Page 176 of Break the Ice
“Okay, Hotshot?” Finley mouths, still clasping Eli’s hand as she tips her face to mine.
I band an arm around her waist, lift her onto her toes, and crush a kiss to her mouth. My hand molds to her jaw while I take everything she offers and her hand at my back twists in my sweater in a silent plea for more.
Swirling my tongue with hers one last time, I pull back a tad, catching her lip between my teeth with just enough bite that she whimpers.
That sound.It sends an uncontrollable wave of heat through me that culminates at the base of my stomach with a tight clench of all my muscles. My cock jerks at the sensation, reminding me of how incredible it feels to be buried inside her.
As I pull back for air, my eyes flash open when Finley touches her forehead to my mouth, and I meet Eli’s intent stare. Dark, intent, heavy with longing. It yanks my heart like a ripcord; my pulse pounds so hard I can’t breathe.
The urge to pull him in is a physical ache that has me holding Finley tighter. Like our needs are one and the same, she gently tugs Eli closer.
Our eyes are still glued to each other’s stare when his front presses to her back. With my arm sandwiched between his abs and the soft curve of her ass, I pull her impossibly flush to me at the same time as I step closer, fitting a foot between hers while the other plants itself on the other side of his.
Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it.
Is all I keep chanting to myself when Finley’s head falls back onto Eli’s chest. Her lips graze my jaw as she nuzzles her temple to his lips with a wistful sigh when I drag my gaze from his and to hers. My pulse blazes when I feel his white knuckled grip of her sweater at the top of my thigh.
Finley’s hand traces up my back, her nails raking over each rung of my spine in sync with her heaving chest. Every one of her short gasping breaths pulls my lips to hers. Peppering kisses along my mouth, she trails a heated path to my ear as her hand hooks into the curve of my shoulder, pulling me down to her.
“Take what you want, Jayden,” she says, squeezing my nape.
Her fingers knead at my muscle while I try to catch my breath in vain. There are too many feelings, too many currents to sort through; the now with her, the ache for him, the possibility hanging between us like a live wire.
Dragging my lip into my mouth, I suck on it like it might alleviate some of the suffocating yearning to taste and possess because…
I can’t take what’s his to give.
Because while I’m comfortable in my skin and at peace with who I am, he needs the chance to find that for himself. Pushing Eli into something he’s not ready for wouldn’t be fair to him, Finley, or me.
So even though the restraint is killing me, I pour every want, every need, the thick ache he stirs in my chest into Finley. I kiss her until there’s nothing left but warmth and steadiness. Until the hunger I can answer eases the thirst I can’t.
Even with his stare on us.
Even with his hand twisting her sweater at my thigh, even with his chest pressed hard to her back, heat searing into my arm around her.
I relish the ferocity of his desire coursing from him to me to her, and in every possible way it can wrap itself around us. Binding and creeping its hold on each of our chests.
As much as we can try to fight it, this longing goes beyond themeasures of our control. It can’t be contained or hidden away. It’s etched in the marrow of our bones now. A need, as basic as breath.
Something we won’t survive without.
A quiet weighthangs between us while we walk around Grand Central Market. Live music night packs the place; the hum is electric. Last time I brought Eli here, he looked around like someone had cracked a window in his head. I swore I’d bring him back.
After Finley and I discussed the things she wanted to do now that she can explore the world, a festival was at the top of her list. Since I can remember, I’ve always loved music. My parents took me and my sisters to all the family festivals from a young age. It seems wrong that Eli and Finley never got those cultural experiences.
This isn’t a festival, but the indie-folk covers are tight, the chaos is contained, and the Middle Eastern truck by the stage slings the best dinner in Downtown LA.
The loaded air never shifts, but it grows comfortable. An invisible tether that’s steady and strong.
“So…” I say, sitting back into my seat as the band plays indie folk covers and we wait for our food buzzer to let us know our dinner is ready to be picked up. “This guy likes aggressive ear drum throttling noise, what about you, Lucky? What music do you like?”
Finley bursts out laughing, voice still a little raspy. The gravel shivers straight through me.
Between her and Eli, I’m doomed.
“Aggressive eardrum-throttling noise?” she snorts. Eli rolls his eyes, hair tumbling as he crosses his arms and tries to glare. The chuckle ruins it.
“It blocks out all the noise,” he sighs. “Especially when Mr. Talks-a-Lot is riding with me.”
