by Lynn Turner
“Very nice,” he said, burying his face there and inhaling deeply.
He breathed in the scent that was uniquely hers and moaned against her, his hot breath heating her through. He sucked, drawing in her essence through the thin material. She moved against his face and he increased the pressure. He glided the flat of his tongue along the slit between her folds, flicking the tip over her clit. He repeated the motion until the sounds she made turned desperate. He felt her thighs tense, every muscle in her body locked in limbo and waiting for release.
“Please.” She clutched at his shoulders.
He knew what she needed, so he swirled his tongue around her clit and drew it into his mouth for one long suckle. She moved against his face, writhing and moaning, and he drank her up, lapping at her wetness until her orgasm passed and she slumped against him.
He smiled. “Don’t get tired yet, baby.”
****
The hint of promise in his tone sent tiny tremors through her body and she clung to him as he lifted her across his lap. She began to tease his ear, swirling the cavern with hot flicks of her tongue. She caught the lobe between her teeth and gave it a saucy tug. He jerked his head away, bringing his mouth down hard on hers. He licked her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth, starting the frantic pulse beating through her body all over again. She had to move.
She squirmed in his lap, massaging him through his pants, and he groaned into her mouth. Awareness of his arousal only heightened her own. The hard resistance of his large frame against her body made her want to melt into him even more. Her quick fingers tugged his shirt from his pants, undoing the buttons so she could worship his chest with her hands, her fingers gliding through the short curls.
One of Finn’s hands supported her back, the other on one of her breasts, massaging and squeezing in turns. A rock-hard nipple poked through the soft material of her dress and he pinched it between his forefinger and thumb. She moaned in his ear, covering his hand with hers and pressing it even harder to her.
“So, so greedy,” he said, flexing his hips.
She ground her ass down on him and licked his neck. “I can’t help it. It’s been so long and you feel so good.”
She kissed her way from his jaw to his chin and back to his lips, biting the bottom and pulling it with her teeth. They devoured each other for several minutes, the sound of their kisses mixing with their uneven breathing.
It was heaven, a recurring dream every single night they spent apart. Her memory had been vivid with the sight of him, of soft skin over hard muscle, filled with the gentle sound of his deep voice, the feel of her body curved to his. Only seeing him the way he was right now, absorbing her cries as he kissed her, and touching her in the flesh would ever do him justice. It still wasn’t enough. She whimpered.
“Emanuela.” He pried her wandering hands from his torso. “I want to see.”
She didn’t want to separate from him, but somehow, she stood on wobbly feet and let him turn her around. He smoothed her hair out of the way, bending to kiss her cheek, her neck, her shoulder-and tugged her zipper down. He peeled her dress down inch-by-inch, trailing kisses down her spine to the dip at her lower back, and her body quivered.
“Jesus,” he whispered, and she knew he’d found his prize.
He turned her around by her waist and she held her breath, watching him slowly appraise her form. She chose the risqué lingerie because the scarlet fabric had a sheen to it that made it shimmer against her golden-brown skin.
“Do you like it?” she asked, posing for him.
“You know full well that I do.” His eyes raked over her again.
Her eyes mirrored his hunger. Weeks of sexual frustration culminated to this moment. He lifted her by her thighs and carried her to the bed, her legs wrapped around his waist.
He laid her down, then stood for a moment to remove his clothes and take off his leg. The sight of his stump didn’t make her feel awkward at all. She smiled, happy to know he was comfortable enough to be himself with her. He climbed into bed beside her, kissing her senseless, the heat of his lips melting away her smile.
He curved an arm beneath her to unhook the clasp of her bra, stripping it from her body and tossing it to the floor. His hands palmed her breasts, his fingers toying with each stiff nipple before sucking them into his mouth. Her breath was forced from her in a long, frantic gasp. The sweet torture sent shockwaves through every nerve ending and her back arched from the bed.
“I’ve missed this.” He whispered it in her ear, sinking his hands beneath her hips to peel off her panties, then running them possessively over her thighs.
“Me too.”
She raised her fingers to trace an angular cheekbone, and the strong line of his jaw, softly caressing his lips. She lifted her head, gliding the tip of her tongue along his lower lip. He cursed, pushing her back against the pillows, driving his mouth down on hers. She was thrilled that his heightened urgency matched her own eagerness.
“I can’t wait anymore.” Finn pulled her beneath him. “Are you okay?”
She couldn’t speak any longer. Every part of him hugged her and all she could do was moan. She wrapped her legs around him, raising her hips and digging her hands into his hair. She kissed him with all the hunger she repressed during their time apart, relaying everything she felt to him through the welding of their lips. His deep groan was the last thing she heard before he finally pressed into her.
A shudder traveled from her body to his as her body closed around him. She moved her legs higher, pulling him deeper. He pushed into her again and again, their moans blending into a single, agonizing sound. She lifted herself up to him, helpless with need and matching his frenzied movements. His thumb found her clit, and something like lightning shocks pierced through her for several seconds before her entire body seized up. She cried out, unintelligible words leaving her lips, every muscle tightening before light faded to black.
Beads of sweat collected on Finn’s brow, his body tense and shuddering above her. He ground into her one last time, and she contracted around him to heighten his release.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, “so precious to me, Emmi.”
She gasped at his panted endearment, and he froze against her. She recovered quickly, unwilling to let him be unsure of himself, not after what they just shared. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him soundly. She felt tender with emotion, weak with completion. Perhaps she was high on the afterglow, but she felt the thing that had taken root in her heart a month ago grow in that moment. She was sure he could feel her erratic heartbeat pounding against his chest.
“It started to hurt, how much I missed you,” she whispered. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”
Chapter Fourteen
The hour was late, and the room was dark but for the soft glow of light streaming from the partially open bathroom door. Emanuela was lying on her back, her head nestled in the crook of Finn’s arm, peering up at his earnest features. Her impenetrable emotional mask was firmly in place, but he was staring into her eyes.
She was more vulnerable than she could ever remember feeling. The seconds ticking by were agonizing. It’s too soon. She felt very aware—of the sound of late night partiers passing by on the street outside, of the gentle whir of the air conditioning, and of her nakedness. She drew the sheets up to cover herself and buried her face in Finn’s side.
“Don’t do that,” he said, gently taking hold of her chin and turning her face to him again. “I’m sure this is difficult for you, and I don’t want to make it worse, but I have to know what you’re thinking. Don’t hide how you’re feeling from me. I know you’re used to wearing your poker face when you feel the need, but not with me. Okay?”
She blinked, surprised that he picked up on her habit. He waited, his fingers massaging soft circles at her nape. Slowly, she adjusted her guarded expression to a frown and tried to put her thoughts into words.
“It’s hard,” she said. “I don’t know
what I am to you. I try not to feel silly because you’ve been wonderful and we’ve only known each other this short time, but I can feel myself getting in this too deep—” She swallowed and his brow creased, a shadow forming behind his eyes. “If you’re not feeling what I’m feeling, if we’re just having fun—”
“Emanuela.”
Her face must have shown her silent mourning of her return from “Emmi” to “Emanuela” so soon, because his expression turned rigid. “Dammit, I’m crazy about you! I wouldn’t have come all this way if I wasn’t.”
She gasped, her surprise evident, and he cursed again.
“I wasn’t sure where I stood with you, either,” he said. “I catch myself feeling jealous but I don’t have a right to be. I don’t have any claim to you. I’ve no right to be envious or protective or angry if someone else tries something with you, but I want the right to be, Emanuela.”
An almost soundless whimper escaped her then. She pulled his fingers from her nape, guiding his hand to her chest.
“You’re crazy about me too,” he said, his words sounding more confident with her uneven pulse beating against his palm.
“Mmhmm.”
She smiled up at him. They surveyed each other’s faces for a long moment, as if seeing each other through new lenses. His aristocratic features were softened in this light, affection radiating from his face. It suffused her in warmth, and the cold grip of insecurity on her heart loosened and fell away.
She allowed herself to be completely exposed for the first time since they met, and at first, it was terrifying. She sighed, relieved to know he shared her feelings with the same intensity.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him to her, her fingers seeking the soft curls at the back of his head. The hand he held to her chest renewed its purpose, roving a firm breast beneath the sheets. They didn’t speak a single coherent word again that night, making love anew and falling asleep in each other’s arms.
****
They were snatched from their deep slumber by a brass band making its boisterous progression down Royal Street.
“Holy hell,” Finn said, sitting up.
“It’s begun.” Emanuela stuffed her face into her pillow.
“What has?”
“Saturday,” was her muffled reply.
The blaring trombone, sax and tuba grew louder, backed by persistent percussion, signaling the band’s passing right by their hotel. Everyday sounds of morning in a busy city filtered into the room after the band passed, so there was no way they were going back to sleep.
“It’s almost nine. I never sleep this late,” he said, grinning at her like a Cheshire cat.
“Stop looking at me. I look terrible.”
“I can’t stop looking at you.” He sank back down and pulled her to him. “You’re beautiful. I like you a little mussed up, means I’m doing my job.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned, turning away.
To Finn, that was perfect. He angled his body to hers so he cradled her back, wrapping an arm around her, fanning his fingers over her tummy.
“Good morning,” he crooned in her ear.
“Good morning.” She sighed, putting her hand over his to play with his fingers.
He touched his mouth to her neck and she shivered against him. He gripped her thigh and raised it to move his between hers. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He whispered more sweet nothings in her ear, his hard body pleading to be swept up in her softness. He melded their bodies and she gasped, pushing his hand down to glide his fingers over her clit.
“Jesus.” He kissed her shoulder.
She sighed and ground against him gently.
“Say you’ll be mine, Emmi.” He whispered it like a prayer, moving his hips to join her again. “I need to hear it.”
“Yours,” she said softly.
They were completely absorbed in each other. He cupped her breast in his other hand, she clutched his hips, and they spent the next twenty minutes oblivious to the world, their heavy sighs blending to block out any other sound.
****
They arrived at Café Du Monde just after ten o’clock. It was filled to the brim. The line moved quickly though, and soon enough they were seated outside the famous café, enjoying their iced au laits and beignets. Finn, true to form, moved Emanuela’s chair to his side of the small table so they could sit next to each other, drawing a few amused glances their way. He used the excuse that the place was loud and they’d be able to hear each other better. He slung his arm around the back of her chair.
“I wouldn’t’ve minded spending a few more hours locked in our room,” he said, absently stroking her arm.
“I know, but I want to talk, and it’s best that we do it in a public place surrounded by lots and lots of people.”
“Okay, shoot. What do you want to know?”
She shifted, as if unsure of how to approach the question. “Well, we’ve talked a lot about work, and I’ve told you about my family, but I don’t know much about yours.” She gave him a tentative look. “I didn’t want to pry because I know it’s a sensitive subject for you, but I… What happened, Finn? You lost your parents when you were sixteen…”
“Almost seventeen,” he said, wanting to show that he was open to her questions.
He had known this conversation would come, and he welcomed it, but he also sensed it would be one of many they would have on the subject and didn’t want to inundate her on this trip.
She dusted a bit of the mountain of powdered sugar from one of the still-warm pockets of fried dough, and took a bite. “Mmmm,” she hummed appreciatively, licking stray sugar from her lips. “Oh, Allie would love these!”
He smiled into her eyes, silently thanking her for a lighter moment to collect his thoughts. “Allie, the infamous baker? I’m sure she could make her own.”
“She could, but I don’t think she’s made any since culinary school. I think I know what her gift will be.”
“Culinary school? Didn’t she go to business school with you?”
“Mmhmm. When I continued to graduate school, she started at Le Cordon Bleu. Then she abandoned me for two years to cook in places I was dying to visit while I slaved away eating garbage.”
He chuckled. He loved how easy it was to talk to her. Her sense of humor and her tolerance for his teasing endeared her to him even more. “She must be making it up to you. Those pastries you ate during one of our chats looked amazing, almost too good to eat.”
“Canelés! My favorite. I’ve never had any as good as hers,” she said with a smile. “One day you can visit me and help me eat an entire box so I don’t have to finish them all myself.”
The mention of Finn visiting her in New York made his heart drop to his stomach, his expression somber. Emanuela seemed to sense it too and fell quiet.
He cleared his throat. “I was a junior in high school. The night of the accident, our varsity basketball team had just won the state championship. The Sentinels. I wasn’t the most sought-after guy on the team, but I was getting offers. My dad wanted me to go to UCLA. Maybe it was just exceptionally bad timing, or adrenaline from the game, but my confidence was way up there and I chose that night—in the car on the way home—to tell him I was turning down athletic scholarships. I wanted to study engineering at UW instead.”
He licked his lips and looked at Emanuela. She was rapt, taking in everything he had to say.
“It wasn’t the first time I’d disappointed him. Now that I think about it,” he said with an edge to his tone, “it probably started when I lost my innocence. I don’t know how old I was—maybe seven or eight—when I picked up on the reality of my parents’ relationship.”
“Kids are really perceptive,” Emanuela said. “You probably sensed it much sooner and didn’t understand what it was.”
“I think you’re right.” He gave her a doleful smile. “I’d heard them fight before, but as I got older, I could understand the words. He’d hit us sometimes, but ne
ver where anyone could see the bruises. Drank a lot. My mom and I got really close.”
“Finn.” She took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He squeezed her hand. Her heart was breaking for him, and he adored her for it, but he needed to tell the story. He needed her to know who he was.
“I remember you’re the third Finn in your family,” she said. “What was your mom’s name?”
He smiled, seeing her face in his memory. “Diane. I get my eyes and my humor from her.”
“Two of my favorite things about you.”
“What if I’d said hair and toes?”
“Then those would be my favorite things.”
They laughed, and he felt at ease again. “She’d known for weeks about my decision. My dad was angry when I told him, of course. Started yelling, saying he’d make me see things his way.”
He swallowed and she squeezed his hand, grounding him in the present. As long as he held her hand, he could tell the story without getting sucked back to the past. “My mom tried to get him to calm down. Told him not to ruin a great night. We could talk about it later. And then he knew I’d already told her. He just knew.”
He looked out at passersby, seeing them without really seeing them. “Then he just…lost it. It’s almost funny,” he said without humor, “the irony that he’d driven around drunk so many times without anything ever happening. But that night, he was so busy yelling at us, he sped through a stop sign at a four-way intersection. I didn’t even feel it when the truck hit us. Don’t remember it at all. When I woke up, they told me my parents were dead, and I’d lost my foot and part of my leg.”
Tears welled in Emanuela’s eyes, but they didn’t fall. “It had to be difficult for you, trying to recover and mourn at the same time.”
“I had a lot of anger,” he said. “I welcomed it because it drowned out the other stuff-sadness, fear…anxiety. The priest at my parents’ funeral told me to let go of anger or it would destroy me. My state-appointed shrink told me to use it, because it would keep me from giving up, trying to avoid the unpleasant.”