by Avery Flynn
She reached between them, her fingers curling around the gray cotton at his waist, and Finn was done holding back. His boxer briefs were off in an instant, the condom safely in place in another, and before he could think or breathe or control a single goddamn thing about his actions, he filled January’s pussy in one unforgiving stroke.
Oh. Holy. Hell.
For a second, Finn was paralyzed by all the uncut sensations taking over his body and brain. Although he’d slid into her with ease, January’s inner muscles squeezed tightly around his cock, sending his breath to a near-halt in his lungs. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, the sweet sting of her nails turning to all pleasure as her back arched against the covers, her nipples pebbled with obvious arousal. The sound coming up from Finn’s throat meant to be a moan, but then January moved—just a tiny retreat of her hips was all it took—and his chest vibrated with a growl.
“January.” His hands turned to hot fists, gripping the bedsheets as he levered back. The next press forward brought even more hot pressure around his shaft, and Finn couldn’t tell what he wanted more—to fuck her harder or fuck her longer. But then she reached around his waist, spreading her fingers wide on either side of his ass to keep his cock locked inside of her, and the decision became involuntary. Digging his knees into the mattress, he rocked against her body over and over until they’d built a hard, fast cadence between them. Every thrust brought him closer—more intensity, more slick heat, more everything—and January looked up at him with a glittering stare.
“You don’t have to hold back. Take it, Finn. Take what you want.”
The words landed deep in his chest, shredding the last of his control. He pistoned his hips, his cock filling her to the hilt with each thrust, and she shuddered in response, calling Finn’s name. His climax came on fast and strong, rising from the base of his spine to his balls, and he buried himself inside her as he came with a shout.
Minutes passed, his body going lax and his breathing slowing from ragged gasps to a somewhat smoother rhythm. Finn shifted to January’s side so he didn’t crush her, giving himself an extra minute to make sure his legs would actually do the job of supporting his body weight before taking a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up. When he returned, January was still on the bed, but she’d pulled the covers over her, tucking them over her chest and beneath both arms.
“Hey,” she said, and even though the word was only a whisper, Finn would’ve heard the hitch from a thousand yards away.
“What’s the matter?”
She laughed, but it was more irony than humor. “Nothing. I just, ah. Didn’t expect we’d end up here tonight.”
“I didn’t either,” Finn admitted. “I’m glad we did, though.”
That seemed to surprise her. “You are?”
Surprise moved through Finn right back. “Aren’t you?”
“Of course,” she said, her answer immediate. “It’s just…we don’t have to make this awkward by turning it into something it’s not just because we were close once. I know you’re only in Remington for a few days.”
Finn blew a breath into the shadows. This was the point at which he usually agreed wholeheartedly, telling whoever happened to be in his bed that yeah, he was going to be on a plane/train/bus/whatever in the very near future. But even though that was true in this case too, something made him say, “Okay, but that doesn’t mean we can’t spend those few days together.”
“You want me to stay?” January asked, blinking at him through the velvety ambient light in the bedroom.
Finn’s heart kicked against his sternum. He might have hidden his feelings from her in the past, but he had never, ever lied to her outright. No matter how fleeting this might be, he wasn’t about to start now. “Sure. This is still your night. Come on, what do you want to do now? Name it, and I’ll make it happen.”
She answered after a pause. “You’re going to laugh.”
“I will not.” He crossed a finger over his chest as proof.
“Even if I tell you I want to watch horror movies on Pay-Per-View and make you tell me when I can look again after all the really scary parts?”
Shit. “Okay, I might be laughing at you a little. But if a movie marathon is what you want…” He reached for the remote, pulling her close. “I’m game, Calendar Girl.”
Just for tonight, it was enough.
7
January woke slowly, burrowing deeper in the hypnotic warmth of the butter-soft bedsheets. Her mind drifted over the last twelve hours, lazily reminding her of dinner…the impulsive trip to the fountains in front of the hotel…Finn’s rough, gruff voice as he’d told her to come…the intensity on his gorgeous face when she’d said it right back to him…the night they’d spent together after that, wrapped up in blankets and laughter and each other as they’d watched movies until drifting off…
Oh God, she’d had insanely hot, other-worldly, mind-blowing sex with Finn. Finn. And rather than rationally thinking about the fact that he was going back to New Orleans in a few days, probably forever, all January wanted was to do it again.
“Mmmm. Morning,” Finn murmured, and okay, that sexy, scruffy, bed-head thing he had going on so wasn’t helping to keep her libido in check.
“It is morning.” Rolling over, she squinted at the clock on the bedside table, exhaling in surprise as the numbers registered. “Oh, it’s early.”
“I’m not much of a late sleeper,” Finn admitted. “Occupational hazard.”
January’s brows rose. “What time does the team usually practice?”
“It depends on where we are in the season, but no matter when we hit the ice, I go in a couple hours early, just to do my own workout and review film.”
The muscles in his shoulders flexed enticingly as he stretched, and January forced herself to focus. “Jeez. You really are a workaholic.”
Finn turned to his side, facing her in the soft, early morning sunlight drifting in past the sheers. “Maybe. But playing hockey is all I’ve ever wanted to do. It doesn’t feel like work to me.”
“You haven’t spent much time with the Cup,” she said, her stomach giving up a tiny squeeze as his expression tightened in response.
“I only wanted to do one thing with it, and that was bring it to Asher’s grave.”
An idea sparked in January’s mind, pushing past her lips before she could cage it. “You have it for another hour or so, right? Why don’t we have breakfast with it?”
The edges of Finn’s mouth lifted in a half-smirk. “You do realize Edwin comes with the deal?”
“Yes, I realize Edwin comes with the deal, but come on. It’s the Cup, Finn. I know you wanted to bring it to Asher’s grave rather than get all flashy with the thing, but you worked your ass off to earn the win. Don’t you think you deserve a little celebration too?”
The surprise whisking through his light brown stare told her all too clearly that the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I guess I do have some time before Edwin takes the Cup to my buddy, Bear. But we’ll need to hurry. Bear racked up more penalty minutes than anyone else on the Rage this year. He and I might be teammates, but I’m not about to piss the guy off by keeping him from his day with the Cup.”
January pictured the big, burly defenseman in her head, and oookay. Valid point. “Alright. I’ll jump in the shower while you order room service and talk to Edwin. Sound good?”
“You in the shower?” Just like that, Finn’s stare grew hot. “That sounds very good.”
Warmth pooled between her thighs, reminding her that they were very, very naked beneath the sheets. “Focus, Finnegan,” she managed to say, sending an identical message to the part of her brain that wanted to chuck breakfast and have Finn instead. “You. Me. The Cup. Fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, getting out of bed and reaching for the pair of jeans sitting on top of his duffel bag, bedside. “Fifteen minutes.”
January slid from the covers and padded to the bathroom—which was the size of her e
ntire condo and way fancier—letting the hot water run for a minute before stepping into the spray. There were plenty of hotel toiletries for her to go through her lather, rinse, repeat routine, which she did with efficiency even though a tiny part of her was tempted to linger beneath the multiple showerheads. She was halfway through drying off when she realized that her only clothing options were the towel currently wrapped around her and the dress she’d unceremoniously left in a puddle on the floor last night, and crap. Guess she’d have to wear one to go get the other. But as soon as she poked her head into the bedroom, she broke into a grin and scooped up option number three from where Finn had left it at the foot of the bed.
“Are you trying to sway my team loyalty?” she asked a minute later, giving a little twirl over the carpet of the suite’s main room to show off the Rage jersey bearing Finn’s number and the pair of sweatpants she’d had to roll a few times at the waist in order to keep from tripping or losing them outright.
Finn laughed, and God it sounded good. “Absolutely.”
“Hmm.” January crossed the room, pressing up to kiss him. “It might be working.”
“Ahem.”
The sound of a masculine throat that clearly wasn’t Finn’s being cleared made her pulse jump. “Oh!”
“You remember Edwin,” Finn said with an I-told-you-so grin, and she had to laugh.
“Of course.” She peeked over Finn’s T-shirted shoulder at the Cup’s keeper, who was seated in a leather chair on the far side of the suite. “Good morning, Edwin.”
“Good morning, Ms. Sinclair.”
“Would you like some coffee?” January asked, pulling back from Finn and pointing to the full pot sitting on the counter in the kitchenette (which was also way fancier than hers, thank you very much.)
Both Finn and Edwin fixed her with twin looks of shock, but Edwin found his voice first. “It isn’t necessary for me to join you while you eat. My duties as the keeper only require me to be able to see the Cup.” He sent a pointed glance to the item in question, which stood proudly on the desk situated halfway across the sweeping space of the suite. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding if you’re invited,” she said. As spacious as their surroundings were, they still had to all be in the same room in order to follow the rules. Even if she and Finn whispered, chances were high that Edwin would overhear whatever they decided to talk about. Including the poor guy just seemed less awkward, not to mention more polite.
A fact that Finn seemed to agree with. “Sure, man. It’s just breakfast.”
“Oh.” Edwin blinked from behind the thick frames of his glasses. “Well, I suppose I could join you then. As long as you’re certain.”
A couple of minutes had them situated around the dining table beside the kitchenette, with Finn pulling the domed covers off the half-dozen serving plates their room service waiter had delivered. January’s gaze slid to the nearby desk, her belly doing a tiny flip at being this close to one of the most iconic sports trophies in the world.
“The Cup is beautiful,” she said, taking in the details with a longer stare. “And also kind of gigantic.”
“The Cup’s dimensions do often surprise people when they see it in person,” Edwin agreed. His eyes lit with excitement from behind his glasses, and he straightened his bowtie as he continued. “But it has to be sturdy enough to withstand not just going from winning team to winning team every year, but to be passed from player to player within any victorious season.”
He launched into a rather fascinating history of the Cup that lasted for most of their breakfast. Although Finn stayed mostly quiet, alternating between drinking coffee and eating more bacon and eggs and home fries than was in any way fair for a man with abs like his, January caught him looking at the Cup enough times during the meal to know her suggestion had been a good one. She got a particular thrill when both Finn and Edwin encouraged her to hold the Cup, and was equally happy to clear the dishes so Finn could have some space with the trophy before Edwin packed it into its trunk and said his goodbyes.
“That was pretty amazing,” January admitted, walking over to the spot where Finn was standing by the windows.
“It was cool of you to include Edwin, although after all those hockey stats you two just traded, I think he’s a little bit in love with you.” Finn reached out to pull her in close before adding, “Hopefully he’s not impressed by your love for the Rogues.”
“Do not mock my team.” January tried for a stern frown, but her sigh at the feel of Finn’s muscular arms around her pretty much canceled it out.
He arched a shadowy brow, melting her further with a slow, soft kiss. “Say whatever you want, Calendar Girl. I know whose jersey you’re wearing.”
She laughed, clearly busted. “I probably should go home and get dressed in clothes that actually belong to me.”
“I don’t know,” Finn said, pulling back just enough to fix her with a sexy up-and-down appraisal. “You look pretty cute in my jersey.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure I look entirely appropriate for the recon I have to do today on the venue for this fundraiser.”
His brows lifted, eyes going wider in the morning sunlight spilling in past the giant windows at his back. “The previous volunteer booked a venue before she took off. That’s good, right?”
Oh, if only. “It would be if she hadn’t chosen Chase Manor.”
“Isn’t that place like a hundred years old, and not in the good way?”
January’s heart corkscrewed behind her sternum as she rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Don’t remind me.”
God, this fundraiser had disaster written all over it in bright red spray paint. Which her expression must have betrayed, because Finn said, “Tell you what. I’ve got an appointment with a realtor to go through my dad’s place at two. If you want, we can be each other’s moral support. I’ll go with you to check out Chase Manor if you’ll come with me to get the house on the market. How does that sound?”
“You want to go with me to help organize this fundraiser?” She stepped back on the carpet, surprise and something else she couldn’t quite identify rippling through her.
“Do you really want to go alone?” he asked back, and her answer popped out, automatic.
“No.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get you back to your place so you can change.” He jutted his chin at the door, a smirk kicking up amidst the hint of dark stubble on his jaw. “But go ahead and hang on to the jersey. I’m determined to make a Rage fan out of you yet.”
Finn stood on the rickety front porch, looking up at the even more rickety house where he’d spent his adolescence. Dread put a bitter taste in his mouth despite the bright June sunshine and the gentle hint of a breeze taking just enough edge off the afternoon heat to keep the weather pleasant.
This trip to North Point? Not so fucking much.
“Hey.” January reached out, brushing the side of her hand against his with a gentle bump that offered just enough support over pity. “You want to wait for the realtor before we go inside?”
“Yeah. She should be here any minute.” Plus, it wasn’t as if Finn would be getting all nostalgic once they crossed the (ramshackle) threshold. The quicker they could get this walk-through over with, the happier he’d be.
January’s voice stayed light as she asked, “Are you okay?”
Finn lifted a shoulder, but only halfway. “The house is just in worse shape than I remember, I guess.” He let his eyes flicker over the rotting porch boards, the badly peeling paint on the clapboard siding, and—shit—the section of chain link fence by the side yard that had all but caved in. “I’m a little scared about what the inside looks like.”
“Hmm,” she said, her pretty blue gaze following his. “Well, I guess we can look at the bright side.”
“Which is?”
January waggled her brows, and funny, the movement put a huge dent in the tension in Finn’s chest. “No matter what we find in there, it can’t be as ba
d as Chase Manor.”
As much as he hated to admit it… “You might be right there. That place was pretty bad.”
“Look at you with the niceties.” She laughed. “Chase Manor might’ve been upscale in its heyday, but that was forty years ago. The place is trapped in a bad seventies time warp, not to mention almost certainly violating both the fire code and the health code about a dozen different ways. I’m ninety percent sure the only reason Michelle booked it was because nothing else was available. Which sadly means I’m stuck with it, health code violations and all.”
“You’re pretty upbeat considering the circumstances.”
January paced over the porch boards, her sandals thumping softly on the uneven, splintery planks. “Getting upset will only waste valuable energy. I’m not going to find a perfect, affordable, available new venue with a month to go. I’ve got to do the best I can with what I’ve got.”
The slam of a car door sounded off from the street in front of them, cutting off Finn’s response and tightening the air in his lungs. A woman in a navy blue suit approached the house, her assessing stare and the slight but definite frown that accompanied it doing exactly zip for his confidence.
“Mr. Donnelly? I’m Dana Levine, with Levine Realty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Finn, please.” He shook her hand, introducing January before giving up a mental screw it and diving past the pleasantries. “The house isn’t in the best condition, I know. Not that it was ever Shangri-La or anything.”
Dana didn’t argue, but at least she was nice enough not to agree outright, either. “That’s okay. Previously owned homes are almost never pristine. Why don’t you show me around and we’ll go from there?”
A tour of the house’s two musty, dusty levels and highly dilapidated backyard didn’t help either Finn’s cause or Dana’s frown.
“I had the place cleared out after my old man died. Obviously,” he said, gesturing to the bare but dinged-up walls and matching carpets on the main level as the three of them came to a stop in the living room. “And I pay someone to come cut the grass in the summer. I guess I didn’t realize an empty house would need more upkeep than that.”
