Page 49 of Songbird
“That song is about you, you know,” he says, eyes searching mine for acknowledgment. When he finds it, because of course it’s about us, he drags my mouth to his.
Finn’s mouth is hot and his tongue is soft. I moan into him. His kisses are heaven, and I don’t know how I’ll ever live without them. I shift my guitar onto the timber decking and move to his lap, his thighs tensing beneath me to balance the rocking of theporch swing as I straddle his hips. His cock is thick and hard between us, and I grow wet at the feel of it. I press my chest against his, thread my fingers into his hair, and stroke deeper into his mouth, like I can close the smallest distance between us, but even then, I’m still not close enough.
Finn’s arms envelop me, clutching me against his body to tell me he feels the urgency too, and his kiss grows more demanding. I peel off his shirt, frustrated at the thin layer covering his skin, and he does the same to mine before unclasping my bra and tossing it aside.
I flatten my body against him, responding to his kisses and his hands and the gentle thrust of his hips with encouraging but wordless sounds. The rock of the swing heightens the sensation of our skin finally making contact. The scorching heat of his muscled chest crushed against my aching nipples and the drag of my nails over his carved shoulders, make my panties wet and my heart race. I could sink into him, burrow underneath his skin, and I still wouldn’t feel complete. Nothing but the feel of him inside me will soothe this ache.
But when I slip my hand between us and dip two fingers into the waistband of his jeans, Finn pulls away and, with a pained groan, wraps his hand around my wrist.
“Are you sure?” he asks breathlessly.
I kiss him deeply and roll my center against him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Finn kisses me back, his free hand finding its way to the back of my neck and a fistful of hair, but he doesn’t release my wrist.
“You promised to make me come… and come… and come… remember?” I whisper against his ear, circling my hips against his hard-on to emphasize each word.
Finn moans, then turns his face into the curve of my neck. “That isn’t what this is,” he replies, and the movement of hislips, the warmth of his breath, the gravity of his words make me shiver. “And you know it.”
“Finn—”
“I’ll make you come,” he says roughly. “I’ll make you scream. I’ll make you beg me to stop before you beg me for more.”
I whimper and curl myself around him, sinking my teeth into his shoulder as I tug the waistband of his jeans, but his fingers only tighten around my wrist.
“But I never want to be the reason you cry,” he says quietly. “You’re coming out of a serious relationship. You might regret this one day.”
“I won’t,” I tell him, and when he opens his mouth to argue, I cover it with my free hand. “Can’t you feel how right this is?”
When I’m certain he’s not going to disagree, I let my hand fall, and he drops his mouth to run his lips over the length of my neck, over my shoulder and back again. His clasp on my wrist loosens a little and his other hand traces the dip of my spine. “Yeah, I can.”
“And if you’re worried about my vulnerability, how’s this for honesty?” I set my forehead against his and whisper, “I want to erase all traces ofhim. I need to reject the final claim he has on me—that he’s the only one to have been with me like that. I hate that of all the ways I can remove him from my life, this is the thing I can’t undo. If I have any regrets in life, it’s him. Not you.”
Finn’s body tenses, and I ghost my lips over the hard lines of his shoulder. His physique is overwhelming in its perfection and a testament to his self-discipline and commitment. He does what needs to be done and works hard for the things he values, and nothing moves Finn unless he wants to be moved. Nobody could convince him to do a thing he didn’t want to do.
“I want to be free,” I murmur. “Fuck me. Please.”
With a pained moan, Finn lifts me off his lap and sets me on my feet between his open knees. Then he slides his fingers intothe band of my yoga pants. He hesitates, eyes falling to Dakota, who watches us with canine disinterest.
“Dakota,” Finn snaps. “Inside and on your bed.”
She pushes to her feet with a yawn and disappears into the house without a backward glance.
With a look to make sure I’m still okay with the placement of his hands and a fast squeeze of his ropey forearms to let him know that I am, Finn drags my pants down my legs. He steadies me with his palms on my hips as I step out of them and then tucks his thumbs into the fine lace of my panties. He skims the edge of the fabric around to my inner thighs and curses under his breath when he finds them damp, then peels off my underwear too.
When I’m naked on the porch, warm rays of spring sunshine falling against my back, desire pooling at my core and my inner muscles rhythmically clenching with need, Finn grips my waist and rests his forehead on my stomach, eyes closed as if in prayer.
I weave my fingers into his soft blond hair. “Finn?”
He drops a gentle kiss on my skin, then ducks his head to leave another on my pussy, just above my clit, holding his hot lips against me and inhaling deeply. I close my eyes with a shiver.
I’ve never had a man go down on me, and if that one kiss is a preview of what it would be like to feel Finn’s mouth on me, I might not survive it.
“I’ve fantasized about this a thousand times,” Finn confesses. “I’ve spent hours—days, weeks, eternity—thinking about how it’d feel to sink inside you. To feel this tight pussy wrapped around me, my dick filling you up till you couldn’t take any more, then giving you one more inch. So if this is what you want, I’m too weak a man to say no.”
His declaration stuns me. Has he really been so distracted by me? My coiling desire twists alongside a growing sense of confidence and control. Finn sees a woman when he looks atme. Not a paycheck. Not a chess piece. Just me. And that’s a powerful aphrodisiac.
“I need this, Finn,” I say breathily. “I need you.”
