“You want that?”
“I shouldn’t.” I twisted around, saw the kitchen and the food, heard the sound of the crowd out back for the first time in ages.
“I won’t, not if you don’t want me to.” As if to bely his words, his fingers grazed the sensitive flesh just inside the leg seam and slid down.
“What about you?”
“I don’t care about me. I want you, riding my fingers, shuddering as you come, crying my name. Then I want to lick every damn drop off of them.”
“Goddamnit, Finn. I’m supposed to be out there being the hostess or some shit, not getting a handjob in the lounge room.”
“Say no.”
“You know I don’t want to do that.”
“Say no, love, and I’ll stop.”
He wore that singular male smirk that said, at the very least, he was enjoying my struggle, if not outright doubting my ability to say that one word. Then his finger swiped up along my seam.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered, fighting to keep my groan inside. I throbbed with need.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he said, and his fingers slid over drenched flesh. I whimpered, not able to keep the sounds back now. “Your little clit is all perked up and ready to be touched.” I nodded, unable to get out the words to agree as his thumb grazed over it. “I want to take my time, stretch this out, have you crying and pleading for more, but I can’t. So many can’ts.”
I was about to argue, plead, whatever it took to turn this slow, light stroke into something firmer, when his fingers shifted rapidly, two pushing inside and forcing a moan from me, as his thumb worked my clit faster.
“Are you feeling that stretch inside you? Like the feeling when we push into you, but different, I imagine.” I nodded, hips starting to shift with his thrusts. “I’m going to curl my fingers, rub the pads of them against that hard little swell.” I gasped when he did. He knew me now, exactly when and where to get a reaction. “Is that it? Yes, it is, isn’t it? Feels like I’m massaging your clit from the inside. So, what’s it feel like when I do this as well?” His thumb rubbed back and forth over my clit, the motion growing more and more rapid. “You look so fucking beautiful, love, like a goddess taking her pleasure from us mere mortals.” Both of our heads whipped around as we heard another knock on the door. “Gotta make this quick. I don’t want to, but we’ll have so much time later, I promise. Come for me, love.”
I always found scenes where the romantic leads told the FMC to come weird and dumb. Like our clits were good little puppies, ready to roll over at an order. But here I was, my back arching as I felt a godawful pressure build within me. I yelped when he pushed another finger in, as it was too much and not enough. I knew if he pulled them out of me, it would hit those places in me so good, especially when he altered the angle just right.
Another knock at the door.
“C’mon, love, or we’re about to get an audience.” My eyes flicked open to see that his smile had become devilish. He watched my reaction as he slammed his fingers in hard, twisting on the downstroke. “That’s it, love, just let it go.”
I fell upon him, my tongue tangling with his as I worked myself against his hand, the two of us racing, racing...
“Fuck!” I hissed against his lips, my hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me, leaching all of the day’s tension out. My hand shot down to hold his in place, unable to tolerate him moving anymore but not letting him pull away.
“You OK, Jules?”
I’d have liked to have come up with something heartfelt or sweet to say, but instead, I was just wiped out. I collapsed against him, catching my breath in the crook of his arm.
“Mmm,” Finn said, and neat as a cat, licked his fingers clean. Fuck, after being with guys who either didn’t like or simply tolerated going down on a girl, watching him do that like a little boy with an ice cream was fucking hot. Another, more terse, knock came from the door. “I’d love for you to stay here all night, but I think it’s time to become the gracious hostess.”
“God, but I don’t want to.” I flipped my skirts and arranged myself in what I hoped was a semblance of neatness.
“We won’t get much of a chance to hang out tonight with all the pomp and circumstance that’s about to take place, but I’ll come for you soon. We’ll do something, just the two of us.”
“Maybe we should just walk in,” a muffled voice came from outside.
“Into an unknown woman’s house?”
“I’d like that,” I said, then squared my shoulders and plastered a socially appropriate smile to my face before opening the door.
7
The first thing I did when I returned to the back yard was grab a beer, the second was take Slade’s hand. I sought the reassuring pulse that came down our connection like a child with their favourite toy. He looked up from the conversation he was caught up in and smiled. His nostrils flared for a moment, and then his eyes darted over my shoulder to where Finn went to pay his respects to the matriarchs. His smile turned sly.
“Soothing our boy, were you?” he whispered into my ear. “You hot little minx.”