by Maisey Yates
It was reckless, terrifying, to let herself go like this. To just let herself kiss him, to admit that she wanted this. That she wanted him. She had kept herself from thinking these words, from imagining this, from fully allowing herself to want it for so long. And now, she was just barreling down the hill, gaining momentum, throwing herself into it with a kind of hedonistic abandon that made her feel giddy and gun-shy all at once.
But giddy was going to win out. Desire was going to win out. Because she had gone too far to go back now.
“I want to see you,” he said, wrenching his mouth from hers.
With trembling hands she reached down and grabbed hold of the hem of her shirt. She didn’t want to think about this. She didn’t want to hesitate. So without pausing she wrenched the fabric over her head, then with unsteady fingers unclasped her bra, throwing it down on the floor.
The fact that she was getting naked in front of her best friend hit her fully about the time her panties hit the ground. And by then, it was too late.
He cursed, but the words sounded more like a prayer than anything else. He stood back from her, his lips pressed into a firm line, his blue eyes glittering. He looked like he was wrestling with something, battling restraint, battling an army inside of him.
Then he reached out, brushed his thumb over her tightened nipple. Her breath left her lungs in a rush, desire piercing her like an arrow.
“Perfect,” he said, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
He didn’t say anything else after that. Instead, he swept her up in his arms, cradled her against his chest, his hands roaming over her bare body. He kissed her, walked her back down the hall, and before she knew it, the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed.
Her heart thundered hard, slamming recklessly against her breastbone as she tried to capture the enormity of what was about to happen, at the same time as she made a small attempt to minimize it. Yes, she was about to have sex with Finn.
But in so many ways it made sense. Because she knew him. And he knew her. And he meant more to her than any other man. It made sense to be intimate with him.
It also scared the hell out of her. But she didn’t resist at all when he pressed her back onto the mattress, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders as he stared down at her.
He didn’t move, not for a long moment. Too long. The less kissing there was, the more mindful she was about the moment. The larger everything began to feel.
She reached up, grabbing hold of his head and bringing it down to hers, kissing him deeply, parting her thighs and letting him settle between them. The denim was rough against her skin, his cock hard beneath the fabric. She welcomed it. It was overwhelming. It swamped her senses completely. Made it impossible to think. Suddenly, that’s what she was desperate for. Just a few moments of oblivion. Where she didn’t have to worry about what this meant for them.
Where she didn’t have to think about the future. And even better, didn’t have to think about the past. Just for a while. Just for a little while.
“Tell me you want me,” he said, angling his head, kissing her just beneath her jaw.
“I want you.”
“My name,” he said, his voice a growl.
“I want you, Finn.” His name came out in a hushed whisper.
“Not convincing enough.” He grabbed hold of her wrist, curling his fingers tightly around it before gathering up her other wrist in the same way, holding them together and drawing her arms up above her head, pinning them against the mattress. “Let’s try that again.”
He held her there like that, immobilized as he lowered his head down to her breasts. He brushed his lips against one distended bud, moving his head back and forth, the featherlight contact building the tension in her stomach and down lower.
Then he closed his lips over one of the aching peaks, sucking her in deep. It shocked her, caused her hips to bow up from the bed, bringing her into sharp, sweet contact with his hardened length. She let her head fall back, a hoarse cry on her lips.
He kept on tormenting her with his mouth, and she rode the seam of his jeans as he did, torturing herself, ramping up her arousal. She had never felt like this before. Had never felt so outside of herself during sex.
What she had told him earlier had been true. For her, sex was a logical decision based on satisfying a basic set of needs. But she had never been in a situation where she felt like she couldn’t walk away. Where she felt like her physical desire had overridden her logic.
But there was no logic to be had here. She was made entirely of sensation and need, wrapped up in lust so tightly that she couldn’t escape. She didn’t even want to.
She struggled against his hold, but his hand was like an iron manacle, keeping her still as he continued to lavish attention on her. He moved his cheek over one breast, his stubble scraping against the delicate skin. She whimpered, arching into him even harder.
“You seem a little bit restless, Lane,” he said, lifting his head for a moment, his eyes clashing with hers. “Do you want something?”
That question, that simple question, opened up an array of illicit fantasies inside her mind. Made her want to ask for things she’d never done before. Made her want anything, everything. And more, so much more than what was happening right now.
“Yes,” she said, not intending for the response to be a whisper.
“That’s not convincing either. You need to tell me you want me. And then you need to beg to have me.” He never took his eyes off hers, his expression deadly serious.
She bit her lip, shaking her head.
“Oh, right,” he said, “I forgot you don’t beg. You’re gonna beg for this. You’re going to beg for me. I made you a promise. And I’ll be damned if I ever break a promise I make you, Lane Jensen.”
Suddenly, he released his hold on her wrists. And then he grabbed hold of her hips. She only had a split second to realize what was going to happen next before he moved down her body, dragging her toward his mouth with that inescapable grip of his.
A short, sharp scream escaped her lips as he pressed his own against the part of her that was wet and aching for him.
“I don’t,” she said, the words coming out sounding more like a squeak. “I don’t do this. Nobody does this for me.”
This was something she actively avoided. It was too focused on her. And she wasn’t comfortable with that. In fact, the thought had always actively turned her off. Being subjected to so much attention, so much scrutiny. It was extraneous. Peripheral. Just the basics were fine for her.
“I do,” he said, nuzzling her, going even deeper. Then his fingers joined in, teasing her, tormenting her, pushing her higher than she’d ever been before. “I always wondered how soft you’d be—” he slid his tongue through her slick folds “—how sweet.” He made a low, satisfied sound. “Like honey, baby.”
She was hot all over, desperate to get away from him, and also desperate to press herself in closer to him, to take more of what he was giving. She was so unbearably aware of the fact it was him. Because he was talking to her, because all of it was so undeniably Finn.
So pushy, and alpha, and enraging. Doing what he wanted, telling her with confidence that she wanted it too. Being right. Bastard.
He kept right on tormenting her until her breath was coming in short, choked sobs, until she was gasping for air, and grasping for the blankets, trying to find something to anchor her to earth. She flexed her feet, digging her heels deep into the mattress as he brought her to the edge of climax for what had to be the fifth time before pulling her back again.
“Finn,” she said, his name sounding desperate now.
“What?” The question was lazy, so cocky, so confident. If she didn’t know him so well, well enough that she could hear his own tension, his own desperation beneath the surface, she might have hit him.
&n
bsp; “You know,” she panted.
“No,” he said, “I don’t.”
She threw her arm over her face, covering up her eyes. “I want you.”
“Give me what I want. Give me the words.” The edge wasn’t beneath the surface anymore, it was evident. His need for this, for her to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear, not at all hidden anymore.
“I need you, Finn. I want you.”
“What exactly do you need?”
“You,” she said, “inside me.”
He started to move away from her and she grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him back toward her. “I need a condom,” he said.
“I think there are some in the bathroom,” she said. “I haven’t actually needed them for a while.”
“Okay.” He went into the bathroom and returned a moment later, tearing a condom packet open as he walked back to her.
“Hurry up,” she said. “I need you.”
His jaw tensed. “Say that again.”
“I want you inside me. Now.”
He grabbed ahold of his shirt and dragging it up over his head. Her mouth dried at the sight of him. At his cut abs, broad shoulders, narrow waist. And then his hand went to the snap on his jeans and she lost the capacity for thought at all.
All she could do was watch as he dragged the zipper down slowly, then grabbed hold of his underwear and pushed it and those jeans down his hips.
He was not the first man she had ever seen naked, but she had never seen a man that looked quite like him. He rolled the protection over his length, and she just stared at him. Hard, thick. All for her.
She had done her very best to never wonder about Finn’s penis. But of course she had. She had figured a little curiosity was totally normal. He was a large man, over six feet, with big hands, so she had figured he would be proportionally endowed.
She had underestimated him.
Her internal muscles clenched in anticipation, with need.
He moved back to the bed, and a little flip of anxiety turned her stomach. “It really has been a long time since I’ve been with anybody.”
“I can take it slow,” he said.
She shivered, the thought of taking it slow, all those hard, thick inches, just about sending her over the edge there and then.
He moved up between her thighs, pressing the head of his cock against her clit, sliding it over her slick folds, up and down, teasing her with near penetration.
“Beg for it,” he said, the tendons in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight.
There was no point in holding out. She was going to beg. And she wasn’t even ashamed.
“Please, Finn, I need you inside me. Please.”
He looked right in her eyes, and it was too much. She closed them, looked away as he pressed the head of his arousal to her slick entrance, sliding in slowly, inch by delicious inch. Until she was filled. Filled with him.
When he was buried to the hilt, she looked at him again. He was looking somewhere past her, the expression on his face one of extreme torture.
Everything stopped, just for a moment. She clung to his shoulder with one hand, pressed the other against his hip. And then he began to move. And she felt it all. The flex of his muscles, the strength it was taking him to control himself, to establish a steady, measured rhythm.
The extreme hardness of his length, buried deep inside of her.
She was surrounded by him, above her, inside of her. It was too much, too much intensity to bear, and she was sure she would die of it. With each steady thrust he pressed up against her, white-hot pleasure streaking through her veins each and every time.
She had been poised on the brink for so long she had forgotten what it was like to feel anything else. She was lost in a haze unlike anything she’d ever known. But one thing was clear. As her hands roamed over the muscular body so close above her, she couldn’t deny that she knew exactly who it was.
She was touching Finn’s shoulder blade, dragging her fingertips down the line of his spine, moving her palm over his well-muscled ass.
It was Finn inside of her. Finn who had her strung out in sexual limbo, suspended somewhere between heaven and hell.
And when the tension inside of her finally fractured, splintered and shattered completely, there was absolutely no doubt that it was Finn’s name on her lips as she cried out her release.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SUDDENLY, THE LIGHT seemed too bright. He was the one who had insisted it be on. He stood by that. Because he would be damned if he was going to let Lane pretend it was some other man bringing her pleasure. Would be damned if he allowed her to hide from him when he had spent so long fantasizing about her naked body.
Oh yeah, he had wanted to see everything.
But now, in the aftermath of his release, it all felt a little too sharp.
All of his nerve endings were fractured, on fire. His orgasm had nearly blown his head off. Among other things.
This was a new experience for him. Wanting somebody for so long and finally having them. Lane was the only woman he had ever wanted for an extended period of time. Usually, he mostly wanted sex, not one woman in particular.
She was the exception. She always had been.
And now she was pressed against him, her full, soft breasts crushed to his chest, her thighs parted, cradling him inside of her body.
He flexed his hips lightly, the shock of pleasure assaulting him.
He looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed, her chin tilted upward, as though she was resolutely not looking at him. But there was a smile tilting her lips upward.
He lifted his hand, brushing her hair away from her eyes, then let his fingertips drift down her face. He stroked her lower lip, like velvet beneath his touch. Her eyes fluttered open then, a glassy, dazed expression in them.
It hit him with full force, like a horse kicking him in the chest.
He moved away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
She didn’t say anything, but a moment later, he felt a hesitant touch against the center of his back. He didn’t react. He was still trying to catch his breath.
For the first time he questioned himself. He wondered what the hell he had been thinking. What he had hoped to accomplish with this. Because one thing was certain, sleeping with her hadn’t dealt with his desire for her.
All he wanted to do was kiss her again. Sink into her body again. Again and again and again.
This hadn’t even been a Band-Aid to put over the throbbing, insistent desire he felt for her. Nope, it hadn’t done a thing to lessen it at all.
And when you slept with your best friend, you kind of had to know the end game. With other women, Finn knew the end game. Sex a few times, and then a mutual parting. He didn’t deal with ex-lovers, and if he ever did, it was easy. Done in passing, and without any difficulty because both of them had dealt with their need for each other. Were likely satisfying that generic need with other people.
His need for Lane had never been generic. It had always been specific. It had never been about sex. He could be sleeping with another woman and still be caught off guard by how beautiful Lane was. Occasionally get stabbed, deep and low in the gut when she turned to smile at him in the sunlight filtered through her dark hair, illuminating it like some kind of halo.
Which had always seemed somewhat ironic to him since the thoughts he had about her were anything but angelic.
What was wrong with him? He had finally gotten the one thing he’d wanted for years, and he didn’t feel any closer to satisfaction. If anything, it had opened up to a deeper, darker and even more fathomless cavern of need inside of him.
He felt like the world’s biggest jackass. Sitting on the edge of the bed, having experienced the most explosive sexual encounter of h
is life—and brooding, instead of reveling in his physical satisfaction and his conquest.
He didn’t feel like Lane was a conquest. Maybe that was a problem. He felt much more conquested than anything else.
He got up and walked into the bathroom on unsteady legs, disposing of the condom. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror and wanted to punch it. He had thought—because hell, he’d wanted Lane long enough—that being with her would be the resolution to something.
Instead he felt like there was something large lodged in his chest keeping him from breathing.
He walked back into the bedroom and looked at her. She was still lying down, naked and sleepy looking. Soft and warm. “You okay?” He didn’t know what else to say, but that seemed like a caring angle to take.
He slid back into bed beside her, his gut going tight as he did. Getting into bed with Lane, bare-ass naked, was not a usual occurrence.
She nodded slowly. “Yes.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you?”
There was no good answer to that. So he leaned forward, then wrapped his arm around her waist, shifting his weight and bringing her beneath him again. “That’s a complicated question.”
Her cheeks turned red. “Is it?”
“Do you mean am I satisfied?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. But, are you?”
“Not by a long shot. I have a feeling it will take more than once to accomplish that.” For some reason, as soon as he said those words, some of the tension in his chest eased. Maybe that was the problem. He wanted more. And as he sat there on the edge of the bed, he had seen himself plunge right back into the hell he’d been living in for the past decade. Wanting her, but not wanting to push her.
Because once wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be. He knew that.
What he didn’t know was whether or not she was going to retreat back inside of herself again. Whether or not she was going to try and put distance between them. It was her modus operandi and they both knew it.
