Page 13 of The Pucking Date
Later that night, his hands got gentler. His mouth slower. He kissed me like he’d waited months for the chance and wasn’t about to rush a single second.
Like we were already something.
It didn’t feel like a one-night stand. It felt like home. And that’s when I knew I had to run. Because he didn’t just fuck me.
He made love to me.
And I felt it.
Which is also when the panic kicked in.
Men like Finn don’t stay. They burn bright and leave you ash. And women like me don’t survive being left twice. Not when it feels like that.
Now, standing here, dripping wet, his eyes all fire and memory, and I’m unraveling all over again.
What if I stepped closer? Would he touch me the same way? Would it be rough again, or slow? Would he look at me like he did then, like I was the only thing in the world he wanted?
“You need to stop staring,” I manage, or at least I think I do, my voice barely scraping past my throat. I shift behind the spray, trying to use the water like a curtain, wishing I’d picked literally any other time to rinse off the damn beach.
But he doesn’t move.
“I will,” he says, voice low and even, like he’s talking to a wild animal he doesn’t want to scare. “But it’d be a lot easier if you weren’t standing there like a fever dream.”
He lets that hang for a second, then adds, softer now:
“Just grab a towel, Novak. Or I’m gonna forget how good intentions work.”
Right. The towel. The one I left hanging on the hook, not having foreseen that my dirty fantasy starring a shirtless Finn O’Reilly would actually show up tonight and ruin me in real time.
He follows my gaze, then takes a step closer. My heart stops. “I’ll hand it to you,” he says, lifting his hands, trying not to spook me. “No funny business.”
“I swear to God, if you?—”
But he’s already reaching for it. Before I can object, he’s in front of me, turning off the water. Then he wraps the towel around my shoulders, his fingers brushing against bare, wet skin as he pulls the edges closed at my chest.
My heart stutters. My breath stops. It’s not creepy. It’s not pushy. It’s…tender. And somehow, that makes me want him even more.
“There,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “You’re decent.”
But I’m not. Not even close. Not in my head. Not in my body. Not with the way his eyes are blazing, fire simmering beneath the surface as he drinks me in, knowing exactly how I taste.
“This is so far beyond inappropriate,” I mutter weakly, clutching the towel, the only shield I have right now.
Finn raises both hands in surrender, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—amused, knowing, hungry.
“Want my shirt?” he offers, lifting it from his waistband. “It’s clean. You can use the towel for your hair.” A pause.Then his voice drops into that slow Southern drawl that always gets under my skin. “I just wanna see you in it, darlin’.”
I should roll my eyes. Try to snap something sarcastic. Instead, I say, “Turn around.”
He lifts a brow but obeys, unhurried, having no problem with letting me think I’m in control. I wrap the towel around my hair and pull on the shirt—soft, worn, still warm from his skin, smelling of salt and comfort andhim. “You can look now.”
He turns. And when his eyes land on me—bare legs, damp hair, his shirt on me—he stops. Just stands there, like someone knocked the breath clean out of him.
His gaze drags over me, blazing and desperate. His jaw tightens. His nostrils flare. His hands curl into fists at his sides. Then he lets out a breath—harsh, wrecked, guttural. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “That’s not helping.”
For one reckless second, I want to close the distance. See what would happen if I didn’t keep pretending that night didn’t ruin me. But guys like Finn, they get in deep. Under your skin. Into your head. Make you believe you’re the only thing they see. Until they change their mind and move on.
So I do what I’ve gotten good at. I swallow the want. I straighten my spine. And I fix a tight smile on my lips. Armor I haven’t taken off in years. “Say one more word,” I bite out, “and I’ll have your next sponsorship deal pulled so fast you’ll be modeling protein powder in your mom’s basement.”
