Page 86 of Art of Sin

38explosions

When I walkinto the loft, I leave my reservations at the door with my shoes.

I focus instead on my senses—heat, radiating from Gideon’s palm on my lower back as he follows me up narrow stairs. My breath, deepening with anticipation. The air, scented with candles and thick, silent but for the low sound of the street outside.

As we reach the top of the stairs, I see the candles dotting the open loft. Clustered on the coffee table. Kitchen counter. A small table near a doorway leading to a bedroom. Inside the bedroom, flickering beside a king-sized bed. Navy sheets, an abundance of pillows.

I imagined we’d find Finn relaxing on the lush, low-profile couch, or even waiting for us in the bedroom. Instead, he leans stiffly against the kitchen island. Fully clothed, expression tight, shoulders bunched. Hair mussed from running fingers through it. His eyes bounce between me and the man at my back. Nervous. Questioning.

Gideon’s breath tickles my neck a moment before his lips find my skin. He whispers, “Put him out of his misery, will you?”

My heart kicks, interrupting my breath. I turn a little, enough to see his eyes—amused, dark with lust and something sharper.

Because it will hurt.

For a moment, I marvel at him. His unabashed pursuit of the human experience. The colorful moral compass of his heart. His fearlessness, equal whether in the face of joy or pain.

I love him.

He smiles softly and kisses my nose. “I know,” he answers the statement in my eyes.

My footsteps across the loft barely register, my muscles loose and light.

“Hi, Finn.”

He swallows hard, expression pained. “Deirdre, you don’t…” He trails off as I touch his chest, my fingers hesitant, testing the heat and stability of him through his T-shirt.

For a moment, he stiffens further, then his tension drains away. I glance up in time to see his gaze move away from Gideon. Whatever silent communication passed between the men, Finn looks at me now with dark intensity.

Fireflies dance beneath my skin.

“May I touch you?” he asks.

“Y-yes.”

He smiles, warm hands cupping my face with the same hesitance and curiosity my fingers possess. Slowly, his head lowers, breath teasing my lips. He breathes me in as he seals his mouth to mine. I taste bourbon and mint, and melt against his tall frame.

Finn’s kiss is confident but also gentle, like he’s sipping to savor instead of consuming with greed. Lips, slightly fuller and softer than Gideon’s. Clean-shaven, his face lacking the ever-present stubble I’m used to. He smells good—different—lighter and crisper, and his body is leaner. Despite the illicitness, the arousing wrongness,and nervous rattling of my heart, when I feel his erection against my stomach an answering ache unfurls between my legs.

My spine tingles, a precursor to Gideon’s heat against my back. He’s a wall of hard muscle, vibrating with tension. My need skyrockets.

“Do you feel how much we want you?” he murmurs.

His hands clasp my waist, fingers digging as he rolls his pelvis against my lower back. Letting me feel him, hard and thick for me—from watching another man touch me. There’s anger there, too, in the bite of his fingers, the words that hiss through clenched teeth.

I gasp and Finn takes advantage, driving his tongue into my mouth. He grunts in satisfaction, a palm at the back of my neck angling my head for a deeper, rougher kiss.

“Bedroom, now,” growls Gideon.

Finn grabs me beneath the thighs, yanking me from the floor. The seal of our mouths remains unbroken as Gideon guides us across the loft and into the candlelit bedroom. Near the bed, Finn sets me on my feet and steps back, breathing heavily, erection straining boldly against his zipper. My gaze trails over the colorful ink on his arms and peeking from beneath the collar of his T-shirt.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair as his heavy-lidded eyes wander down my body and up again.

Gideon chuckles darkly at my back. “Arms up,” he whispers, and I dutifully lift them.

My shirt flows over my head and drops to the floor, followed shortly by my bra. Gideon’s hands move beneath my arms to my front, stroking down my bare chest, teasing and plucking my nipples, lighting fires and soothing at the same time as they head south. While one hand meanders between my legs, rubbing against the seam of my jeans until I rock against him, the other makes quick work of the button and zipper.

Finn tracks every movement, his hands clenching and unclenching as Gideon divests me of my pants and underwear.

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