Page 169 of Chaos

I press my cheek to the crown of the little boy who’s never, ever going to know a childhood like the one me and his mother had. “Most of the time, it was me.”

He doesn’t smile, like he knows that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. That it was a bitter kind of favoritism. The kind that breeds jealousy and resentment and distrust.

“Anyway.” I sift my fingers through the tiny curls at the nape of Alex’s neck. I don’t offer a follow-up because I don’t have one. I don’t really know why I’m still talking. Why I’m telling him any of this. The relevance.

Maybe there doesn’t need to be a relevance—maybe this is what a relationship is. Sharing and shit.

“I just want one now,” I eventually say, I don’t know why I say it, I’ve never said it aloud before. “Because then they’ll never have to fight for my attention. They’ll always know they’re my favorite.”

After a long, thick pause in which I’m not sure I breathe at all, Finn makes a thoughtful noise. I offer a long, thick pause of my own before daring to look at him.

A dreamy smile greets me, and I have no idea what to do with it. “What?”

Those broad shoulders lift and fall casually. “Just imagining it.”

My heart stutters.

“Do you think they’d come out scowling or would you have to teach them?”

I gently pry the half-empty pouch away from the sleepy boy drooling on my shoulder and I not-so-gently throw it at Finn.

40

It’s way too soon to picture a child that looks a little like him, and a lot like her.

His imagination did not get the memo.

On Christmas morning,Finn wakes me up like my name has ever been anywhere near the nice list.

With my pajamas shorts roughly pushed to one side and his head between my thighs, he drags me to a trembling, moaning consciousness and waits until my fingers find his short curls, until my heavy-lidded eyes find his blazing ones, before pushing me over the edge with that harsh, determined tongue. Rasping satisfied noises, my back arches off the bed only for the weight of his body to push me back down as he licks and kisses his way up mine, pausing to tongue each of my piercings, to suck on my nipples until I’m halfway to another orgasm.

I’m wide awake when his mouth finally finds mine. When his body slots between my thighs, pressing hard against the aching apex of them. When he starts to grind against me so slowly, withsuch maddening control, as lazy as the way he kisses me. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I lock my ankles at the small of his back, digging in with all of my strength to make sure every hard inch of him is flush against the softest parts of me. “Is this my present?”

His laugh is smothered by a groan when I slip a hand between our bodies to palm the hard cock straining against navy sweats. Forehead dropping to the crook of my neck, Finn makes a noise that’s awfully close to a whimper—that comes awfully close to setting me off again all on its own. “Feels more likemypresent.”

I nip the curve of his ear. “Good answer.”

He sinks his teeth into the meaty part of my shoulder in retaliation before sucking away the sting of the bite—sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Which, in my drowsy, sated state, I take way too long to find a problem with.

Groaning his name, I detangle myself from Finn, using both hands and a whole lot of self-control to push him away, planting a foot on his abdomen and using that too for good measure. “If I turn up to Christmas dinner with a hickey on my neck, my brother is gonna trap you in a stall with Ruin.”

Looming over me like a fucking god, Finn rakes his gaze over my body, scorching every inch of skin it touches. He moans when it catches on my cunt, still bared by my skewed shorts, and again when my legs, of their own fucking volition, fall just a little further apart, provide just a little better of a view. Tongue tracing his bottom lip, he wraps his fingers around the ankle of the foot pressed to his solar plexus before dragging them up my shin, down my thighs, nails scratching my skin as he fists the frilled hem of my shorts and yanks them back into place with a grunt. With his other hand, he brackets the base of my throat, thumb stretching out to trace the tender skin his mouth reddened.

Voice low and lilting, he rasps, “Would be so fuckin’ worth it.”

Hot all over and squirming, I can’t help but agree. Briefly. Until I remember that a trampled boyfriend does not another orgasm provide.

Hooking a leg around his waist, I push until he lands on his back, shift until I’m straddling him. One tug of fabric leaves me bare from the waist up, has Finn’s breath catching, has the hands that instinctively finds my hips squeezing like they’re trying to embed their fingerprints in my skin.

“I saidmy neck,” I croon as I lean forward to plant my palms on his chest, my tits pushing together and drawing every ounce of my his rapt attention. “I didn’t say anything about the rest of me.”

Boy, does he take that queue and fucking run with it.

Everywhere his mouth can reach, it finds. Suckles and bites and marks. Drives me out of my damn mind. Has me wondering if I’m actually as experienced as I thought I was, if I’ve ever actually known intimacy, because I’ve certainly never known anything like this. Never felt anything like this. I’m only half-naked, he’s completely clothed, we’re barely doing anything yet it feels like everything to me. There’s so much fabric between our grinding lower-halves yet I’m one errant touch away from coming. I’m running so hot, I might burst into flames. I’m so desperate for more, I might cry if he doesn’t give it to me.

“God.” I pant as he blows hot air across my overstimulated nipples, a move I swear I feel directly on my clit. “I want you inside me so bad.”

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