Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  Finn pulls out the leather desk chair and sits down. Just as I think he’s about to shut this down, he pats the seat. “Come.”

  I sit between his legs. With his hands resting on my thighs, he sticks his chin on my shoulder. “Tell him.”

  Me: Red.

  Jack: You’re my dream girl.

  Jack: Sorry if that’s too romantic. I’m a writer too. Like you.

  The air around us gets tense. His comment is personal, as if he knows me. I guess, in a way, he does. He’s read my innermost thoughts without ever having met me . . . just like Finn did. The clock in the top corner of the computer changes to 12:08 A.M.

  “What should I say?” I ask.

  Finn rubs my leg. “Tell him he can’t have you.”

  Me: I have a boyfriend.

  Jack: Of course you do. I won’t try to romance you, then.

  A nugget of disappointment forms in my stomach. I wanted to see where this would go. I never did things like this in my past life. It’s exciting, dangerous, but since Finn is here, it’s also safe. To my relief, the computer dings again.

  Jack: Let’s not stop at the stockings. I want to see all of you. Take off your dress.

  I wait for Finn to stop me. I don’t want him too, but I don’t want to make him mad.

  “It’s off,” Finn whispers in my ear, making me shiver.

  Me: It’s off.

  Jack: Now everything else.

  Finn gathers my hair in a loose ponytail and hangs it over my shoulder. He opens the clasp of my bra and gently drags the straps over my shoulders. I’m so wet already, I feel it on the leather underneath me. And it’s not just me. Finn is rigid against me, and I swear I feel his moisture on my back.

  Jack: Are you naked?

  Me: Yes.

  Jack: Good girl. Since I don’t have to worry about the stockings, I don’t need to be careful with you. Do I?

  Finn reaches around me to respond.

  Me: No.

  A few seconds go by without a response. Finn runs his big, impatient hands down my arms to my wrists, then up my knees, along the insides of my thighs. My heart beats so hard, I feel it at the base of my neck.

  Jack: Here’s what I’d do if I were there. I’d make you spread your legs open so I could see how wet you are. Do you need a little help getting wet?

  Me: Yes.

  Jack: My pleasure. How many fingers do you want?

  “Sick fuck,” Finn breathes onto my neck. But he parts my thighs as far as they’ll go, which isn’t much since he’s boxing me in, and slides two fingers inside me. I drop my head back on his shoulder. “More.”

  Finn shows me his glistening hand. “One or two?”

  Four fingers scares the crap out of me. “One.”

  Finn types for me.

  Me: Three.

  He resumes fingering me, stretching me with more of his hand than I’m used to.

  Jack: Three is a good warm up. I’m pretty big. Maybe too big.

  Me: I can handle it.

  Me: My boyfriend is huge.

  Jack: Bigger than seven?

  Finn grunts and pulls one of my feet onto the chair. He finger-fucks me a little harder. “Yes.”

  Me: Bigger.

  Jack: Then I don’t need to be gentle. I’ll finger you almost as hard as I’ll fuck you. Until you’re close.

  I can’t respond. I hold onto the arm of the chair with one hand, gripping Finn’s wrist with the other. I’m not sure if I’m trying to slow him down or keep him there. He feels so good. Too good.

  I let go of Finn to type with one hand. I’m shaky, so it takes me a couple tries.

  Me: Kiss

  Me: me.

  I turn my head and Finn latches his mouth on mine, swallowing my moans as I approach the edge. When I begin to contract around him, Finn pulls out. “Not yet.”

  “But—”

  “Shh.” He soothes me, petting my hair. “Tell him you’re coming.”

  Me: I’m going to come.

  Jack: Don’t.

  Me: Why not?

  Jack: I’m not touching you anymore. I’m taking off my pants. Bend over and show me your pussy.

  Finn lifts me up by my waist. “Stand.”

  I get up, and Finn thumbs my ass cheeks apart, working his fingertips down to open my folds. “It’s beautiful,” he says.

  I’m at an awkward angle, but I type.

  Me: beautiful, isn’t it?

  Jack: The most. I can’t restrain myself anymore. I’m ready to feel you.

  “Come back here,” Finn says.

  I sit on his lap. With his palm on my upper back, he pushes me down until my chest rests on the keyboard. He enters me from behind, a new angle for us. My face is practically pressed up against the computer screen. Finn yanks my hips down, filling me all at once, and I cry out before he slams into me again.

  Jack: How does it feel?

  Finn pulls my arms behind me, grabs my biceps, and thrusts up into me. My tits bounce against the keyboard.

  Me: dfioweh9834h3ibvdlap

  Jack: You feel so good. God, you’re tight. I’m a little too big for you, but we’ll make it work. I’m sorry if it’s too fast. I’ve just been thinking about this so long.

  I come. Jack’s words. Finn’s huge cock. The most forbidden sex I’ve ever had. My eyes cross as my body sucks Finn deeper.

  Jack: Tell me before you come.

  Finn shoves the computer screen away so it’s facing a wall. He stands, sliding me forward. The keyboard clatters at our feet. He puts his hands on both sides of me, trapping me on the desk while he nails me to it, so long and so hard, he has time to work my clit and bring me to climax again.

  My skin burns hot, my pussy slickens, accepting all of him with each plunge. We’re connected on so many levels, Finn and me. We have been since the start, but our bond just gets deeper, stronger. “Come inside me,” I say.

  “I—”

  “Please.”

  He slams me with three punishing thrusts. “Turn around. Quick.”

  It’s just like Finn to want to look me in the eye the first time he does this. I turn and sit on the desk, spreading my legs.

  “Give me your mouth.”

  It takes me a second to realize what he’s asking. I’ve gotten to know his tells over the past month, and I know he’s about to explode. Unsure of what else to do, I get on my knees.

  He holds my chin. “Open.”

  I take him in my mouth. He pushes to the back of my throat a few times, cramming my mouth until I gag. “I’m gonna come. Where?”

  I look up at him. I guess my options are anywhere but where I asked. I want to be claimed once and for all, owned, but it won’t happen tonight. I nod as best as I can, and that’s all it takes. He grips my hair, groans up at the ceiling, and spills into my mouth.

  23

  When Finn calls my name, it echoes through the nearly empty museum. I blink out of my daze, and just like that, I’ve lost a staring contest I didn’t know I was having—against an Indian rhinoceros.

  Finn is a few taxidermied species ahead, but he comes back to get me. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” He presses the back of his hand to my cheek. “You seem out of it.”

  I lean into his touch. “I’m fine.”

  “You can tell me if you’re bored.”

  “I’m not.” Well, not that bored. “Just a slow reader.”

  He brightens. “I’m glad you’re interested.”

  Finn’s been giving me a tour of the American Museum of Natural History for the past hour. He couldn’t believe I grew up outside the city and still had never been. He brought Marissa for the third time last weekend while I moped at my apartment for two days, but he still seems fascinated by every stop.

  He takes my hand and leads me to the next diorama, making a point to stop in front of the plaque. All right, so I wasn’t reading about rhinos. I was thinking about the article for Gotham’s digital magazine again, but I don’t want Finn to know that. We already toaste
d each other, went to dinner, and discussed it at length, so there’s nothing really left to say.

  Except . . . I can’t get one particular detail out of my head.

  What do I have to celebrate, when nobody knows who I am?

  It came out nine days ago, the middle of January, Friday the thirteenth of all days. Finn was lauded as an up-and-comer in innovative, modern boudoir photography. The kind of evocative art you’d hang in your entryway rather than hide away in the master bathroom. Provocative images of Finn’s seductive model to stimulate your guests. And Finn, my love, my rock—he credited his model as his muse—not for her body, but for her words. He was very clear about that. Nobody who read the article would doubt I had as much to do with his success as he did.

  Anonymous.

  There are theories. Celebrities, socialites, and professional models have been named as Anonymous. Boyfriends tag girlfriends in the photos, teasingly accusing them of keeping secrets. People care who I am, but they know who Finn is. He’s begun getting inquiries about commissions. Where does that leave me? It’s not as if I can come along.

  We blew past ten thousand followers before my target date.

  Finn has been leading me around, and suddenly I realize we’re in the Hall of North American Birds. A dead, stuffed falcon is mid-flight. Inside a glass case, ten, fifteen owls watch me walk by. My scalp prickles. I wore an Angora sweater because Finn likes how soft it is, but the museum’s heat is on and now I just feel suffocated. While Finn’s back is turned, I check my phone. A notification alerts me to a message from Butter Boudoir. Again? This’ll be the third message from them to go unanswered. I want to check it, but just two days ago, Finn told me I spend too much time on my phone when we’re together. I’m trying to be more conscious about it.

  Last week, we accepted two-hundred-fifty dollars from a jewelry company who’d read about us online. I wore a thin, silver bracelet for one shot. They had more followers than us, but they were looking to target a more niche audience. I’d suggested Finn and I use the money to splurge on a nice dinner, but he wanted to put it in the bank. After the conversation I’d overheard with Marissa, I didn’t try to talk him out of it. Instead, I made him a special meal at the apartment. It ended with lovemaking that involved an oven mitt, spatula, and a creative use of linguine.

  At the elevator, Finn turns to me. “The dinosaurs are on the fourth floor. Want to see or have you hit your limit?”

  It’s my stomach that answers him. Saved by the grumble. “I think my limit’s hit.”

  He slings an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you fed.”

  We return to the main entrance to retrieve our things from the coat check. While Finn uses the restroom, I step outside. I put on my fingerless gloves, which I bought specifically for occasions like this, where it’s freezing outside but I want to use my phone. Since I have a couple minutes to myself, I check our inbox.

  Mr. Cohen,

  Congratulations on seventeen thousand followers. I’m sorry we haven’t heard back from you yet. I know sometimes communication gets lost in the shuffle. Consider this our last and best offer.

  Valentine’s Day is around the corner, and we’re making a huge push to reach new customers. We’d love to gift you some pieces from our V-Day collection as well as $5,000 to feature them in a 10-photo series. Again, we’re big fans of your work, and our appreciation has grown even more the last few weeks as the posts just get better. I’m sure twenty thousand followers is just around the corner.

  Thank you for your consideration,

  Kelly

  “I know a burger place nearby,” Finn says behind me.

  I turn and nearly knock him down. I open my mouth to tell him.

  Five.

  Thousand.

  Dollars.

  I can’t even get the number out, as if saying it aloud will make it disappear. This is a sign. We can’t turn this down. “You—I . . . we—”

  “What’s wrong?” He rubs my upper arms. “Christ, Halston. Are you shaking? Maybe we should get you home—”

  “Five grand,” I say. “That’s what the lingerie company wants give us.”

  “What lingerie co—” He glances from my face to the phone in my hands. “You’re still talking to them?”

  “No. I never responded to their last message. But they just wrote and upped their offer because of a Valentine’s Day campaign.”

  He squints behind me. “We already decided against this.”

  We didn’t, but I’m trying to convince him, not anger him, so I keep that to myself. “We decided against a grand. This is five times that. I think that merits re-opening the discussion.”

  “I admit, it’s tempting,” he says, “but it isn’t worth it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not what we do. You’re my girlfriend.” He drops his gaze to mine again. “I’m supposed to protect you, not put you on display for a little extra cash.”

  “A little extra cash? This would cover your rent for two months.”

  He tilts his head and stops trying to warm me. “Why are you worried about my rent?”

  “Because you’re not.” As soon as I say the words, I wish I could take them back. This is an area of our relationship we haven’t yet broached. We didn’t talk about money in my household. My dad still pays my rent. Rich came from wealth. I’m finding that I don’t like feeling so uncertain about the future, but since it’s Finn’s problem, shouldn’t he have been the one to bring it up?

  He stares at me, his breath fogging in front of his face. “You’re worried?” he asks. “About my finances?”

  “Well, no. But . . .” I shift on my feet. Two joggers weave through the crowd. A blue jay hops along a bare tree branch, and I’m beyond grateful for a real, living bird. Absentmindedly, I touch my feather. “I mean, you only work two or three jobs a month, but you live in a two-bed apartment in a very expensive neighborhood.” I look back at him. “How long can you keep that up?”

  “You and I haven’t discussed money,” he says slowly. “You don’t know the first thing about my bank account.”

  “I heard you talking to your daughter that morning after I spent the night.” A chill runs down my spine, and I blow hot air into my mittens. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just overheard. She said you were broke.”

  “Well, if an eight-year-old says it, it must be true.”

  “Is it?”

  “I made serious Wall Street money up until last year. I managed to save a good chunk of it. And I trade stock on the side. You didn’t know that, did you?”

  “How would I?” I ask. “You never tell me anything about that part of your life. I know nothing about your finances or your ex-wife or even Marissa.”

  “And you won’t tell your dad you’ve broken things off with Rich. You promised you would after the holidays, and it’s January twenty-second.”

  My face warms. He’s right. I don’t talk about work or my dad with him anymore. I don’t want Finn asking about Rich. Every time I work up the courage to tell my dad the truth, I lose my nerve. He’ll accuse me of making bad decisions without the drugs. I just want to be stable, happy, and sorted with Finn so I can show my dad that I’m able to do it on my own.

  “One fight at a time, okay?” Finn crosses his arms. “No, I’m not broke. I’m good with money, but I am moving through my savings faster than I’d like. I’ve stashed some in my retirement accounts, but I don’t really want to touch those.”

  “Then let’s do this.” I pull on his forearm, trying to get him to uncross his arms. He doesn't budge. “It’s a lot of money. And it fits our brand—”

  “No.”

  Why wouldn’t we say yes? We get to do what we’re already doing, but better, and for money. Not only can I earn us more of an audience, which in turn commands us a higher price tag, but I can also take some of the financial pressure off Finn’s shoulders. All with a few risqué shots. “The pieces are tasteful, Finn. They’re sexy lace and sheer—”

/>   “Sheer?”

  “But in a tasteful way—”

  “No.” He steps back. “I said no, end of discussion. I’m not going to share you.”

  “You mean again,” I say. “You aren’t going to share me again.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “We had online sex with a stranger,” I say. Some people look over, so I lower my voice. “I’ve used the word fuck in our captions, and you’ve been inside me during a photo shoot. Sex is our brand whether you like it or not.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to pimp out my girlfriend—”

  “I’m not your girlfriend right now. I’m your business partner.”

  “Not in this case,” he says. “You come before business. Our relationship comes before business.”

  “But you’re not ‘pimping me out.’ I want to do this.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Because it makes me feel good,” I yell. “It makes me feel wanted.”

  “It’s not enough that I want you? You need to know creepy men are looking at you in sheer underwear? Why does talking to a stranger online, or people looking through our windows, get you off?”

  My lungs empty like I’ve been sucker punched. Finn’s never made me feel anything other than confident, smart, desired. Until now. Throwing all that in my face as if he wasn’t there every step of the way. “Are you saying none of that turned you on?”

  “Exposing my girlfriend to other men? No, it doesn’t. On New Year’s, it was fun, and kinky, and I was drunk. A one-time thing, not a recurring show. You’re my girl. At least with your journals, I’m the only one getting access to you, no matter how sexy or sweet or weird your entries might be—”