Chapter 27 #2
He must see me watching the machine above the door because he chuckles lightly. “I needed to create a reason for us to snuggle together under the blankets.”
He really does think of everything.
I’m still frozen in shock, so when he clinks his glass against mine in a toast, all I can do is watch it happen and forget to take a sip of my wine.
All I expected to find was a slice of pie, nothing more.
I didn’t think he’d do all this for me. I certainly didn’t think it would be because of what I’ve been able to achieve as of late.
But I shouldn’t be surprised, so far Finn hasn’t let anything slip.
He makes me feel important, like I matter, and like I’m capable of anything.
“Finley.” I breathe out his name again, but this time I try and put everything I’m feeling into it, because what else am I supposed to say?
A blush creeps up his neck and he tries to rub it away. “Are you happy?”
I don’t think I mean for my smile to be as sad as it is. “I am.”
It’s sad because of the two words I know that neither of us are adding onto the end of each sentence.
For now.
I know that this entire thing is temporary, and I know that my body and my heart hates everything about it.
I know that my mind wants to think about Finn in every aspect, but after next week, I can’t let it.
Finn said a month, and I’m not going to force him to continue after that.
If he wants to extend it, then he’ll tell me.
He lets his arm drape itself over the back of the couch and I feel his thumb start to trace small circles over my bare shoulder.
My top has two straps on either side—one spaghetti strap going over my shoulders and another strap with draping fabric going across the top of my arm.
It leaves a patch of open skin that I may or may not have chosen this top for that exact reason.
Finn breathes out a relaxed sigh. “I love it when you say my name.”
“What?”
“My name.” He turns to me. “I love it when you say it.”
“You love when I say Finn?”
“No, I love when you say Finley.” His smile turns shy.
“I never told anyone, but I hated my name. It never felt like it suited me. But then you started calling me Finley instead of Finn whenever you were mad at me, and I just found myself wanting to tick you off that much more. I craved it; the sound of it. It only ever sounds like mine when you say it.”
I place a hand on his chest. “Then Finley it is.”
“I don’t mind when you use Finn, though. I like when you call me anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“Hell, yeah. Just you, though.”
Now, he’s smiling down at me, his face full of relief, and I’m happy I can do this for him; help him take that small step from people-pleaser to a self-respecting individual.
When he set a boundary between himself and Wren, I was surprised, but very proud of him.
He did that all on his own with no prompting from anyone else, and I really hope that he is proud of himself for that, too.
“Thank you.”
“What for?” he asks.
“Just this whole experience. It’s been … something. Good for me, I think.”
“Good for the both of us,” he amends, and I nod in agreement.
He pulls me closer until I’m nestled into his side.
I rest my head on his chest and allow his calm and steady heartbeat to relax mine.
His warmth makes me want to fall asleep and his hand now tracing circles on my lower back send my eyes drifting.
That is, until Finley comes out with, “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
“Pretend what?”
“That I don’t want this.”
I move my head further up his body and place my hand where my head was so I don’t lose that connection with his heartbeat.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
He nudges me with his shoulder letting me know he wants me to sit up. When I do, he looks bordering on frantic, and I’m now wondering what I missed that took him from calm and content, to this.
“Cherry, I want out.”
My heart sinks, everything sinks. Panic floods my system like an alarm ringing in my body and I can hear nothing but blood rushing through me.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Finley’s hands cup my face and I force myself to look at him. “Cherry, no, I wasn’t talking about us.”
“What the fuck else were you talking about?”
“I don’t want out of this relationship, I want out of pretending in this relationship. I’m done acting as if I’m pretending to be with you when I just want to be with you.”
I’m a panicking lump of confusion.
“What—”
He brings my face closer to his and I can feel the shortness of his breath as it fans my face. “Cherry, when I say that I want out, I mean that I want out of the best-friend’s-brother zone. I want out. I want to be so far out of the zone that I can’t even see the zone.”
“You want out?” I repeat, not entirely sure that I’m actually hearing what I’m hearing.
His forehead touches mine and that one connection between us seems to knock some sense into me; his thoughts and meanings transferring themselves to me.
His eyes close and a mix of pain and desperation is in his features. Like this, the sharp lines of his face seem sharper, the cut of his jawline twice as deadly as it was before.
“God, I want out.”
“Then, go ahead and try, but I still don’t think you can—”
It’s all the invitation that he needs. Finley’s mouth claims me in a heated kiss, setting off every nerve in my body.
Every part of me comes alive when it feels the passion and the need coming from him.
He’s desperate, and no one has ever been desperate to have me before.
Impatient, sure, but never desperate. His tongue dips into my mouth, finding yet another way to take control.
Every movement is calculated, every bite of my lip demanding.
He takes what he needs, and I let him. It makes me wonder what else he would be good at taking. If he would take and take and take until an orgasm had no choice but to rip through me.
That idea alone urges me forward until I’m on my knees beside him. But that’s not enough for Finn. He hooks the back of my knee, bringing it over him until I’m straddling his lap.
His smile is mischievous. “How am I doing so far?”
I feign boredom. “Eh, you’ve done better. I’m actually kind of fighting off the urge to yawn.”
That fuels his determination. He finds my lips once more, but this time his hand also finds my throat, gripping and squeezing just enough that my pussy contracts in response. Absolutely nothing wrong with liking a little pain.
His other hand is bold as brass, finding my ass and giving a hard squeeze.
I moan against his mouth in response, and he lets out a fucking growl that sounds so animalistic, I’m overcome with need.
His hands wander, taking in every inch of my body.
I allow myself the liberty of doing the same.
My hands glide over the firm muscles across his shoulders, down the slopes of his arms and back up over his abs.
I don’t know how to stop, but based on the sounds Finn is making right now, I don’t think it’s much of a problem.
Even though Finn’s hand finds its way back to my throat, the way he places me down on the couch is so paradoxically opposite that I laugh.
“Something funny, my tart little thing?”
“First of all, ‘tart little thing’ is definitely a no from me. Secondly, I just can’t get over how different you become when you’re turned on.”
His smile falters and something akin to insecurity passes across his face. His hand rips away from my throat as if it’s been burned.
“Hey.” I take his face in my hands and bring him closer, letting my lips lightly press against his. “I love it.”
He looks surprised. “You do?”
“Fuck, yeah. You’re a man I would write about.”
That spurs him on once more. His hands become bolder in their search and instead of sticking to the innocent spaces, they journey further out to sea. They float along the inside of my thighs, right up to where I need it most, but he denies me that much.
He leans back, his smile back in full force. “God, the things I’ve been planning in my head for you.”
“Do tell.”
“I’m more of a shower than a teller.”
He leans forward, his mouth finding the shell of my ear, the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder blade.
He kisses, bites, and nibbles, and I don’t waste a single second thinking about the bruises that will be there tomorrow.
Now, I actually find myself grateful for the excessive AC because my skin feels like it’s on fire.
Everywhere his fingers or his mouth touch burns with a fire made from pleasure and pain.
It’s the perfect balance—sweet and salt, light and dark, shy and confident.
His kisses drift downward until he meets the swell of my breasts. His fingers curl around the edge of my bra and he looks up at me, waiting for me to give him the go-ahead. A single nod is all he needs before he’s ripping it down, exposing my breasts to him for the first time.
He stares at them like he’s found the Holy Grail; so intently that I’d believe him if he said that’s what he found.
My breasts aren’t huge, but they aren’t small, either. Definitely enough for them to be a handful, even in Finn’s massive hands. He cups one in each hand, and the cold of his palms reacts perfectly with the heat evaporating off my skin. His thumb streaks across my nipple and I let out a small yelp.
“Oh, I’m sorry, is that sensitive?” he asks with a smile that tells me that he isn’t sorry for shit.
His laugh vibrates against mine as he kisses me once more, two notes of joy forming a tune I could listen to as many times as possible. Kisses on my lips skirt across to my cheek and down to my neck. When he kisses that sensitive spot behind my ear, I mewl like a goddamn kitten.
“I could listen to you over and over again, Cherry.”
He peppers kisses down my chest, in between my breasts and down my stomach, until he’s right against the waistline of my shorts.
He hovers over them, hands waiting on either side. He watches me with nothing but mischief on his face. “Say yes, Cherry.”