Chapter 35 Finn
Finn
I move through the apartment, gaze flicking from the space to her, tracking every breath she takes, every tiny shift of her body. She’s standing just inside the door, arms crossed, biting the inside of her cheek—as though she isn’t sure whether she should be here.
Like she’s deciding if she should run.
She won’t.
I knew it the second I saw her slip out of that window, the second she met me in the alley instead of staying tucked away under the careful, controlling watch of her bodyguards. No one forced her. No one lured her. She chose me.
She always will.
The apartment is bare compared to what I want to give her. She deserves luxury. Soft things. Pretty things. But I’ve only had so much time. It’s functional. It’s safe. It’s ours.
But she deserves more.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, gaze flicking over my space with quiet assessment. It’s not enough. I grind my teeth against the thought, my fingers twitching with the need to fix it, to fix everything.
Next time.
Next time, it’ll be perfect.
For now, I will make the best of it. I move toward the kitchen, eyes never leaving her. “Water?”
She hesitates, then gives the slightest nod.
Victory.
I move to the fridge, letting the cool air spill over my skin as I grab a bottle. When I glance back, my pulse spikes. She’s moved. Not toward the door. Not toward escape. But to the window.
And she’s looking.
My stomach tightens. My cock twitches.
She sees it.
Sees exactly how close I’ve been. How my window frames hers perfectly. How I’ve watched her from right here. How I’ve known everything.
She could pretend before. She can’t now.
She lifts a hand to the glass, fingers skimming the cool surface, her gaze locked onto the still-lit space of her own apartment. The one where they are still arguing, still oblivious, still thinking she’s right there with them.
A slow breath leaves my lips. My fingers tighten around the water bottle. I don’t say anything. I just watch. And then she does it.
The tiniest thing.
A shiver. A slow inhale. A press of her thighs together. My vision tunnels. Heat licks up my spine.
She likes it.
The realization slams into me, hard and fast.
She likes knowing how close I’ve been. She likes knowing that I see everything. She likes being here, where I can touch her, where I can reach for her without anything stopping me.
She likes me.
I move toward her, slow and controlled, setting the water down on the windowsill beside her. Her breath stutters, just barely. My fingers trail along her wrist, then lower, sliding across the back of her hand. I link our fingers together, skin on skin, touch to touch.
She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t speak. She just breathes, staring out the window. Letting me hold her.
A slow, satisfied smirk pulls at my lips.
She doesn’t have to say it. She’s already mine.
I tighten my grip on her hand, just a little, feeling the delicate bones beneath my fingertips. She’s so small. So warm. She still doesn’t say anything.
Her pulse ticks at the base of her throat, rapid and uneven.
Her pupils are wide, swallowing the color of her eyes.
Her chest rises and falls, her breath just a little too fast, her lips parted, her tongue peeking out to wet them as if she’s already preparing for something she hasn’t admitted to yet.
I drag my thumb over the back of her knuckles, slow and deliberate. Then I shift behind her, bringing my lips to her ear, my breath warm against her skin.
“Have you thought about it?” I ask quietly.
Her spine stiffens.
I smirk.
“Have you thought about me watching you?” I clarify, tightening my hold on her fingers when she twitches, clearly debating if she should step away.
“Standing right here, seeing everything? Have you thought about what it would be like if I climbed through that window instead of just looking?” I hum, tilting my head.
“If I got inside before they ever knew I was there?”
Her breath hitches.
Fuck.
I feel it in my gut. In my chest. In my cock.
She has.
She’s thought about it.
I don’t even need her to answer.
“I would have found you sleeping,” I continue, watching her in the reflection of the glass, studying the way her body reacts, the way her lashes flutter, the way she grips the windowsill tighter with her free hand.
“Curled up under the blankets, maybe wearing something soft like this—” I let my free hand skim the edge of her tank top below her hoodie, the silk whispering against my fingertips. “—maybe nothing at all.”
A sharp inhale.
Another tell.
My smirk widens.
“I would have touched you then,” I murmur. “Would have crawled right into your bed and wrapped myself around you. Would have kissed you awake.” I press a lingering kiss just below her ear, breathing her in, letting her scent curl around me. “You would have let me.”
A full-body shiver racks through her.
Her thighs press together again. Her fingers curl against the window. Her scent deepens, sweet and ripe, filling the room with a dizzying rush of want.
Then she finally moves.
She turns in my grip, tilting her chin up, eyes locking onto mine. There’s defiance in that stare. But beneath it?
Curiosity.
Hunger.
Need.
It’s the only warning I get before she fists my shirt, yanking me down the final inch of distance between us, kissing me.
Heat. Pressure. Soft lips, parted and desperate, giving me a taste of everything I’ve been craving. She initiated contact. I groan, something primal ripping through me, something that demands more.
I press her back against the window, caging her in, one hand tilting her jaw, the other smoothing down her ribs, gripping her hip, feeling the tremor beneath my palm.
She moans into my mouth, and it’s everything.
I drink it in, deepen the kiss, swallow her sounds, revel in the way her body molds to mine, the way she gasps when I press closer, let her feel just how much I need her.
Then I drop to my knees.
I drag my hands down her thighs, gripping the backs of her knees, spreading her just enough to fit.
She whimpers.
I smirk up at her.
“You let Carson have you,” I say, fingers teasing the band of her jeans. “Now it’s my turn.”
Her breath shudders, her eyes locked onto mine, her hands dropping to my shoulders. I grip her hips, my thumbs smoothing slow, lazy circles against the sensitive skin right below her belly button.
“Let me worship you, Willow.” My voice drops to something low and reverent. “Let me have you.”
She exhales, and I can see her internal debate.
Then, finally—
She nods.
That’s all I need.
I pop open the button on her jeans, slowly dragging the zipper down, savoring the way the fabric parts, revealing the soft lace beneath. My gaze traces over her panties, the delicate material soaked through, her body already desperate for my touch. I wet my lips, dragging my eyes back up to hers.
She’s watching me. Good. I need her eyes locked on mine when we take this step. I want her to see everything.
Leaning in, I press a kiss to the edge of her hip bone, my lips lingering, breathing her in. I push her jeans lower, peeling them down her thighs, over the curve of her ass, letting my fingers graze bare skin as I go. She shivers, her body responding before she can think better of it.
Her sneakers stop my progress. A soft hum rumbles through my chest as I kneel before her, slipping them off, first one, then the other, my hands cradling her ankles. Her sock-covered toes curl as I slide the fabric down, baring every inch of her to me.
Her legs tremble beneath my touch, and my stomach tightens. I run my fingers slowly up the delicate skin of her calves, over her knees, up her thighs. She’s soft everywhere, warm and perfect.
I press my lips to the inside of her knee, murmuring against her skin.
“Little fire, you’re going to burn me alive.”
She exhales shaky, hips shifting, desperate to close the space, needing more.
I press another kiss just above the lace of her panties, my tongue flicking out, tasting salt on her skin. My fingers catch the waistband, and for a second, I almost lose it.
I could tear them off. I should tear them off.
Instead, I go slow, savoring the feel of fabric gliding down her legs, peeling it away inch by inch. My jaw locks at the sight of her bare for me. Wet for me.
I ball the lace in my fist, shoving it into my pocket.
Mine.
Dragging my nose along her hip, I inhale deeply, drowning in her scent—peaches and heat, desire and surrender.
I press my lips lower, hovering over the curls between her legs, teasing a breath over her center, listening as her breath hitches.
She’s dripping.
For me.
I glance up, smirking against her skin.
"You know I’ll ruin you, don’t you?"
My voice is a growl, thick with hunger, roughened by the patience I barely have left. My hands glide up the soft skin of her inner thighs, my thumbs pressing gently, spreading her open for me. I need to see all of her. Need her to feel exposed.
She gasps, fingers fisting in my hair, holding on, already anchoring herself. Already knowing what’s coming.
“Finn.”
One word. My name. It almost ruins me. Breathless. Pleading. I should make her beg, make her say please, draw it out until she’s shaking apart.
But I’m gone. Too far for that.
I should take a picture—her against my window, bare from the waist down, knees trembling, lips parted on a silent gasp. Perfect. Mine.
Her scent floods the air, hot and decadent, dizzying me.
She smells like sin. A dessert made for me. Something I should savor.
Ruin.
She’s so ready to come apart. I drag my mouth lower, barely grazing her skin, watching her stomach quiver, her breath stutter. A wicked smirk tugs at my lips.
“So sensitive,” I murmur against her thigh, teasing my nose along the crease between her leg and her core. “Is that for me, little fire?”
Her nails scratch against my scalp, making my cock throb painfully in my jeans. I slide my palms up, gripping her hips, my thumbs digging in just enough to keep her still.