Page 162 of Chaos

Something akin to a growl.

And then, I’m on my feet.

He’s licking the tattoo under my hipbone, grumbling something incoherent aboutluckyandmanandworldbefore he drags his mouth down to my cunt. He licks some, he nips, he kisses until my lungs actually stop working for a second, my heart skips more than one beat.

Death by orgasm.

What a fucking way to go.

I return the favor—one of the many, many,manyfavors, I should say—later that week.

We end up parked near the creek after work.Duringwork, technically. Finn kicked up a little good boy fuss when I suggested a detour after a long, monotonous morning of fixing fence posts, but I am extremely persuasive.

And he’s sure as shit not complaining now.

I’d be lying if I said I loved giving blowjobs. I tolerate it, at best. Make it good, but quick—that’s usually my motto.

But with Finn…

Well, I might just take my time a little. Might actually enjoy it a little more.

One hand clutching the steering wheel, Finn fists my braided ponytail with the other, doing nothing but holding it while I set the pace. He’s utterly polite, and I wonder if that’s what spurs me on to suck his cock like it’s the very reason I was put on this earth. If I’m so sloppily enthusiastic because I’m so goddamn eager to watch him break.

Because I really, really like when his grip tightens in my hair, when his hips buck to meet me, when he hits the back of my throat and I swallow and he makes a noise that goes straight between my thighs.

“Fuck.” A palm presses to the top of my throat, like he’s trying to feel himself there, feel the moans I make in symphony with his own. “Baby, I’m close.”

My hand fisting the base of his cock, I pull my mouth off of him. “Where do you wanna come, baby?”

His face scrunches like I’ve asked him an impossible question.

I pump him slowly while he decides, swirling my tongue around his swollen, sensitive tip. He must be more than justclosebecause his stomach contracts, he bucks off the leather seat, he rushes out‘mouth’before oh-so-gently pushing me back down.

I’ve barely wrapped my lips around him again before he’s coming. And he’s barely finished, I’ve barely swallowed, before he’s picking me up from my hunched, twisted position and dropping me on his lap. He kisses me—one, two, three hard presses of his mouth against mine while hastily undoing my jeans so he can slip a hand inside them. “You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Never in quite that tone, though. Never withawe. Usually, it’s an insult.

But Finn doesn’t know that. He doesn’t take it like that—he thinks I mean it in the way he intended, and I guess that’s why there’s something punishing about the way he cups my pussy over the damp cotton covering it.

And does absolutely nothing else.

“Finn,” I hiss when I try to grind against his hand, and his other one stills my gyrating hips. “C’mon.”

He ignores me. My mouth, at least. The rest of my upper half, he pays a whole lot of attention to; nipping his way down my neck, tracing my collarbones with his tongue before dragging it down my sternum, sinking his teeth into the swells of my tits, lashing his tongue against my pierced nipples until they’re peaked and pushing against the material of my tank top.

“You know what’s better than road head?” I arch into his mouth, planting a palm against the roof for stability. “Road sex.”

Kissing his way back up my body, he nips my bottom lip. “We’re not on a road.”

“Semantics, baby.”

Finn groans, his fingers twitching and making me mimic the noise. “Call me that again.”

I do. I start to, anyway.

The crooned endearment ends in a shriek when the metallic sound of knuckles rapping against the roof scare the ever-loving crap out of me.

Hastily retreating from my jeans and tucking his semi-hard cock back within the confines of his own, Finn swears beneath his breath, and it’s not until I follow his line of sight that I realize what the deer-in-headlights look on his face is about.

---