I roll my eyes at his sudden overprotectiveness. “Yes, Dad, I promise.”
“I like that,” he tells me, a sweet smile gracing his face.
I slap at his chest. “Creep.”
Finn shakes his head. “I wasn’t being a creep. Do you realize that ‘Dad’ will be my name soon?” He puts his hands on my stomach. “That little gummy bear will be calling me Dad.”
I don’t say anything in return. I stand there in silence, letting him have his moment, enjoying the warmth of his hands on my stomach.
“Finn, let’s go man,” someone calls from the doors of the pub, and the moment is broken.
I turn to get into my car, but Finn grabs my hand, rubbing circles into my palm. “Goodnight, Magpie. Be careful with my baby. Text me when you get home.”
I just shake my head and drive off.
Me and Charlie Hunnam are just about to get to the good stuff when loud banging on my door pulls me from my very exciting dream. I sit up, disoriented, and realize I’m still on the couch in a flimsy silk robe. I must have passed out after my shower.
The unrelenting banging is going to wake up the entire complex, so I get to the door as fast as I can and pull it open, not even bothering to see who it is first.
“I thought I told you to text me,” a wild-eyed Finn growls as he pushes past me. I pull the sash to my robe a little tighter, trying to display a bit of modesty.
“I fell asleep. That doesn’t give you the right to come over here acting like a lunatic.”
“I was worried,” he says, running his hands through his hair.
“You could have called.”
“I did, about five times.”
“Sorry.”
Finn grabs my hand and leads me to the couch. “You can’t do that to me. I was out and when it hit me that I hadn’t heard from you, I freaked. Don’t do that again.”
I bat my eyes and clutch at my chest. “Gee Finn, I didn’t know you cared,” I say, laying on a thick southern belle accent.
“Don’t start your shit. You know that’s not true.” His hands move to my stomach, his eyes following their movement. “You know that’s not true,” he whispers, his eyes coming back to mine.
His piercing gaze is a bit too much for me to handle. I have to close my eyes. His hands are still on my stomach, but they’ve managed to part the silk of my robe, exposing the bare flesh of my stomach right above my panties. His thumbs are rubbing lightly back and forth along the strip of skin. The more his thumbs move, the harder my breath comes out.
I’m so torn.
Kiss me, don’t kiss me, kiss me, don’t kiss me.
“Maggie,” he breathes out, and I feel his mouth on mine.
Finn and I have kissed many times, but this kiss is different than any other kiss we’ve shared. It is not hard, powerful, or needy. It is slow, lazy, soft, worshipping. He is kissing me like I’m fragile and might break at any second. His hands move from my stomach, slowly along my ribs, grazing the sides of my breasts, brushing up my neck, and land at either side of my face. He’s barely touching me, but his hands feel so heavy. A slow burn is taking over my body. Finn and I were always so frantic in the past. There is calmness to this, yet it’s setting me on fire.
His hands leave my face and run back down my body, just as slow on their descent. They stop at the opening of my robe, then clutch to the tie that’s barely holding the piece of material to my body. He tugs at it but doesn’t try to undo it. Instead, he just moves to the fabric underneath the tie, bunches it, and moves it to the sides, fully exposing my stomach. He places his hands on either side, while his body slides down mine and settles between my legs. His breath is warm on my stomach. He’s placing kisses along my barely there bump.
“I have nothing, Maggie. My whole world is in here,” he says, placing another kiss on my belly. “Don’t say you didn’t know I cared.”
Jesus. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry, Finn.”
He’s so wrapped up in the moment, I can’t be sure that he even heard me.
He stands up, pulling me up with him. I assume he’s leaving, but he pulls me down the hall towards my bedroom. I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. I can’t let this happen.
“Please, Maggie,” he pleads, pushing his hands into my hair and kissing me so I can’t answer back. This kiss obliterates the last shard of my resistance. It was already splintered from the mind blowing kisses on the couch.
This kiss is reminiscent of old Finn. It’s a hungry kiss, fast and needy and rough. Before we even get in the bed, his shirt and pants are being ripped off with a fury. When he’s got my robe off, he steps back and whistles.
“Christ, Magpie. Look at you,” he says, noticing that my boobs have gotten a bit bigger since he’s last seen them.
“Perks of the pregnancy, Irish,” I tell him.
I crawl into bed, and he’s rolling on a condom, not wasting any time.
Finn’s mouth latches onto my nipple, his tongue lapping at me, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan. His hand goes to my other nipple, pinching and rolling, moving me to the brink of an orgasm. It’s either been entirely too long since I’ve been with him, or I’m way more sensitive than I used to be. His other hand moves down my body, between my legs, seeking entrance, and now he’s the one who’s biting back a groan.
“Maggie, you’re soaked.”
“Finn, please,” I start, panting, but he’s doing delicious things to my nipples and my clit and I’m not sure what I want him to do next. I don’t even know what I’m begging him for. I want this to last forever, but at the same time, I want it over with. I shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him. But I can’t make myself stop it from happening.
“You need to stop with those noises or I’ll be worthless,” he tells me with a laugh as he moves from my nipple back to my mouth, swallowing up the sounds that I’m making.
As his kiss gets more demanding and his hand between my legs is working me harder, I can’t hold it back any longer. I tear my mouth away from his to get more air, arch my back off the mattress, and I come long and hard. Before I come down from the orgasm, he’s pushing inside of me. I feel another one coming on its heels.
“That’s it, Magpie. I can feel you coming again. Give me another one,” he says in my ear. He pushes back up on his elbows, and I pull at his back. I want him close to me, but he shakes his head.
“The baby,” is all he says.
He rolls over, pulling me on top. “Sit up,” I gasp, and he complies.
He scoots us back against the headboard and clutches to my back. I rest my elbows on his shoulders, grab onto that fabulous black hair, and kiss the hell out of him. I might be on top, but Finn is working us from the bottom. He’s in deep, knees cocked, thrusting in and out of me at a frantic pace. It only takes a few minutes before we are ripping our mouths apart, panting because we can’t keep up with their demands.
“Christ, Maggie, I can’t-,” he starts to say, but he can’t finish his sentence. He groans into my neck, coming with a force I have never felt from him before. We both collapse against each other as soon as our orgasms fade.
We stay connected for a minute longer, my forehead resting on his shoulder. He taps my back and scoots me off his lap, breaking the moment.
“I need to go get rid of this condom. Let me up.”
I instantly roll off of him and feel like ice water is running through my veins. Condom. I’m already knocked up, so there’s only one reason Finn would need to use a condom. He’s still fucking around.
This wasn’t about me. He just needed to get off and it was convenient to come to me. I’m having his baby. He knew if he came over here and sweet talked me, I would be a sure thing.
I hear him coming back to the bed, so I curl up tight and make sure my face is hidden. I can feel the tears forming in my eyes. I won’t let him see what he’s doing to me.
I can’t believe I’m letting him do this to me. My chest aches.
He stops at t
he end of the bed and pulls on his boxers. He waits a beat or two, and sits on the bed in the curve of my body. Why won’t he just dress and get the hell out of here so I can have a good, ugly cry?
“Are you alright?” he asks, moving my hair off my face.
I nod my head and clear my throat. “I’m just really tired.” He waits a few seconds before he speaks again.
“Alright. I guess I’ll get out of here so you can get some sleep. I’ll see you soon,” he says, rubbing his hand along my belly and standing back up.
I don’t say anything. His movements are slow while he’s dressing, like he’s waiting for me to ask him to stay. I refuse to speak. I need him gone.
When the door closes, the flood gates open. I haven’t cried this hard since Daddy died.
These hormones are killing me.
Chapter Five
Finn
I drive back to my apartment without the noise of the radio to distract me so I can try to figure out what went wrong at Maggie’s apartment. I thought she wanted to be with me again, but it seems I was mistaken. She was on fire one minute, and then froze up as soon as I pulled out of her. I couldn’t have pissed her off that fast, I didn’t even speak. Surely she realizes she means more to me than a quick fuck.
The second I hit the front door I walk straight to the freezer and pull out my emergency pack of smokes. I know I need to quit, but that curvy blonde’s got my head screwed up. Two fingers of Jameson and a cigarette are exactly what I need right now.
As the smoke invades my lungs and the whiskey courses through my bloodstream, I think about how good it felt to have Magpie back in bed with me. How good it felt to be back inside her. It might be because we’ve never had sex when we both weren’t wasted, but tonight felt different for me. Maybe that’s why she freaked. She just needs a few days to wrap her head around this. I’ll give her that.
I don’t see Maggie for a couple of days. I don’t have any shifts at The Red Magnolia, and I worry about her. Who’s gonna run her food for her? What if she gets sick and I’m not there to take care of her? I need to make sure she’s got some help at work. I call in to pick up some shifts, but nobody’s willing to give theirs up. I call my buddy Sam and let him know what’s going on with her, but tell him to keep his mouth shut. I trust him. He can help her out and be discreet about it.
Maggie is not acting any different towards me, at least through texts, so I take it as a good sign. I guess she just needs some time to warm up to the idea that we slept together again. Even though I haven’t seen her, I text her every morning to check on her and update her on the baby. These apps I got are giving me all sorts of useful information.
Finn: Sick this AM?
Maggie: Of course
Finn: My baby is the size of a fig this week
Maggie: Our baby
Finn: It can hiccup bc it has a diaphragm now
Maggie: Where are you getting this shit?
Finn: Apps, Maggie. You need them
Finn: How’s the fig this AM?
Maggie: Inducing vomit
Finn: How are you?
Maggie: Great. Going to lunch. I’ll see u at work tonite
Finn: Don’t eat any shark
Maggie: WTF?
Finn: Methylmercury
Maggie: ???
Finn: Google it. You can hurt my child if you eat shark. You need to know these things
Maggie: OUR child
Finn: Educate yourself, woman. I just potentially saved OUR baby
Maggie: What would I do without u
Finn: Eat shark and have a jacked up kid
Maggie: Ha Ha. Have a good day
I smile at my screen, rereading her texts. This snarky Maggie makes me happy. I just wish we were having our conversation in person so I could kiss that sassy mouth of hers. I’m shaken from my thoughts of Maggie and her incredible mouth when I hear the bell over the door of Ink Addiction chime.
I love my job. Not only do I get to leave my art on my clients, but I get to meet some unbelievable people. I listen to stories of triumph, heartache, challenge, and loss. It’s amazing what people can endure and make it through the other side having survived.
My first appointment just walked in and she’s got a full on smile across her face. She thinks she’s getting more than a tattoo today. She would be wrong.
Being a tattoo artist is a sure fire way to get plenty of snatch. Case in point, the woman who just walked through the door. She had virgin skin when I started working on her last year. Now we are working on a huge back piece. Every time she comes in, we end up in her car or mine, going at it like rabbits. I’m done with all of that, though.
“Finn,” she says, walking right up to me and kissing me on the mouth. I pull away as I feel her tongue trying to push into my mouth.
“Ready?” I ask her. I don’t want to engage in idle chit chat with her this morning. I’ll work on her piece and get her the hell out of here. Hopefully I can get it finished today.
“You’re eager this morning,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down my arm, her nails scratching on my skin. I have to hold back a shudder.
Eager to get you the fuck out of here.
I nod my head towards the hallway. “Go on back to my station. I’ll be there in a second.”
I stay at the front desk for a few minutes, hoping she’s getting her shirt off and getting settled in the chair. I don’t want to watch her little strip tease. Sure, she’s got a body that’s hot as hell, but it just feels wrong. I look over my appointments for the rest of the day when something catches my eye out the front window.
Walking right in front of the shop is Maggie.
No, not just any Maggie. A beautiful, laughing, happy Maggie, decked out in a dress that’s hugging all of those curves. Her belly has grown in the last few days. She’s got her head thrown back, laughing at something that asshole next to her is saying. She’s got her arm linked through the douche’s, who’s wearing a fucking three piece suit. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. He’s polished and put together, not a hair out of place.
They’ve got their hands all over each other.
Is that the kind of guy she wants?
They stop on the sidewalk, and he pulls her into his side and kisses her. It’s just a quick kiss on the mouth, but I see red.
Who the fuck is this guy and why is he touching her?
I move around the counter, ready to throw the door open and go find out what the fuck is going on when I hear Camille calling me from my station. Shit, I can’t leave the shop and go running after Maggie. I’m the only one here right now. I look back out the front windows, but she and the douche are already gone.
I make my way back to my station, seething, and stop in my tracks. Camille is standing next to my chair, every bit of her clothes in a pile on the floor.
“You only need your shirt off for me to tattoo your back, Camille,” I tell her, my voice tight. I’m trying to rein in my anger.
“I know,” she says, one hand toying with her nipple, the other moving down to her bare pussy.
“You wanna play before I tattoo you?” I ask her. I know this is wrong, but all I can think about is Maggie, looking so fucking happy with that prick. I can’t kill him, but I can do the next best thing.
I don’t get an answer from Camille, but a groan and a nod instead. She’s starting without me, her fingers quite busy. It’s pretty obvious by the moans I’m hearing that she’s ready for me to join in on the action.
I don’t want to see Camille’s face. I turn her around and push her down by placing my hand on her neck, smashing her face against my chair. She moans loudly. I guess she wants it rough. Fine by me. That’s all I could handle right now.
“Hold on Camille. This may hurt a little,” I tell her, getting out a condom from my wallet and putting it on in record time. Without even making sure she’s ready for me, I push into her.
“Finn, you feel-”
“No talking,” I say. I feel sick over
what I’m doing. The noises she’s making aren’t helping the situation.
“Hush.” I tug on her hair and cover her mouth with my other hand to get my point across. I pummel in and out of her, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at the tattoo spanning across her back. I don’t want a reminder of who I’m doing.
She gets off immediately from my roughness. Thank Christ. I pull out and leave her there, draped across my chair like a rag doll.
“Get dressed.”
I walk to the bathroom to ditch the condom. I couldn’t even come. That did absolutely nothing for me. I run some cold water over my face, avoiding the mirror. I can’t even look at myself right now. I step out the back door and smoke a cigarette. Maybe that will help ease the guilt. I’m pissed as fuck at Maggie, but that’s no excuse for what I just did to her.
When I walk back to my station, Camille is on her stomach, smiling, looking completely sated. Good. Maybe she’ll keep her damn mouth shut. I don’t want to hear anything she has to say.
I work on her piece for about an hour and get it finished. Despite how I feel about her now, I must admit that the peacock on her back is pretty bad ass. I do damn good work.
“All done. Let’s go up front and I’ll get you checked out.”
I dart out of the room so she can get her shirt on without me having to watch. I meet her at the counter, run her card and walk her to the door.
“That was seriously hot. Thanks, Finn. I’m looking forward to our next appointment,” she practically purrs at me.
She has no fucking clue. I won’t be laying another hand on her again, to tattoo her or otherwise.
More of You: The Home Series, Book Two Page 4
