The last time we did this we were inpublic, but that empty hallway has nothing on our exposure here, from our reflection in the mirror, our state of undress—one I improve by pulling down my top so I can touch my nipples to the soundtrack of his approving moans. We’re alone in this room that’s surrounded on all sides by people who know us, who can hear us.
It’s too good, too much. Unfair that on top of everything else, Finn’s tongue has the capacity for all these different types of wickedness.
The worries I normally have,Is he boredorCan he breathe? They’re still there, anxiety like a fever simmering beneath my skin, except of all the people who’ve ever eaten pussy before, I trust Finn to tell me if he wanted to stop, just like I trusted him to tell me whether he wanted to kiss me or not. So now, even if Ithink those insidious little thoughts, I can flick them away like a bead of sweat on my collarbone.
He nips at my thigh. “Nora?” he asks, holding up three fingers.
I nod. I whine. I push his head back down, push my hips up to meet him, and he laughs into my clit, his fingers stretching me.
“Shut up,” I moan, without heat.
But, of course, he does not. “You taste so good, Nor,” he murmurs.
I agree just to agree, as long as I get to feel the drag of his fingers inside me again, again.
Finn is slow, patient. He coaxes me as the pleasure builds and builds and inevitably ebbs, but he doesn’t sigh or stop other than to check in,Do you like this?orDo you want more?
I can taste my arousal at the back of my throat, like it’s lingered on my tongue since I had him in my mouth. But I know my body pretty well and it’s probably not going to happen tonight.
“Finn,” I say. “Finn.”
Even in this stark, sterling night, when he looks up at me I can see his lips glisten. It’s almost hot enough to send him back down. “Okay?”
I shake my head, hide my face in the crook of my elbow. “Can you…can you come up here?”
He moves slowly, pressing a sweet, purposeful kiss to my clit that I can’t help but feel is meant to convey that this particular bundle of nerves did a wonderful job tonight. The speed, the pressure, causes a new bolt of heat to move through me. He crawls up my body, kissing my tummy, my nipple.
“How do you feel, Nora baby?” he asks, but before I can answer he drags his mouth, his tongue, up my throat. His hand is still between my legs, petting me tenderly, the way he wouldif I’d actually come, if he was coaxing me through it to the very end.
I close my eyes, pull his mouth to mine, his lips salty and warm, and there’s kissing Finn in my parents’ kitchen, in a hotel hallway, at midnight in the living room downstairs, and then there’s kissing Finn with his fingers still inside me, my taste painted across his lips. I moan around his tongue, pull his chest to mine, hook my leg around him to pin him to me. I grab at him as his body, his patience, stokes the pleasure I thought was inert. But Finn won’t be rushed, kissing me slow, murmuringI’ve got youandYou’re so good, Nora. You’re doing so good. I rub myself against him, my pussy so wet that it’s nothing for me to fuck his hand. And he rubs himself on me too, the rigid shape of him hard and hot through the tight cut of his boxers against my hip.
“Nora. Oh fuck.”
We’re just bodies and nerve endings and come now. Just muscles straining and shaking. We’re pulled tight, so tight, and I cannot let go of him, not as his movements start to stutter against my hip, as his hair falls around us, a cocoon to catch my breathless sounds. He fills me so full with his big hands and his tender words and?—
“I’m coming,” I tell him even though he knows, heknows, because my pussy cannot let go, back arching off the bed, his mouth catching my moans, then giving them back to me as he presses me back into the mattress, a bloom of wet heat spreading in his underwear between us.
I startto shiver the moment he’s finally able to peel himself off me. Which is quite a while, honestly. I almost don’t let him leave; it’s better if we just fall asleep like this, wrapped around each other, halfway off the bed. He comes back an immeasurableamount of time later, after closing the bathroom door behind him, the water running for a while. His pants are back on, but not his boxers, and somehow I am scandalized by this fact even though it felt like he just put his whole big hand up my vagina.
He’s also rummaged through my toiletries bag and stolen my scrunchie. He smiles indulgently as he stands over me at the foot of the bed. “Have you moved yet?”
I stretch; that counts as moving.
He huffs, but flops onto the bed beside me. He wraps his arms around me and hefts me up the bed with him.
“Excuse me!” I mock squeal as he handles me like luggage.
He ignores me to pull at the covers, lift one of my legs and tuck it under, then the other.
“Excuse me,” I say, less mocking this time because now he tucks himself in beside me.
“You’re excused?” He lies back, his hands tucked behind his head.
Smug.Ugh.
It feels rude to tell him to get out, especially since my body is still experiencing aftershocks; and I’m not sure I want him to leave, but I know I can’t admit that. So instead I say, “Is that my scrunchie?”
His grin widens.
