“So,” Finch says. “Are we gonna head down and play a hand of poker?”
“Mm. I thought I'd poke you right here.”
Finch gives me an admiring look. “That’s a terrible and lecherous pun, baby. I'm soproudof you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Finch
Ilike Las Vegas.
I wasn’t sure what I’d think of it. It’s certainly its own place. I thought I might hate it, actually, because of its fake veneer and what I assumed would be Home Shopping Channel kitsch, but I still wanted to come because somehow I’ve never been.
And I’ve already fallen in love with the place. It’s rootless, charmless and ugly, and I love it. There are endless possibilities for distraction here, but first on the list is sex. Or more specifically, sex with Luca, because I’m addicted to this man in a way I never was to drugs.
I pull him by the hand towards the bed, only Luca slows me down. “Iwasonly kidding,” he says. “If you’re still shaken up—”
I kiss him to shut him up. But not only to shut him up. I put my whole goddamn soul into that one kiss, trying to explain via osmosis-by-the-mouth all the thoughts going on in my head.
He’s the first to break the kiss, his blue eyes unreadable as he looks over my face. “Alright,” he says at last.
“You think I’m just using you for your body?” I ask lightly, but my heart is clanging like wedding bells in my chest. He must be able to feel it with the hand pressed between my shoulder blades.
“I thought it was the money,” he says with a straight face.
I let out a huff of laughter that’s really an attempt to avoid hyperventilating. “Look, Iamaware of my propensity for pleasure-seeking instead of…well, dealing with my shit. But despite all the talking I do, talk therapy has never worked for me.”
He leans back, tips my face up to his with his fingers on my chin. “You’ve been to therapy?”
“Uh, yeah. Rich kid whose mom got taken out in front of his eyes. Yes, Luca, I’ve been to therapy. I always figured it was easier for Pops to send me to a shrink than actually talk to me himself. But I guess there was more than one reason bubbling away there.”
Luca gets the look he always gets when I mention my Pops. Like he’s thinking of all the ways he’d like to kill my father before remembering the guy’s dead already, and also that he’s supposed to support my mourning or whatever.
“Do you think you should talk to someone again?” he asks delicately, and if I didn’t know him, I’d think he was totally into the idea.
I grin at him. “Didn’t you hear me, baby? Talking’s my jam. Fucking’s my therapy. I know you think I’m just looking for another high, but that’s not what it is.” I take a deep breath. “Not with you.”
“Then what is it?”
Doesn’t he know, this devil-man of mine? I glare at him, but he’s unrelenting. He wants to hear me say it, to put words to something otherworldly. “It’s something sacred,” I say slowly. “I felt it the first time we—the first time we made love, instead of just… It was on our honeymoon. Sex with you is something holy. I don’t actually know why. Maybe our pheromones match. Maybe that God of yours really did bless our marriage. When we’re together…”
“We become one flesh?”
“Yeah. But more than that. One mind. One heart. Onesoul.” I’ve never said anything so real in my life before, even though it’s a total cliché, and I’m worried Luca will laugh at me or roll his eyes.
God,Iwould, if someone ever said something so sentimental to me.
He pulls me into a hug. “I feel the same,” he says into my hair. His hands move over me, pulling off the hoodie that I spilled coffee on during the flight, his fingers tracing the waistband of my jeans. He hooks one finger into it and pulls me with him to the bed, still kissing me, other hand threading into my hair, tugging and teasing.
We strip hurriedly, hands still reaching for each other. It’s frustrating to have to pause even for a second to take off my clothes, because I want to be touching him, I want to be pressed up against him, I want his warmth and his strength—I hop around trying to get my last sock off, my semi flapping around and making Luca smirk until he pushes me onto the bed and yanks the sock off himself.
He crawls up next to me and kisses me again, but I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so badly in my whole life, even that first night when I thought I’d nut the second we started getting busy. His hard cock slaps into my thigh and my eyes just about roll back in my head. He pushes me to turn over and I spread my legs for him, my hard-on dragging on the bedspread, painful but not. He’s gone for a second but back by the time I look over my shoulder to complain, popping the cap on the lube and planting a hand between my shoulder blades so I flatten back on the bed.
He soaks my asshole and then he plays with it, fingers pressing deeper every pass, until I’m fucking myself on his hand, begging for his dick. It’s not just for show either, or to get him hot. “I literally will die if you don’t get your cock in me right fucking now,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
He laughs. “Literally die, huh? We don’t wantthat.” But I know he’s not as cool and calm as he wants to appear by the way he lines up right away, his dick nudging at my hole, his breath getting faster. I push back on my knees, rising up, my ass swallowing his cock in one go. We both let out a groan, and then he lays himself out on top of me, pushing me flat onto the bed with a happy sigh, dick getting deeper into me, our bodies fitting into each other.
“I think this is my favorite part,” he says.
