An answering groan of my own rattles in my throat, a noise of exasperation as much as anything else because seriously? He has to be hot and kind and emotionally intelligentanda phenomenal kisser? He couldn’t give me this one thing, he can’t let me be better at the one part of this that I’m actually good at, I can’t get a single leg up?
I take out my frustration on him. I give it to him, and he takes it. Doubles it. Hurls it back with fucking gusto, with tender tugs of my hair and thrusting hips rising to meet my grinding ones and a talented, reverent mouth that mine can barely keep up with.
God, I’m so hot, I’m on fire, my dress clings uncomfortably to my feverish skin, so naturally, I take it off. With a flick of my fingers, I free myself from the straps, and with nothing else holding it up, the fabric instantly falls away. I don’t even have to break the kiss, I don’twantto break the kiss.
Finn, on the other hand, has a different idea.
A hand pressed flat against my sternum pushes me back. Gives Finn room to rake his gaze over every inch of my naked chest—catching on the sparkling diamonds that pierce both of my nipples, unsurprisingly.
I’ve never been shy, but fuck, I feel it all of a sudden. I feel more exposed than just literally; I feel like he’s not just looking at skin, he’s looking beneath it, he’s staring right at the lump of muscle thudding erratically behind my ribcage, pounding just for him.
The exaggerated bob of his throat as he swallows,gulps… Shit, I don’t think that’s supposed to be so fucking sexy.
Flopping onto his back with a tortured groan, Finn screws his eyes shut. “Fuck.”
I rest my hands on his stomach, muscles twitching beneath my palms. “Is that a request?”
In the blink of an eye, Finn is upright again, one of his hands looped around both of my wrists, holding them hostage behind my back in a grip I can’t say I mind all that much. In fact, I like it a whole fucking lot when he uses it to make my back arch. To bare my heaving chest even more. To fucking present me to him, hard nipples beckoning, and he willingly obliges.
Greedy lips wrap around one and I gasp, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip as his graze the sensitive peak.
He kisses my tits like he kissed me, pure fucking filthy worship, and I find myself getting jealous, dipping my head forward to nudge my temple against his, to guide him back to me. I groan into his mouth and he groans right back, his hands rising to cup my face, roughly pushing my mussed hair back and dragging me closer until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
Freed from his constricting grip, I waste no time, so eager to touch him as reverently as he touches me, to explore him too. My palms roam across broad shoulders, down muscled arms, across that lower stomach that feels just as good as it looks, but God, I really just want to get my hands on the hard, thick length prodding between my thighs and driving me insane.
I palm his cock through the material of his boxers, and Finn chokes. Smiling against his mouth, Isqueezeand he bucks, he moans, his forehead drops to the crook of my neck, hot pants washing over my skin.
Hooking my fingers around the waistband, I only manage one tug before I’m stopped, imprisoned by that restrictive grip again.
“Fuck, baby, slow down a sec.”
I don’t want to. I want to speed up, actually. Ineedto satiate the throb between my thighs, and I need Finn to do it.
A sentiment he, apparently, does not share. “I just wanna kiss you.”
I frown. That’s it? “Why?”
“I like kissing you.”
“Bet you’d like fucking me more.”
A strained chuckle tickles my cheek. “Bet I would.”
“But you don't want to.”
“Oh, I do.” A featherlight touch strokes my hair before cupping the nape of my neck. “Think we gotta make some things clear first, though.”
“What things?”
He doesn't answer. He gets distracted—by me. I shift my weight and it’s like he suddenly remembers I’m naked on his lap.
Dropping back to rest on his elbows, he stares. Silent. Takes his time, lets his gaze really rove over me, catalogues every inch of skin, every freckle, every blemish. I squirm under the attention, squirm some more when knuckles graze my lower stomach. “What’s this?”
I drop my gaze to where his has fixated, near the crease where my stomach becomes my thigh. “A four-leafed clover.”
He brushes his thumb over the ink that’s usually hidden by a waistband. “Mean something?”
“No.”