Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Finn
He steps closer, those brown eyes burning into mine.
And suddenly…I’m nervous.
No. Panicked.
What if I mess this up?
What if—
“Do you want me to make you a drink?” I blurt as he strolls over to me, his movements confident.
And predatory.
He pauses. “Scared, baby?”
I swallow, lie, “No.”
He prowls closer and crouches a little, and…there’s no hiding from him, not when it seems as though he can see into my very soul.
“Yeah, Stitch, I’d like a drink.”
“A-anything in particular?”
His head tilts to the side and he runs the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. “Whatever you feel like making.”
I nod jerkily and slip out from between him in the counter, moving to the fridge.
And maybe it’s boring.
Maybe I just made them.
But I pull out the ingredients for a lemon drop.
It’s simple. It’s my favorite. And I can make it with my eyes closed—
Or when I’m distracted by a very sexy hockey player.
“Do we need to pick Chloe up tonight?” I ask as I squeeze the fresh lemon juice into the container.
“No, she’s having a sleepover with the kitties…” His mouth kicks up. “And maybe also Chrissy, Mia, and Rome.”
I smile as I measure out the vodka. “That sounds right.”
Then I realize what he’s saying.
The house is empty.
We can—
My lungs hitch.
“Stitch,” he murmurs, and I realize I’ve frozen.
Quickly, I dump some simple syrup into the shaker, add some ice, and slap on the lid. I lift it—
Rhodes snags it from my hands.
“Finn.” He sets it aside and cups my face in his hands. “I need you to hear me.”
I nod. “O-okay.”
“This only goes as far as you want it. Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever. I don’t care if the house is empty or Chloe’s down the hall or the kittens are being their usual demonic selves.” His eyes fix on mine. “You get to decide.”
“What about you?” I whisper. “Shouldn’t you get to decide too?”
He goes still.
For a long, long time he doesn’t move.
Then he presses his lips to my forehead.
“I already have.”
He means that.
I can see it on his face, in his gaze, feel it in the careful way he touches me. I have felt it.
Tonight.
Over these last months.
And suddenly, I’m not scared anymore.
“Rhodes,” I whisper, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his.
He pulls back, eyes filling with concern. “Stitch.”
“Kiss me,” I order. “Kiss me like I’ve dreamed of.”
Our first kiss is soft.
Our second is not.
By the third, I’m clutching the front of his shirt and kissing him like I’ll die if I don’t have my mouth on his, my tongue tangling with his, my body pressed to his.
He groans and lifts me up on the counter, stepping between my legs, and hauling me close as we kiss and kiss and kiss.
“We can wait,” he says as he sucks at my throat, nips at my earlobe.
God, I like this man so much.
“I don’t want to wait.”
He reaches for the hem of his sweatshirt that I’m still wearing, rips it over my head, tosses it aside.
Something tumbles over with a metallic clang, and when the scent of citrus hits my nose, I know it’s the cocktail.
“Whoops,” he murmurs as the liquid starts soaking into my pants, my shirt.
I glance down, snag the shaker, and right it. “I suppose we’re even now.”
“Hmm.” He drags my shirt over my head. “Let me see how good of a drink you mixed up, Stitch.”
Then he’s bending over, licking at my skin.
“Mmm.” A flick of his tongue. “Delicious.”
“I—”
He unbuttons my jeans, tugs down the zipper, lifts me up enough to tug them down my legs.
“Wait,” I say when he bends to kiss me again.
He immediately freezes. “Want to stop?”
“No. I want you in your underwear too.”
A wolfish smile.
But he pulls off his own shirt, steps out of his shoes, his socks. My throat goes tight when he flicks open his jeans, shoves them down.
And then he’s standing in front of me in nothing more than his boxer briefs.
“Beautiful,” I say.
He kisses me, slow and deep and wet. “You stole my line.”
“Well, you stole my drink.”
“How do you figure that?”
I scowl. “You spilled it.”
“Hmm.” A nip to my jaw. “Maybe I’ll spill it some more.”
Before I can ask what he means by that…he shows me.
I gasp as he picks up the shaker, splashes some of the cocktail over me.
“Oh no,” he mock exclaims. “Your bra is wet.” Hot brown eyes. “You’d better take it off.”
I giggle, but reach behind me, undo the clasp.
He’s tugging it down my arms before my next heartbeat.
“I’ve dreamed about these.” He buries his face in my breasts, licking and sucking at my flesh.
God, that’s good.
The slightly rough touch, the way he takes one of my nipples into his mouth and draws deeply. How he kisses his way down my body and then makes my underwear disappear like he’s a freaking magician.
And then working that same magic between my legs.
I’m slick and hot and aching.
I want his mouth, his fingers, his cock—and I want them all right now.
But he takes his time.
Gentle strokes, soft kisses, lapping at my pussy, circling the tight bundle of nerves that’s my clit. Slow. Steady. Patient.
And driving me up the edge.
“Rhodes,” I gasp as I hover there.
But he doesn’t send me over.
Instead, he lifts me up into his arms and carries me to his room.
And then…he worships me.
Drugging kisses. Hands stroking. His big body finding its way between my legs again.
And pleasure.
So much pleasure.
A fingertip stroking my clit, his mouth working me, his thumb sliding deep—
His name tumbles off my lips as I come apart.
He coaxes me down the other side, gentles me, holds me close as I slowly sink back to Earth.
But when I reach between us, intending to return the favor, intending to do so, so much more, he catches my wrist.
“Next time, Stitch,” he murmurs, drawing me into his arms.
My eyes are heavy, my body is pleasured and lax, and even though I try to summon the energy to press the issue, I find I can’t move.
So…I let him hold me, let him stroke his hand up and down my back, let him send me off into peaceful sleep.
Maybe I should be scared.
And maybe…I am.
But underneath that?
I’m happy.
Stupidly, terrifyingly happy.
Because pursuing this thing with Rhodes…
May be the biggest risk of all.