Chapter 17
“How long are you planning to be insufferably smug about this?”
The storm had stopped after about ten minutes, the rain slowing to a drizzle before ceasing entirely.
The hike back to the trailhead had taken twice as long as the trip in, the path muddy and perilously slick.
Finn had spent the entirety of the walk back and the twenty-minute drive to his place shooting her knowing smiles that made her flush.
“You came so hard you made it monsoon,” he said, shutting the door behind her. “Honey, I’m going to my grave smug.”
“It was not a monsoon.”
“Unprecedented torrential downpour, they called it on the radio.” He kicked off his boots and she did the same, following him through the living room and into the kitchen, where he plucked a takeout menu off the fridge and handed it to her.
Pizza, perfect. “Twenty-four-hour rainfall records broken inside twenty minutes in both Fannin and Gilmer Counties, and we were sitting right on the border.” He smirked. “Tell me that’s not a monsoon.”
She opened her mouth—
“Without being pedantic.”
She shut it. “We don’t know that I caused it.”
Finn arched a brow, giving her a look that said Oh, really? “Weather forecast said it was supposed to be seventy-five and sunny.”
She laughed. “Oh yes, and we both know meteorologists never, ever get it wrong. It’s the most infallible of professions, the accuracy nigh on incomparable.”
“Smart-ass.” He stared at her with crinkle-eyed amusement. “Just admit it. I made you come so hard you caused a localized cataclysmic weather event.”
Her face burned, less because of what she’d done—though, yes, that was mortifying—but more because hearing Finn so casually say the words I made you come so hard had her thinking about when he’d do it again. How he’d do it again. “It was hardly cataclysmic, Finley.”
“It was biblical.” With two fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up and grinned down at her. “I was about to have to build us an ark.”
She snorted. “Don’t you think you’re blowing it a little out of proportion?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I got a push alert that you caused a mudslide in Ellijay, baby. They found six sheep in the Chattahoochee.”
She felt herself pale.
“Oh, they’re fine.” He waved off her concern. “Sheep swim.”
This was officially the strangest conversation she’d ever had. Which was really saying something considering the whole demon thing, as Finn put it.
“Okay, fine. I caused a small…cloudburst.” At this point, she refused to call it a monsoon on principle. “Don’t let it go to your head. Maybe it happens to me all the time. You don’t know.”
His lips twitched. “Does it?”
Well, no. “You gave me a nice orgasm, okay? Congratulations. Thank you.”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Really? That’s the word you’re going with? Nice?”
“Mm-hmm.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “It passed muster.”
“It passed—” His eyes flashed, his jaw ticking slightly forward before he shut his mouth and sent her a smile so dangerous it triggered some long-dormant prey instinct in her, her pulse stuttering in her throat. “All right, then.”
She looked at him sideways, his easy acquiescence making her suspicious. “All right?”
“Sure.” He gave an easy shrug. “Gotta start somewhere. I’m sure, given a little time, maybe some guidance, I’ll see your nice and raise you…well, I’d say earth-shattering, but who knows?” He smirked. “You might actually do that.”
Her breath quickened, and she rolled her eyes to belie the effect his words had on her, making her think of Finn actively pursuing her pleasure, trying to raise a bar that needed no raising, turning everything south of her navel liquid.
Greedy. Not an hour ago, he’d made her come so hard she’d caused a minor meteorological event, and already she wanted more, seconds and thirds, his hands, his mouth, his—
She swallowed hard and passed him back the menu, pressing it against his chest with a hand that trembled slightly. “I want pineapple.”
Finn curled his lip. “Okay, Jesus, you know what? Maybe I will renounce those vows.”
She scoffed. Not funny. “What’s wrong with pineapple?”
“Not a damn thing other than it doesn’t belong on my pizza.”
She crossed her arms. “And I imagine your choice of toppings is so superior?”
“As a matter of fact”—he, too, crossed his arms, widening his stance—“olives are a perfectly acceptable pizza topping. Totally inoffensive.”
“Perfectly polarizing, you mean. And absolutely not inoffensive.” She wrinkled her nose. “Olives belong in martinis, Finley, not on pizza.”
And, quite frankly, she wasn’t much fond of those, either.
His brows rose. “And pineapple belongs in a fruit salad.”
Touché. “Fine. Order your stupid olives. I’ll just pick them off.”
“We’ll do half and half,” he said, frowning. “You want pineapple, you’ll get your pineapple.”
Warmth spread through her chest. “Thank you.”
Finn hummed and placed the menu back on the fridge, pinning it in place with a smiley-face magnet. He called to place the order, digging his credit card out from his wallet and paying ahead. “Said it should be about forty, forty-five minutes.”
“Can I use your shower?” She pulled a leaf out of her hair. “I think I brought half the forest back with me.”
“Of course.”
He led her out of the kitchen and down the hall, stopping at the linen closet to grab towels and washcloths. He handed her one of each and said, “You can use the en suite. It should have everything you need. I promise I don’t use three-in-one.”
Everything she needed, hmm? “Will you not be joining me?”
His eyes darkened. “As tempting as that is, I’d better not. I can’t see either of us getting very clean, and quite frankly, I’m not confident the pipes in this house could handle what you might do to ’em. I’ll shower in the guest bath.”
“Hilarious.” She rolled her eyes. “Your loss.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “Don’t I know it.”
Like the rest of the house, the bathroom was small but clean, the walls painted a darker green than Finn’s bedroom, a rich pine with blue undertones, the tile all white and the fixtures brass.
The shower stall was separate from the bathtub, barely big enough for one person, let alone two, and suddenly Finn’s decision not to join her made a lot more sense.
She showered quickly, towel-dried her body, and dried her hair with magic, her curls otherwise liable to turn into a gigantic, frizzy mess.
There was a bottle of hair-and-beard oil on the vanity that smelled like sandalwood and cedar and sage and something else she couldn’t name, something almost like vanilla but darker, richer, with a residual smokiness that made her eyes flutter shut.
It was woodsier than she tended to personally favor in her products, but the thought of smelling like Finn sent a bolt of longing through her, too good to ignore.
She worked a liberal amount of the lightweight oil through her hair, leaving it down, long and loose, then considered her clothes lying on the floor.
While she could clean them with a snap of her fingers, she’d found magic had the unfortunate side effect of leaving her jeans uncomfortably starchy, as if she’d left them out to dry in the sun too long.
Finn was in the bedroom, his broad, bare back to her, a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He turned, looking at her over his shoulder, making a slow sweep of her, from her head down to her toes, his eyes lingering on where her towel ended mid-thigh.
He cleared his throat and dragged his eyes back up to her face, gesturing to the white T-shirt in his hand and the open dresser drawer in front of which he stood. “Forgot clothes.”
“Grab me something, too?”
He shut the drawer with his hip and sauntered across the room, stopping in front of her where she stood near the foot of his bed. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply, his eyes growing dark.
“You smell like me,” he rumbled, his throat working as he swallowed.
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “Does that do it for you?”
It did it for her, but then again—
“Everything about you does it for me,” he said, as if plucking the thought straight from her mind. “Your voice, your smile, how you say my name.” A stuttered breath slipped from his lips. “The way you’re looking at me right now really does it for me. Goddamn.”
She rested her hands on his stomach. “How am I looking at you?”
He reached out, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “Like you’re starving for me.” The muscles beneath her fingertips twitched. “Like you want to eat me alive.”
She inhaled sharply, heat pooling between her thighs, Finn’s words awakening a yearning inside her that was primal, the need to taste him consuming.
“Can I?” She trailed her hands lower, fingers curling under the waist of his sweats. “Please.”
“Jesus.” He groaned, low and desperate, the expression on his face that of agony as his hands snared her wrists. “You’re killing me.”
She shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“After,” he said, voice low, gravelly, making her throb as he walked her backward. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me after. Promise.”
The thought of being able to do whatever she wanted to him was a heady one. “After what?”
Her knees met the edge of the bed, and she tumbled onto the mattress. Finn followed her down, boxing her in with a hand on either side of her head. “I told you I wanted to raise you to earth-shattering, didn’t I?”