Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  Finn covers my hands with his. “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not mad. But I am a little, I don’t know, jealous. I told you I have issues with that shit.”

  My palms get clammy. There is one more detail I haven’t mentioned—my dad still believes Rich and I are together. It isn’t true, though, and it has no effect on my relationship with Finn. Once the holidays are over and my dad is feeling normal again, that will end. I could see how Finn’d take it the wrong way if I told him now. If it comes up later, maybe then. “You’ve talked about the affair, but help me understand the issue,” I say. “If you’re the one who cheated on your wife, why are you so worried about it? Aside from the obvious reasons.”

  He rubs his jaw. The scrape of fingers over stubble reminds me of his scratchiness on my cheek. If this weren’t a serious conversation, I’d interrupt it with a kiss. “It’s not the physical cheating per se. The affair only lasted a month or so. It started when I moved in here a year ago. She was my neighbor.”

  Neighbor. That’s why he always looks across the hall when he opens the door. “6B?” I ask.

  He nods. “I was in a bad place. I felt strangled where I was, so I got an apartment in the city and gave Kendra an unfair ultimatum: move with me, or we’re done. Sadie, she was unhappy. I just had this draw to make her smile or laugh or drop her guard for a few minutes. I chose her over Kendra. I made promises. I gave her everything I could in a short amount of time because I wanted to win her.” He loosens his tie. I just process it all. It isn’t easy to hear that he recently offered someone else his love, but I doubt it’s half as hard as having to admit that to me. I keep listening. “I’d actually met Sadie once in college and she’d left an impact on me. So when I moved in across the hall from her, I thought it was destiny. That’s why I went all in without a safety net. I thought fate was on my side, and I could blame everything on that, including hurting Kendra.”

  I knew Finn was a believer in fate, especially considering his comment earlier about past heartache being worth it to meet me, but it runs deep for him. He’s truly invested in the concept. Finding my journal, and then me, must mean a lot to him. I’m glad. I also think it was more than chance. “What happened?” I ask.

  “In the end, Sadie chose her husband over me. It hurt. I could’ve lived with her staying with him out of obligation, but the truth is, she wanted him.”

  Finn thinks he wasn’t enough for her. Maybe it’s because I’m not part of the situation, but I know instinctively that isn’t true. Whatever reasons Sadie had for choosing her husband didn’t have anything to do with Finn not being good enough. “I’m not going to choose Rich over you,” I say slowly. “By leaving Rich, I’m choosing myself. He—that life—wasn’t right for me.”

  “You say that now, but things change. I didn’t choose Kendra because I loved her. I did it for Marissa, to feel good about myself, to please Kendra’s family. It’s not always about love.”

  “That’s not how I see it. There’s love in all those decisions you made, if not for Kendra, then for your unborn child.”

  “It was a complicated situation, just like yours.”

  Rich offered me things I thought I wanted—security, love, and, in some ways, understanding. Even if he liked me best in a box, and noticed me because of my dad, Rich wasn’t a bad boyfriend. He could have had his pick of women when I met him, but even though I was heavier and being treated for depression, he’d still chosen me.

  “Did she—Sadie—ever say she’d leave her husband for you?”

  “Not until the end. I assumed a lot of things would happen that didn’t. So I’m trying not to do that with you, but I’m not doing a great job of it.”

  As far as I can tell, he hasn’t held back yet, and I don’t want him to start. “I’ve trusted you with a lot, Finn. My body, my words, my secrets. You could hurt me with everything you know.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he says. “And I love what we’re creating. I wouldn’t destroy that.”

  What we’re creating. Finn took my photo mid-fuck on Saturday and posted it. Every time I see it, I get a thrill. All his photos of me are beautiful and never explicit. His hand around my throat is just that, but his gentle hold juxtaposed with the obvious power he has makes it erotic. More so with my journal entry as the caption. Only he and I know the truth behind it.

  Now that he’s brought it up, I get a craving to see the photo again. Has anybody commented or liked it since I looked this morning?

  As of my train ride to work, Finn has posted nine of our photos, including one today.

  That amounts to four hundred seventeen followers. Finn’s meticulous about lighting and uses the same settings to give each photo a faded, gray-ish quality that enhances the details.

  I’ve kept a running tally of likes per photo. My fingers dipped in a mug? Fifty-nine. Sucking coffee off them? A hundred and ten—our most popular photo until today’s, which has a hundred and seventeen. It’s my hands splayed over my bare knees, my thumbs pressing into the skin of my inner thighs. Not even our best one, but with each post, our reach grows. As do likes and fans.

  Comments too.

  Fucking hottt

  What’s this quote from?

  Sexy account

  No tits???

  This ones kinky, love it

  There are even more, mostly people tagging other users. The first two still make my stomach flip.

  “Speaking of, I have something to show you,” Finn says, calling my attention back. He gets his cell from the pocket of his slacks. “A couple hours ago, this really big account shared our last photo.”

  My heart skips. I try to see upside down as he navigates to the app. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” He finds the account and passes me the phone. “Look.”

  I take it, and when I see the number of likes, my jaw hits the floor.

  One-thousand, two-hundred-fifty.

  Holy shit.

  Make that fifty-one.

  Fifty-two.

  I cover my mouth. My words are there too, for everyone to read. There are over thirty comments. “When did this happen?”

  “A few hours ago. It’s an account featuring up-and-coming artists. Photographers, writers, painters. But really good, progressive work. I’ve been getting a ton of new followers from it.”

  “How’d they find us?”

  “Someone tagged them in a comment on our photo. I did a little research. Accounts like this one get a lot of followers just from reposting other people’s photos. They’re called feature accounts.”

  “Did you read the comments?”

  “Yeah.” He closes his knees around mine, pressing my legs together. “They’re all good. Really good, Hals. It’s all you. Your words.”

  I’m grinning like an idiot, but I can’t help it. People are looking at his photograph. My caption. My body. “It’s us,” I say.

  “It’s you.” He runs his hands up my thighs. “You and your fucking amazingness.”

  I go through the last few photos featured on the account. “None of these have even a thousand likes,” I say.

  “Ours is the sexiest one on there. Maybe even of their entire account.” He slides a finger under the hem of my dress. “Or all time.”

  I look at Finn. A few weeks ago, I would’ve burned my journals before letting anybody near them. And just because I’ve lost weight doesn’t mean I’m not self-conscious about my body. This photo is validation I might be doing something right. People other than Finn and myself are connecting with what I wrote. They get me. Finn did this for me. This project is ours, but he’s given me confidence. He wants to make me happy, and I am—without medication. “I love—this.” I choke on this and cough to cover my blunder. I almost said you. Almost. Out of habit. I don’t mean it. I feel love, not for Finn yet, it’s too soon, but I feel it. I never expected, when I agreed to do this with Finn, that anyone would really care what I had to say. Not like this.

  “I love this too,” he says. “And I love being able to
turn your day around.”

  I drop my eyes to his lips, the most kissable lips on the planet, I’m fairly sure. “Technically it’s night,” I say softly.

  “Technically, you’re wearing too much clothing.” He stretches forward to kiss me. His warm mouth gives me permission to melt. Without disconnecting from me, he gets up, planting his hands at my sides on the cushions. I bend my head all the way back to meet his kisses.

  He reaches one hand under my dress and pauses. “Halston?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  I pull up the hem and show him my black thigh-high stockings. “As requested.”

  He blinks at them. “You weren’t wearing these when you left this morning.”

  “I bought them on my lunch break. Just for you.”

  He grunts, fingering the lace trim. That’s all it takes. He kicks the coffee table out of the way, pushes my dress up around my hips, and gets to his knees. I drop my head against the back of the couch when he shoves my underwear aside and buries his face between my thighs. My hands run through his thick, honey-colored hair, the strands sprouting soft and silky from my fingers.

  He picks me up by my ass to get even more of me in his mouth. I steady myself on the couch cushions, grasping them when he spears his tongue inside me. “Imagine if someone took our photo like this,” I say.

  Mouth glistening, he drags me down the couch by my hips, licking his lips like I’m a meal he hunted, slaughtered, and refuses to give up. He props me up on the arm, slides down his zipper, and pulls out his cock without even undoing his belt. He takes it in his hand and skims it through my wetness. “Fucking condom.” He groans. “It’s a hassle.”

  “Forget it,” I say. “I’m on birth control. You've seen me take it the past few days.”

  He furrows his eyebrows, then looks between us as he teases my entrance. “You wet, Hals? You look good and wet.”

  I inhale sharply. “Mostly from your mouth.”

  He sinks into me, and I sink into the couch. Into him. I bliss out while he pulls me onto him harder with every thrust. “Don’t come,” he says.

  I lift my head to look at him. He’s golden and sexy, but there’s an edge of darkness in his eyes. Just watching him handle my body makes me hot. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I like the idea of keeping you on the edge while I come. Of you dying for me to take you again.”

  I look up at the ceiling. Don’t climax. Don’t think of Finn toying with me until he’s ready to fuck me later. Submitting to his demands excites me, the opposite of what I need to be happening. I close my eyes as he takes me, willing myself to stay in control of my orgasm. Perhaps seeing the frustration on my face, Finn doesn’t torture me long. He pulls out, dropping me back onto the couch. I open my eyes just in time to watch him pump his fist and come on the couch cushion.

  He still doesn’t trust me. If I didn’t know his story, I’d be worried, but it’s less about me than him.

  He looks down at me, his chest heaving. “I almost came on you.”

  The ache between my legs, tender and swollen, flutters at his admission. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I . . .” He cocks his head, studying me. I don’t think it’s the question he expected. “Next time.”

  I should argue. I can’t imagine any other man telling me he’ll come on me and getting away with it. I’m helpless to Finn’s command, though, as his model, his girl, his doll. Maybe because I’m used to being under others’ control. But with Finn, I want to be.

  He tugs my dress back into place before tucking himself in his pants. There’s a wet spot on his trousers from my pussy. If I didn’t want to come already, that makes me pant for it.

  He holds out his hand to hoist me to my feet. “How do you feel about showing some leg?”

  I glance down at myself. Somehow, without explanation, I understand he means for the camera. I look back at him, at his soiled suit. “It doesn’t always have to be me, you know. I could write something for you.”

  “Nobody wants to look at me.”

  I grin and pull him close by his button-down. “Wrong. Some women like a man in a suit.”

  “Are you one of them?”

  I nod my head all the way up and then down. “Right now I am.”

  “I like to be behind the camera.”

  “Just this once?” I begin to unknot his tie. “I already have an idea. You can show me what to do.”

  He stands tall and solid as I undo him. “I’m not a teacher.”

  “Not even for me?” I ask.

  He looks down his nose at me. “If you’ll give me your legs, you have a deal.”

  I slip his tie off. “Deal.”

  Finn leads me into the studio and unpacks his bag while I slide his silky fabric through my hands. It’s just a tie, but it has so many potential uses.

  “Come here,” Finn says.

  I hang the tie around my neck and take the camera when he holds it out to me. It’s heavier than I thought, colder too. I use both hands to inspect it. “I can see why you like this. It feels sturdy. Professional.”

  “It is. Expensive too.” He smiles but says through his teeth, “Don’t drop it.”

  I laugh. “Never.”

  “You want to keep it steady.” He moves behind me to nudge my feet shoulder-width apart. “Easier said than done, but balance helps.”

  “Do I look through the viewfinder?”

  “Nah, we’ll use the display.” From behind, he cups his hand around mine, lifting the camera to my face. “Fill the screen as much as possible with your subject.”

  “You.”

  “Yes, me.” His tone is serious, authoritative. “Touch the shutter button, but don’t push it.”

  I do, and he rests his index finger over mine.

  “If you press it halfway,” he says, demonstrating, “it’ll focus your shot. You know what you want me to do?”

  “Yes. Take the tie.”

  He pulls it from my neck, and it slithers over my breasts. My hairs stand on end. “You ready?” he asks in my ear.

  My goosebumps get goosebumps. I shiver, nodding.

  “Your hands are shaking a little,” he says. “That’s normal, especially with a piece of equipment half your size.” When he flattens a hand on my stomach, his fingertips graze my pubic bone. “Take a deep breath and hold it.”

  I inhale through my nose.

  “Do that when you take the picture. It’ll help steady your hands.”

  I’m comforted—and a touch more aroused. “You’re a better teacher than you think,” I say because it’s true, but I’m also hoping to tempt him into another round. I haven’t forgotten his comment about roleplaying.

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” He stands in front of the camera. “Where do you want me?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, looking him over. Since his face won’t be in it, I need details. “Roll up your sleeves.”

  He undoes each cuff, folding them up while his eyes stay on me. “Next?”

  “Wrap each end of your tie around your hands.” I frame the picture from his shirt pocket to under his belt buckle. He fists the tie as if he’s about to blindfold me or tie me up, then pulls it taut. The strength in his forearms is evident. They’re bronze and veiny, just as I knew they’d be. I make sure to get them in the shot. When I press the button gently, the lens focuses, and I snap the picture. I take a few more for good measure, then lower the camera. “Got it.”

  He half smiles, takes the camera from me, and checks my work. “Only one is blurry. Good job.”

  I straighten my back with his feedback. “Thanks.”

  “Your turn.” We trade places. “Show me everything and nothing, Hals.”

  Standing before him, I lift my dress by the hem, positioning both hands in the middle to keep anything good hidden. I stop above the tops of my stockings.

  “You take direction better than I give it,” Finn murmurs. He squats in front of me, inches from my pus
sy. Inches from the dull ache he promised to satisfy.

  My heart beats in my stomach. It was all fun and games a minute ago, but now I’m reminded Finn has suspended me in a state of arousal. Suddenly, nothing seems more important than relief. “Finn?”

  “I know, just a couple more,” he says from behind the camera. “I’m coming.”

  “I’m not.”

  He shows his face to smirk at me. “I’m going to upload these. Go wait for me in the bedroom.”

  I pout. “Upload me first. Do them later.”

  With a laugh, he turns me by my shoulders toward the door. “I’m paranoid about these things. I’d hate to lose your masterpiece.” He pats my ass. “Go, take off everything. Except the stockings. Leave those on.”

  With an exaggerated huff to make my impatience known, I go to his room. As I reach back for my zipper, I catch sight of myself in his full-length mirror. I stand in front of it and let the dress fall around my feet. I turn to the side in just my bra, stockings, and cheekies. I only lost thirty pounds, maybe even a couple more since my appetite vanished a few days ago, but my body could belong to someone else. I’ve never looked better, despite faint stretch marks, a fat roll from my underwear elastic, and my shrunken boobs. I wonder if I’ll gain it back once I completely stop the antidepressants. Even though I’m not sure I want evidence of myself this exposed, I consider asking Finn to take my picture nude in case my weight fluctuates again.

  Finn makes a noise from the doorway. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who gets caught staring at you.”

  By habit, I cover my tummy. All the lights are on, and he’s looking right at me. “I was just . . . making sure everything is in the right place.”

  He smiles and walks around me. We look at my reflection together. “I probably haven’t told you enough how incredibly sexy you are.” He removes my hands from my stomach and scans me head to toe. “You know you are, right?”

  I blink from his face to my body. I’ve never been overly confident, not even now. I know I look good, but those insecurities don’t go away overnight. “I think so.”