Page 33 of Rake

Finn is so confusing. His concern for my brother seems genuine. I’m not as good at reading people as he is by far, but something in his tone changed when he talked about him.

And that scholarship offer.

If he’s telling the truth, it’ll be a huge weight off my shoulders.

But if he’s not?

I throw away any shred of integrity, for nothing.

I’m supposed to be working for the collective good, not my good.

It’s a classic play—divide and conquer. We talk about it in headquarters all the time. Certain people will be targeted and offered the world if they’ll only make the smart decision. The easy decision.

One or two people win, and everyone else loses.

Like my mother lost.

No. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. But I’ll tell him I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it whether I want to or not. I’ll think about it every time my father hurls a beer can at me or slaps me for buying the wrong brand of frozen pizza. I’ll think about it every time I clean the toilet covered in his piss. I’ll think about it every time my leg aches. Every time I wake up screaming in a house where I’m not safe.

He’ll know I’m not lying.

I wash my clothes in the sink again. I won’t be the smelly poor kid. Never again.

Ugh. I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when Finn touched me. And then our strange, oddly romantic dinner, and that kiss at the end?

A cruel part of my brain reminds me that this is probably another tactic he’s using to get his way. That no one could be attracted to me physically. Especially not someone like Finn. He’s arrogant, sure, but handsome and intelligent. He’s fighting for his family. It’s for all the wrong reasons, but maybe it’s hard for him to see another way out. Maybe that’s something I can help him with.

I need to be careful, though. Undermining his intelligence set him off in a big way.

A tingle of desire courses through my body. I leave my clothes to dry and climb into his bed. The sheets and comforter are silky soft, but smell like him—warm, oaky, masculine. I’m being silly, but I wonder what it’d be like to have a man sleep next to me—one who would protect me from my bad dreams and the people that caused them. Someone who valued me for more than the things I did for him.

Finn is not that man, but I still think of him kissing me and let my hand wander between my legs. I’m wearing the shirt he loaned me, but I couldn’t put on his ex’s yoga pants again. I just couldn’t.

His deep, throaty question floats through my mind.

How often do you touch yourself?

I close my eyes and fantasize about a different life. One with that imaginary man who can’t keep his hands off me, but not in the bad way I’m used to. I stroke myself, exploring what feels good as I picture someone else’s hands doing it. My orgasm catches me by surprise, and I let out a little gasp. It was different than the one with Finn—less intense, smaller, but nice.

I wish it wasn’t his face I saw when I came, though. And I wish it wasn’t his hands I imagined touching me.

How long does he expect me to stay here? It’s all so surreal. Technically I’m being held against my will, but it’s mostly my fear at what would happen if I left that’s keeping me here. Honestly, I could get up and leave right now if I wanted to.

But Finn’s warning about P.J. and his father coming after me and my brother scares me. Am I safer here? I’m not so sure about that. But I’m conflicted. I’m not going to give up on the union, but how can I keep James Carney from coming after Benjamin? Would Finn at least give me that?

And if he did, what would he expect in return?

The next morning, we drink coffee together and it’s so bizarre. Does he know I thought about him and touched myself last night? This man has an uncanny ability to know everything.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Jesus. Right on cue.

“You’re blushing,” he says, giving me a lopsided smile.

He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and black and gray pajama pants that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Even in loungewear, fresh out of bed, he’s outrageously attractive.

I decide that’s a better angle than confessing my silly schoolgirl fantasies about a man who is so far out of my league, oh, and who also is the son of the man who had me nearly killed.

---