Page 89 of The Hot Shot
Finn’s breath comes out in quick, light gusts. He’s shaking now, but he barely moves, as I quietly jack his cock. Up and down, squeezing just a bit at the tip. Finn’s free arm snakes beneath me and gathers me closer.
We’re wound together, my face tucked in the warm hollow of his neck, my hand stroking his dick, as he plucks and toys with my nipple. He can’t do more. We can’t move too much without being noticed. The huge muscle of his thigh, notched between my legs, flexes rhythmically in a maddening push-release against my clit.
Trembling, he rocks his hips, slowly fucking himself in my grasp. I run my thumb over his crown, tease the ridge of the wide head. The tremors increase. I don’t know who is shaking harder now. I could come like this. But I want his release more. Straining against him, I find the sensitive skin at his neck and suckle it, as my grip tightens on his dick.
The sound he makes is tortured, almost a whimper, and then he jerks so hard, I nearly lose hold of him. Wet heat spills over my fingers. We both shudder then, gasping as he works through his orgasm.
Finn sags against me, his breath stilted and damp on my neck.
The world around us returns—the loud explosions on thescreen, the reflective lights of the movie flickering over Finn’s skin.
As if coming out of a deep sleep, Finn blinks at me, his lashes fluttering. His gaze clears, zeroing in on me with a force that makes my breath hitch.
Watching me, he takes my hand and wipes it clean on his shirt. I am a twisted woman because part of me wants to tug my hand free and taste him on my fingers.
I don’t know what he sees in my gaze, but his nostrils flare. His lips barely move, his voice so low only I can hear it. “Bedroom. Now. Or I take you here.”
I move like water, rising up and flowing to my feet. My limbs don’t feel like my own anymore. Somehow he’s claimed them, and I’m left this throbbing mass of need. My nipples are so stiff they hurt. I need him to pinch them harder, put his mouth on them and suck...
Blood rushes in my ears, and distantly I hear myself saying good-night to Glenn and Emily. Emily is asleep.
Glenn waves me off without looking back.
I know Finn is following. He’s coming for me. The knowledge is cool heat on my skin, a pulsing pressure between my legs. My thighs clench with each step.
I don’t make it far. The darkness of the hallway closes in, and then his warm hand is there, wrapping around my arm, pivoting me.
Silently, he presses me against the wall, one hand in my hair, the other cupping my chin. But he doesn’t kiss me. Not yet. Our breath mingles in rasping pants, as we stare at each other in the shadows. The line of his jaw bunches. I’d think he was angry if it wasn’t for the intense look in his eyes. As if he’s hurting.
Need.
That’s what that is. Because I feel it, too.
I lift my chin, nudging at his hand, leaning into his touch.
His thumb strokes the edge of my jaw. His voice is barely a whisper, but hard and stern. “Tell me again that I’m a bad bet. Because I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”
Anticipation shimmers through my belly. “Prove it.”
All the tension leaves him with a breath, replaced by something more intent.
When he kisses me, it isn’t rough or impatient; it’s deep and consuming, as if he’s been given air after so much denial. Or maybe I’m the one who feels deprived, because that first touch ignites me. Nothing compares to kissing Finn Mannus. It is glorious, delicious. Perfect.
With a rough noise, he settles into the kiss, feeding me his tongue with easy glides, coaxing mine to play with his. And I do, tasting, taking. I draw in a quick breath, plunge in again, working for those gruff, pained sounds he makes, as if he’s dying and only I can save him.
I’m so attuned to him at this moment, every rapid thud of his heart against his ribs reverberates through my body. My fingers curl into the loose fall of his shirt at his back. I’m shivering with heat, my lips swollen, my jaw aching.
As if he feels my need, his grip on my hair tightens. He takes my mouth with soft, nibbling kisses, and deep explorations. All the while walking us toward his room.
Hands fumble behind me. He gets the door open, and then we are in the cool quiet of the bedroom. Standing in the center of it, I watch him close the door, pull his dirty shirt off, and toss it to the side. Blue moonlight plays on his shifting muscles as he moves. I drink in the sight, my fingers clenching with the need to touch.
Finn’s eyes gleam as he reaches out and flicks a switch. The bedside lamps turn on, and he grins, a slow curl of his lips. The look in his eyes is predatory.
My belly does a little flip. “Afraid of the dark, are we?”
He takes a step farther into the room. He looks as undone as I feel. Hair mussed and eyes glazed. “Needed to see this in full color.”
We speak in hushed tones, as if neither of us wants to break the quiet spell.
