Page 186 of Chaos

He brings my hand to his mouth, nipping at the thickest part of my thumb before groaning against my palm, “Are you trying to make me come already?”

My turn to smirk now, I take a deep breath anddrop. Every inch of him buried inside me, Finn moans so loudly, I cover his mouth—I cover my own when his face twists with so much pleasure, when he fuckingwhimpersagainst my skin, and I can’t resist mimicking the noise. “I’m not entirely opposed to the idea.”

In fact, I quite like it. Having him that on edge, demolishing his control that quickly. Already, he’s breathing heavily, he’s so swollen inside of me, his whole body shudders, and it makes me feel better. Less out of my depth. Lessnervousbecause as familiar as this is to me… well, it also isn’t.

Locking down those pesky nerves, I start to move in rapid rolls that have his head thrashing against the pillow. I throw my own back and speed up, find the rhythm I know, frantically chasing the pleasure I know we’re both craving the only way I know how,rushing.

“Baby, baby, baby.” Firm hands still me, and I open my eyes to find Finn frowning. “Stop.”

I do. I shift until he slips out of me, frowning too as I sit back on his thighs, as panicked insecurity replaces any pleasure. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Finn shakes his head, looking confused by the question, bewildered by the concept. “Just… slow down.”

Fuck.Fuck. I slump, bracketing the base of my throat like I can pluck out the raw embarrassment settling there. “Sorry.” My voice wobbles. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

That frown intensifies. “What?”

“I’ve never done this before.” My nails bite into my skin, a sting that does nothing to abate the burn of mortification. “I’ve never been sober before.”

Finn stills.

I watch my admission peel back his skin and wriggle beneath it, flaying him the same way it does me. Slowly, he sits up. And even though a forearm remains plastered to my lower back, keeping me on his lap as he shifts to perch on the edge of the bed, and he’s still hard against my stomach, I know I’ve ruined the mood.

I’ve fucked it. Iwon’tbe fuckinghim. I—

I gasp when his cock slides through my pussy.Hard. Nudges my clit, and I stutter a breath, I moan the next one, I gaze at him, wide-eyed, questioning.

He gazes back. Determined. Hot.Scalding, as he starts that tortuous slide inside of me once more, stuffing me full inch by fucking inch. He kisses me just as slow, leisurely, our lazy tongues a warring contrast against the bruising grip he has on my thighs, just above where my knees dig into the mattress. Once he’s as far inside of me as he can get, so deep I can barely breathe, let alone move, he coasts his hands higher, finding my hips and guiding them into a gentle roll.

“Slow,” he reminds me.

Slow, I repeat silently. I can do slow. I can do anything for him—I will.

“There you go,” he praises as I move so achingly slow, and my breath hitches, my chest flushes—his eyes track the growing patch of red like a hunter tracking prey. Knuckles drag down my sternum, over my trembling torso, coming to a stop just below my belly button. “You feel me, Lot?”

I gasp a desperate yes.

Finn grunts as he flattens his palm low on my pelvis and presses down hard—as he fucking feels himself too. “Good, baby?”

My eyes water. I remember when I asked a similar question, when he scoffed at it with such bewilderment, and fuck, I understand now. Lost in the lazy friction, the unhurried thrusts and grinds, the gently-building pleasure,I get it. “The best.”

“Damn right.”

I moan at his pleased tone, at the arrogant rasp behind it. My cunt ripples around his cock and he curses roughly, slamming me down a little harder, holding me still for a moment as I pulse and writhe with the beginnings of an orgasm. “God, I want to live inside you.”

“I’m okay with that.” Panting and gasping, I grab his wrists, nails cutting into his skin. “Can I go faster now?”

He grunts, licking his bottom lip, not letting me move an inch and not taking his eyes off where we join either.

“Finn.” I lean forward, disrupting his line of sight, smirking when it gets caught on my tits instead. Pinching his chin between my thumb and forefinger, I tilt it upwards, catching those wild, blown eyes with my own. “Please, baby. Pretty please. I need more.”

“Pretty please,” he parrots, half a tease, half a groan—and completely obliged.

His fingers dig into my skin, and briefly, I get distracted hoping they’ll leave marks. Little pinprick bruises for me to wear like freckles, to make it easier to remember that this happened, that I felt like this, that it wasreal. And then my hips snap forward roughly, guided by Finn in unison with an upward thrust, with a growled, “Fuck me, Charlotte.”

And I quite literally forget about anything but doing just that.

This time, as I pick up the pace and ride him, I don’t rush. I’m not just going through the motions, just trying to get it over, trying to get out of my head, trying to feel something. I take my time and I keep my eyes locked on Finn, locked with his, and I skim my fingertips over every inch of skin I can reach, I feel the slow drag of every inch of him inside of me, I feel everything, so much,too much, yet not enough at all.

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