he asks for next.
"Then open my trousers and take it out, Darling. Let's see if that mouth is as sweet as the rest of you."