Page 61 of The Golden Hour

She kisses my neck. “Shut up.”

I smile into her hair, and I’m still smiling when I pass out. Minutes or hours later, I wake to the sensation of fingers trailing down my stomach. Her fingers. Her hair tickling my shoulder. Her soft breath on my chest.

I’m immediately so hard it hurts.

“Finn,” she whispers.

My body responds for me, my arms eagerly pulling her above me. She gasps when her breasts flatten against my chest, her smooth belly against my harder one. Or maybe her stuttering breath can be blamed on my hips, which lift into her so she can feel what she does to me with a mere touch.

Safe in our small, dark world, the truth overrides all the lies we’ve told.

“I want you,” she says, fingers wrapping around the base of my cock. She squeezes me, and still her fingers barely touch. “I want this.”

“And I want this.” I grab her ass, squeezing the globes until her breath turns to pants, then parting them. My fingers sink and find her pussy. She’s blazing hot. Dripping wet. “Ah, fuck, my sweet Callisto. How am I going to survive you?”

Her hand spasms on my cock. “I’m not sure I’ll survive this again.” Her voice is dark. Raspy with lust. “But I’m willing to find out.”

That’s all I can take.

Flipping her onto her back, I settle atop her. Her legs instantly wrap around my hips. She bucks against me, marking me with her slick center, her breasts bobbing for attention. I’ve seen Heaven, and it’s in front of me.

I lick, suck, bite, devour her breasts until she’s whimpering, needy and impatient, then let her roll the condom on with her greedy hands.

“Don’t hold back,” she says, her hot mouth against mine.

“You want me to fuck you hard, princess?” I whisper.

Notched at her core, I’m held by only the merest thread of restraint. She nips my lower lip, dark eyes luminous and pleading, half-mad with desperation.

“Make me forget.”

So I do.

We forget everything but each other.

33

For those few, fragile moments upon waking, I don’t remember the ranch. Just Finn, whose body is curled protectively around mine. I don’t want to wake up. Don’t want to let go of how safe I feel with this maddening, mystifying man behind me. But stubborn daylight barges through the gaps in the plastic blinds, tickling my eyelids and waking my mind. Inviting memories I’d rather live without.

Bodies in the ground.

My eyes open at a muted sound from outside the bedroom. Clinking glasses. A cupboard closing softly.

Shit. Molly.

Finn barely stirs as I extricate myself from his arms and find my clothes. Dressed, I give him one last, lingering look—wild hair, kiss-swollen lips, intricate tattoos—before slipping from the room. I find the bathroom first, splashing cold water on my face and fixing the disaster that is my hair. There’s nothing to be done about the freshly fucked glow in my cheeks. I know Molly won’t judge, but I still feel ten kinds of awkward.

As I enter the kitchen, she turns, eyebrows lifting as she takes me in. I register her smirk a second before she says, “I was in my room when you two came in last night.”

Is it possible to die of mortification? We definitely weren’t quiet. My raw throat is testament to my lack of restraint.

I cover my face. “God, I’m so sorry.”

She chuckles knowingly. “Good thing I had headphones and a movie cued up on my laptop. Coffee?”

“Molly, I—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry again,” she says, eyes twinkling, “because that would be tragic. I hope you’re not sorry. And to be honest, I saw this coming from a mile away. Finn has always had a thing for you.”

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