13. FINN #2
“Good call.”
Her smile lingers for half a second before she looks toward her parents’ table. “We should say good night.”
We make the rounds quickly. Her mother hugs her, then surprises me by hugging me too. Bailey’s dad shakes my hand again and says he’ll see us at brunch. Lily catches Bailey for one last hug, and Bailey’s whole face softens in a way that makes me step back and give them the moment.
When we finally make it into the hallway, Bailey exhales.
“Long day?” I ask.
She laughs softly. “The longest.”
The hallway is empty except for us, softer than the ballroom, the carpet muffling every step.
The elevator doors open the second I press the button.
The mirrored walls catch us from every angle. Bailey barefoot, hair loosened from the night, lips a little darker from champagne. Me beside her in a suit that suddenly feels too tight at the collar.
“Finn,” she says.
I drag my gaze to her face. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.” I’m too tired to pretend I’m not looking at her like a man at the end of his restraint.
Her throat moves as she swallows. “You usually have a comeback.”
“I’m out.”
“Of comebacks?”
“Of reasons to use them.”
The elevator hums around us.
Bailey’s fingers tighten around the straps of her heels. “That sounds like trouble.”
“It is.”
The numbers change too slowly.
Five.
Six.
Seven should arrive any second.
It doesn’t.
Bailey pushes away from the wall, just enough that she’s not leaning anymore. Just enough that the space between us gets smaller without either of us officially taking blame.
“We said friends,” she says.
“I know.”
“We said no making it complicated.”
“I know.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth, and my control slips another inch.
“And?” I ask.
Her breath comes out unevenly. “And I’m starting to think that ship sank somewhere around the second dance.”
I should laugh, but I don’t.
I reach for her slowly, giving her every chance to step back. My hand settles at her waist, light at first, barely there.
She doesn’t move away.
“Bailey.”
Her name comes out rough.
Her eyes stay on mine. “Yes.”
I haven’t asked a question.
She answers anyway.
I bend my head, and she meets me halfway.
The first touch of her mouth is soft enough to feel careful. Careful lasts maybe half a second.
Then she makes this small sound against my lips, and all the heat I’ve been trying to manage all night moves through me at once.
I kiss her deeper.
Her hand comes to my chest, fingers grabbing the collar of my jacket. The heels in her other hand bump my thigh. I slide my palm fully around her waist and draw her closer, just enough that her body lines up with mine, and my brain finally stops trying to talk me out of wanting her.
I cup her jaw with my other hand, my thumb brushing the soft skin below her cheekbone. She tilts into it, opening for me, and the kiss turns hot in a way that makes the elevator feel too small and nowhere near private enough for what I want.
There’s a ding, and the doors open on our floor. Bailey looks at me with parted lips, flushed cheeks, and a kind of stunned honesty that nearly takes me out at the knees.
“Floor seven,” she says.
“Right.”
Neither of us moves.
Then the doors start to close.
Bailey presses a hand to my chest and laughs under her breath, shaky and breathless. “Finn.”
I catch the door with one hand.
We step into the hallway. I keep my hand off her because if I touch her again, I’m not sure we’ll make it to the room without becoming the kind of hotel guests people complain about in reviews.
Bailey walks beside me, shoes still in hand, breathing not quite steady.
At our door, she pulls the key card from her clutch and opens the door.
The room is dark except for the lamp by the window. The city glows beyond the curtains. Two beds wait there like they have any authority left in this situation.
Bailey steps inside.
I follow and let the door close behind us.
The air in the room is cool, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the elevator ride, but the fire raging under my skin doesn’t care about the thermostat. I back her against the wall, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me so she can feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Tell me no.”
Her eyes soften, but the heat stays. “I don’t want to.”
My pulse kicks hard.
“Tell me to stop.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“Bailey.”
She reaches for my loosened tie, fingers sliding around the silk, and gives it one slow tug.
Her eyes stay on mine. “I’m done being the reasonable one.”
That breaks whatever control I have left.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her again, and this time there’s nothing careful about the way she kisses me back. Her arms go around my neck. Her body presses into mine. I pull her closer, one hand at her waist, the other sliding into her hair, and the sound she makes nearly ends me.
Bailey gets the first two buttons of my shirt open, and I forget how to breathe like a functioning adult.
Her hands are on my skin. Her palms slide over my chest, warm and curious, and every controlled thought I’ve had all night goes straight to hell. I’ve been touched before. I’ve had women look at me like they know exactly what they want and expect me to give it to them.
This isn’t that.
This is Bailey Sutton, careful and bold at the same time, staring at the bare skin under her hands like she’s finally letting herself want something without apologizing for it.
It makes me want to wreck her.
Wreck that careful control. Kiss the sharpness right out of her until she’s breathless, flushed, and moaning my name.
I shrug out of the shirt and let it fall. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to start thinking you like what you see.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “You already think that.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But I like hearing you confirm it.”
I press her back against the wall and kiss her again. Harder this time.
Her breath hitches, her chest heaving against mine. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown dark with the same hunger that’s been gnawing at me all night. The scent of her, jasmine and champagne and something uniquely her, fills my head, drowning out the faint hum of the city outside the window.
“Finn,” she breathes, my name a plea on her lips.
Her hands slide back to my chest, her breath catches, and her gaze flicks down between us, quick and unmistakable.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to rip that dress off of you all night,” I say.
Her eyes come back to mine, darker now. “You’re not hiding it as well as you think.”
A rough laugh leaves me. “Wasn’t trying that hard.”
“Clearly.”
I kiss her again. Her mouth opens under mine, and the whole room tilts.
The kiss moves away from being gentle.
I kiss her like a man possessed. She gives it back just as hard, her arms slipping around my neck, fingers pushing into my hair.
Her little gasp against my mouth is the best sound I’ve heard all season.
Better than the horn after a goal, the crowd after a win.
Better than my name shouted from the stands.
This one is just for me.
“Hey,” I say. “We can slow down whenever you want.”
Her thumb brushes my jaw. “Damn it, Finn. I don’t want to slow down.”
“Message received.”
“I don’t want you treating me like I’m fragile.”
That pulls a smile out of me, low and real. “Trust me, Sutton. Fragile isn’t the word I’m thinking right now.”
I reach behind her, my fingers fumbling slightly with the zipper of her dress before I find the tab.
The metal teeth part with a low hiss. I slide the fabric down her shoulders, letting gravity do the rest. The dress pools at her feet, leaving her standing there, against the wall, in nothing but lace.
My eyes scan the curve of her body, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her hips flare.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I growl, the words scraping up my throat.
I drop to my knees in front of her and press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the soft swell of her breast, tasting the salt of her skin, then trail my lips down her stomach.
My fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, dragging the black lace down her legs slowly, torturing us both.
She steps out of them, and I toss them aside.
I look up at her from the floor, my hands gripping her hips to steady her. Her hands are in my hair, her fingers tangling in the messy strands, pulling just enough to send a jolt of pleasure down my spine. I lean in, my breath ghosting over her core, and her thighs tremble.
“Finn,” she gasps again, her voice breaking.
I press a kiss to her inner thigh, my rough stubble scratching against the sensitive skin, marking her.
I tease her, nipping and licking everywhere but where she needs me most. Her hips buck, a silent demand, and I finally give in.
I drag my tongue flat against her pussy, tasting her wetness. She’s already soaked and ready for me.
I flick my tongue over her clit, slow and deliberate, feeling the little bud harden under my attention.
I lap at her, relentless. I’m focused entirely on her, on the sounds she’s making, on the way her fingers are tightening in my hair, pulling me closer.
I want to ruin her. I want to be the only thing she feels.
I suck her clit into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, and she cries out, her back arching off the wall. I don’t let up. I work her with my mouth and my hands, my fingers digging into her ass to hold her steady as she starts to come undone.
“Close?” I murmur against her, my voice thick with need.
She nods frantically, her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat.
I double down, sucking harder, flicking faster, until she shatters.
Her orgasm rips through her, her walls clenching, my name a ragged scream on her lips as she rides the wave.
I lick her through it, drawing out every last tremor until she’s slumped against the wall, her chest heaving.
I stand up, shedding my clothes in seconds. My shirt hits the floor, followed by my pants and boxers. My cock springs free, hard and demanding, aching for release.
I grip Bailey’s hand, pulling her away from the wall and toward the bed.
The back of her knees hit the mattress, and I push her down.
She bounces slightly, her hair fanning out across the white duvet.
I crawl over her, capturing her wrists in one of my hands and pinning them above her head.
It puts her completely at my mercy, and the trust in her eyes makes my chest tight.
I guide her thigh, hooking it over my hip to open her up for me. I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging against her wet heat.
“Take it deep,” I command, and thrust into her with a groan.
She’s tight, so fucking tight, and wet enough to take all of me.
I fill her completely, burying myself to the hilt.
I still for a second, letting us both adjust to the sensation, but the need to move is overwhelming.
I set a brutal pace, my hips snapping against hers, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.
I watch her face as I fuck her, the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes squeeze shut. I want her to see me, to know who’s making her feel this.
“Open your eyes, Bailey. Look at me.”
She looks at me, wide-eyed as I slow down, grinding into her, hitting that deep spot inside her that makes her gasp.
“Touch yourself,” I growl, my voice rough.
I release her wrists, but she leaves them where they are for a moment before her hand drifts down. Her fingers find her clit, circling it in time with my thrusts. The sight alone nearly undoes me. Her breath hitches, her walls fluttering around me as she nears the edge again.
“Fuck, Bailey, come for me,” I demand, my grip on her hips tightening, bruising.
She clenches around me, her pussy milking my cock as her second orgasm crashes into her. The sensation is too much. I drive into her one last time, deep and hard, and let go. My release rips through me, my whole body shuddering with the force of it. Her name is a ragged whisper on my lips.
We collapse onto the bed, a tangled heap of limbs and heavy breathing. The room spins slightly, the adrenaline fading into a warm, heavy satisfaction.
For a few seconds, I can’t move.
Can’t think.
Can’t do anything but breathe against her skin and try not to crush her.
Eventually, I shift my weight to the side, pulling her with me, draping my arm over her waist to keep her close.
Her breathing slowly evens out against my neck. Mine takes a bit longer.
She shifts onto her side, facing me, hair messy against the pillow. In the low light, she looks softer than I’ve ever seen her and somehow no less dangerous.
“You’re staring again,” she murmurs.
“Yeah.”
“No comeback?”
“Still out.”
Her mouth curves, but the smile is smaller now. More careful.
I can almost see her mind starting to move. Organizing. Sorting. Trying to find a safe place for what just happened.
“Hey,” I say.
Her eyes come back to mine.
“Don’t run off in your head yet.”
She exhales softly. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m right here.”
“I know.” I touch her hair, pushing it back from her cheek. “Just stay here with me for a minute.”
For a second, I think she might argue.
Then she doesn’t.
She moves closer instead, tucking herself against my chest like she’s tired of fighting the night.
I wrap my arm around her.
Carefully at first.
Then tighter when she settles in.
The room goes quiet again. Different from last night. No second bed between us. No rules. No two adults lying in the dark, trying to convince themselves that distance is necessary.
Her skin is warm against mine, her breath against my chest, her fingers resting near my heart, her hair tickling my chin. I press a kiss to the top of her head, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder.
Her breathing evens out first, slowing down as sleep pulls her under. I follow close behind, the exhaustion finally catching up with me. We stay tangled together, the heat of the night still clinging to our skin, safe in the quiet dark of the hotel room.