Chapter 5
ISLA
When I step out of the bathroom in my borrowed sleep clothes, Finn is waiting for me in the hall. He’s out of his swim trunks, dressed in athletic shorts and a T-shirt. Covering up his farmer’s tan.
Disappointment trickles through me at finding him so thoroughly dressed. Which is an illogical reaction. It’s not as though he needs to take any of his clothes off for what we’re about to do.
“I won’t just use my fingers.”
What that simple sentence did to me should be a crime. All my functions and thoughts were sent into a flailing mess, just like when I tipped him from his inner tube.
I need to reestablish control over the situation. This is one night. A service between friends. There can’t be anything more. Proven by my parents’ response when I texted to let them know they shouldn’t expect me home tonight.
Mom: Be careful. We’ve heard the MacNamaras invite humans to their parties. If you feel unsafe, call us, and we’ll come pick you up.
If only they knew what I’ve invited a human to do. But there’s no reason to share that piece of information.
As I approach Finn now, he watches me with those blue-gray eyes. But that’s not new.
I pass by him, reaching for the door to the bedroom I was assigned. Pushing it open, I turn to face a still-waiting Finn.
“Ready?”
“Are you?” he asks back, falling into his habit of answering me with questions.
And I fall into mine of answering with the truth. “Yes.”
In fact, I’ve been ready for years.
Just because I know that being intimate with Finn could never lead to anything permanent doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it.
When I touch myself before bed each night, he is the most common partner I picture myself with.
Fantasies of slowly peeling off that damp red shirt he wore in the line to get coffee three years ago.
Having him bite me instead of the bear claw he ordered.
The two of us disappearing into Coffee & Claws’s single-user restroom, where he would press me up against a wall and drive into me.
Outside of my head, I would never approve of a public restroom as a sexual environment, but in my dreams, every surface is as sanitary as I need it to be.
All this to say, yes, I am ready for the real thing.
The true question is, will I be ready tomorrow morning to never let this happen again?
He precedes me through the door, which I close and lock behind me. Finn halts in the middle of the room, staring at the bed.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asks.
The possibilities cycle through my mind. “You, but I maintain veto rights. And we’re agreed that the goal is two orgasms.”
“Three,” he corrects. “At a minimum.”
“Three,” I agree because he seems confident. “Where would you like me?”
Finn jerks his chin toward the bed. “Sit on the edge.”
I make sure not to slouch as I settle on the mattress and briefly wonder if good posture assists in achieving orgasms. I’m about to pose this question out loud when I meet Finn’s stare.
There’s some intense emotion on his face, but I always have trouble reading feelings from faces.
This one is starvation, maybe?
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “There were still plenty of brownies. I could get you one.”
Finn closes his eyes, and I become fascinated with the long sweep of his lashes. What an impressive sweep. I’d like to measure the curvature. Can protractors be used on lashes?
“That’s not what I’m hungry for.” His voice rumbles between us.
“There was pie too.”
Finn laughs, a small puff of breath, before stepping toward me. When we’re both standing, Finn is only a handful of inches taller than I am. But now, he looms, towering, his dark hair flopping over his brow as he gazes down at me.
“Where can I touch you?”
Interesting. I assumed he would focus entirely on my vulva, but Finn’s eyes trail over more than the space between my legs.
“Neck down.” I decide, suddenly worried he might try to kiss me. That would do things to my brain I can’t even contemplate.
He nods. “I plan to use my hands and my mouth and tongue.”
“Yes. Fine. Good.” I shake my head, realizing how my rapid-fire words paired with his statement. “I didn’t mean those to match up, as in your mouth is only fine. I’m sure your mouth is exceptional. I amend my response to amazing, exceptional, fantastic.”
Finn kneels in front of me, pressing his fists to the bed on either side of my hips. The muscles in his forearms strain, making his scar stand out against his pale skin. I catch sight of his wide smile before he leans in to trace his lips along my collarbone. The highest spot I’ve allowed him.
There’s less air in the room. I’m unsure how that’s scientifically possible, but a moment ago, I was breathing fine, and now, I can’t seem to locate the oxygen.
“Let’s take this off.” Finn grips the bottom of my shirt, easing the material up and over my head. “Isla,” he groans my name.
“What?” I stare between the T-shirt Moira lent me and my bare chest. “I’m going to bed after this. I don’t wear a bra to bed.”
Finn sits back on his heels, staring. Again. Always staring.
“Are you formulating a strategy?” Maybe I should have provided notes on my pleasure areas prior to this starting.
The human reaches forward, warm hands clasping my sides while his thumbs press just under the curves of my chest. Finn holds my body in his determined grasp, as if he plans to lift me or pull my torso toward his. And all the while, he stares, nostrils flaring, breaths unsteady.
Oh good. I’m not the only one experiencing oxygen issues.
Without warning, Finn dives forward, latching on to my nipple and sucking the bud into his mouth. A storm forms in my body, originating from the single tip of my breast. Pleasure and wildness crash through me.
“Where can I touch you?” I gasp the question, berating myself for not asking sooner.
He lets go with a pop. “Anywhere. Everywhere.” The two words brush hot against my nipple, and then he returns to his suction, and I dig my fingers into his messy, damp hair.
Finn spends a stretch of time with my breasts, plumping them with his hands, licking and teasing my nipples.
The hurricane of ecstasy he creates rolls downward to between my legs.
He’s stimulating me without even removing my bottoms. When his lips offer another strong tug, I can’t help whimpering and rubbing my thighs together, craving friction.
“Spread your knees,” Finn commands, even as his grip digs into my thighs, guiding my legs apart.
Losing the small bit of pressure drags an insensible note of protest from my throat. Then, the man settles his body in the newly made space, and with a hand on my behind, Finn drags me to the very edge of the bed. Suddenly, my aching middle is pressed flush against his abdomen.
“Oh. I like that.” Eagerly, I wrap my legs around his torso, grinding against him.
“Can you come like this?” Finn’s lips brush the hard tip of my nipple with each word, sending small splashes of pleasure through my body. But I want the massive crashing waves from a moment ago.
“I’ve never tried. If you suck on me hard like before, I think I can.”
Finn groans deep and then locks his lips around my areola, pulling, tugging, and meanwhile, I rock my hips against him. Then, he bites gently yet still hard enough for a sting. The shift in sensations surprises me. Suddenly, an orgasm rolls through my muscles.
With a hiccup, I collapse back on the bed, limbs both loose and pulsing. My legs fall open, releasing their hold on his trim waist.
“One.” Finn grins down at me.
I meet his eyes over the length of my heaving chest.
Gods, he might get me to three.
The talented human leans in to press a kiss against my breastbone and then again an inch lower, and he continues tracing a trail down my belly until he reaches my waistband.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
He hooks his thumbs in my shorts and underwear, sliding the fabric down my legs. There’s a pause, and I realize Finn stopped touching me. Propping myself up onto my elbows, I realize he’s staring again.
“You have a tattoo,” he murmurs.
“I do.” Reaching to my hip, I finger the neatly drawn lines permanently imprinted on my skin. “It’s the Tower Bridge in London. Did you know I went to London?”
Finn shakes his head.
“I visited on my own a few years ago.” An adventure I never told my parents about.
They likely would have had mutual panic attacks if they’d discovered I was on a different continent than my selkie skin for two weeks.
But I don’t tell them everything in my life, which the tattoo is a constant reminder of.
“Must have been a good trip if you got a tattoo.” Finn continues to examine the detailed image the artist spent four hours sketching into my flesh with her needle.
The picture is beautiful, but it’s not going to contribute to my orgasm. I sit all the way up.
“Do you find tattoos unattractive?” My fingers spread, obscuring the image. “I might be able to achieve another orgasm on my own, if you’d prefer to stop.”
I didn’t think to warn him beforehand. The possibility that Finn might be turned off by the piece of art I love so much has me wanting to crawl under the covers. But as I move to shift away, he clutches my hips.
“Beautiful,” he rasps. “The tattoo. You. I want—” The sentence doesn’t finish with a word but instead an action. Finn dives between my thighs, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to my core.
Sensitive from the first orgasm, I can’t help a yelp of surprise, but then I have my hands buried in the silky strands of his hair, squirming as he licks up and down my vulva lips.
“Gods!” my voice squeaks when he brushes my clitoris.
After the treatment my nipples received, I’m almost scared for him to keep going.
But I’m more terrified he’ll stop.
The first suck has my thighs shaking.
The second overwhelms my toes, curling them painfully tight.
I brace for a third, but he pauses.
“Can I penetrate you with my finger?”
“Yes!” The word comes out as a sob. “Please,” I beg.
“How many?”
“As many as you have!”
He chuckles against my clit. But I can’t explain to him that I’ve become so lost in his touches that I can’t remember how many fingers a human has.
Is it the same as me? How many do I have?
I don’t care.
Then, a pressure enters me. In wonder, I gaze down, watching Finn ease his touch in and out of my vagina, his skin growing slick with my pleasure. His chin tilts up until our stares meet.
“For me?” he whispers.
My shaking hands cradle his head. “Finn.” His name is my breath. I survive off him.
Gray-blue eyes grow dark as a storm, but they don’t leave mine as he bends forward to take my clit between his lips. This time, when he sucks, his fingers curl inside me.
And I let him watch as the second, larger wave rushes through me.
Two.