Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
His hands grip my hips, tilting me forward. I catch myself by holding his big shoulders, and he takes the opportunity to swoop in and draw my nipple into his mouth to suck it, hard and greedy.
As if by mutual consent, we start fucking, him thrusting up into me, me pushing down to get him deep. It is frantic and fast. His fingers sink into the soft flesh of my ass, pulling at it, moving it. He’s so strong, I’m bouncing on his hips, our bodies meeting with loud slaps.
“Fuck, Chess,” he pants. “I can’t. I can’t . . .” He breaks off and tries to kiss me.
But our movements are so violent and uncoordinated that our mouths barely meet. I wrap my arms around his neck. The walls of my sex clamp down on his dick, and he makes a strangled sound, his body jerking.
“Get there,” he pleads, thrusting harder.
But I’m too weak to do anything more than hang on. His hand slides down. No, he can’t. He can’t. I won’t survive. But he does it. He pushes his finger in deep and rough. And I come again on a wail.
He comes with me this time, making sounds that are almost pained.
We crash in a heap, me slumped on his chest, Finn sagging against the headboard. His arm bands around me, and he cups the back of my sweaty neck as we lie there and regain our breath. His heart is a fast beat in my ear. Too late I remember his injuries.
“Let me get off you,” I say, trying to move.
His grip tightens. “No.”
Not wanting to struggle, I let him hold me, and he relaxes. He turns his head and rests his lips against my temple. “Do you have any idea how much I need you? You make everything better.”
Emotion clogs my throat. I blink rapidly, my cheek pressed to the wall of his chest.
My arms wrap around his shoulders. I want to pull him into me, protect him from the world. “I thought . . .” I clear my throat. “I thought I might have messed things up.”
Finn stills, and then slowly smooths his hand over the back of my head. “You didn’t. It’s good to talk.”
I nod, but don’t say a word.
His touch is lazy, fingers carding through my hair. “My whole life, I’ve lived with my eye on the future. Every day, working for it. Worrying about it.”
His hand comes to rest on my nape. “I’m tired, Chess. With you, I can rest.” The beat of his heart is fast and strong against my cheek. Warm fingers tighten on my neck in entreaty. “Can we rest for a while? Just be?”
There is true yearning in his voice, and that plea goes straight to my heart. From the beginning, Finn had been clear about what drew him to me; I turned off all the white noise in his head. It had been flattering, seductive to be his sole focus. It still is.
It isn’t one-sided. I did not know what true joy was until Finn. Every emotion I’m capable of having amps up with him. I feel. I live. I breathe. The world is more real when he is there.
He wants to just be. Not think. I don’t know if I can, but, for Finn, I’ll try.
With a smile that feels too weak, I place a kiss on the center of his chest. “Yes,” I say against his skin. “Let’s just be.”
Twenty
Chess
“So, how are you getting along?” I ask James on the phone. I know Jamie is a programmer and has a tiny efficiency walk-up on the Lower East Side, but Manhattan is ridiculously expensive. James will have to get a job quickly.
“I’m waiting tables at this cute osteria in SoHo.”
I’m not surprised; James waited tables through college, and the money will probably be more than he earned with me.
He names a restaurant run by of one of New York’s biggest chefs.
Leave it to James to understate.
“We’re so eating there whenever I visit,” I tell him, rubbing some coconut oil onto my arms. My wrist is healed, the cast removed, but my skin is overly sensitive where it used to be.
Swathed in a towel, I’ve taken over the bathroom, refusing to let Finn enter while I get ready for tonight. He’d pretended to pout about it for a few minutes, but soon gave up and walked away with a satisfied expression. Not that I blame him; I’d satisfied him very well all morning long.
“You got a deal,” James says. “How about you? Things picking up?”
Sitting on a big ottoman in the massive closet, I rest my chin on my knee and study my toes, now painted scarlet red. “I need to find a work studio.”
Finn’s condo has three bedrooms, and he’d suggested I use one. But the room isn’t big enough and the light is all wrong. Never mind the fact that I cannot violate his privacy by bringing clients in here. This space is his sanctuary, and though his willingness to offer it to me speaks volumes about his trust, I won’t let him make that sacrifice. I need a separate workspace that I can comfortably bring people to.