9. Ani
Ani
I don’t know what I thought would happen when I said yes. Maybe the floor would open and I’d be dropped into the pit of my own recklessness. Or, I don’t know, that he’d laugh in my face and tell me he was just kidding.
But instead, he just moves. Grabs my wrist and starts walking.
My heart pounds so hard in my chest. Can he hear it? He must.
I follow him without a word, conscious of the silence in the house. Jonah and Boone must be out. Or maybe they’re here and we’re pretending they’re not.
My thoughts are all tangled—threaded with panic and excitement. Is this really happening?
My hands are sweating, and I wish I had thought to brush my hair or change my shirt or…anything. I’m not ready. But I also don’t want to stop.
This is not who I am.
Except, what if it is?
At the door to my room, he pauses. He doesn’t let go of my wrist, but I have the sinking feeling that he’s going to put a stop to this before it’s even begun. The thought sours in my stomach. He glances over his shoulder, those bright eyes locking on mine, and I freeze.
“We don’t have to,” he says softly. “Any part of it. You say stop and we stop.”
I nod. I mean to answer aloud, but my throat is tight. This feels like too much. But not in the way that scares me. It’s the opposite at this point.
The door shuts behind us with a quiet click and I lock it. My heart feels too big for my chest.
I’m suddenly very aware of the bed. The pile of folded clothes on the chair. The little stack of books I pillaged from around the house yesterday. And the bag of toys—the one I half-shoved under the bed after sorting through everything he gave me.
This was a mistake.
But I don’t say that. I just stand there, waiting for him to do something. Waiting to see if this is the moment I dissolve into pieces.
He lets go of my hand and gestures for me to sit.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod again, barely breathing.
I perch on the edge of the bed. My fingers knot themselves in the hem of the shirt I’m wearing—Jonah’s, I think. It smells clean and not too strong, which I like. None of them seems to wear a heavy scent. It’s…refreshing.
You’re thinking too much, Ani.
My stomach flutters when I see the way he’s watching me. I press my knees together, and I’m pretty sure my legs are trembling. I’m bracing for something, though I don’t know what.
Finn doesn’t rush. He watches as he kneels in front of me and places his hands on my bouncing legs.
“You can stop me at any time,” he says again, and this time, I manage to answer.
“I know.”
He’s watching me again. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for, but I must give the right signal because he moves. But he doesn’t go for the toys.
That surprises me. I thought we were headed straight toward the part I’m not supposed to think about—let alone want. I was wrong.
Carefully, he lifts one of my wrists and presses his lips to the inside of it.
Definitely not what I was expecting. And yet…I really like it.
He presses another kiss to my skin, this one on the inside of my wrist. Then the inside of my elbow, and on my shoulder, where the collar of the shirt dips. Another at the base of my neck, right where my pulse flutters.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. My mind is spinning. His lips are the only thing keeping me grounded. His mouth is not rough or teasing or commanding—it’s tender, and that’s what undoes me.
Because this is the opposite of everything I’ve known.
He’s not trying to take anything from me. He’s giving. It’s not about expectations or consequences or performance.
He sits back on his heels and meets my eyes.
“Still okay?”
I nod again, and this time, my voice is steadier.
“Yes.”
That word lands differently now. I’ve said it so many times in my life, and most of the time I didn’t really mean it. But this one is real.
His hands move slowly. One settles against my waist, the other brushing my thigh. He doesn't reach for the hem of my shirt yet. Not until I give him confirmation that I want this. So, I do, with a short nod.
I’m nervous, but I’m not scared.
I know the difference now.
His fingers trace the outside of my leg, from knee to hip. My skin tightens beneath his touch. My breath catches in that space between his hand and where it might go next. The anticipation is excruciating.
I don’t know what’s about to happen. I don’t know what I want. My body is out ahead of me, answering before my thoughts have caught up. There’s heat pooling in places I was taught to silence.
I’m aware of every inch of my skin, especially the parts he hasn’t touched yet.
He pulls back slightly, his hands moving to the bottom of my shirt. He pauses, giving me a moment to object. I nod, confirming I don’t want him to stop.
He lifts the fabric over my head, exposing me. I cross my arms instinctively.
“You’re okay,” he promises.
I nod and make myself breathe deeper. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it gives me space. He kisses the slope of my shoulder again, then the center of my chest, just above my bra.
He moves behind me and unhooks the clasp with careful fingers. My heart stumbles in my chest. I fight the urge to pull the straps back up.
He shifts, guiding me gently backward until I’m lying down on the bed. The movement is slow enough that it doesn’t startle me, but my breath still stutters. My hands, unsure of where to land, hover for a moment before settling over my stomach.
His eyes flick to my hands, then to my face, and he waits.
I breathe in through my nose, then out, and move my hands to the mattress.
His palm returns to my thigh. “You’re allowed to feel good and you actually deserve to feel good,” he says, the words landing so softly I almost don’t catch them.
His hand moves again. The pads of his fingers follow the curve of my waist, lingering at the softest parts of me. There’s no shame in the way he touches me.
He leans in and kisses just below my navel. Then higher, just between my ribs. Then the center of my chest. His mouth is warm, unhurried. Every kiss feels intentional, placed more for me than for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
I’ve heard that before. But not like this. Not while lying flat on my back with barely any clothes between us.
My chest rises unevenly.
“You doing okay?”
I nod, and I mean it.
He moves higher and kisses the space just below my collarbone. I tilt my head slightly, and he takes the cue, kissing the length of my neck. My pulse jumps. I know he feels it.
His mouth finds the curve beneath my jaw. Then the corner of my chin. My skin is hypersensitive.
He hesitates for a moment, his breath stilling where it brushes my cheek. Finn leans in, slow enough for me to change my mind. When his lips brush mine, I nearly whimper at the contact.
My first kiss.
My mouth doesn’t quite know how to shape itself, but he doesn’t push. He gives me time to find him. I kiss back awkwardly at first. I miss his mouth the second time, brushing too far to the right. He tilts his head and meets me again, correcting gently.
It’s not what I expected.
There aren’t fireworks or violins or anything I read about in books. But it feels amazing.
His hand cradles my jaw. His tongue grazes mine, coaxing instead of claiming. I open more.
My hands move without me thinking about where I should place them. One lands on his forearm—the other slides up to his chest. I curl my fingers there.
I feel the sound he makes more than I hear it—a low hum at the back of his throat. He pulls back a fraction, then kisses me again. My chest lifts into him. My legs shift. Every part of me starts to answer his touch.
I’ve never had this. Not with Davit. Not with anyone. I was told it would happen in time. That love could grow. That physical closeness would come only after the papers were signed and the right people had given their blessing.
His hand drifts upward again. When it reaches the side of my breast, he hesitates.
I take his hand and press it there. His eyes close, breath catching low in his chest. The sound he makes is quiet but raw, pulled from somewhere deep.
He cups me fully, palming my breast and squeezing lightly.
When his thumb grazes the top, my body arches instinctively.
He shifts his weight to one elbow, still braced beside me, and lowers his other hand back down between my legs.
His finger strokes once, just over the outer part of me. It’s nothing. Just pressure. But it’s also oddly intense. I feel the echo of it ripple upward, tightening something in my belly.
His fingers pause.
“Do you want to keep going?”
I nod, breath shallow. “Please.”
The word is small, but it feels so big right now.
He just watches my face while his hand moves back to me. At first, he just glides across the surface. Then his fingers spread me gently—the sensation makes my legs tense—and he rubs his finger over my clit. Every muscle in my lower body locks in place.
His eyes don’t leave mine as he strokes again. His voice follows, tucked close to my ear.
“Tell me what feels good.”
I don’t know how to answer.
He keeps touching me. Light pressure. Then a little more. Then back again. My thighs twitch.
When he slips one finger inside, my hips tilt up. I don’t mean to move. It just happens.
He pauses. “Okay?”
I nod. I can’t speak at this point.
He moves again, deeper this time, the pad of his finger touching a spot that makes my breath catch. The pull of it goes straight through me. I clench around him, startled by the strength of it.
His lips press to the inside of my thigh. He adds another finger. The stretch is more than I expect. My hand grips the sheet, desperate for something to hold.
He curls his fingers slightly. My hips jerk, and he does it again.
I gasp.
“That?” he asks.
I nod again.
My hips move against his hand. There’s a pressure building fast now. I want this.
I want it so much.
He strokes again, then leans forward and kisses my hip. My body jumps under him.
He presses onto his knees, his fingers never stopping their delicious, slow thrust. When he settles again, I feel his heat just inches away. I want to let him be the one to show me how this happens.
All of a sudden, he withdraws his hand.
I almost protest, but then he lowers his mouth between my legs, and I stop breathing.
The first stroke of his tongue is slow. The pressure is light and it feels so damn good. My hips buck upward, unsteady. He holds me there, hands firm on my thighs, and returns to that same spot again and again.
He builds the rhythm back up as he listens to my body. I don’t speak, but evidently my body does. Every twitch, every gasp, every shift of my hand gets read and answered.
His tongue flicks, then rolls, then presses deeper. My back arches. It’s coming…I can feel it coming.
My orgasm comes in waves. It hits my thighs first, then my stomach, then everything else. I don’t realize I’ve cried out until I hear the sound echo off the walls.
He doesn’t stop. Not until I collapse against the mattress, completely boneless and twitching with little aftershocks. Then he lifts his mouth, only to kiss the inside of my thigh.
My whole body feels untethered. I feel warm and open and undone.
He stays where he is, chin resting lightly on my hipbone. One of his hands slips into mine. My body is still humming. The kind of hum that starts deep and lingers.
Eventually, he shifts and kisses my stomach again before lifting his head. His hand smooths over my ribs, and then he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my mouth.
Then he pulls back and moves down the bed, gathering the blanket from the foot of the bed and pulling it around me.
For a moment, I think he’s going to leave me alone.
But then he lies down beside me and draws me into him.
My body finds the curve of his chest and his arms come around me fully.
One tucks beneath my neck, the other settles over my hip.
“You did so good, beautiful.”
My eyes close even though I’m trying hard to keep them open. I’m tired in a way I’ve never been. Finn doesn’t leave, and I’m so grateful.
Wrapped in his arms, I’m able to let go.