Yours to Bare

by Jessica Hawkins

  I lean over the chair and open his reply.

  Are you wearing them now?

  My face flushes. I don’t know if I should respond—or how. I test out responses in my head.

  No, you pervert.

  No, my boyfriend already took them off.

  No, I’m naked under here.

  “What’s that?” Finn asks from behind me.

  My heart jumps into my throat. Fuck. Now I look guilty. I stand up straight. “Some guy e-mailed you asking about the photo of me in the stockings. I replied to be nice, but . . . his answer was . . .”

  Finn hugs me from behind and reads over my shoulder. He chuckles. “Pervert.”

  “Exactly my thought.”

  “Can I blame him? Nobody likes those tights as much as I do.” Finn nibbles my ear. “Fuck, this blanket is soft. I just want to rub my dick on it.”

  I smile. “What’s stopping you?”

  “Good point.” He keeps one arm around me while presumably removing his underwear. Next thing I feel is his length through the throw as he slides up and down the crack of my ass.

  “Please don’t ruin it, though,” I add.

  He clears some of my hair from my shoulder and kisses my neck. “I wouldn’t waste a good load on a blanket.”

  My stomach clenches remembering how Finn came all over my backside. It was a first for me, and a power play that I surprisingly loved. He’s done it once more on my stomach. “For a man who wouldn’t get within five feet of me without a condom on, you’ve really come around to not using one.”

  “Because I love to feel you,” he whispers in my ear. “Reminds me that you’re mine.”

  Goosebumps rise over my skin. I have nowhere to look but at the computer, so I notice right away when a small box pops up in the corner of the screen.

  Jack has invited you to chat

  “Huh.”

  “What?” Finn asks.

  “Look. That guy wants to talk to me.”

  “Wonder what he could possibly want to say.”

  So do I. Maybe he’s going to ask about another picture. I wiggle an arm free and bend forward to accept his invitation.

  Jack: If I promise not to ruin them, will you leave them on?

  “I was being facetious,” Finn says. He stops touching me. “What’s he talking about?”

  “The stockings.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  I get the chills. A total stranger wants to fuck me. Right? Why else would he send a message like that? I realize that in all likelihood, there might be several strangers who feel that way.

  Finn runs his hand down my front, parts the blanket, and feels me. “You’re wet.”

  “I am?”

  “Your face is red.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You’re turned on by this?”

  Am I? It’s not the worst feeling to be wanted by men, even if they might be creeps. I’m not used to that kind of attention, at least not more than the average girl gets. “I guess I kind of am.”

  “Hmm.” He runs a finger along my slit but doesn’t enter me. “Do you want to respond?”

  I bite my bottom lip. “Can I?”

  He hesitates. “What makes you think I’d let you? You know I’m not keen on sharing.”

  “It isn’t really sharing,” I point out. “You’re here. You’re in charge. He’s not.”

  He inhales sharply in my ear, teasing my entrance with his finger. “I like the sound of that. Go ahead, if you’re comfortable with it.”

  I swallow. I don’t know what to say to Jack’s question. Finn pulls the blanket from my shoulders so my hands are free. I lean toward the computer and re-read his message.

  Jack: If I promise not to ruin them, will you leave them on?

  Me: No. They were expensive. You might tear them.

  I hit send a get a rush of adrenaline. I never tell Finn no. I don’t want to. But Jack isn’t Finn. Jack has zero power over me.

  Jack: Then I’ll take them off. Slowly.

  Jack: I’ll start with your right leg, peel them from thigh to ankle. What color are your toenails?

  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 toasted 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 c
an’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?”