I licked my lips, knowing enough to maintain this stance until he told me what to do.
It never occurred to me that it was weird that I always did as I was told. Never occurred to me that lovers pleased one another with no expectations of obeisance.
Mostly, it never occurred to me because I loved this. Loved what we did. It turned me inside out and made me happy, and after months of grieving, this was exactly what I needed. Something physical. I didn’t need to talk, I needed to do, and Finn was very, very good at doing.
“Lay on your back, legs spread,” he commanded, and though my cheeks flushed, I was too used to his dictates to even hesitate.
It was amazing how any embarrassment could disappear in a few short weeks.
I rolled onto my back and spread my legs.
“Slide your fingers through my cum,” he ordered, folding his arms across his chest as he watched me, his gaze focused on my pussy, a stern look on his handsome face. He was stark in an expensive suit with a shirt so white, it hurt my eyes to behold. He looked heavenly with just a dash of devilish to mar his pristine perfection.
Doing as he bid, I touched myself and felt, just from the brush of his eyes, something that had been missing when I was alone. I could come so easily, and the feel of his seed against my sloppy self was enough to make me want to weep with joy.
“Thrust your fingers inside,” he told me, and again, I complied. “Feel me in you, Aoife. Feel all I have to give you.”
I did. I truly did, and I moaned my gratitude.
“T-Thank you.”
He laughed. “You won’t be thanking me in a minute.”
My eyes popped open wide after lazily drifting shut.
“Clean your fingers now, suck them dry. We’re going out.”
“Out?” I blinked at him.
We never went out.
Well, not unless ‘out’ was him finding me and taking me to his home.
“Yes. Out,” he repeated gruffly, his cheeks staining with heat.
“Where are we going?”
“Never you mind. Just get dressed.”
“Dressed?” I squeaked. “I need to shower.”
“No. No shower. Serves you right for getting yourself turned on without me there.”
I reared up at that. “Fuck you!”
“I want your fire, my beauty,” he told me, a muscle twitching in his jaw, “but not right now. Get dressed.”
“I’m not leaving all sweaty and stinking of you.”
He shrugged. “Use some perfume to cover it. It’s your own fault.”
My bottom lip trembled, and I knew I was reacting like a spoiled child, but he couldn’t expect me to leave the house smelling like him and of my arousal and of sex, could he?
I stank.
There was no kind way to put it.
“P-Please,” I whispered, uncertain why I was begging but knowing that was the wisest course of action.