by Elaria Ride
He’s staring at me with that fierce, penetrating look again. I can tell that he’s trying to maintain eye contact, but with some satisfaction, I note how his eyes keep fluttering to my cleavage, like he can’t help himself.
I relish in the blush that spreads up his chest, and I’m just about to make a comment when Marco body-slams into my shins.
I laugh and kneel down to his level. He’s beaming up at me with his gray eyes, and it’s not until I hear Finn clearing his throat from somewhere nearby that I realize he’s crouched down to meet him, too.
“You must be Marco,” he says warmly, extending a hand in greeting. Marco — always the bold adventurer— merely giggles and sticks out his hand.
Finn’s face splits into a broad grin. “Nice to meet you.”
“Meet you,” Marco mumbles back, withdrawing his hand.
Finn rises to stand and glances down at him again. “Now. I promise I’ll bring your mommy back at a decent hour, ok?”
Marco tips his chin up and nods fervently, but I can see a little sparkle of mischief behind his eyes. He knows a night with Sylvie will almost never result in an early bedtime — so he’s probably not too keen to have me home early, either.
I turn to pat him on the shoulder, but he’s already bounding for the couch. Sylvie’s fiddling with the remote. Based on prior babysitting experiences, I know she’s probably trying to find something to watch that walks the line between being kid-friendly for Marco and enjoyable for her.
“Bedtime is at 8,” I call over my shoulder, “and don’t forget Marco’s blue blanket. He can’t sleep without it!”
Sylvie grins and shoots me a thumbs-up before Marco launches himself into her lap. He’s pretty transparent in his mission to get to the remote first, but Sylvie’s quicker than him. She’s already playing some type of keep-away game, holding the remote over her head as Marco dives for it at varying distances. His shrieks of delight ring through the small apartment, bouncing off the walls.
Well. If our neighbors didn’t hate us already, I suppose this will seal the deal!
I roll my eyes and turn back to retrieve my shawl from the hanger by the door. To my surprise, Finn’s already standing there, silken fabric in his hands.
“May I?” he asks, holding it up expectantly.
I feel my cheeks warm. Has a man ever offered to help me with that before? If so, I certainly can’t remember it.
Well, if he’s offering…
“Sure.”
Finn motions for me to turn around and slips the shawl over my shoulders. A chill races up my back as he gathers my hair in his warm hand before lifting my curls over the material. Shit… he’s hardly even touched me, but the desire I’d felt before is returning in full force.
I feel him lean in as he draws a breath from deep in his lungs. “Ready?”
I can only nod in response. I try not to spend too much time lamenting the loss of his warmth again my back as we move towards the door.
I turn to bid one last farewell to Marco and Sylvie, but I needn’t have bothered; they’re already staring at the TV with zombie-like expressions.
Finn laughs and shakes his head. “Kids. What you gonna do?”
I shake my head in agreement and reach for my purse. Kids, indeed… I only hope I can eventually get Marco to bed tonight.
Finn opens the door for me and gestures into the lightly chilled evening air. I step through the doorway, delighting in the feel of his large, warm hand on the small of my back. God… if he had any idea what he’s doing to me, if he knew about this pulsing that’s started between my thighs, I don’t think we’d make it to the restaurant after all.
We walk down the steps of the apartment complex, and Finn wraps a protective hand around my elbow to ensure I don’t trip. My heart lurches a little at the thought, and for some reason, I almost feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes. Whenever I’d gone out with Mike, he’d hardly been able to wait to get to the restaurant and chow down. Waiting for me was out of the question — no matter what the activity.
Finn and I reach the first floor and begin heading towards the parking lot, but his hand never wavers from its place on the small of my back.
And then, I see it — what must be his car. It’s a giant, steel-colored pickup, one that somehow manages to look both masculine and humble. I suppose this shouldn’t surprise me, given the temperament of the truck’s owner.
“Yours?” I nod towards the enormous, freshly waxed vehicle. Pickups aren’t terribly unusual here, but I’ve never seen one this well-maintained in my complex before.
He grins. “Guilty.”
I playfully roll my eyes. Of course I’d fall for a dude with a pickup…
I grab for the passenger’s side handle as we reach the truck, but Finn intercedes, clucking his tongue at me.
“A lady should never open her own door,” he says firmly, opening my door.
I bite my lip, trying to suppress a grin. What I’d only suspected before is now a near-certainty: No one’s ever treated me like this on a date.
Then Finn glances between me and the truck. “Sorry,” he offers, wincing. “This truck is pretty high, and you’re, you know. Tiny. And adorable.”
I giggle and shake my head. “Well, I’m certainly tiny. But I think the adorable part is a matter of opinion.”
He laughs back and holds out his hand. I hesitantly extend mine forward, not entirely sure what he’s asking. Before I get the chance to question it, though, he hoists me into his strong arms, twirls me around, and gently places me on the plushy passenger’s seat.
I squeal a little in the process, but I can’t even pretend to have an issue with the fact that his thick, muscular forearms are now resting on either side of my thighs.
“Comfy?” he asks, even as his sandy blonde hair comes loose from where its slicked back.
I swallow. Fuck. How it is possible that even his hair is turning me on?!
“Yes,” I confirm, rubbing my thighs together. My tights and Spanx slide against my center, and although it’s nowhere near enough friction, the movement nonetheless provides some relief from the pulsing between my thighs.
“Good,” Finn says, but makes no effort to walk around to his side of the truck.
I glance up at him, curious as to why he’s still standing there; he doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving.
I clear my throat. “Well. I guess we’d better...get to our reservation.”
But the look on Finn’s face suggests he doesn’t care much about food… not at the moment. He grins at me, but now his smile is wolfish, almost predatory.
He rubs his palm against my knee, and my legs spread for him of their own volition.
Ordinarily I’d be embarrassed at how willing my body is to open itself up. But now? I really can’t summon the courage to give a shit.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I need to take care of something first.”
I cock my head, but Finn dives in for a kiss, answering my unspoken question. I groan into his mouth... somehow I’d forgotten, just in the brief time we’d been apart, how amazing he is at this...
His tongue massages my bottom lip and I let him in with an inflamed moan. Finn wraps his arms around my neck, and I immediately melt beneath his embrace. We’re finally the same height, now that I’m all the way up on this huge seat!
He lowers his hand to caress the base of my skull, and yet again, I feel that frantic tugging, that listless urging from deep in my core, the one that’s only momentarily abated since our little lunchtime rendezvous.
Clearly, though, Finn has not forgotten about this.
In the next instant, he’s gently pushing my legs apart, even as he continues his languid, sensual kisses up and down the columns of my neck.
“Yesss,” I hiss, arching my back against the seat. Finn makes a noise from deep in his throat somewhere between a moan and a growl. I crack open an eye, confused about why I no longer feel the delicious scrape of his five o’clock shadow
against my neck.
I release a little snort when I see what’s holding him up. Oh, of course — he’s staring at my cleavage.
He’s gazing at my heaving breasts, his mouth agape, his expression utterly enraptured. I giggle at his dismay, but this only seems to make it worse; he moans again from the gentle movement of my chest, like he’s studying me, trying to memorize every detail.
As endearing as that thought is, though, I really don’t have time for it. I’ve been wet for a thousand years, and he’s making it worse, and it’s not fair for him to torture me if he really doesn’t plan to—
“Sorry.” Finn blinks and ripping his head away. “Sorry. They’re just… they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. Fuck.”
He shakes his head, running his hand down his face. “This isn’t at all how I wanted to come across.”
And this morning, I would have tolerated that.
I would have found it endearing, even, that he’s this attracted to me. It’s not that I’m not flattered — really, I am; it still seems impossible that someone who is so legitimately sexy is this interested in me.
But honestly? If he doesn’t put his money where his mouth is, I’m going to start questioning his intentions here. So I scowl and give him a pointed look.
“Finn,” I say, my voice stern with frustration. “I think you’re super cute— the sexiest dude I’ve ever seen, actually. Telling me I’m beautiful isn’t the sort of thing that will scare me off.”
He lifts his head hopefully, but I continue, unabated.
“However,” I allow, still sounding a bit harsher than I’d hoped. “You need to finish what you start.”
I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to prove my point; even though my breasts have just been a source of annoyance, I can’t help but feel proud as his eyes widen at the sight of them pushed closer together.
Luckily, Finn doesn’t seem like the type who needs to be told twice.
He shoots me a smirk and whispers, “Your wish. My command.”
And almost immediately — just as fast as before — his lips start working up and down my neck. All thoughts of protest leave my mind as his hands work their way up my waist. I sink, boneless, into his embrace as his lips trail lower, lower, lower…
I love the feel of his 5 o’clock shadow as it grazes down into my cleavage, and I hear myself gasp as one of his large, warm hands finds its way in between my legs once more. But there’s no room for embarrassment, no time to feel shame, not when I’m so fucking turned on I think I might explode on the spot…
I grind even harder against his fingers release a keening wail. And then — all at once — I feel the loss of the sweet pressure that’s kept me going. I blearily blink open my eyes, confused and lust-addled, but Finn answers my unspoken query by trailing his fingertips across my stomach… where my stockings are lying flush against my muffin top.
I squirm beneath his touch, more than a little uncomfortable despite my thundering desire; he seems to want me, but I’ve hated my stomach for as long as I can remember.
Finn, however, is oblivious to my anguish. He merely nuzzles my neck as his fingers continue grazing across my middle, and when he finally speaks, his voice resounds with that same deep, gravely baritone I’d heard earlier in his office.
“May I?”
I look down at him in puzzlement, but then he begins working his fingers beneath the band of my hose and I figure it out quickly enough. I’m not entirely sure what he plans to do once he gets down there, but I give him a brief nod.
And I think I’d probably have been fine to continue, just like this… but I chance a quick peek down at my fleshy, hose-covered thighs as he hikes up my dress. He’s staring at my thighs the same way he stared at my cleavage, but undressing a lady with this many layers isn’t something most men have done.
Shit.
I’m going to have to undress myself, aren’t it? When I’m wearing something this fancy, undressing is a real process — one I’m sure he doesn’t understand.
“Wait,” I mutter, stilling his hands. Finn pulls back, and I feel my face flushing.
Well. I guess I’d better get this over with.
“I just…I’m wearing a lot,” I say, pleading that he’ll understand.
I feel him remove his hand from my middle.
“You’re… you’re wearing a lot?” he tries to clarify.
I release a frustrated huff and stare at the rolls of my stomach. Of course a man (especially a very buff, muscular man) would have no idea what it’s like to wear this many layers.
So I clear my throat, preparing to explain something I’d rather not. I know I’m going to come across as very blunt, but I’ve never been the type to mince words.
“Finn. I’m fat. And when I wear tight-fitting things, I need to wear things that kind of… suck me in.” I gesture to my mid-section and pluck at the taught material.
For a split-second, I’m afraid I’ve gone just a step too far; Finn might not be used to women who are this…forward. To my surprise, though, he just rolls his eyes at me.
“Marina,” he says with a smirk. “I wasn’t kidding when I expressed my… preferences. Trust me when I say I’m on board for everything that comes with you.”
I blink, not completely willing to believe that. I know he’d said it, of course, but I have enough experience with douche bags to know that words don’t necessarily mean anything.
But then I give him an appraising once-over. His breath is still coming in sharp pants, his chest rising and falling. His expression is so genuine, so open, that it’s almost enough to build my trust.
Almost.
And then I glance down to his crotch, where there’s a rather noticeable bulge protruding thought his jeans.
Oh.
It seems he is telling the truth; I guess I’d better give him the chance to prove it.
I shrug. “If you’re sure!”
I’m at a bit of a loss, though, as to how I should proceed; Mike had never spent much time in that area. I can probably count on one hand the number of times he’d gone down on me. Finn is staring at my parted thighs like he’d very much enjoy doing some exploration of his own, but still, I’m a little hesitant.
But Finn doesn’t seem unsure — not in the least.
He grins at me again. “Trust me. I’m sure.” He pauses for a moment and glances around the parking lot. “I do think we need to move you to the backseat, though.”
I catch a mischievous twinkle in his eyes — one I’ve seen in Sylvie’s eyes too many times to count — before Finn leans in and gathers me into his strong arms once more. He closes my door with a kick and opens the one directly behind me. As Finn deftly drapes me across the backseat, and I’m surprised to find that the back is roomy enough for comfort.
He closes the door behind him, and with some minor finagling, he’s able to settle himself between my legs just fine.
I’m about to comment on the considerable size of this truck when he leans in and kisses me deeply again, and suddenly I realize that I really don’t care much about trucks, at all.
He continues exactly where he left off, his mouth drifting lower and lower and lower; this time his touch is filled with more urgency, a greater sense of purpose. I know he finally intends to finish what he’s started. His eyes are filled with so much wonder, so much admiration, that I don’t even flinch when his hands begin to work beneath my layers of hosiery.
He moves his mouth back to mine as he begins easing the layers down, slowly…so slowly that I know he’s giving me time to stop him if I’m uncomfortable with any of it.
But being uncomfortable is the furthest thing from my mind, even as his fingertips continue their path down my belly. His touch only enflames me more, only increases the pulsating desire between my legs, and once he gets to work, I know it won’t take me long at all before I’m teetering over the edge.
“Ok?” he breathes, staring up at me. He’s eased my Spanx and hose down over my wide hips, and he’s
gazing up at me for permission. I roll my eyes impatiently; as if I’d actually deny him now…
“I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Yes,” I huff, rubbing my bottom against the seat.
He smirks, but takes the hint; his peels my black lace panties down, too, and I have a brief moment where I’m thankful that I actually remembered to change into something a little sexier than control tops. I’m also thankful that I’ve kept my business rather neat and trimmed, despite not having been with anyone in an age and a half.
Based on the look on Finn’s face, I’m not sure any of that would have mattered much to him. He leans in to nuzzle my bare inner thigh, and it’s a gesture so sweet, so intimate, that it almost makes me question my earlier vows to avoid relationships entirely.
I release a startled hiss as Finn’s tongue begins to lap at my swollen clit. He begins gently, and it’s apparent he knows exactly how much pressure to apply, knows exactly which shapes to curl against his tongue as he presses it into my waiting flesh. He’s only lapping at my clit, but holy hell, he’s good at this…
After a few more minutes, I’m gripping the seat cushions with my fingertips and thrusting my hips into the air to meet him. “Finn,” I pant, chest heaving. “Please…I need…”
He jerks his head up from between my legs. “Please what?”
I groan and wriggle my ass harder against the seat. “Please. Use your fingers.”
He just chuckles and whispers, “As you wish.”
He immediately leans over and laps at my clit again — but this time, he’s listened to my suggestions. One of his hands grips underneath my ass — and he’s gripping almost possessively if I think about it — while he begins to slide the other hand closer and closer to my dripping pussy.
“Ahhh,” I moan, barely able to contain the raw, primal feelings splintering through me as his thick fingers slide deep inside. “Fuck. Finn… fuck.”
I hear him growling, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations. To the contrary, he begins to pump even harder, expertly maneuvering the pads of his fingers against my g-spot like he’s been inside me a hundred times, and God, what a difference it makes to be with someone who actually knows what the hell he’s doing…