14. Chapter 14
14
Chapter 14
FINN
S he savours it, slow. When I part my lips and press my tongue against hers, she doesn’t submit to me. She meets me slow and strong, and she doesn’t let me set the pace.
It’s just a kiss.
And yet, it hurts like a fucking wound. It pains me, this kiss. My chest aches. It snatches my very breath away. I’m still pushing for control. My tongue draws hers out, lips pulling on hers, thinking, if she can lose control, I can own her.
If she can lose control, I can consume her.
It’s nothing like London. Then she had paused, and with a sigh, she had given in and she had let me devour her.
Now, she’s holding her own, pushing back.
When I reach around her and cup her ass in my hands, her own hands wrap around my back and she digs her fingertips into me, pulls me closer.
I pick her up and hitch her up to my waist, where she wraps her legs around me and squeezes .
She throws an arm around my neck and deepens the kiss. The other hand she drags slowly up my back, fingers still digging into my flesh.
She’s pressed against me, trembling, and she fucking rocks her hips, grinds against the full length of my dick.
When I groan, she closes her lips over mine, swallowing the sound. It turns the ache into a searing pain inside my chest that can only be soothed if I can bury myself inside her and pound into her, hard.
I am a man possessed.
Her tongue swirls over mine. Insistent. Her hand at my back grabs a fist full of shirt and tugs. I am frantic to be inside her.
I turn us towards the table, hike her up before I remove one hand, tip the table so that the bowls and wine glasses tumble off, shattering on the flagstones.
The kiss almost breaks as she startles, but I place her down on the table, legs still around my waist, and give her lip a small bite before I release her. She tugs my shirt up and over my head and I grab her by the throat, her pulse beating against my palm, and bring her swollen lips, glistening from my kiss, back to mine.
I shiver when her hands run over my chest, my shoulders, her hand exploring the rough, pitted skin of my burn scar, fingertips tracing the swirls in my flesh.
My own hands are wrapped around her knees, and I pull her closer, lean over her, press myself throbbing up against her. I want to be inside her like this, railing away.
She arches up against me when I dip my hands under her shirt to pull it over her head, trapping the fabric between us. Her nipples are hard through the fabric as they brush against my chest, and I want to run my tongue around their dusky tips and nip down their sides along her ribs.
I run my palm up her back and unhook her bra, feeling the bare length of her as I draw my hand up to her neck and place my splayed fingers along her skull, twisting her face away.
With her head to one side, her neck and ear are at my mouth, and I drop my chin to the racing pulse below her ear and it’s the most honest thing I can think to do, to show her how much I want her. I stall, the weight of her head in my palm, my other hand on the bare of her back, and I breathe short, ragged breaths into the shell of her ear.
When she strangles her fists into my hair to pull me to her, I run my hands up her ribs and she allows me to tug her shirt over her head before her stormy eyes lock on mine, a grey-blue tempest. Her loose bra comes off with the shirt, her porcelain skinned breasts, heavy and full between us—the dusky rose of her nipples, hard in the evening air.
She’s fumbling at her own jeans, undoing the button, and I jam my thumbs into the waistband on each hip and tear the shorts off as she lifts herself to help me. I want to take her in my mouth again but she’s already fumbling with my pants and when she undoes the button she reaches inside, runs a fingertip over the silky head with a swirl, wiping away the bead of slippery cum, then reaches further, sliding her hand down over the length of me and clenches her fist around my base. Her tongue is already twisting around my own, drawing me in deep, and she throws an arm around my shoulders, raising herself off the table. She’s so ready for me she wants to lower herself onto me as I shrug out of my pants. She presses her soft tummy, hot, against my own as she lines herself up against me. I grab her ass and raise her up, then pause .
I have condoms in my room.
“Should I-”
She breathes heavily, suspended against me, quivering.
“What?”
She pauses, eyes confused, arm around my shoulder. She’s ready to go.
“Protection.”
“Are you-”
“I’m good.” I’m careful. I don’t fuck women bare.
She breathes onto my chest, hot and heavy, eyes big. She frowns.
“What-”
“May I?” I ask.
She nods, offhandedly, intent on pulling me closer but I stall.
“Where do I finish?”
“I’m on birth control.”
Doesn’t mean shit. Some women don’t appreciate the mess.
“No, I-”
“Come inside me.” Offhandedly. As if it were obvious.
She pulls herself against me, kisses me again. Her hand around my cock guides me to her, wet and slippery and tight as she slides down the length of me achingly slowly, until she’s there. It’s as deep as I can go, and it touches the pain inside me, sets me off.
I wrench our lips apart and set her down on the table. With one hand on her throat, I’m pressing her down, body flush against the table and the other hand I splay, dark and big against the white softness of her belly. Her breasts part as she lies back, lifting and rising rapidly with her heavy breathing and the storm of her gaze travels over me, down to where we meet, where she can see me buried inside her and with a whimper she rocks against me, hard and fast. I grab a knee and pull her closer, still deeper. She cries out, the pain inside her grazed, agonising in its pleasure.
I’m going to come. The way she rails against me is pure fucking rapture. I grab her by the thighs, look down to where I’m sliding out of her wet and glistening and in against, tight against the walls of her, clenching down on me, the slapping sound when we meet at capacity.
She slows down, her eyes on me, and I feel a tremor run through her—the pleasure she gets from watching me, how much it turns me on to see her glide over me.
I bring my thumb to where she’s gliding out again, dragging the slippery wetness over her clit, swirling it. She gasps. I angle my thumb to rub her out, to make her climax, trying to avoid the pain that hypersensitivity causes, getting as close to it as possible to make the orgasm as hard as it can be.
She reaches for my hand to guide me, but her hand falls away when I start rubbing in earnest, and she buries both of hers in the golden halo of curls spilling around her head, writhing against me.
I’m going to come, fuck.
I press down on her stomach, slowing her down, and when the tremors in her thighs starts to tremble across the thick flesh, I wait for her to start rhythmically clenching around me in her orgasm, and when she cries out I grab her around each knee and jerk her to me, burying myself as deep in her as I can, and I fucking rail into her with furious desperation.
She cries out again and I can feel her drawing me in deeper, deeper, harder and I come inside her with primal abandon.
* * *
FINN
The intensity of the orgasm leaves me lightheaded, and I collapse over her. She soothes me with a low hum in her throat, running her fingertips over my back as I catch my breath, tremors still running through me, my cheek against her breast.
The night air cools the sweat on our bodies, and we break out in goosebumps. I lift my head to look at her face. Her eyes are light and grey and satisfied.
But not sated.
She smiles and touches a fingertip to my temple. This close I can see every freckle. A small white ghost of a scar on her chin. The burnt sugar smell of her envelops me.
My dick twitches.
She laughs out loud, and it runs through my body like a song.
I lift myself up onto my elbows.
She makes no move to shove me off. I could lie here forever. Thoughts begin to filter through the veil of desire.
This hadn’t been what I had in mind at all. I had hoped to fix things between us, make it easier to walk away. But when she got up to do just that, I couldn’t physically bear it.
I stand up, pull her up after me. My cum glistens in the light as it trickles down her thighs. She makes to wipe it away, but I snatch her hand away, shake my head when she looks up at me curiously. And then I grab her behind the knees and behind the shoulders and I lift her up. She flings her arms around my neck. The softness of her belly has a fold in the flesh where it rolls up at the bend of her waist.
I carry her to my room, setting her down in the shower. She steps off to one side as I open the taps to avoid the cold spray of water. She’s broken out in gooseflesh and when steam starts pooling at our feet, she steps under the warm spray with a satisfied sigh, hands clenched under her chin. She reaches up to bunch her curls on her head and I unsnap the elastic from my wrist, handing it over.
She smiles when she takes it.
“Isn’t this mine?”
I shake my head slowly. “I believe it’s mine. I traded it for a dress.”
She laughs and ties the curls up out of the spray, tendrils at her neck already wet, darker in the water.
The water beads on her breasts, trickles down her tummy, runs in rivulets down her legs. I follow its trail with my fingers.
She keeps her eyes on mine as my fingers trail lower, parting the lips of her vulva, dipping between to the slippery wetness there. She’s still slick with me. When I withdraw my hands, the slick coating covers my fingers, and I drag it over her bottom lip.
I lean down and take her bottom lip in my mouth, then I dip my tongue in her mouth, deepen the kiss, wrapping my arms around her as she flings her arms around my neck, and presses our bodies together as the water pools between us, where her breasts are pressed up against me.
Already my erection is stirring again. She smiles as it twitches against her. She lifts a leg and I grab her knee, but I don’t hitch her up. I walk her backwards against the icy wall of the shower and she gasps as the cold seeps into her. Then, still holding her knee, water raining down over her waist and legs, I kneel, and I get a thrill of delight at the twitch in her thigh as I take her clit into my mouth, tucking her leg over my shoulder .
Again, I’m wary of the pain that sensitivity can cause. She just orgasmed. Her clit is still hard. With my tongue pressed flat against her, I tug her in, sucking gently.
She strangles her fingers into my hair. Water pours over me, mingling with her taste.
She opens her leg wider, and I nuzzle in closer. Flick her with my tongue. She moans and writhes against me. Starts pulling me up. She wants me inside her when she comes.
I oblige. I drop her leg from over my shoulder and stand up, grab her by the shoulder, and turn her around. Immediately, she brings her hands up against the shower wall, thrusting her ass towards me. I grab her by the hips and pull her against me, bend my knees and thrust up from below. She gasps and moans, brings her forearms against the wall, and strains back against me, trying to offer me resistance so I can bury myself deeper inside her. She turns her head, looking at me over her shoulder.
Those grey eyes, drops of water glistening on her lashes.
I fuck her hard and fast and I fuck up. I’m coming first, but she joins me seconds after, clenching down on me in waves. It’s ecstasy.
She’s trembling when we’re done and I pull her back against my stomach, the cold from the shower wall still lingering on her skin. She shivers and I hold her as I let the warm water wash over us, warming us up.
She leans her head back against my shoulder, and I run my hand over her neck.
I grab the soap and start running it over her neck and shoulders. Her breasts shift as I run a soapy hand beneath them, over her ribs, down to her clit. I run a soapy hand between the lips of her labia and bring it around her thighs, over her ass, between her cheeks, running my fingers down and around the front where I cup her for a moment. She lets me touch her wherever I want. She’s weak against me, legs trembling. When the water washes the soap away, she lets me scoop her up again and I deposit her, still wet, onto the bed. She’s too tired to fuss. She lies back against the plush pillows and folds her hands on her stomach, one leg drawn up. Her eyes follow me as I pull on a pair of sweatpants, travelling over me, lids lowered, sleepy. She’s had as long a day as I have, probably longer.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She laughs.
* * *
CAMILLE
In Singapore, he pressed me up against the glass wall of windows looking out over the city below and fisted a hand in my hair as he fucked me from behind. He chartered a private plane for our flight here to Japan. It had a bedroom where he stripped me bare, wrapped me in lush sheets and kissed, licked, and nibbled every part of me before hoisting me up to stand on my knees, holding onto the headboard while he drew me down on his face, fingers digging into me as he pulled me down on his mouth fast and hard. When we arrived in Japan, he took me to his private suite at the Oriental Orchid Luxury Hotel, a serene suite with tatami flooring, shoji screens and a view out over a private garden, the mist-topped Suzuka mountains in the distance.
There was a spring fed hot tub in the middle of the private garden and there I sat atop him, his hands on my hips, the water lapping at my waist as I rocked him deep inside me until he groaned and writhed and bucked up out of the water in agonised ecstasy.
I was tired. We’d been filming nonstop. Singapore’s track had been slick and wet, a slippery death trap at the speeds the drivers were doing. Finn had placed eleventh, much to Erik’s disappointment. It didn’t seem to bother Finn at all. I tried to talk to him about it, but we had so little time together, and we didn’t spend that time talking.
At all.
Jay is cautiously staying out of my business, but he knows something is up. I’ve missed two scheduled calls with Dixon, and I have a video call scheduled with him and Mr Higher Up for a progress report.
I’ve been pushing it. I oversleep. Frantically, I scramble out of Finn’s bed the Thursday before qualifying and pull on the first thing I can find, one of Finn’s sweatshirts. Then I angle my laptop towards a blank wall, tying up my mess of hair and logging in just in time. Both of them are already logged on and waiting for me.
Finn grins from the bed and rises languidly, walking naked over to the kitchen where he gets started on coffee.
I give him cease and desist waves from where I am sitting cross-legged on the floor, but he just raises an eyebrow at me.
Dixon looks better. He looks well. I feel a pang of regret at having missed his calls. His cheeks have filled out, and he even makes a joke.
Then it’s all business.
“Filming schedule?”
As I get to know more and more about the industry, I keep expanding on what to film. Brief shots into the wider and wider rings cast by the racing industry.
“McKenna McIntyre in the US next week.” She’s the aerodynamicist behind Skorost and, rumour is, she’s got the best design on the market for the next racing season. She’s been tucked away at their headquarters in Kannapolis, and getting them to agree to us filming for a day has been the bane of my existence these past few months.
I email through the updated filming schedule for the oncoming weeks, and I attach our predicted expense report. So far, we are way over budget already. But the editors at Webflix Max have been hard at work.
Jay and Evan have uploaded all the footage for the last few weeks for the editors. I’ve seen clips, but I haven’t gone through everything. There hasn’t been time.
“Extremely positive response from our focus group.” Mr Higher up congratulates Dixon. “We expect a breakout debut on release day.”
Finn kneels on the other side of the laptop, places my cup of coffee just out of sight. I give him a grateful look and draw it over.
“We hope you’ll stay on for the rest of the season at least.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Actually,” Dixon interjects. “I haven’t been able to inform Ms Chauvin of the news.”
“Oh.” Mr Higher up sounds surprised for a moment, and then steamrollers on. “I’ve reviewed your submission for the Silk Road project,” he says. “I am happy to sign on for it. However, both Dixon and I hope that you’ll see out the year of filming before he returns.”
My gut clenches.
“I would appreciate the extra time,” Dixon interjects .
Finn is standing at the open doors on the threshold of the private garden. He turns toward me, his eyes curious.
I wonder what he’s thinking. He gives me a lopsided smile and brings his cup to his lips.
“I-”
“Take your time, Cam.” Dixon’s voice is low, earnest. “You don’t have to answer now.”
Mr Higher Up waves us away and drones on about the rumour mill, gossip about drivers and teams, and ends it on a bombshell.
“Rumour is Finn’s contract will be renewed.” I glance up at Finn. He has his coffee cup to his mouth, and he stills completely.
“I beg your pardon?”
Mr Higher up keeps rambling on. There is a buzzing in my ears. We sign off shortly after.
“Finn!” I slam the laptop screen closed and scramble up off the floor. I take a running leap and he drops his cup. It shatters on the floor. He grabs me as I leap, and he gives me a spin.
“Congratulations on the offer.” His voice is low and soft, a smile on his lips.
“Thank you,” I say. I mean it. I wouldn’t even have submitted my proposal if he hadn’t pressed me in London.
It seems so long ago.
“And congratulations to you, too!”
He frowns.
“For what?”
“Aren’t they renewing your contract?” I jerk my head back towards the laptop, abandoned on the floor.
He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around his neck, planting a kiss on the edge of his mouth where he’s still smiling. “If it’s just a rumour-”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
I lower my feet and he sets me down gently on the floor between the shards of the broken cup. He nuzzles my neck, his fingers already tracing the edge of his sweatshirt, edging it up over my thighs.
I take in the sight of him, naked, up close.
All the drivers are extremely fit to deal with the rigorous demands of driving, but seeing it up close is always a pleasure.
His whole torso, upper arms and thighs are covered in an intricate tattoo design, completely hidden when he’s dressed. Any open spaces are filled with patterns and solid blackouts, everything tied together seamlessly into one big canvas.
Over the hard planes of his stomach my fingers trail the outline of a racetrack, interspersed with a checkered flag, tire tracks, and debris from an airborne race car, captured eternally mid crash. A large hourglass, with time running out, a few grains of sand still left to spill through. A raven perched atop the hourglass, it’s talons piercing the glass, and small cracks running across it like spiderwebs. A tree of life in the hollow of his chest, the branches forming a four-leafed clover. And over his chest, the Latin phrase Omnia Vanitas , the script so thorny the edges blur into the design around it.
“What does it mean?”
“Hm…” He snatches my fingers lazily, drawing them to his mouth where he grazes my knuckles with his lips.
My thoughts grow heavy. When he’s like this, I can’t resist him. Slow and steady, every turn of his hand as he runs his fingers down my side is intentional. As if he has no other purpose than to worship me .
“How do you do it every time?”
His mouth, now occupied with teasing kisses down my ribs, mumbles against my flesh.
“Do what?”
“Reel me in, every time I try to walk away.”
He stills. Looks up at me earnestly with black eyes, his lids heavy and low.
“I don’t.”
He dips his chin to run a wet circle around my belly button with his tongue.
“You do!” I squirm, giggling as he digs his fingers into my ribs.
“I don’t, Camille. You come to me. And show me the man who can deny you. Such a fool does not exist.”
I think there’s truth there, about me and my role in this thing between us, but it swirls away with all my other thoughts as his head dips lower and I strangle my fingers into his hair, arching back with languid anticipation.
He takes his time like always and drives me to the cusp of my threshold before he destroys me completely and I tumble down and down and down to where only he can anchor me in reality.
It distracts me completely.