Chapter 11
She couldn’t even tell herself that she had tried to resist him this time. Because she hadn’t. Not beyond her pathetic little effort when she had first opened the door. But before he’d even spoken, before he had taken that first step forward, she had known she would give in. To her need, to her love, to her heart and body, and mind and soul, and everything that this man owned.
Try as hard as she might, this was Finn, her Finn, not Max’s dad, or Avery’s ex, not anyone’s ex-son-in-law. No, he was hers. At least for now.
Only Finn could make her body and heart melt, congeal, and melt again, and again, and again with just a kiss. And after he had kissed her in the gallery, she knew that if he did it again, she wouldn’t stand a chance against it.
She gave in to the touch that she had missed, to his strong arm that pressed her to him, to his palm that weaved into her hair and melded her mouth further to his, to his taste, to the pool in his eyes and on his skin. Her own hands came up, and she fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, though there was no space between them, and her fist ended up pressed between his chest and her collarbone.
They kissed as if that single kiss encapsulated the last fourteen years in it. Their tongues battled, their hands chafed. His stubble scratched her chin, and their lips bruised.
Finn’s leg was wedged between hers, and she felt him walking her back. In two steps, her back hit the wall behind them, and he pinned her against it, shoving his thigh further in.
Anne raked her hands up over his chest and shoulders, then up his neck, until she cupped his face and felt his jaw muscles move as he kissed her. She wanted to feel that kiss everywhere, even in her hands.
She knew there was no way they’d make it to a bed or even her couch, which replaced the old one that her heart had broken on all those years ago.
No, they were going to rip each other’s clothes off right there, near her front door, and she had a little brain capacity left to hope no trick-or-treaters would come knocking.
There was nothing gentle about the way they demanded each other. Finn slid his hands over her body, her breasts, her waist, her hips. He gathered her dress and lifted it. He had to take a step back to create enough space between them so he could take it off her. His mouth was back on hers as soon as the dress was over her head and tossed to the floor.
“Fuck, Jane,” Finn groaned as he trekked his hands over her naked skin. He traced them all the way down from her face to her thighs, then up again where he cupped her bare breasts. He didn’t break their kiss, not even to slide his mouth to her breasts. It was as if they both needed to be rooted to the other’s taste.
She could feel him rock-hard under his jeans. She slid her hand down and smoothed it over that hardness. Finn pushed his pelvis harder against her. She needed to feel it all.
Slipping her hands under his shirt, she glided them up his abs and chest. At thirty-nine, Finn was as sculpted as he had been at twenty-five. The hard muscles were not pumped; they were the result of hard work and dedication. They were Finn. With her hands inside his shirt, she took it off him.
She kissed his neck and collarbone, inhaling his skin, insisting on finding the faint scent of pool under the clean smell of soap. She felt him opening his jeans and traced her hands down to help him. She needed him inside her to satiate at least part of her hunger for him.
Through the blur, she noticed a tattoo on his upper left bicep, close to his shoulder. Something round was inked in blue and yellow, she couldn’t tell. She wanted to know what it was but didn’t have the capacity to wonder, not when Finn suddenly yanked her panties down, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, had her legs wrapped around him, and with his body caging her against the wall, he pushed hard into her. He didn’t have to check or waste time on preparations, he knew she’d be soaking wet for him.
He filled her, lingered for a moment to savor the sensation, then thrust hard, deeper into her.
“Finn,” she moaned. “Finn.” His name. The only thing she wanted and needed to say. For far too long, it had been sealed in her heart, hardly ever uttered.
Pinned between two hard surfaces—Finn’s body and the wall—she never wanted to be anywhere else. Finn had one hand on her breast, kneading it rough, while the other cupped the side of her neck and cheek, his fingers splaying inside her hair. His mouth moved along her jawline.
“Tell me,” he groaned next to her ear. “Tell me how you want me.”
“You already know,” she managed to expel.
Finn caught her lips with his and kissed her deep.
Fourteen years since the last time they had each other like this, but Finn knew exactly how to touch her. Except for his name on her lips, whispered and moaned into his ear, against his mouth, she didn’t have to tell him or say anything. She held on to him, to his neck, and shoulders, and chest, feeling everything she had missed, everything her heart and body could only have imagined for so long.
Finn reveled in every moan that escaped her throat with every push of his body into hers. He brought her up and closer with every deep, rough thrust.
Fourteen years built up inside her; everything pooled into this moment, into every cell in her body that connected with his. She came hard, her head lulling back against the wall before she dropped her forehead against Finn’s, and their eyes locked as they came together.
“God, Jane,” he exhaled, pressing his weight further into her as she let the waves wash through her body. “I missed you doesn’t even come close,” he rasped, his palms nestling both sides of her head.
“I love you,” she breathed the words that she hadn’t said out loud since that last time. “I love you, Finn.” However this was going to end, it was true, and it had to be said. She needed him to know, though he already did.
He shifted his head back and looked into her eyes. He then slanted his mouth on hers and kissed her. After the ferocious way they had just surrendered to each other, that soft kiss was them yielding to the totality of it all.
He gathered her in his arms and, pressed against him, carried her to the bedroom. She had no idea when he had managed to step out of his shoes and jeans, probably when she was too busy marveling at his body.
Her house was tiny so, a moment later, she was on her bed with Finn on top of her, his body nestled against hers. He propped himself up on his forearms and looked at her. His gaze caressed her face, along with his fingers that skimmed her hairline and jawline.