The Hot Shot

by Kristen Callihan

  Finn touches my cheek, his blue eyes searching mine. “You worry for me, Chester?”

  I run a finger over his jaw. “I ache for you, Finnegan.”

  His hand slides into my hair and he pulls me close. Our kiss is slow, easy, deep. There are words in the kiss: mine, yours, always. His lips clings to my lower one is a soft suckle before he pulls away to meet my gaze. “I don’t like the idea of you hurting. Especially if it’s for me.”

  “Not something you get a say over,” I tell him, kissing his temple.

  He makes a noise, half a laugh, half an objection, and his hand trails down my cheek to my collarbone.

  We’re quiet then. I play with the short ends of his hair, kiss his cheek, his jaw, anywhere I can get. Finn strokes my neck, watching his fingers move along my skin as if the sight soothes him. I’m accustomed now to seeing him hobble home from a game. But this is different. He seems soul weary.

  Cold fear and hot regret surge through me at the thought that I might be responsible for this.

  “What happened,” I ask him as he finds the top button of the soft cotton work shirt I’m wearing.

  He flicks open a button. “Dex totally lost it today. He’s been on and off all season, but some dumb ass lineman tried to fire him up and he fell for it.” Finn ducks his head and kisses the side of my neck. His breath is hot against my skin. “Don’t blame him, but everything went to shit after that.”

  I rest my hand on the top of his head. “Why did he lost it?”

  Another button slips free. Finn’s fingers trace his progress. “Press got compromising pictures of his girl. Dude started making comments about her tits—breasts.”

  “That would do it.”

  Finn grimaces. “Everything went to shit after that.”

  “I’m sorry.” I smooth my hand over Finn’s head in an absentminded stroke.

  “And it’s all on me, Chess. Doesn’t matter who’s at fault. If we can’t get the job done, I look bad.”

  His cheek touching mine. We’re so close, I feel the sweep of his lashes when he blinks.

  “The pressure gets to me sometimes,” he says. “I tell myself that it’s all in my head. To ignore it. But some days are harder than others.”

  “Maybe you don’t ignore those fears but just face them,” I say in a low voice. “Let them play out in your head and then let them go.”

  Finn sighs. “I know I won’t play forever. But it’s one thing to retire, walk away with your head held high. Getting cut? Never finding a new team? How do I face people then?”

  “You face them head on, because you, Finn Mannus, are fucking brilliant with or without football.”

  “Chess…”

  “This is a rough patch, Finn. But I believe in you. In who you are as a man, not just as a football player. You’re not going to fail because you’ll never give up. That’s the only failure in life.”

  The curve of his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “Everything is right when I’m with you.”

  He sounds so forlorn that I kiss his closed eyes. “You’re here now. Let me take care of you.”

  “Couldn’t wait to get home to you.” Slowly he starts unbuttoning my shirt, placing soft, reverent kisses down my neck as he goes. It feels so good, my skin pulls tight with heat and pleasure.

  His breath hitches when he finds out I’m not wearing a bra, but he doesn’t part my shirt, just kisses my neck and the little hollow between my collarbones. His tender care lulls me into a languid haze, and I lower my head to his shoulder.

  “Sometimes…” He presses his lips to my skin. “I hate that you’ve seen my guys naked.”

  My hand rests on his biceps, my fingers tracing the hard curve there. “Going all caveman on me, Mannus?”

  “Yes.” He runs the backs of his knuckles down the center of my chest to my belly. I shiver in response, arching my back just a bit. My breast swell with heat, my nipples tightening. I want them exposed. I want his hands on them. But he keeps my shirt where it is, barely parted, revealing only my cleavage and the little indent of my navel.

  His hand spreads out on the small curve of my belly. “I hate that you’ve seen their dicks.”

  I huff out a laugh. “But I only want yours.”

  “Mmm…” Slowly he glides up towards my ribs.

  My lids flutter, that touch so wonderfully tender but intent.

  The tip of his thumb brushes the sensitive curve of my breast. I go still, silently willing him to move higher. But I don’t ask. Not yet. It’s too good, the way he teases me. He stays there, rubbing the underside of my breast with gentle fingers.

  A sound escapes me, low, needy.

  “Still hate it,” he mutters, kissing my neck. His hand gently cups me, feeling the slight weight of my breast. I shift in his lap, feel the hard swell of his cock against my ass.

  “Get over it,” I murmur, half-heartedly. His fingertip has found my nipple. He circles it, skims the sensitive tip.

  Mouth against my neck, Finn laughs, the vibrations humming over my skin. “I suppose I’ll have to find a way.” He kisses his way down to the rise of my breast while his finger continues its slow torture, barely touching.

  As if he’s taking an illicit peek, he lifts my shirt and draws it away from my breast. “What do we have here?” He kisses my nipple, giving it a small suck.

  I squirm, hold the back of his head so he can’t get away. He chuckles again, licks my breast from curve to tip as his free hand roams to find my other breast. Warm hands kneed me. His mouth is hot and wet.

  Lust rushes through me like a fever. I rub my thighs together with impatience. But he ignores that. His hand plumps my breast, holding it firm as he tugs on my nipple with his mouth.

  “Finn,” I warn, beg, I’m not sure which.

  He nuzzles the hollow of my throat as his hands pluck at the sore tips of my breasts. “Love that sound. You whimpering my name.”

  I do it again and he slides the shirt off my shoulders. His mouth finds mine. He kisses me, abuses my nipples, until I’m whimpering again, wiggling in his lap with need. Finn and I might have our fears, but here, in this way, we are perfection.

  With a last kiss, he lays me back on the bed and then grasps the waistband of my leggings and panties. “Lift,” he orders. I raise my butt and he pulls. I’m left in only my knee-high pink socks with ridiculous Christmas elves on them.

  “Take them off,” I say, lifting my foot.

  But Finn just grins. “Oh, no, I love these.” He grabs the arch of my foot and gives my toes a kiss before lowering my leg.

  He looms over me, his chest bare, track pants riding low on his hip and not hiding the rise of his hard cock. Gorgeous as hell. But battered and bruised. I don’t want him to feel more pain.

  “I thought you said I had to do the work tonight.”

  His smile is lazy, as he looks me over. “You do. Spread your legs for me, Chess.”

  Hands on my knees, I do as he asks. A guttural sound rumbles in his throat, and his gaze settles on where I’m swollen and wet. “Good girl.”

  It should piss me off, what he says, and the way he says it, as if I am in fact his good little girl. But I picture myself as I am, stretched out on his bed, my thighs spread wide, pink knee-highs on, and it feels illicit, so hot that I tremble, lift my tits a little higher in the air.

  “So pretty,” he murmurs, then settles himself between my legs. He sets his big hand low on my belly, holding me still, his thumb touching my clit. It distracts me, and when he kisses my sex like a man starved, I yelp, my body twitching.

  But he doesn’t let me get away. His hand keeps me in place as he goes at me. And I pant, going both cold and hot. He licks my sex as if it’s warm candy.

  “Finn…” I can’t take it. I throb.

  Over the length of my body, his eyes meet mine. “Pinch those tight, little nipples,” he orders between kisses.

  My breath grows short, as I lift my hands to my breasts. The first pinch on the aching tips has me moaning. />
  He grunts in approval. “Give them a tug. Nice and slow.”

  I do and my back leaves the mattress as I gasp.

  “Good,” he says, his thumb toying with my clit. “Good girl.”

  It shouldn’t get me so hot, but it does. My lids flutter, my thighs fall further open even as I writhe. And his gaze slides from mine to focus between my legs. That he’s staring there makes everything more sensitive. I revel in the exposure.

  His finger comes up to trace the lips of my sex. He finds my opening and toys with it, dipping in just enough that I feel it but not enough to satisfy. I whimper and his gaze flicks to mine before sliding back down. That thick finger sinks in. In and out. Just the tip. Not enough.

  “Finn…”

  I’m panting harder, my thighs trembling.

  He plunges in deeper then pulls back out, and his finger travels downward. He touches the entrance to my ass and a strangled sound leaves my lips. But he doesn’t move away. He strokes me with the slightest of movements.

  When he talks, his voice is rough, but his tone is almost conversational. “You ever taken it in here?”

  “No,” I whisper, watching him.

  That finger, slick with my desire, pushes just a little. And I nearly choke. It’s so sensitive there, my entire body seizes. He notices and hums low in his throat. He plays with my ass, making me whimper.

  “Would you let me take you here one day, Chess?”

  It feels so good, wrong, dirty, intense. “Yes,” I say on a garbled breath as sweat breaks out over my skin. Without thought, I push back at his touch, and his finger slips inside me.

  I cry out, my hips bucking, and he sinks further. Finn makes a noise in his throat, and his mouth latches onto my clit. His finger pushes deep, pumping a little.

  It undoes me. I’m coming, pinching my nipples so hard they hurt. It’s not enough. I fuck myself on his finger as he sucks me. And the orgasms breaks so hard and fast, I collapse, boneless and breathless onto the bed. He lets it ride with soft playful pecks of his lips until my breathing evens.

  Slowly he withdraws his finger and gives me one last kiss before rising up.

  “I’m dead,” I moan, shivering lightly.

  “You’re still breathing.” Finn’s gaze is fierce and hot as he slides down his pants. His cock is angry and dark.

  I shiver again, a pulse of want going through me. “Barely.”

  He gets on the bead and leans against the headboard, his knee brushing my shoulder. “Get up here and sit on my cock. This won’t take long.”

  He is evil. Evil. And I love it.

  Holding his gaze, I roll over and get on my hands and knees. Avidly, he watches me crawl his way. My breasts sway with the movement, and he runs a hand over his swollen dick. His pecks twitch, his nipples tight beads. I lean in and lick one as I straddle is hips.

  We both groan as I sink onto him. I’m so slicked up, so well attended that he slips right in. Still I feel it. I feel it at the back of my throat and along the soles of my feet. I feel it in the cool heat that races over my skin.

  His hands grip my hips, tilting me forward. I catch myself by gripping 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 in 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 flesh meeting with loud slaps.

  “Fuck, Chess,” he pants. “I can’t. I can’t…” He breaks off with a helpless sound 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’s head lolling against the headboard. His arm bands around me, and he cups the back of my sweaty necks 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 entreat. “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.

  And 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.”

  Chapter 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 gives me the name of one of New York’s biggest chef’s Italian restaurants, and I bite back a smile. Leave it to James to understate.

  “We’re so eating there whenever I visit,” I tell him, rubbing some coconut oil onto my damp heel. 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 fairly 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 the big ottoman in the center of Finn’s massive closet, I rest my chin on my knee and study my toes, now painted scarlet red. “I need to find a 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 work space that I can comfortably bring people to.

  Not for the first time, a pang of longing for my loft hits me. I breathe through it.

  “I’ve been looking at a few places, but haven’t found the right space y
et.” Most of them are out of my price range. Finn doesn’t want me to pay rent, but I can’t agree to that. The argument is ongoing and stubborn on both sides.

  “You’ll find something,” James says.

  “I miss my place.” I hadn’t meant to say so, but the words are out anyway. “At least the work space set up.”

  James is silent. “Have you told Finn? Maybe talk about finding some place new?”

  Shrugging, I wiggle my toes. “We just officially got together. Asking him to move would be a total Psycho Sally play.”

  He laughs. “Yes, but he asked you to move in with him. If you’re not happy there, it will show.”

  Happy. My mind drifts, pulling up the image of Finn in bed this morning, stretched out on his back, all long lines, tight planes, and amber skin. He’d been warm and loose-limbed with sleep, the scent of sex and pheromones a seductive fragrance I couldn’t ignore.

  Finn was made to be worshipped. And he is mine. I’d slowly woken him up with lingering kisses over that glorious body, nuzzling his warm neck as he gave a sleepy grunt, hooking his arm over my shoulders to draw me close. I hadn’t been deterred. I’d made my way down, past tight little nipples that begged to be nibbled on, around the cute divot of his navel, to his cock that rested on the hard swell of his thigh.

  And then I’d done exactly what I’d promised him; took him in my mouth, sucked him as he grew thick and hard, his body arching with a moan. “Oh, fuck, Chess. Don’t stop.”

  As if I could. The feel of him in my mouth, heavy and fat on my tongue, stretching my lips wide. The way his brows furrowed, his mouth slack in a pant, eyes watching me with hot and helpless intensity. All of it worked like a drug to the system, filling me with wicked heat and covetous greed.

  I’d worshiped at the altar of Finn Mannus’s glorious cock, making it slick and swollen, caressing the tight ripple of his belly to keep him still. And I had moved my mouth-wet fingers down past his balls to stroke him where he’d once stroked me.

  Tongue toying with the tip of his dick, I’d given his words back to him. “You gonna let me have you here?”