“Help you with something?” the clerk asks.
“No,” we say loudly and in unison.
Finn stares up at it. Quietly, he says, “I can’t get it out of my head—fucking you. Not last night or this morning or even now. Your perfect tits. An ass I can get a handful of.”
“Don’t talk like that.” It’s too much. His words make me dizzy, unsure of my self-control.
“You have the body of an angel,” he continues. “Or a devil. I haven’t decided.”
I shift my eyes from the painting to his profile. “Is that a compliment?”
“No,” he says, looking back at me. “It’s trouble.”
TWENTY-ONE
On Nineteenth Street, Finn wants to know what the next showing is. The theater clerk barely looks up from her computer, either tweeting or looking up movie times. “There’s one starting in five minutes,” she says.
“Is it good?” he asks.
“Of course. It’s great.”
“Honestly,” he says. “What’s the truth?”
She checks over her shoulder before she says, “Total crap. It’s a box office bust.”
“Perfect.” Finn takes out his wallet. “Two adults for the box office bust.”
Minutes ago, Finn had me hot and bothered in the middle of a vintage shop. I’m not sure I can sit still for the next two hours. “Finn—”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
Warmth surges through me. He’s caught me off guard. I can’t be his sweetheart, but this woman doesn’t know that. Finn looks about as delighted to call me that as I am to hear it. I decide to shut up. “Nothing.”
He grins. “Good.”
But as soon as we enter the popcorn-scented lobby, my loose muscles pull as taut as guitar strings. Finn asks me if I want something. I tell him I hate popcorn, and he looks pleased with each piece of information he gets. I don’t hate popcorn. I hate the way it stirs my memory and my guilt, both of which are better off buried.
We walk side by side into the dark theater. His knuckles brush my wrist, and I get an actual electric shock from the carpet. My hairs stand on end. I realize he’s going to touch me when we sit down. That’s why we’re here. To do more of what we did yesterday.
Him, flipping me over on the couch—first, onto my stomach to explore me from behind, then onto my back when he was ready to fuck.
His teeth, grazing the arches of my feet.
His hands, spreading me apart for his mouth.
“You all right?” he asks.
I’m hobbling. “Yes.”
We stop at the top of the aisle. A trailer for an action movie shakes the theater like an earthquake. My eyes adjust. The empty theater. Finn leads me to the middle of the very back row. He seats me on the inside, closest to the wall. As soon as I’m there, he whips off his jacket and huddles over me. He runs the tip of his nose along the shell of my ear, breathes hotly on my skin. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he says, pushing my coat off my shoulders. I wiggle out of it. “You have no idea.”
The memory of him inside me stings fresh—hurts, even, but in a good way. I put my hand directly on him and feel how hard he is. “I have some idea.”
He says my name through gritted teeth, as if the smallest thing will make him explode, then pushes me flush against the back of the seat. He kisses me hard, but I’m in the middle of my own feverish storm. I give it right back to him. I scrape my hand against the bulk in his pants.
He mirrors my movements and massages the seam of my jeans up against my clit. His fingers work fast from the start. I see stars right away. The stiff fabric and his urgency annihilate my control. I lose my breath, unable to continue kissing him.
He chuckles. “Already?”
“You can tell?” I ask.
“You freeze up before you climax.”
My hand is splayed across his crotch. My shoulders are nearly at my ears. My thighs shake from the pressure. I whisper, even though we’re alone, “You’re going to make me come here, in public?”
“Eventually. We still have a couple hours.” He covers my mouth with his again. We make out like we’re both starving and the other person is food. He pops open my jeans but doesn’t touch me where I want. His hand is under my sweater, skipping up my stomach, yanking at the underwire of my bra.
I pull him closer by his shirt. He’s nearly in my seat, hungrily exploring every inch of me, when voices startle us apart. I bang my spine against the armrest. An elderly man and woman shuffle into view, and then down the aisle. A group of girls enters behind them and sits a few rows in front of us.
“What the fuck,” Finn hisses.
I’m also panting, but somehow I manage a laugh. “Did you honestly think we could be alone in the middle of Manhattan?”
“I have a hard-on the size of fucking Manhattan.” He throws his head back against the cushion and looks up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“Not as sorry as I am. I’ve got to sit through a shitty movie with the goddamn Empire State Building in my pants.”
I giggle a little harder, but my glee fades quickly. Now I’m thinking of the way he plowed into me last night with his building of a cock, gave me all of it, even though he knew it could hurt. “How big are you?”
He looks sidelong at me. “I don’t know.”
“Liar. Every guy knows.”
“Not me.”
I don’t believe him. Nathan is equally shy about being well endowed. He’ll joke with me, whispering about his cock in public to make me blush. But when I tease him about his size, he shuts up.
Finn and I get comfortable. He pulls my leg over his and throughout the movie, absentmindedly rubs his hand on my thigh. I have no idea what’s happening in front of my eyes. I’m turned on and confused, a dangerous combination. I think I could justify anything right now, including getting arrested for indecent exposure.
Images flash across the screen the way my memory replays my short history with Finn. I start at the beginning, in the coffee shop, looking up at him in the sunlight that poured through the window. Perhaps it’s a more pivotal moment in my life than I realized. Perhaps my love story actually began then instead of on a beach years later. I can’t say this is love. Whatever it is, it’s coated in lust—I know that. My judgment is unreliable. But I can’t deny that this could easily become more.
I fast forward to yesterday. The way he lovingly fixed my hair for our photo shoot. Kahlúa and coffee under the gray cover of storm clouds. My dress pushed down one shoulder for his camera, for his eyes. The way he pinched my skin in his teeth and refused to let me come at first. Him, above me, muscled arms, kissing his way down my torso, blond hair tickling my skin.
My pants are still unbuttoned. I slide my hand down the front. It’s a few seconds before Finn straightens up next to me. “What are you doing?”
I bite my bottom lip and breathe through my nose. My fingers know this song by heart, but even if they didn’t, I don’t think it would take me long. Remembering all the ways Finn touched me has me riding the tallest waves, singing at the highest pitch.
Finn doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“I can’t wait until the end,” I say.
He grabs my wrist to still me. “But I want you to. I want you sitting there for the next couple hours, aching to have me inside you. Wondering how I’m going to make it happen when we have nowhere to go fuck.”
He removes my hand and kisses each of my fingertips before nipping the pad of my pinkie. I gasp silently. My chest rises and falls. I slide down in my seat, buck my hips, try to rub my clit against the rigid seam of my jeans. I may be able to do this without hands.
“Stop squirming,” he says, his voice deep and low. “You really can’t handle it, can you? You want my cock.”
Cock. My vision blurs. I need it. I think I’ll die without it. I bend over his lap. He doesn’t stop me from undoing his fly. He also doesn’t help me. I get frustrated fumbling in the dark and start pulling at the denim lik
e a junkie who needs a fix. Finally, I get into his underwear and take him out and into my slobbering mouth. With a groan, he shoves me down until he hits the back of my throat. He tests my limits. My eyes water, and I fight for air. He lets me up. I immediately go back for more. When my side cramps from the angle, I get on the floor, contorting my body into the small space. My knees protest against the ground, but I don’t care. Finn moves his hands to my shoulders. There’s tension in every part of him as he digs his fingers into my skin, his thigh muscles going taut. I can feel his effort to stay quiet through his entire body.
I’m prolonging my own orgasm, but this satisfies me in a way nothing else can, not even sex. His pleasure before mine. I want him to use my mouth how he needs. He isn’t gentle.
He pulls my head back by my hair, and we look at each other. I gape inelegantly, my mouth wide and wet. He grabs my biceps and drags me up. My knees, stuck to the floor, come up with a pinch.
Finn turns me toward the screen and sits me on his lap, between his thighs. “Close your legs,” he says.
When I do, he yanks my jeans and thong halfway down. “Finn—” I don’t recognize my own guttural voice. With the crinkling of a condom wrapper, one of the girls shifts like she’s going to turn around, but she doesn’t. “We can’t. Not here.”
He lifts me up just enough to spread only my lips for him. “You sure?” he taunts. He leaves me suspended and trembling on the blunt tip of his cock. The film has gone quiet for a solemn scene. I brace myself against the seatback in front of me as he guides me down by my hips. My closed legs resist, but he pushes through it, splitting me up the middle. My teeth hurt from clenching them. The onscreen actress cries silently. I’m sure everyone can hear me breathing through my nose. Finn fills me completely so I’m seated in his lap. My muscles contract around him and release. I loosen my grip. This is what I need. I’m too stunned to move, so he urges me up and down by my waist. I can’t tell if the sparks in my eyes are from Finn hitting me in all the right places, or if they’re part of the movie.
Finn’s mouth is in my hair, hot on the back of my neck. “Ride me, Sadie.”
I swivel my hips in circles, chasing my orgasm. He puts his hands under my sweater and pulls on the cups of my bra. I suck in a moan as he grasps my breasts. I ride him, possessing his cock. The actors go about their business. Every few seconds, his fingertips tighten on my nipples. I make a small noise, and his tugging becomes tweaks and pinches. He wants me to scream. Cries of pleasure travel up my throat. I squirm more frantically on his lap trying to hold them in. When the intensity overtakes me, I let out a groan. He lets go, and we still. More than one moviegoer looks back. Our bodies tremble together. We wait. When they turn forward, Finn massages the sting away as he takes over and begins bucking up into me.
When I’m close, he pushes my upper back until my face is level with the seat in front of us. He grips my hips and fucks me straight into an orgasm. We talk to each other—oh, God, fuck me, yes! My pussy constricts around him, sucking him deeper. My climax lasts longer than I’m used to, intensified by the angle, the friction, the thrill of being in public, my impossible struggle to contain myself.
A silhouette rises in front of us, blocking the screen. I reach back and hit Finn’s arm, trying to get his attention. He grabs my elbow and pulls me onto him harder, faster.
“Finn—” He slaps a hand over my mouth.
A girl looks right at us as she passes the last row. My ears ring. I miss whatever she mutters. Finn fucks me at lightning speed, grits out, “Hol-y—Sadie,” and pulls my hair as he comes. For a few seconds, he shudders uncontrollably, muttering words I can’t decipher.
I’m immovable. Unable to function. Holy Sadie. I can’t imagine ever getting up from this spot, but almost immediately, Finn springs into action. He lifts me off his lap. I’m disoriented. I let him move me around. He puts me in my seat, turns to block me from the aisle, and does up my pants. My nipples are still out of their bra, pressed against the softness of my sweater. He fixes that too.
When the door opens, light slices through the theater. Finn’s zipper hisses. A man whisper-yells at us from the end of the row. “Excuse me. Hello?”
“Fuck,” Finn mutters, running his hand through his hair and beard.
I look over his shoulder. The theater attendant waves a glowing, orange wand. “Sir? I have to ask you both to leave.”
Finn takes my arm and pulls me up so fast, the room spins. I’m throbbing in my jeans. We inch toward the man with the vest. The girl who ratted us out stands behind him, her arms crossed.
I trip. Finn slips his arm around my waist. “Did you get everything?” he asks me. “Purse?”
I nod, even though he isn’t looking at me.
“Sir,” the man starts, “you’re not—this behavior isn’t permit—”
“We’re going,” Finn says irritably. He moves his hand from my waist to the back of my neck and doesn’t take it off me. I can barely keep up with his purposeful strides.
The attendant trails us. “We ask that you not return.”
Finn doesn’t even look back. “We won’t.”
We’re back in the well-lit lobby. I keep my head down, letting my hair curtain my face. I feel the employees looking at us anyway. I don’t want Finn to let go of me, but we’re in public now. I duck out from under his hand, and he lets me.
Outside, the cold November air is a slap in the face. It shocks me all the way into my lungs. Finn takes my coat from my hands and wraps it around my shoulders, even though he’s still holding his jacket.
“Fuck this,” he says as we walk. “All I want to do right now is lie down—with you. My heart’s going a mile a minute.”
Mine’s also pounding, but not like his, I’m sure. He came mere seconds before we were interrupted. “Are you all right?” I ask.
“Aside from the fact that I’m still wearing the condom?” I giggle as he wraps his arm around my neck and tilts my head back by my chin. “On top of the world. You?”
“Good,” is all I can think to say, even though I’m soaring. My insides are gelatin. The intensity of my orgasm has left me glowing from the inside.
“Those people got a little more show than they bargained for, didn’t they?”
I smile. Somehow, he’s able to guide us through the crowd while looking down at me. “That girl saw us,” I say.
“Yeah, she did. Kind of hot, though, isn’t it?”
My insides pull deliciously. It does turn me on. It’s more than that, though. “She knows our secret.”
He pulses his eyebrows. “Are you worried about running into someone you know?”
“A little,” I say. “I don’t know if Nathan would even care anymore, though.”
Finn looks forward again. “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, I’m not, but I am. I’m sure that doesn’t feel good.”
It doesn’t. My mind flashes to the pathetic look he gave me earlier before he walked out the door. I’m less important to him than stepping in a pile of shit—at least that would be irritating enough to elicit a reaction. I push Finn’s arm off.
“I hate that I can’t show you how I feel,” he says.
“I’m pretty sure you just did,” I tease him.
“Which neighborhood is he in today? So I know where to avoid,” he adds.
He’s frustrated. Any honest thing I could say would only make things worse, though. “Most likely, he’s not far from here,” I say. “He usually volunteers at the kitchen near Sixth Avenue.”
Finn leaps off the curb and hails the first cab he sees.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he ushers me in.
“Anywhere but here.”
As we pile into the cab, I don’t tell Finn it doesn’t matter where we go or how far we get. The day has to end at some point. And when it does, I’ll go home to Nathan. That’s a reality he can’t escape.
TWENTY-TWO
Anywhere turns out to be Times Square. On a Sunday, even in the cold, the blocked-off
area is a disaster. The crowd is thick, made even denser by puffy coats and thick-soled boots. A trashcan overflows onto the sidewalk. The cabbie drops Finn and me off as close to the center as he can get.
“Why are we here?” I ask. Billboards flash over us. I’ve spent every year since I moved here avoiding these tourist-infested blocks.
“Do you know anyone who’d come here on a Sunday?” Finn asks.
“No. Not a single person. Not during the week unless it was work-related and definitely not on a weekend.”
“Exactly.”
People walk around us in multiple directions. A toddler face plants between a stranger’s legs and cries. Finn’s plan dawns on me, and I look up at him. “We’re alone here.”
He taps me on the nose. “Beautiful and smart.” I can’t help my smile. “What’s your maiden name?”
“Beckwith.”
“Beautiful and smart Sadie Beckwith.”
I clamp my teeth together. It’s been a while since anyone called me that, and I don’t even know that woman anymore. I’m Sadie Hunt through and through. “Do you have any siblings?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No. You?”
“An older brother. Andrew. You’d like him.”
He perks up. “Yeah? Why?”
“If there were an artist in our family, it’d be him. He runs a garage, but he also loves tattoos. Giving and receiving. And he’s a dad to a daughter, like you.”
Finn smiles crookedly. “I’d love to meet him.” Before I can protest, which I’m about to do, he adds, “One day. Not now, obviously.”
I’m already picturing it, though, what it would be like to introduce them. I may have spoken too soon. Andrew is all kinds of fucked up when it comes to the opposite sex, but he wouldn’t approve of what I’m doing. In fact, I think if Andrew found out about Finn, he’d take pleasure in wringing his neck.
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