12. A Thorn among the Flowers #6
“Thanks, Finn,” I murmur, barely registering I’ve said it aloud.
He tilts his head, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “For what?”
“For this,” I reply, gesturing to the space between us—to the quiet and the way he seems to know exactly what to say, even when I don’t quite know myself.
He gives me a small nod, his eyes holding mine a moment longer before he glances back up at the sky. “Anytime, Triona. I mean it.”
A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, his lips twitching with a familiar smirk and a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, arching a brow, though I’m already smiling.
He turns his gaze back to me, still grinning. “You know, ye’re a little too good at overseein’.”
“Oh?” I tease. “Flawless officiating, I’m sure.”
He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. His touch is brief, but it lingers—an echo across my skin. A thrill shoots down my spine, and though my cheeks warm, I hold his gaze, doing my best to mask the grin tugging at my lips.
“Flawlessly terrifying, more so.”
“Terrifying?” I scoff. “You’re just sore because I called you out. Maybe I ought to go easier on you next time—if you can’t handle the heat .”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nae, wouldnae dream of it.” His gaze lingers on mine, and his grin fades, leaving an expression that’s far too sincere, far too real.
“But ye’re tougher than any of the men that played today. I’ll give you that,” he adds, his voice dropping to an indistinct murmur.
I huff a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “I beat my brother once, and now you’re all acting as if I’m some fearsome supernatural being.”
A low, rasping chuckle escapes him as he catches my wrist before I can pull away. His thumb grazes the rapid beat at its centre. When his eyes lift to meet mine—shadowed, unreadable—my breath falters .
“I think it suits you,” he says, his tone soft, almost reverent as his eyes move over me in a slow caress. “Keepin’ us all in line.”
I wet my lips, and Finn clocks the movement instantly.
“Don’t think you’ll sweet-talk your way out of this,” I state, tugging at my wrist. But he doesn’t let go.
Instead, he grins—slow and wicked.
When I go to swing at him with my free hand, he catches it midair, fast and firm.
“Ah, ah,” he warns softly, and in one fluid motion, he shifts.
I don’t have time to react before I’m on my back, his weight pinning me to the ground.
He’s everywhere. His body flush against mine. My wrists pinned above my head. His breath hot on my face.
And just like that, the moment turns.
Neither of us moves.
Time folds in on itself. My pulse roars. My breath stutters. The space between us vanishes, and the silence sings with tension so taut it trembles.
One move could change everything.
And it feels like something I want. Something I shouldn’t want.
I find my voice, but it’s weaker than I want it to be. “Finnis MacGregor—”
His name is a tremble on my lips. And then he’s there—closer. His breath ghosting over my mouth, his lips barely brushing mine.
“If you don’t get off me, I swear—”
But the words dissolve because there’s no true meaning behind them.
“Ye’ll what?” he breathes, and the sound of it unravels something deep in me.
A noise escapes me—soft, fragile, shamefully wanting. A whimper. Barely there. But it betrays everything.
His grip tightens. His body stays locked against mine. His breath fans across my cheek, uneven now, as if he’s holding himself back.
“You might handle Callan and Casey with ease…” his voice dips lower still, his breath dragging slow and hot across my skin, “but they’re … not … me .”
A shiver rolls down my spine.
The silence between us stretches—thick, molten. It hums, strung tight like a bow pulled to breaking.
And he’s right.
There is no one in this realm quite like him.
No one whose words soothe the storm inside me, yet set my skin aflame. No one else that can hold me down like this and make me feel as if I belong here. No one who makes me feel as safe and seen as he does.
His strength should unnerve me. Should make me fight back harder, make me remind him—remind myself—that I bow to no man.
Instead, it makes me want to yield.
I want him pressing me down, keeping me here, making me feel every bit of his dominance until I forget how to fight it.
And his breath alone is enough to make my thighs press together with aching, helpless need.
I shouldn’t feel this way. Not about Finn. Not about the man who’s always been my steady ground.
But I do. Desperately .
I buck my hips in a last-ditch effort to dislodge him—to escape the direction my mind is going—but it only pulls us closer.
He groans, low and strained. His grip tightens, his body tenses, and his expression darkens.
His eyes drink me in as if I’m something sacred and dangerous all at once. Like he’s been starving for me—holding this craving back for far too long.
And for a single, suspended heartbeat, I can feel he’s going to kiss me.
Then he blinks, and the spell breaks.
He releases me like I’ve burned him. He rolls off of me, and the loss is sudden and cold.
He sits beside me, his back half-turned, jaw clenched, breath uneven.
A beat passes. Then another.
He clears his throat. His voice is rough, scraping low. “Despite what society says,” he murmurs, “and despite my jest… ye’re a natural leader. You always have been.”
I sit up slowly, heart still thundering against my ribs. Despite the lingering tension, his words settle warmly in my chest.
Finn turns to me, unflinching.
“Listen to me, Triona. You dinnae wait for permission. You never bend for comfort or tradition. Do what’s right for you, and you hold it. And the ones who matter? They’ll follow. ”
It feels like the kindest, fiercest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Not flattery. Not comfort. But truth. A truth he’s handed me like a weapon I forgot I already held.
“Thanks,” I manage, unsure what I’m thanking him for—the reassurance, his steadiness, his presence when I need it most, or for stopping when I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
“When things matter—well, you’ve always been good at this,” I say. “This sort of thing.”
He offers me a reassuring smile. “It’s always been easy with you.”
The quiet confession lands between us, heavy with meaning.
Silence lingers, taut with words neither of us can say. It feels as if we’re teetering on the edge of something fragile—one step forward could change everything.
But neither of us moves.
Eventually, the silence softens, unravelling into quiet conversation.
We speak of the day, of old memories and new ones waiting to be made, and of nothing in particular.
His quiet presence grounds me in a way so few others can.
And when I pause, he doesn’t rush to fill the silence.
He simply waits—constant, unwavering, like the stars above.