The little promise was enough to send shivers through her that had nothing to do with her wet clothes. He went back to licking rivulets of rain off her throat and trailed a hand down her calf. He slipped off her sandals one by one and then grazed his teeth along her collarbone. She let out a soft moan, the feel of his mouth against her unbearably erotic. He’d always had a thing for her neck. She’d had to hide his little bites and marks from her parents after those illicit make-out sessions in high school. But she’d liked having those sexy mementos, even though she’d tease him mid-make-out with You’re going to leave evidence.
He’d whisper. I know. I like seeing you in class and knowing my mark is on your skin. It drives me crazy. Makes me hard.
To her virgin self, that tidbit had been about the hottest thought ever. It’d made her feel sexy and powerful. It’d made her want to take things further with him, even when she’d vowed to wait.
But now she didn’t have to bank her desires or keep her line in the sand. There was no innocence to protect, no parents to obey, no tender teenage feelings involved. She could have Finn and enjoy the moment without guilt.
He knelt on the floor in front of her, kissing down the hollow of her throat and holding her head in his hands to angle her just how he wanted her. She wanted to watch, to see him there between her knees, but the sensations had her eyes closing and her head tipping back in his hold.
“God, Livvy,” he murmured against her skin, inhaling like he was trying to rein himself in. “Tell me you really want this. That this is real. Tell me I didn’t fall asleep during the movie and am lying in there with a hard-on, having a dirty dream.”
She smiled. “I think I’ve made it clear that I want this. But no guarantees on the sleeping thing.”
“Don’t wake me until this is done then.”
He unbuttoned the first two buttons on her shirt and slipped his hand inside her bra, cupping her breast with his big, warm hand. He grazed a thumb over her nipple, and needy awareness rushed straight downward. She arched into the touch and gasped, surprised by the intensity of the sensation.
“Fuck, you’re sensitive,” he said, illicit appreciation in his voice as he traced his thumb over again and then pinched lightly. “And I love your breasts. Love how
heavy and hot you are in my hand.”
She sucked in a breath at the sharp need and looked down at him again, gripping his shoulders, needing something to ground her. “I think you’re turning me into my teenage self. I’m not usually so easily… I… Oh.”
She couldn’t finish her sentence because he slipped the cup of her bra beneath her breast and licked. Hot mouth on chilled skin. Her feet arched, her toes pressing into the floor.
He groaned, his breath tickling her. “The feeling’s mutual. I feel like I’m going to have the staying power of a fifteen-year-old. Thank God for the cold rain. Otherwise, I would’ve come already.”
She laughed, but the sound died when he put his lips fully on her and sucked. She may as well have had a wire attached to every erogenous zone with the way her body lit up—a circuit board of oh, hell yes. Her nails dug into his shoulders again, his wet shirt bunching beneath her fingers.
“But that just means I’ll have to take my time with you first,” he said, his voice dark with sensual promise as he rubbed his scruff against her breast. “Taste every little bit of you. I’m really disappointed about that.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “So sad.”
She could almost hear him smile. He quickly relieved her of her shirt and bra, dropping them into a wet heap on the floor, and then eased her back onto the bed. She lay down and opened her eyes just in time to see the way he was staring at her. His green eyes had gone dark and dangerous. Hungry. He reached for her shorts and tugged them off, leaving her in just her plain, black cotton panties, which had mostly survived the rain but were damp for other reasons. He trailed his hand over her sternum, his gaze following his fingers down her body until they paused at the band of her underwear. He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “You’re so damn gorgeous. You’re testing all my willpower right now.”
She licked her lips. “You don’t have to go slow. I know how long it’s been.”
His jaw flexed, warning flashing in his eyes. “I’m not an animal. I can control myself.”
She believed him, but she also saw the strain there, the fierce want. She encircled his wrist with her hand, boldly guiding it downward, until his fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties and he could feel the state of her arousal. “Maybe I can’t.”
Something broke in his expression, revealing a feral edge as his fingers curled against her most sensitive place, finding her slick and wanting and burning hot.
“Liv,” he said through gritted teeth.
It was a warning. She’d poked a starved lion. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing, but she knew down to her bones that he wouldn’t harm her—and maybe part of her wanted the ferocity. There was something unbearably erotic about seeing such a stoic man lose his composure simply from touching her.
“You can do what you want, but I promise I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to stop,” she said, trying to keep her words steady despite his exploring fingers. “We’ve got all summer for slow.”
His gaze locked on hers, the war in his head obvious in the lines of strain on his face, but in a flash, he slipped his hand from her panties and then ripped them off.
She gasped in surprise as she felt the fabric give way. She’d always wondered if panties could actually be ripped off. They seemed to be made of durable stuff. But this pair tore away like they were made of wrapping paper. He tossed them aside and then reached back with one hand and yanked off his T-shirt, keeping his eyes on her the whole time and giving her quite the view.
She took her own fill as he discarded his shirt. She’d seen him shirtless the night in the hotel room but had forced herself not to stare. Now she didn’t have to bother. Broad shoulders and a sculpted chest, the scar she now found comforting—along with a few other scars she’d have to ask about later—and a dusting of dark hair that trailed down to the waistband of his black pants. Masculine in all the best ways and beautifully built.
He put his hands to his waistband, and she watched his battered fingers untie the drawstring. He didn’t have smooth hands like the guys she’d dated in the tech industry. Finn’s knuckles had been nicked and marred. Working hands. This was a guy who’d been through God knows what—football, police work, fights, life-or-death situations.
But she lost the train of thought when he shucked the pants along with his boxer briefs. Good Lord, the guy was sexy everywhere. She’d felt him through his pants a few times in high school during those steamy make-out sessions, had been fascinated and intimidated by what she’d found at the time. Seeing him now, though, made her body clench in response. At the shameless arousal. At the promise of pleasure. He took himself in his hand and stroked. “I like that look you’re giving me. Like you’re desperate for me to fuck you.”