Chapter 32
VIOLET
FINN RUBS HIS THUMB AGAIN over my tattoo and I feel like I’m going to burn alive from this. He strokes the spot, and I think if he does that enough times in a row, I’ll combust.
Violet, he says, not looking at me, my name guttural on his mouth.
A plea and a summons and again, like his touch in the church, some hint of a promise.
He’s going to kiss me, I think.
But there’s no one here to witness this game, this phony act. Well, it’s an act for him anyway. I’m not sure it’s ever been one for me.
And that thought stills me. I don’t know what any of this is for him. There’s something here, attraction, maybe? But I feel like he’s getting caught up in our game—forgetting that he’s got someone back in Scotland he’s trying to win over.
Or maybe that’s part of it. To feel like he’s fully made his point to whoever she is.
He lifts my wrist up gently to his mouth and kisses that four-leaf clover, eyes closed. Soft. Tentative.
Finn— it comes out in a half-gasp, half-moan that leaves me mortified. I want to tell him to stop, that would be the logical thing to say right now. To put an end to this madness and frenzy that’s only real for one of us.
He finally looks at me again and I feel like I might die from it, this wanting. I see it reflected back at me, the desire in him. His mouth is only a graze away from mine now. God, I want to taste him.
Would it be so bad, even if it is one-sided, to give in just a little bit?
Yes, some distant part of me thinks, you will never recover from this. You let him see too much.
He says onto my lips, Say it again please Violet?
What had I said? I can barely think, barely remember my own name—he moves his hand firmly onto my lower back, pulling our bodies flush, and I gasp out the only word on my mind.
Finn.
His mouth crashes into mine and I feel like my knees might give out from the relief. His left hand fists into the fabric of my dress, his right hand moving up my neck and into my hair, gently, as if he remembers not to mess it up.
His touch snaps whatever final tether I’ve been tied to sanity with, and I let the madness consume me.
I can’t get enough of him. I moan into his mouth and he does something akin to a laugh, but it stops abruptly when I push myself further into him, and he takes a sharp intake of breath.
I had imagined what kissing Finn would be like if it wasn’t just for show. To have that confidence and arrogance turned into something fiendish and primal. But this was somehow more than I imagined, built up over weeks and weeks. Ravenous and demanding and tender at the same time.
Even if it’s not as serious for him, does it matter? I know he’s going to leave—but selfishly, I want all of him before he does.
I shift my hips, feeling him rock hard against me and I think if he doesn’t get inside of me this instant, I will die.
A sharp knock rapping against the door has both of us jolting apart, staring at each other wide-eyed and heaving. I can only imagine how horrified I look right now, but Finn looks so good it’s almost crushing, his hair mussed and shirt ruffled and lips slightly swollen.
You two ready in there? Alba calls in through the cabin door.
Finn stares at me, his chest rising and falling in great gulps, looking almost murderous at our being interrupted.
Coming, I manage to squeak out, daring to glance at the door. Just a sec!
His breathing is still heavy, but I see his features soften as realization dawns on him that we really do have to leave.
I have an instinct to rush across the room to him and promise that we’ll finish what we started here.
But I hold myself back, shoving the impulse down.
I don’t know what he wants, I don’t know what this is—and I don’t know where the line between fantasy and reality runs for him.
I’ve let him see so much of me already, and showing him any of this feels like a bridge too far.
I hate myself for avoiding his gaze, but I do, and I can’t bring myself to say anything other than a whispered, We should go.
And so we do.