Finch isthe most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I thought it the first time I set eyes on him, and I’ve thought it every day since then. During the five long years after our one-night stand, I might have wasted time with other men, but none of them ever held a candle to Howard Fincher Donovan the Third.
We ran straight to the bedroom when we got home and I’m being blessed by a striptease, his sensuous body writhing in time to a slow, sexy song. The way he takes off his clothes is a work of art in itself, but I’m more interested in what’s underneath as he dances for me.
Just for me.
All those guys at the club staring at him, and he didn’t even notice them. Finch has told me his version of the night we met, about the supernatural light he claims I was letting off, the beacon that led him to me on the dance floor. These days he’s a beacon forme, a shining light in the dark world I inhabit.
He’s down to his pants, teasing me with a slow unbutton, but I’ve had enough. I stride over and yank them down along with his underwear, making Finch laugh his wild laugh, and then I lift him bodily and throw him down on the bed.
He bounces there, then gets up on his elbows to watch me strip off in turn, with less art and more hurry. I can’t take my eyes off him, the long tan stretch of his body, the elegant cock and plump, perfectly symmetrical balls that could’ve been molded by some ancient sculptor. His face is bright and happy. “You’re so hot,” he sighs, sliding his legs apart. “I’m so lucky.”
“Same,” I tell him, before I pounce. He wants to dive straight for my dick, get his mouth on me, but I hold him down by the wrists and watch him wriggle. When he finally stills, I press my mouth onto his and kiss him. His mouth opens for me immediately, no gentle teasing, and I slide my tongue against his, just as hot for him as he is for me.
When I let go of his wrists he grabs at me, hands stroking over my back and pressing me against him even harder, one of his hard nipples catching at mine, making me grunt. I’d like to pierce those pretty pink nipples of his, hang rings through them, tag them with my name printed big and bold. Just thinking about it makes me hard, and I pull my mouth away to bite and suck at his chest instead. His hands cup the back of my neck, my head, and he lets out a moan as I worry his left nipple with my teeth.
“Come on, baby,” he whispers. “I want you.”
Oh, no. We’re nowhere near that stage yet. I roll a little, pull us both sideways so I can get my hand on that ass of his, his gorgeous round bubble of an ass that fills out my palm perfectly. I squeeze it, and his breath catches. I squeeze it again, spreading his cheeks and running a light finger over his hole, and he lets out a moan.
“Comeon,” he demands, hiking his leg over my shoulder as we lie there. “Please?” he tries. I keep on fingering him like I’m practicing piano.
“You just lie there and enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll enjoy myself when I have your cock in me.”
“And I’ll enjoy that, too. But tonight I wanna take my time with you.”
“Because you think I’mbreakable?”
Because lately you’ve been using sex like a line of coke. You take a hit and get a rush for twenty minutes, then you come down and you need it again.
“Because we’re celebrating the first day we met,” I tell him, and with my other hand I push his gilded hair back from his forehead. “And because I want to have you squirming and begging and desperate for it before my cock gets anywhere near you.”
He laughs at that—that kooky laugh of his that lifts my heart when I hear it. Finch’s emotions are so different from mine, like they’re closer to the surface. They show through more, like veins through skin. Or maybe he just lets them out more. Maybe he’s not as closed off as I am.
“Okay,” he says. “But baby, I’malwaysdesperate for you. Just FYI.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I really am. I’m so goddamn obsessed with Finch, sometimes I wonder if he could really love me as much. But all I have to do is look into his face now, and I can see it.
Sure, hewantsme. But he alsoknowsme, like no one else.
I stuff my fingers deeper into him, letting him fuck himself on my hand, and I kiss my way down his chest, nuzzle my nose in his belly button and then continue down.
He grabs at my thigh. “Gimme something to suck on too if you’re gonna—”
He’s like a toddler crying for a pacifier. The thought makes me snort around his dick as I close my mouth on it, but I oblige him, swing around on the bed, shifting my leg over his head. His mouth seeks out my cock, lips and tongue grabbing at it, and then he swallows me down without preamble and rubs his nose against my ballsack, his breath hot against me. He’s trembling underneath me and I have to pause, pull out, ask “You okay?” just in case he’s suffocating, but he grabs at my thighs, my ass, pulling me back deep into his throat.
I swallow him down just as greedily, fingers of one hand still in his hole, filling him up. The idea of him being so full of me, cock in his mouth, hand in his ass, makes me harder, brings me way too close to the edge way too soon. I try to pull out of his mouth, but he follows me as I go. My cock is drenched with his spit, and his hand is on me too, working me.
He’s just as close as I am, bucking into my mouth and gagging on my dick as he does, and as soon as I imagine how hot that must look, it’s over. I give up the fight with good grace, work him harder with my mouth, suck at the head of his cock while I finger him, let him fuck my face as hard as he wants.
At least he blasts first, detonating in my mouth with a stifled cry, his cock vibrating on my tongue. But the way his throat works around my cockhead makes me lose control right after. It’s loud and long, and I feel all the tension of the last weeks flow out of me along with my cum. The taste of him is thick on my tongue, and I could drink him all day.
I’m just as much an addict in my own way.
I roll back onto the bed, gasping for air, and Finch chuckles. “I think I won.”
