by Jill Shalvis
Okaaay. Pru gestured to her open door. Mrs. Winslow let herself in, unlatched the dumbwaiter door and removed a . . . platter of brownies?
Pru’s mouth watered as Mrs. Winslow smiled, gave a quick “thanks” and exited the apartment, heading for her own.
“Those look amazing,” Pru said, hoping for an invite to take one.
Or two.
Or as many as she could stuff into her mouth.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Winslow said with a negative head shake. “These are . . . special brownies.”
Pru blinked and then looked at Finn, who appeared to be fighting a smile. “Special brownies?” she repeated, unable to believe that Mrs. Winslow really meant what she thought she meant.
“Yes,” the older woman said. “And you’re not of age, or I’d share.”
“Mrs. Winslow, I’m twenty-six.”
Mrs. Winslow smiled. “I meant over sixty-five.”
And then she vanished into her own apartment.
Finn gently nudged Pru into hers, which answered the unspoken question. He was coming in. Into her apartment.
And, if her heart had any say at all, into her life.
Chapter 15
#Doh
Finn dropped both duffel bags and the deli bag on Pru’s kitchen counter and then turned to her. “Okay, time to play doctor.”
Her entire body quivered, sending “yes please” vibes to her brain. Luckily her mouth intercepted them. “Sure, if I can be the doctor.”
His mouth curved. “I’m willing to take turns, but me first.”
Oh boy. “Really, I’m fine. I think I just need a shower.”
“Do you want something to drink? I could call down to the pub and—”
“No, thanks.”
“I wasn’t talking about alcohol,” he said. “I already know you don’t drink.”
There weren’t many who would so easily accept such a thing without some sort of question. People wanted and expected others to drink socially when they did. Usually whenever she politely declined, the interrogation inevitably started. Not even one little drink? Or what’s up with that, are you an alcoholic?
Pru couldn’t imagine actually being an alcoholic and facing that kind of inquisition with class and grace, but the truth was that she didn’t drink because her parents had. A lot. They’d been heavy social drinkers. She didn’t know if they’d had an actual problem or had just loved to party, but she did know it had killed them.
And that had quenched her thirst for alcohol at an early age.
But Finn didn’t push. “How about something warm?” he asked. “Like a hot chocolate?”
She felt her heart squeeze in her chest for his easy acceptance. “Maybe after my shower.”
He nodded and leaned back against the counter like he planned on waiting for her. Not knowing how to deal with that, she nodded back and headed for the bathroom. She shut and locked the door and then stared at that lock for a good sixty seconds, because did she really want to lock him out? No. She wanted him to join her, the steam drifting across their wet bodies as he picked her up, pressed her against the shower wall and buried himself deep.
Ignoring her wobbly knees, she left the lock in place, shaking her head at herself. Apparently it’d been too long since her last social orgasm and while she handled her own business just fine, her business was clearly getting bored with herself.
Stripping out of her clothes involved peeling her shirt from the torn skin of her elbows, not a super pleasurable experience. Same for her knees and her jeans. Naked, she took inventory. Two bloody knees, one bloody elbow and a bloody chin.
When she was little and got hurt, her mom would hug her tight and then blow on her cuts and bruises and whisper “see, not so bad . . .”
It’d been a long time, but there were moments like right now where she would’ve traded her entire world away for a hug like that again. She looked at her bruised, bloody self in the mirror and took a deep breath. “See, not so bad,” she whispered and got into the shower.
She made it quick, partly because as she ran soap all over her body, she only ramped herself up, but mostly because her various road rashes burned like hell. But also because as she soaped up, she couldn’t help but think of Finn standing in her kitchen, arms casually crossed, pose casual, his mood anything but.
Waiting for her.
Her good parts quivered so she turned the water off, going from overheated to chilled in a single heartbeat. With her bad parts stinging and her good parts throbbing, she stepped out of the shower.
At the knock at the door, she nearly had a stroke.
“How bad is it?” Finn asked through the wood.
She yanked her towel off the rack and wrapped it around herself, her hair dripping along her shoulders and down her back. “Not bad.” Her voice sounded low and husky, and damn . . . inviting. She cleared her throat. “Not bad at all.”
“I want to see.” He tried the handle. “Let me in, Pru.”
Her hand mutinied and unlocked the door, but didn’t go as far as to actually open it for him. She couldn’t because dammit, he was already in. In her head, her veins, all of her secret happy places, and, she suspected, her heart.
Finn pushed the door open and stood there, eyes scanning her slowly, his body stilling as he realized she was in just a towel.
He took what looked like a deep breath and stepped the rest of the way in, a first-aid kit in his hand. “Had this in my bag,” he said and set it on the countertop to the left of the sink. Turning to her, he put his hands to her waist and lifted her, setting her on the right side of the sink.
Ignoring her squeak of surprise, he opened up his kit, fingered his way through, and came up with gauze and antiseptic. Turning toward her, he sprayed and then bandaged up her elbows, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. When he’d finished there, he crouched low.
With another surprised squeak, Pru pressed her legs together and tugged at the bottom of her towel, trying to make sure it covered the goods.
This got her an almost smile as he went about doctoring up both knees, using the spray again, keeping his eyes on his work, his big, strong, capable hands moving with quick, clinical efficiency.
Pru occupied herself and her nerves by watching the way his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders and back, every muscle rippling as he moved. His head was bent to her, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his long, dark lashes hiding his thoughts.
Fine with her, as she was having enough thoughts for the both of them, the number one being—if she relaxed her very tense thighs even a fraction, he’d be able to see straight up to the promised land.
The thought made her dizzy but she told herself it was the spray giving her a head rush.
Because actually, there was something incredibly erotic about that, her being nude beneath the towel and him being fully dressed. But she was all too aware that not only was she a wreck on the inside, she was looking the part.
His concentration shifted from what he was doing, his gaze cutting to hers. Reaching out he brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
He arched a brow.
“I’m a mess,” she blurted out.
He rose at that, brushing his hands from her ankles up the backs of her calves, resting just behind her knees for a beat before giving a little tug, sliding her forward on the counter toward him.
Her legs parted of their own volition and he stepped between them, leaning in close at the same time, his body heat warming her up. His arms slid around her hips, snugging her closer as his lips gently brushed hers. Then those lips made their way along her jawline to just beneath her ear, trailing tiny kisses as he then worked his way down her throat.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “A beautiful mess.”
She choked out a laugh.
“You are,” he said against her shoulder now. “So beautiful you take my breath away.” Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes letting her see
he meant it, entirely.
It’d been a long time since she’d felt beautiful, but she realized that she did. Very much so. She wanted to close her eyes and get lost in that, lost in him, but with one last nip at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, he shifted his attention to her chin.
She hissed in a breath when he pressed a gauze to it and then held her next breath as well when he leaned forward and kissed her there.
He’d shifted slightly to reach and the rough slide of denim brushed the skin of her bare thighs, making them tremble for more. “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding a little like Minnie Mouse on helium as his mouth and stubbled jaw gently abraded over her skin.
“Kissing your owies,” he said innocently, his voice anything but as he continued with his ministrations.
Her traitorous body responded by arching and pressing closer, oscillating her hips to his for the sheer erotic pleasure of hearing him groan.
His mouth brushed her jaw one more time before he met her gaze. “Where else?”
Completely dazed, she shook her head. “Huh?”
“Where else do you hurt?”
She stared up at him. Where else did she hurt? Nowhere, because with his hands and mouth on her, all her pleasure receptors had overcome the pain. But not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, she pointed to her shoulder.
Finn gave it his utmost attention, running his finger over a growing bruise. Then he bent and kissed her there, letting his lips linger a little.
She looked at his mouth on her, those amazing lips pressed to her skin, and shivered.
With a wordless murmur, Finn shifted even closer, his warm, strong arms encircling her so that she could absorb some of the heat coming off him in waves. His long, dark lashes brushed his cheeks when his eyes were closed, like now. He hadn’t shaved that morning and maybe not the morning before either. She could feel the prickles of his beard when he turned his head slightly and opened his eyes.
“Where else?” he asked, his voice pure sex.
And here’s where she made her mistake. She needed to stay strong, that was all she had to do. But the problem was that she was tired of being strong. And she was having a hard time remembering why she needed to.
“Pru?”
She swallowed hard and pointed to her mouth.
He pulled back, gave her a hot look that melted her bones, and slowly worked his way up her throat with hot, wet kisses. When he got to her jaw, he fisted his hands in her hair and tilted her head right where he wanted her. She felt him open his mouth on her jawline, and with just the tip of his tongue made his way back to her mouth.
Wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, she moaned and held on tight as he kissed her like maybe she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And God, the feel of him against her, steady and solid. She didn’t know how he did it but even after a long ball game he still smelled amazing. Something woodsy and pure male . . .
Then he pulled back.
Staring up at him, she ached. “Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember how you said the ball was in my court?”
He pressed his forehead to hers for a beat, like he was working on control. She knew she should be as well but she didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to be alone in this. “Don’t go,” she whispered softly.
He opened his eyes, the heat in them nearly sending her up in flames. Nope, she wasn’t alone, thank God, because that would really suck. Out of words, she arched into him a little.
He groaned. “Pru.”
Afraid the next words out of his mouth would be good-bye, she snuggled in and pressed her mouth to the underside of his jaw in a soft kiss. When he opened his mouth to say something, she took a nibble. At the feel of her teeth on him, he stilled and shuddered, and then his arms tightened on her.
Yes. This. It was just what she needed, because here, held by him like this, her guilt, her regret, her fears . . . all of it gave way to this heady, languid sensation of being desired and she didn’t want it to stop.
Any of it.
His eyes were deep and intense as he shifted, nudging against the apex of her thighs. Keeping his gaze on hers, he kissed her again, sending licks of fiery desire right through her. Then those hands drifted down to her thighs, his fingers over the terry cloth, his thumbs beneath.
“Is this what you want?” he asked.
She gasped at the sensation of his callused thumbs grazing over her inner thighs, and he caught her mouth with his in a deep, hot, wet kiss as he slipped beneath her towel now, cupping her bare ass in his big hands.
When she was too breathless to hold the kiss, she broke it off, her head falling back as his mouth skimmed hot and wet down her throat, across her collarbone. Her entire body felt strung too tight, like her skin didn’t fit. Impatient, she arched into him again, dragging a rough groan from him.
“Pru.” His voice was thrillingly rough, but there was a warning there too. He wasn’t going to let this get away from her. She was going to have to say how far they took things.
“I want this,” she whispered, clutching at him. “I want . . .”
His mouth was at her ear, bringing her a delicious spine shiver. “Name it.”
“You. Please, Finn, I want you.”
Raising his head, he stared at her before kissing her again, stroking his tongue to hers in a rhythm that made her hips grind to his. The soft denim of his jeans rasped over the tender skin of her inner thighs and thrilling to it, she wrapped her legs even tighter around him, drawing him closer, the hottest, neediest part of her desperately seeking attention.
Finn said something low and inaudible, and then let out a quiet laugh as he nipped her lower lip, her throat, and then . . . her towel slipped from her breasts.
He’d loosened it with his teeth.
When he put his hot mouth to her nipple, she nearly went over the edge right then and there. He cupped her breasts in his big warm hands, shifting his attention from one to the other, his stubbled jaw gently scraping over her in the most bone-melting of ways, his movements sensual, so slow and erotic she could hardly stand it. “Finn.”
He lifted his head and held her gaze while he spread the towel from her, letting it fall to her sides before he worked his way south, lazily exploring every inch of her like he had all the time in the world, humming in pleasure when he found the little compass on her hip. He spent a long moment there, learning her tattoo—with his tongue.
And all she could do was grip the counter on either side of her, head tipped back because it was too much effort to hold it up, her nerve endings sending high bolts of desire through her at his every touch.
She was completely naked to his fully dressed body now. Open, exposed . . . vulnerable in more ways than one. Certainly more than she’d allowed in far too long, although she didn’t feel a single ounce of self-consciousness or anxiety about it.
She felt nothing but the sharp lick of hunger and need barreling down on her like a freight train in tune to his clever mouth and greedy hands. She was afraid if he so much as breathed on her special happy place, she’d go off like a bottle rocket.
And then he dropped to his knees.
His hands glided up her inner thighs, holding her open so his lips could make their way homeward bound. About thirty minutes ago she’d thought she needed steak more than anything but it turned out that wasn’t true. She needed this, with Finn.
One of their phones buzzed, either hers on the floor in her pants pocket, or his from wherever he had it tucked away. She started to straighten but then his fingers stroked her wet flesh and she forgot about the phone. Hell, she forgot her own name. “Oh God, don’t stop. Please, Finn, don’t stop . . .”
“I’ve got you.” And then he replaced his teasing fingers with his tongue, giving her a slow, purposeful lick. She whimpered as he continued to nuzzle her, luring her into relaxing again—and then his lips formed a hot suction.
And that was it, she’d become the bottle rocket an
d was gone, launched out of orbit. Hell, out of the stratosphere. When she came back to planet Earth, she realized she had Finn by the hair, her fingers curled tight against his head, her thighs squeezing his head like he was a walnut to be cracked. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped, forcing herself to let go of him. “I nearly ripped out your hair.”
The words backed up in her throat when he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, sending her up a very male, very protective, possessive, smug smile. “Worth it,” he said, and licked his lips.
She nearly came again. “Please come here.”
He rose to his feet and her hands went to his stomach, sliding beneath his shirt to feel the heat of his hard abs. So much to touch, and the question became up or down . . .
His eyes were dark and heated, flickering with amusement as he read the indecision on her face.
“I’m not exactly sure what to do with you,” she whispered.
“I could make a few suggestions.”
She laughed a little nervously but let her hands glide up his torso, shoving his shirt up as she went. He was so beautifully made . . . “Off,” she said softly.
He had the shirt gone in less than a heartbeat and she soaked up the sight of his broad shoulders and chest while her fingers played at the waistband of his jeans. They were loose enough that she could dip in and—
“Oh,” she breathed, sucking in a breath as she encountered much more than she’d bargained for.
His hot—and amused—gaze held hers. On the surface, he was calm and steady and unflappable as always, but there was an underlying erotic tension in every line of his body, a sense that he was holding back, keeping his latent sexuality in check.
She popped the top button of his Levi’s.
And then the second.
And then she’d freed him entirely, pushing his knit boxers aside and all his glory sprung into her hand—and there was a lot of glory. “Finn?”
His voice was rough and husky. “Yeah?”
“I think I figured out what I want to do with you.”
It involved the condom that he luckily had in his wallet and her leaning back on the cold tile of her bathroom countertop, but they managed.
