22. Warm and Fuzzies
Courtney
Finn lives in an unembellished two-story house in the middle of his street. It’s exactly the kind of place I would expect a nonmaterialistic man like Finn to live. Nothing too flashy, but the house still boasts ample space and a cozy vibe. His front lawn is maintained and green, although patchy in some spots, most likely from forgetting to water it after a long day of work, but overall, it’s respectable for being owned by a bachelor.
“How am I scoring so far?” Finn’s eyes remain trained straight ahead as we approach his place, the curl at the corner of his lips exposing his attempt to hide a knowing smile. It’s like he can read my thoughts and tell that I’m taking notes on his property.
“So far, so good,” I answer honestly, a cocky air to my voice. I lift my chin to glance up at him. “The inside is the real test.”
Finn unlocks the front door with an intricate key that would look more natural in the 19th century. The key rejects today’s standards of sleek, modern minimalism, as much of Havenwood itself does. “Be gentle on me,” he winks, that irresistible half-smile returning as he holds the door open for me.
I cast him a cheeky smirk as I step past him, wasting no time in inspecting the living room, shamelessly allowing my critical gaze to cascade over the space.
The layout of the first floor is uncomplicated, with a thin staircase directly in front of the entryway, a living room to the right, and a decent-sized kitchen tucked in the corner of the house. I take a few steps into Finn’s living room; the space is furnished with a wall-mounted TV and a sectional couch that looks well-loved but clean, with a beautiful painting of a forest hanging above it. The wall furthest from the front door sports a bookshelf filled with genres ranging from political science to fantasy to popular SciFi titles. The space is simple but effortlessly posh.
I’d heard that there is a lot to learn about a man based on the way he keeps his place and, based on the fact that there isn’t a single hard sock or sports team-themed couch in sight, I would say Finn had superseded my expectations.
Finn watches me observantly as I finish my inspection, no doubt fighting the urge to make me vocalize my approval of his furnishing abilities. “I’m going to go upstairs and change, I promise to give you the grand tour later.” He says, taking my hand in his own and kissing the back of it. I bite my lip as I watch him trot up the stairs. I have half a mind to follow him, but I know that will lead to things we don’t have time for at the moment.
I try in vain to distract myself by continuing my snooping but the lingering idea of following Finn upstairs and watching him undress is debilitating. My brain won’t allow me to focus on anything other than the mental image of the delicious mayor shedding his clothes in the room right above my head. Screw it, I decide, making my way up the staircase.
I try to remain silent as I climb to the second-floor landing. Once there, I’m faced with three identical doors. I start with the one to my left and find it to be an empty guest bedroom, the door in front of me is the upstairs bathroom, which leaves the door to my right. I slowly twist the knob and push the door inward. This is the room I was looking for.
Finn stands with his toned back facing me, his shirt already on the floor, giving me an excellent view of his bare muscles. I’d been so quiet in my ascent that he hadn’t even noticed me watching him. I stare in silence as he pulls off his belt, the leather snaking around his hips before being dropped at his feet. As he reaches for his pants, a longing noise escapes from me, the sound drenched in horniness - and unfortunately - loud enough to reveal my voyeuristic position. Finn casts his gaze at me over his pale shoulder, surprise evident on his handsome face.
“Couldn’t wait for the tour, hm?” He chortles, turning to face me properly. His pants are unbuttoned and unzipped, hanging open and revealing boxers that manage to hug his bulge disgusting well. I try to respond but the words evade me. I wet my lips, my eyes glued to the magic that I know is hidden below his briefs. Finn notices my distracted nature, honing in on what exactly has my attention. He smirks pridefully, taking a step closer to me. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“I want your cock to fill me up,” I answer honestly, my voice breathless as I drink in the sight of him. Even after the multiple rounds we had gone last night and our quickie this morning, I still did not have enough of Finn fucking Abernathy.
“As you wish,” he coos, deceivingly soft. He trails a gentle touch from my cheek into my hair as I stare up into his icy blue pools. I’m completely lost in their depths and the sweetness of his breath when a disorienting pain at the base of my skull brings me to my knees. I yelp as my hands fly to the source of the ache, only to find Finn’s fist buried in my tresses. I stare up at him wide-eyed, aggrievement strewn across my features. He had yanked me to my knees by my hair. “What the f-,” his grip tightens on my strands, ending my exclamation in another sharp cry. “You said you wanted my cock to fill you,” his thumb digs into his waistband, lowering the hem of his boxers and allowing his erection to spring free. “You didn’t specify where to fill you.”
I glance anxiously between Finn’s eyes and his hardened length. The initial shock had passed and, instead of being pissed off that he had practically thrown me to the floor, I’m wildly turned on. I love that he is mild-mannered, compassionate, and executive, but in the bedroom, he’s dominating and rough, all while meeting and surpassing my needs. And I love that even more. It feels like I get to see this secret, unhinged side to him that no one else does. This is our own little fantasy where he doesn’t have to be a mayor with the weight of his town on his shoulders and I don’t have to be the transplant torn between the safety and distance of her home and the man she’s falling in love with.
I lean forward and lick his tip, sending a shutter racking through his toned body.
“Such a good girl,” he praises before thrusting harshly into my mouth.
* * *
Half an hour and two orgasms later, we emerge from his bedroom, both of us in desperate need of a hair brush. Finn holds back a laugh as he attempts to soothe my wild brown flyaways, his eyes full of admiration.
“I’ll be right back.” He kisses my forehead before heading into the bathroom. I smile lazily in his direction as he disappears behind the restroom door, endorphins and other post-climax hormones giving me those warm and fuzzy feelings.
Seeing as we’re now running significantly late I decide to make my way down the stairs. I let my footsteps fall heavy as I descend, my body tired from our activities and in need of a nap. The promise of seeing the Havenwood garden is the only thing preventing me from turning around, going right back up the stairs, and sleeping the day away in Finn’s bed. As I wait at the base of the stairs, a golden shine catches my attention.
In the small space between the front door and the stairs rested a small wrought iron table adorned with gold picture frames, the light shining in from the windows causing a reflection to bounce off the frames. I smile to myself, knowing a sentimental man like Finn would have kept photos of his friends and family somewhere in his house. I drag myself over and peruse the photos, noticing a few familiar faces. Agnes, with fewer gray hairs, hugging a young Finn and Milo, who are sporting more acne and even braces! I knew Milo couldn’t have been born with such perfect teeth, it simply wouldn’t have been fair. I glance to the next frame and stumble upon a pair of faces I don’t recognize.
A man and a woman with a toddler version of Finn, the trio smiling wide for the picture, their coordinating shirt colors telling me it must have been a planned family photo. I observe the beautiful features of the woman, who I assume to be Finn’s mother, with her raven hair, glorious green eyes, and high cheekbones. She could have easily been a model with her stunning features and attractive dimples, her elven features reminding me of one of the characters from Lord Of The Rings. Finn’s father was a handsome man, despite rocking a less-than-desirable hairline, with a strong nose and jawline and icy blue eyes he had passed down to his son.
Finn makes his way down the stairs with a brush in hand, interrupting my snooping as he does. His pace slows as he takes notice of which picture I am admiring.
“You look so much like your mother,” I offer, unsure of how Finn will react to discussing his late parents. His lips twist into a reminiscent smile as he approaches the small collection of pictures, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
“She would have loved you,” He says softly. No, sadly. I reach behind me to place a comforting hand on his cheek.
“They were the best parents a kid could ask for - save for Agnes and Phil, of course.” He lets a small exhale of air out through his nose.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did they pass?” I question delicately, not trying to pry any further than necessary or rake Finn across painful memories.
“Fire,” he responds shortly. “It took them, our house, almost everything we had. I only have this picture because it was our Christmas card one year, and luckily, Agnes saved it.”
The idea of young Finn being orphaned without any home or belongings to speak of pulls the corners of my mouth down into an empathetic frown. Thank God for Agnes and her husband, I think silently to myself. Not only had they welcomed their son’s orphaned friend with open arms, but they had done so without hesitation despite Finn not having a single thing to his name. Who’s to say what would have happened to him if they hadn’t stepped up? My perception of Agnes is already a great one but this moves her up to saintly status in my eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Finn.”
He kisses the crown of my head and gives my core a reassuring squeeze.
“Let’s get your hair brushed out before we go or else we’ll really be the talk of Havenwood.”