Chapter 11 #2
“Well, one time, I did brush my hair on a full moon. And it got so tangled that night that it took me a week to get the knots out. I haven’t done that since.”
“And no more tangles?”
“Not like that.”
“Better safe than sorry tends to be my motto,” he said, reaching for the garment bag. “I’ll go hang this up so it doesn’t get wrinkled.”
Iris finally finished her book as Finn sat watching videos of his political opponents on his laptop, until she couldn’t take it anymore and got up to go get ready for their night out.
It wasn’t until she was out of the bath and dripping wet that she realized she hadn’t grabbed a towel from the hall linen closet.
“Barnacles,” she grumbled, squeezing as much water out of her hair as possible, then using her hands to squeegee the rest of the water from her arms and chest.
Then, without stopping to check, she flew out of the bathroom, stark naked, to get a towel. And ran right into Finn.
“Whoa,” he grunted, his arms automatically going around her. At the feel of her bare skin, his whole body stiffened. And when he seemed to realize that one of his hands was firmly placed on her butt, another part of his body started to stiffen too.
There was no stopping the strange little whimpering sound that escaped her. Though she tried to do some mental gymnastics to convince herself it was simply from the delicious steamy scenes in her book, not the man whose body was pressed to hers.
“You okay?” he asked, the huskiness in his voice making her belly flip-flop. “Did something happen?”
“Yes,” she said, finding her own voice breathless.
“What was it?”
“I forgot a towel.”
To that, Finn let out a small rumbling chuckle.
She expected him to do the politically correct thing. To turn away, to give her privacy.
Instead, one arm stayed around her—the one with his hand on her butt—as the other reached out to open the linen closet and pull out a towel.
Before his arm fell away, his hand grazed over her round cheek in a way that no one could claim was accidental.
The desire grew, spread, started to burn through her as Finn took a step back to unfold the towel.
His gaze wasn’t on his task; he was drinking her up, his eyes tracking up and down her body for a short moment before he wrapped the towel around her back. He pulled the material forward, tightening it around her chest, his knuckles grazing her breasts in the process.
Another one of those needy sounds escaped her.
Something about that seemed to undo him, to loosen the control he kept such a tight hold on.
Iris found herself pushed back against the wall.
Then his hand was sliding up her thigh under the towel. There was the slightest pause as his fingers grazed the soft skin of her inner thigh, giving her a chance to change her mind, to say no, to move away.
But she wasn’t capable of moving right then, with the need coursing through her, with the passion in his eyes—something she couldn’t help but be transfixed by.
She wanted this.
And she wasn’t going to overthink herself out of it.
Iris’s hand slipped down, covering his, and pressing his hand between her thighs.
Her moan mingled with his hiss as he felt the proof of her desire.
Iris’s hand slipped away, letting Finn have full control. Her hand slid up his forearm instead, holding on to his bicep as his fingers moved upward.
A soft whimper escaped her as his thumb circled that pearl of her desire. The sound had Finn’s eyes burning as he watched her. He did another circle. Then another. Slow, deliberate. Over and over. Until her thighs were shaking and her nails were digging into his arm.
Only then did his movements pick up pace. Every brush of touch was a tide rising, every moan that escaped her the sound of waves cresting.
“Finn,” she whimpered, her hips rocking against his touch, begging—demanding—more.
Finn was happy to give her exactly what he sensed she needed.
Two of his fingers skimmed down, then slipped inside her.
He pressed her more firmly against the wall like he was bracing her for a storm as his fingers started to thrust.
The need was swelling, driving her up higher and higher, leaving her clinging to him, bracing for the fall, for the crash.
Her walls tightened around his fingers, dragging a groan out of Finn as his thumb continued to circle, as his fingers thrust.
“There you go,” he murmured. His voice was both rough and soft at the same time as her body tensed, as her head tilted up and a long moan escaped her.
The climax moved through her, a deep, throbbing pleasure that pulled her under the surface over and over, leaving her clinging to him, letting him anchor her as the waves kept pulling her under.
Her head fell into Finn’s chest, breathing in the scent of him that she’d grown so accustomed to.
She hadn’t known the notes at first, being earth scents.
She knew them then: bergamot, sandalwood, and vetiver.
They’re the most universally liked scents, Finn had told her when she’d mentioned his cologne.
That alone was enough to break the spell of her post-pleasure contentedness.
What was she doing?
How could she let Finn, of all humans, touch her that way?
She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand from between her thighs. Then shoved her hands against his chest for good measure.
She couldn’t blame him. She knew that logically. She’d wanted that. She’d encouraged it.
She was madder at herself than anything.
“Iris …” Finn called, gently grabbing her wrist as she started toward the bathroom again.
Was that regret in his voice? Remorse? Confusion? A combination of all three, maybe.
“That’s never happening again,” she told him, clearing his conscience but making it clear that it was a moment-ary lapse in judgment.
She closed herself in the bathroom, slumping against the door and trying to pull herself together.
She wasn’t supposed to like him. That hadn’t been part of the deal.
She was supposed to sabotage the engagement, not sink into his touch like it was a riptide dragging her under.
Worse still, she didn’t even know who she liked.
The real Finn? The one who touched her like she mattered?
Or The Suit Finn, built from campaign promises and perfect smiles?
Her feelings had always been a mess, but now her body had joined the rebellion as well.
And tonight, she had to fake a fairy-tale romance, knowing it was all lies. Knowing her skin still tingled from the truth.
Both her body and mind felt tugged in a dozen different directions.
On the one hand, she had wanted that more than she even wanted to admit to herself, had enjoyed every second of it. But on the other … what in deep-sea disaster was that?
Yes, Finn was an almost devastatingly good-looking man. And, sure, she could understand her body having a biological attraction to him physically.
But that face and body of his belonged to a man who was more political talking points than personality.
Her desire shouldn’t have been able to overpower her common sense. Or standards.
That was it.
No more spicy books.
No matter how much she loved them.
The last thing she needed was to let that happen again.
As it was, she had no idea how she was going to be able to go out to dinner with him and pretend to be all lovey-dovey—to sit across from him at a table, all the while knowing that just hours before, he’d had his hand between her thighs; he’d felt her falling apart for him.
This was going to be a nightmare.
But there was no way out of it now.