Page 156 of Stick It
It’s not really a question. It’s not in Finn’s nature—in any of their natures—to ask permission. Still, he lingers, hesitates, waiting for a response. “Let me make up to you the wrongs I’ve done.”
“We don’t need to date for you to do that.”
“No,” he agrees, still looking at me with that soft, open expression. “But like I said, Iwantto date you. The question is, do you want to date me?” Staring into his eyes, I can see the vulnerability lying there. The nerves. Unlike ever before, Finn is putting himself out there. Making his feelings clear and telling mepreciselywhere he stands.
“What about the others?” I ask in a quiet voice. My heart is lodged in my throat while I wait for his reply. It’s make or break, because despite how drawn I am to Finn, I’m basically already dating Griffin. Even if I chose to let him go, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let me—not that I have any intention of doing that. He’s been my grounding force in all of this. My stable place to land. I wouldn’t let him go for anything.
And then there’s Ethan and Jax. There’s no way I could give either of them up. Not playing video games with Jax or the little insights I’ve been getting into Ethan.
Just…nope. Not happening. As selfish as it might sound, I need them all.
“Baby, if hockey has taught me anything, it’s how to be a team player.”
When I merely roll my eyes, he nudges his nose against mine. “What do you say, Hellion?” he murmurs, shifting to hover over me as he drags his lips down the side of my neck. I tilt my chin, granting him better access, my body heating as his tongue occasionally flicks out to wet my skin, sending my mind spinning. “Be mine.”
There’s an edge to his voice. A plea that has me responding, “Yes,” without a single bit of doubt or hesitation. For as much as Finn says he wants me, I want him too. This chemistry between us is undeniable, but more than that, Finn makes me laugh, and despite keeping his distance, he’s shown that he cares for me. He brings me lunch and ensures I eat before practice and throughout the day. It’s a surprisingly sweet side of him that I imagine very few have the privilege to experience. “Yes,” I repeat, turning my head toward him. I breathe in a hint of his aftershave, something rich and oaky. It’s a combination that fits Finn to a T. Playful but brooding. “I’ll be yours.”
He half moans, half groans into my skin. “Three words have never sounded so perfect.” He’s still on top of me, his hands skimming my skin, mouth pressed to my throat. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock against my hip. Oh, how I want to spread my legs, to have him settle between them. Kiss me. Suck on my skin. Stroke this heat that is steadily building.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, sounding as dazed as I am. His hips jerk before he stills. His breaths are heavy against my skin, strained as he forces himself to calm. With one final deep inhale, as though he’s breathing my scent into his lungs, tattooing it to the lining so he never forgets, he pulls away. Our gazes lock. “I need to get out of this room or I’m going to forget everything I just promised and fuck you into this mattress.”
I mean, I wouldn’t complain if he did.
He must see exactly how much I want him, because he shakes his head, backing away. “Nope. No. None of that.” Hepoints an accusing finger at me as he crawls to the end of the bed. I sit up on my elbows, sucking my lips into my mouth to keep from grinning when he unashamedly adjusts himself in front of me. “I’m going to check on Ethan and Jax. You just stay here. Do whatever you do to prepare for a game. I’ll be back in a bit.” He’s already out the door, moving like there are flames licking at his heels.
Alone, I flop back down onto the bed. My sigh is loud in the otherwise silent room, and my body still pulses with the need Finn stirred. I’m horny as hell and there’s no way I can focus on getting in the mindset necessary for tonight’s game while feeling this way.
Icouldsort myself out.
Or…
My head tilts to the side, staring at the bathroom door as I strain my ears for sounds of the shower running. As I’m listening, the water cuts off, and images form in my head of Griffin, dripping wet, towel wrapped low around his hips, all that gorgeous, taut skin on display.
I’m off the bed and stalking toward the bathroom before I can second guess myself. I slip into the room without knocking, the door still damp from steam and the air thick with the smell of Griffin’s bodywash—clean, woodsy, dangerous.
He’s standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, white towel circling his hips as he runs another over his wet hair. Slowly, passionately, my eyes trail over him, lingering on the droplets of water that carve paths down the ridges of his back, catching in the valleys of muscle, slipping lower, before disappearing into the folds of white at his waist. He’s all sinew and strength, every inch of him honed and effortless. It makes saliva form in my mouth as I envision tracing the lines and grooves with my tongue, and heat blooms low in my stomach, spreading outward like a lit fuse.
My gaze snags on the ink slashing down his ribs—a single black line, thin and stark, bending into sharp, deliberate angles. What I initially stared at across the gym floor, I’ve now seen up close and personal countless times.
It isn’t a decorative tattoo. Not one intended to be pretty, but it doesn’t need to be. That jagged, unyielding line is Griffin. Unforgiving. Exact. A warning etched into skin.
On quiet feet, I move in behind him, my fingers brushing his damp skin before sliding around to the front of his abdomen. Solid muscles press against my palm, tensing and flexing beneath my touch. Leaning in, I press a kiss to the back of his shoulder, soft and slow, just enough to make him still.
He turns, the towel in his hand falling to his side, and his eyes find mine, narrowed and skeptical.
“What are you up to?” he asks suspiciously, yet his blue eyes sparkle with intrigue beneath the bathroom lights.
I shrug, the picture of innocence. Stepping back, I click the door shut behind me and turn the lock with a quietsnick.
Turning to face me, his head tilts slightly, that predatory gaze observing my every move. “Hurricane…”
Lifting both my eyebrows, I tap my finger against my lips—a silent reminder ofhisrules.
A minute passes, the two of us simply taking the other in, before he arches a brow. It’s a question. A challenge. One I’m ready to step up to the plate and meet.
My answering grin is slow and deliberate before I fall to my knees in front of him. His knuckles tighten around the towel at his waist, the one in his other hand falling to the floor, forgotten.
His eyes blaze with heat, and he does nothing to stop me as I reach up and tug on the edge of the towel. He lets go, and it drops. He’s already hard and ready beneath it, his engorged cock bobbing in front of my face.
