I only know what I’m looking for once I find it. “Here,” I say, giving it back to him.
He shakes his head. “Read it for me. It sounds so much better from your mouth.”
I’m already blushing profusely. I’m sure he notices that too. “I hate reading it aloud.”
He grunts. “Then don’t, not for anyone but me. Don’t read it, don’t show it, don’t even mention it to anyone else. Just me.”
My heart thumps. He wants exclusive access to this part of me. I want to give it to him, but that means stepping outside my comfort zone. Sharing my journal is more baring than his eyes on my body, than having my photo taken. I think I could strip down to nothing with less effort than it takes to read to him.
“Please,” he says.
My fear melts, just a little. He wants this, and don’t I owe it to him for loving my words enough to want to hear them? Luckily, the passage I chose is short and clean. It’s fairly innocuous—until you really start to think about it . . .
“‘Make me a woman,’” I read. “‘Let me be your girl.’”
I keep my eyes on the page, but I feel his gaze on me. Is he waiting for me to continue? That’s all there is. The meaning isn’t obvious at first, but I thought he’d understand. If he doesn’t, that choice will sound weird to him. It’s not the sexiest line, I admit. And maybe too nuanced for what we’re doing.
I open my mouth to tell him I can pick out something else. I don’t speak, though. This caption feels right for the moment. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous that I’ll have to defend my choice or that he’ll like it and want to use it. When it feels as if a full minute has passed, I close the book, squeeze the leather for reassurance, and finally look up.
“Perfect,” he says.
“Perfect?”
“It’s subtle, like your words, and at the same time, straight up sex.”
“You get it?”
“She wants to be handled tenderly, almost like a child. To surrender to someone more powerful than her. And when she does, when he has his way with her, then she’ll be a woman.”
My heart is in my throat. I shouldn’t’ve doubted that he’d understand. Not everyone would, and maybe that makes it a bad choice for a caption, but Finn does. “I think every woman feels like a girl and a woman at some point during sex.” I pass the book back to him. “You don’t think it’s too vague? Or weird?”
“Obviously not.”
I don’t understand why that’s obvious until I drop my eyes to his crotch. I look away just as quickly, but not before I notice the bulge in his sweatpants.
“C’mere,” he says.
Butterflies light up my insides, an eruption of fluttering wings, as if I’d spooked a bird sanctuary. This is it. I’m going to do this. Finn will be the fourth man I’ve ever slept with, and I don’t want to mess this up. I want it to be right, to be good, better than good.
I walk to him, closing the space between us. He reaches up and moves my hair over my shoulder, resting it against my back. He looks at the neckline of my blouse, his eyes trailing the curve of my neck up to my mouth. He never meets my gaze, but circles around me, so he’s at my back. “It’ll be simple,” he says. “Just undo the top button of your blouse.”
He leaves me where I am. I look over my shoulder. He turns the camera equipment around. My thoughts jumble. I don’t understand what he means. Or what he’s doing. Or why I don’t go stand in front of the camera instead of him moving everything to face me.
I look forward again and my eyes land on the couch. The couch? He’s aiming the camera there? If he thinks he’s going to record us having sex, he’s delusional. He saw how hesitant I was about taking photos while fully dressed, does he think I’d let him video us while he strips me, lays me down, kisses me?
It occurs to me—I don’t know. I have no idea what he expects, because I don’t actually know him at all.
I asked to come up here. I read to him from my journal. Maybe I’ve made him think I’m looking for danger, thrills, sex. Aren’t I, though? Isn’t that what it would be to record something so intimate? Dangerously thrilling, taboo, wrong?
I inhale sharply as I imagine performing for the camera—and then him watching me after I’ve left.
“Doing okay?” he asks.
I look back at him. “Are you . . . are you going to record it?”
“Record what?”
“Us?”
He stops fiddling with the camera to stare at a spot on the floor. He seems to think hard about his next move, then comes over and looks me straight in the eye. “Halston?”
I try not to fidget. “Y-yes?”
“We’re never going to do anything—anything—that makes you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t record something like that without talking to you first. To be honest, it never crossed my mind.”
I exhale a long breath, relieved. Or am I? A small part of me likes the idea of Finn savoring this later. “Good,” I say.
“And another thing.” He looks me over. “We’re not going to sleep together.”
This time, I know exactly what I feel. Disappointment. “We’re not?”
“No.”
I try to pinpoint what might’ve happened the last few minutes to extinguish his desire, but my mind is reeling too fast. It wasn’t easy for me to decide to do this. Did I imagine his interest, from the earlier fire in his eyes to the bulge in his pants? “Why not?” I ask.
Even though I’m already looking at him, he lifts my chin slightly with his knuckle. “Don’t lie to me. Ever. I’ve had enough secrets and sneaking around for one lifetime.”
“When did I lie?” I ask. “Everything I told you was true.”
“You didn’t break up with him.”
“We . . . we’re as good as—”
“That’s not enough. That affair I had was a nightmare. I won’t do it again.”
“Then why’d you bring me up here?” I ask, embarrassment igniting my temper. I’m already as uncomfortable as I’ve been in a while. I don’t need to be spurned after I’ve put myself so far out there.
He sighs. “I believe you if you say you’re not in love with him—”
“I’m not.”
“But on this one thing, I won’t budge. I will not sleep with you unless I know you’re mine. Really and truly mine, until there’s no chance you’ll ever go back to him. Until he knows it’s over too.”
My entire being aches for Finn, as if I’ve been holding off my need since the night I met him on the sidewalk, and just now let it flood me. Only to be rejected by him. “I want to be yours. Isn’t that enough for tonight?”
He takes a few steps back, rounds the camera, and looks through the viewfinder. “Come closer.”
My pulse beats at the base of my throat. I walk toward him until he holds up his hand, until I’m close enough that my face won’t be in the photo. I take the hem of the V-neck sweater I’m wearing over my blouse and pull it off. I look slimmer without it. My hair frizzes with static, so I smooth it back in place. I drop my sweater at my feet.
“Just the top button,” he says.
My nails are bare, like a good girl’s would be. I unbutton the collar while he photographs me. I watch his hands around the camera, big, strong, skillful. I raise my chin to expose my neck and continue down the middle of the blouse, all without instruction.
When I reach the button between my breasts, he stops me. “That’s good enough. Do it up again.”
I would’ve kept going. I’ve never considered myself a seductress, but maybe it’s just been hiding under the surface. I do up all the buttons and go to pick up my sweater.
“Hang on.” He pulls back from the camera. “Hmm.”
“What is it?”
“They’re not right. Better in theory than reality.”
It took hardly any effort to get the first three photos. Maybe I’m trying too hard. I touch my face. “Is it me?”
“No. It just doesn’t say what the coffee pictures do.”
&n
bsp; God, I need some of that right now—a mug to hold, something to sip when doubt rears its head. “Maybe it would work better with the caption?” I suggest.
“They should work separately and together, your words and my pictures, don’t you think?”
It makes sense. I’ve attempted to paint a picture with one line. He wants his photo to tell a story. “What I wrote isn’t about a girl undressing herself,” I say. “You should do it.”
“Do what?”
“Unbutton my blouse. That would be more accurate.”
He blinks down to the floor, then back up. “I want to be the one to take the photo.”
“Put it on a timer. If you set up the shot, it’s still yours.”
He considers this and returns to playing with the camera. “Take a small step back. Show me your throat, like you did before.”
My insides quiver. His commands are serious, businesslike, but he wants people to look at these photos and think of sex, and how can that not turn me on?
When he seems satisfied, he looks up. “Ready for me?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“Don’t move. Let me do the moving.”
That’s harder than it sounds. I’m already trying not to squirm. He presses a button. Comes to me. Gets close. Moves behind me, even closer, until his front warms my back. He can’t be more than inch from me. “I’m going to touch you now.”
My skin is like one giant exposed nerve anticipating his hands. He doesn’t touch me, though, not really. He hums in my ear, “Count to three.”
“One.”
He raises his hands, and they hover at my throat.
“Two.”
His stubble ghosts against my cheek, giving me goosebumps.
“Three.”
He undoes the first button, barely even touching the fabric, as the camera snaps. Despite that, or maybe because of it, I shiver. His lips brush the side of my head, his breath in my hair, as he continues down. “I don’t want to stop,” he whispers.
“Then don’t.”
“I have to.”
He stops opening my blouse. I hold his wrists to keep him there, and he steps into me, his hardness pressing into my lower back. When I exhale, it comes out as a pained, unnatural sound. “Please,” I say.
“Please what? What are you asking for?”
“Anything. I-I want this.”
He pulls his hands from mine, and slides one down the front of me. He grips me between the legs and backs me against him, reminding me with his intimidating length that he wants me too. “I already told you why I can’t, but when you beg . . .”
My heart beats in my stomach. I need relief. To feel good. I move against him, pleading with my hips. “Is that what you need?” I ask. “For me to beg?”
“I need you to not beg.”
I’m overcome, and it’s a first for me. Everything over the last week has been foreplay, leading to this moment. If he pulls away for good, I’ll be forced back into a restricted state of arousal. “What if I do it?” I ask.
“Do what?”
I push his hand away and slip mine down the front of my skirt, into the elastic of my tights. “It’s not cheating if I do it to myself.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He’s right—I wouldn’t. Not normally. But I am, that’s how desperate he makes me. I slide a finger along the damp seat of my thong. Surprised by how wet I am, I envision Finn easily slipping into me and moan.
“You’re not fighting fair.”
“I’m not the one fighting.” His erection alone assures me he wants this too. Emboldened by that knowledge, I go out on a limb to hopefully persuade him. “I want this, Finn. Tell me what I have to do to get it. What do you need?”
When he answers, he pronounces each word, as if it’s taking all his concentration to speak. “It can’t be about what I need.”
“I need it.”
His ensuing silence isn’t a no, and it’s the permission I need. I’ve been circling the idea since I met Finn, but now I can leap knowing Finn will catch me—and that he wants to. “I’ll end it with Rich right now. My phone’s in the kitchen.”
“No.” He puts a hand around my bicep, keeping me where I am. “You shouldn’t decide like this.”
I cling to the hesitation in his voice. “It’s already over for me. I just have to make sure he knows so you’ll believe me.”
“Halston.”
He could be warning or pleading with me, but either way, his resolve is weakening. I can sense it. If I leave the room, I might break the spell, so I pull my hand out of my skirt and feel behind us for his back pocket. I slip his phone out. My fingers shake as I try to correctly type in the passcode.
“You need a clear head for this,” he says. “We both do.”
“It’s not as impulsive as it seems.” I dial Rich’s number and hold my breath. It rings twice before going to voicemail. I need to tell Rich we’re over—for all of our sakes. Rich deserves that before anything happens. So does Finn.
“Rich, it’s me,” I start.
“Halston, please,” Finn whispers.
With just my name, I understand what he’s trying to tell me. This is wrong. No matter how badly I want this, I can’t break up with Rich over a message. Reluctantly, I say, “Call me when you get this. We need to talk.”
Finn takes the phone from my hand, hangs up, and puts it away. “There’s no rush.” He’s still pressed against me. I’m not sure how he’s restraining himself when I’ve told him how badly I want this.
“I’m going to end things with him. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So what does it matter if I do it tonight or tomorrow? It’s over.”
“Once I start thinking of you as mine, that changes everything.” There’s undeniable need in his voice—sadness too. “I can’t let myself believe you’re mine if you’re not. I’m the one who’ll get hurt.”
He must not realize that the idea of staking his claim only makes me want this more. I gyrate against him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I want to be yours.”
He grabs my hip, his fingers digging into my skin, trying to still me. “You have to slow down.”
“I don’t want to with you. Everyone else tells me to calm down or take it easy or go slow. I want to be myself with you, Finn. I want to be allowed to want you this way.”
He drops his face into the crook of my neck and sighs deeply. One arm wraps around me from behind and then his other. I continue to move against him and eventually, he answers, syncing his thrusts with mine. “Christ, Halston,” he mutters. “You’re killing me here.”
“Then stop fighting me.”
He walks us forward a few steps. We reach a wall. I put my hands on it and push back against him. Momentarily, I think I’ve won. He’s going to rip off his pants and fuck me. But he just touches me through my clothing, circling his fingers over my clit quickly, as if our time together could end any second.
I curl my hands into fists, scraping the wall with my fingernails. He secures my back to his front as he slides his shaft up and down the crack of my ass. Even with layers of clothing separating us, he’s growing bigger, harder, engorged—or maybe that’s just what I believe because I’m seconds from falling apart. Even though I’d rather wait to climax with him, his hand feels so good that I end up humping it.
“You’re going to make me come in my fucking pants,” he says.
He’s losing control. Knowing I have that power over him makes me crumble. I orgasm with Finn’s hand between my legs while he grinds into me and doesn’t fuck me. He takes my hips and thrusts against me more furiously, burying his face in my hair and groaning until he finishes.
If my heart pounds any harder, it’ll burst through my chest. Finn shudders behind me. “Fuck,” he says. “I had one rule.”
One rule—and he bent it for me. Maybe I should be sorry. I don’t want him to regret anything when
it comes to us. But being simultaneously coveted and owned is addicting, a high I’ve never felt, one I couldn’t fight in the moment. And we haven’t even been skin to skin yet.
“Technically, we didn’t break it,” I say breathlessly.
He releases my hips. “I think the line is too thin to say.”
I turn around. Concern is etched into his features. I want to erase all his doubts, comfort him. “It’s over with him. Completely. Trust me.”
My phone rings from the kitchen. Finn and I look at each other. “It’s him,” I say.
“I’m going to clean myself up.” Finn walks away but pauses in the doorway. “Whatever happens, don’t go to his place. At least not tonight. I can’t stand the thought of it.”
He leaves the studio. With his final plea, I understand his fears run deeper than just the injustice of cheating on Rich.
If Finn is worried about what’ll happen if I don’t end things at all, maybe he already thinks of me as his.
12
I make it to Finn’s kitchen right before Rich’s call goes to voicemail. “Hey,” I answer.
“Sorry I missed you earlier,” he says. “I was on the other line, and I didn’t recognize the number.”
“With who?” I ask. “It’s the middle of the night.”
His silence answers my question.
I scoff. “You couldn’t even wait until tomorrow to call my dad? Did you give him every last detail of our fight, or just the gist?”
“I was worried. You took off.”
“I’m not a child, even if you guys treat me like one.”
“Being concerned about your wellbeing is not belittling you. Where are you?”
My legs are weak from the intensity of the orgasm I had not five minutes ago, so I turn to rest my back against the kitchen counter. Finn is leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed. This is a private conversation, and Finn has no business listening, but the fact that he’s doing it anyway turns me on a little. As if he’s too impatient to do anything other than hear me end it. “I’m at my apartment.”
“No you’re not. I called your doorman when you didn’t answer your cell, before I got your message. Whose number was that?”
“We need to talk.”
Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection Page 10
