Chapter 13 Finn
Finn
KOKOMO BY THE BEACH BOYS
The first thing I register is the sound of seagulls squawking next to my head. The second is Rowan’s head on my chest.
Her breath puffs against my skin, the heat of it tickling over me.
She’s tucked into me like she’s been here a thousand times before and my body was always meant to be her personal pillow.
I blink over at the ocean where the sun is coming up and down at our bodies covered with sand.
This is real. Rowan and I kissed all night, and she’s into me.
I shift just enough to see that her wild hair is fanned out, tangled, and sprinkled with sand. My heart should not be beating this hard. But it is and I'm surprised she doesn't wake up from the pulse of it.
She stirs, squints at the sun, and groans. “Why’s it so bright?” She picks sand out of her hair. “I have seaweed hair. Don’t look at me, Finn.”
I grin and kiss her forehead. “Too late, I’m already looking.”
She peeks through her fingers and narrows her eyes. “How are you not feeling like you’re dying?”
“Oh, trust me, I am.” I’m just sidetracked by the fact that I’m laying here with the woman I’m madly in love with.
I help her up, and we trudge toward the cottage, sand sticking to everything. Her hand brushes mine once, then again. We stay like that, barely touching, but close enough to feel the current that runs through me when we touch.
“We look like shipwreck survivors,” I say as I brush sand from my hair. She’s carrying her flip-flops in her hand and winces.
Cal shoots past us with a surfboard under one arm, like he didn't just get off work a few hours ago. He doesn’t even break stride. Just calls out, with the smuggest smirk on earth, “Morning, lovebirds!”
And he's gone. A literal drive-by lovebirding. We gawk as he runs down to the water and plunges in with his board, not even looking back at us.
Rowan freezes mid-step. “Did that little surf rat just… lovebird us?”
“Yup,” I deadpan.
She blinks. “While looking like a damn sunscreen commercial?”
“Yup.”
She lets out this loud, unhinged laugh that makes her wince. “We just got trolled by Cal!”
I groan. “You know he's going to give us shit for this all week.”
“Oh, definitely,” she says, nodding. “And he will tell everyone that we slept on the beach.”
"I can't wait." I snort dryly as we struggle to the cottage porch, the sand feeling like quicksand under our tired feet. Every step feels like a mile.
She cups a hand to her mouth and makes a very bad Cal impression. “‘Mooorning, loooovebirds!’”
I laugh. “I swear I’ll bury him in the sand and let the tide decide his fate if he gives us too much crap.”
“Sure you will,” she says, grinning like the menace she is. “Finn, the lovebird, doesn’t bury people."
“Finn, the lovebird,” I mutter, but I can’t stop smiling.
She's not wrong at all.
We rinse off the sand in the outdoor shower and push open the cottage door, tracking through the house like feral beach goblins. She stops and stares at the queen bed in the middle of the only bedroom.
“So…” she says slowly, a little sun-kissed and still flushed from the walk back. “Do you think it’s too late to talk about our sleeping arrangements?”
I lean my shoulder against the door frame, trying way too hard to look chill. “I mean… technically, we already shared a bed. The beach counts as a bed, right?”
She grabs the nearest pillow and whips it playfully at me. I catch it with one hand, grinning like an idiot.
Her cheeks go pinker. “You’re not wrong,” she mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at her mouth.
“And you drooled on me in your sleep,” I say, dead serious. “So, we're basically like broken in now. We could share anything at this point.”
Her jaw drops. “I did not.”
“Oh, you did,” I tell her solemnly. “A single, delicate droplet.”
“Gross.” She laughs.
Then she stops and looks at me seriously, “Finn…should we talk about this?”
I realize I’d let her drool on me every damn night if it meant waking up like this. “We can do whatever you want, baby.”
She steps closer to brush sand out of my hair. The touch is small, barely there, but my pulse jackhammers like it’s the main event. “Okay,” she says softly. “We can talk later. We’re good?”
I reach behind me for a towel and drape it over her shoulders. She smells of ocean air and faintly like my cologne. “We’re good, baby.”
Her eyes flick down to me. Her teeth catch on her lip. I file that away for later, because sweet baby Jesus, that look might end me.
My phone buzzes. I fish it out, still half drunk on the way she's looking at me.
Cal: Volleyball on the beach at 2. No excuses. Bring your girlfriend.
She leans over my arm to read it. “Girlfriend?”
I laugh, holding up my hands. “Cal is a… creative guy.”
“Uh huh.” She arches a brow. “But volleyball sounds fun after a shower, breakfast, and a nap. Does that guy ever sleep?”
“Maybe he's part cyborg,” I mutter as I respond that we'll be there.
“You care if I shower first?” she asks as she gently touches my arm, eyes meeting mine.
Fuck me. Rowan is going to destroy my heart and I'm gonna let her.
Instead of letting my inside thoughts win, I say, “You go first.”
Rowan disappears into the bathroom, and when she comes back out… she’s wearing nothing but a huge towel wrapped around her as she bends down to dig through her bag for clothes.
Just a towel and those bare toned and tanned legs, her hair wet and loose, and sun-kissed shoulders.
I feel as if I'm going to black out from my pulse hammering so hard seeing her practically naked, knowing my lips were all over her last night.
“You okay there, champ?” She smirks. The woman knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Just… great.”
She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s now living rent-free in every part of my body and making my cock so rock hard I know that shower is going to have to be a cold one.
For a second, I imagine this with her in my life every morning, making coffee, the ocean outside us. Not just for a week. Maybe forever.
The thought hits me like a hammer to the chest.
I clear my throat a little. “All done in the bathroom?”
“Yeah, it's all yours,” she says.
I snag a clean T-shirt and boxers, but before I make it to the bathroom, I stop right in front of her.
She peers up at me, lips a little swollen from earlier.
I slide a hand around the back of her neck, pull her in, and kiss her slowly and deep enough to make her melt into me, soft enough to make it sting when I pull away. Then, I dip my head until my lips brush the shell of her ear, my voice low and rough.
“I’m gonna go finish what you started yesterday in that shower,” I whisper, letting my breath skate down her throat. “And this time, you’re the one who gets to sit here and listen… while I come, moaning your name.”
Her breath catches and her jaw drops. She looks up at me like I just set the room on fire.
Yeah. She thought she got away with touching herself behind the shower door yesterday while I stood at the grill pretending not to hear every desperate, filthy moan spilling out of her mouth.
She didn’t get away with anything. It’s my turn to torture her back.
I grin, slow and wicked, and head for the bathroom. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. The look on her face is everything.
The door shuts behind me, steam wrapping around my shoulders as the water hits my skin.
Payback.
I turn on the spray and step in, leaning back to let my shoulders cool on the tile. The water sluices over me, as I run my fingers over my face and lean into the spray.
My hand slides down, wrapping around myself, and the sound that slips out of me isn’t quiet. I don’t want it to be. I want her to hear. I want her to know exactly what she does to me and just how fast she can undo me without even being in the room.
I pump slowly at first, dragging my palm over the length of me, letting the slick heat of the water add to the ache that’s been building all day. My head falls back against the tile, breath coming out rough.
It’s not enough. It’s nothing compared to her. I picture Rowan’s knees braced on either side of my hips, hair damp from her own shower, eyes fixed on me like she owns every shiver I make. The way she always looks at me right before she kisses me… like she’s choosing me again.
My grip tightens, hips jerking forward into my own hand. A low, helpless sound rips out of my chest, and the steam swallows it up. I bite back another groan, but it still escapes.
Heat coils low in my stomach. My breath stutters. I’m right on the edge, too close, too fast, and I force myself to ease up, slowing my strokes because I want fantasy more than the finish.
I’m shaking a little as I let go, bracing a hand on the slick wall. I take a second, breathing hard.
When I’m cleaned up, I reach for the handle and push the shower door open, stepping out into the thick cloud of steam.
The air hits my skin, cooler than the water, and I drag a towel around my waist, knotting it low on my hips.
Droplets run down my chest, down my stomach, and I swipe a hand through my hair, trying to look composed.
Then I open the bathroom door, steam curling out around me like I’m carrying a damn confession into the hall.
Rowan’s laying on the bed casually like she hasn’t been listening to me in the shower. Her legs are crossed, hands twisted in the hem of my T-shirt she’s wearing, pretending she’s fine. She’s not fine. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me.
Her eyes drag down my body, slow as sin. She swallows hard. And then she blurts, breathless, “That was the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”
My grin is slow and sharp. I take a step towards her. She doesn’t move.
“You should’ve joined me then,” I murmur, voice low enough to vibrate against her skin as I close the distance.