“You are,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my jaw again.“But it’s okay.It’s normal.Yesterday was...a lot.”
“Yeah.”My voice cracks a little.“It was.”
He hesitates.“Do you...want to talk about it?”
Adrian.
The name tries to claw its way up my throat.I push it back down.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
“Okay.”Finn presses a soft kiss to my forehead.“Then we won’t.”
His hand drifts to my waist again, fingers tracing gentle circles over the fabric of the shirt I borrowed last night—his shirt.It’s huge on me, soft and warm from the dryer, smelling faintly like his detergent and whatever cologne he uses that has no right to smell that good.
“How long have you been awake?”he asks.
“A few minutes.”
“You should’ve woken me.”
“You looked peaceful.”
He snorts.“I drool in my sleep.”
“You didn’t drool.”
“Tragic missed opportunity.”
I smile again—really smile—and the way Finn looks at me in that moment...it’s too much.Too open.Too honest.Too everything.
His hand slides up my side.“Can I kiss you again?”
I nod.
This kiss is deeper.His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and teasing, and the heat from last night flickers back to life under my skin.His hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer.His body presses flush to mine, and a soft sound escapes me.
He tenses for a moment—concern flashing in his eyes.
“Too much?”he whispers.
“Not enough.”
He groans, low and rough, and kisses me harder.
I roll onto my side, pulling him with me.His hands map my waist, my hips, my thighs with reverence.Last night’s urgency is gone—replaced by something more intimate, more deliberate, more consuming in its own way.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to breathe against my mouth.
“Wren...”
“Finn.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath warm against my lips.“I’m trying really hard not to do stupid things.”
“What kind of stupid things?”I whisper.
“The kind where I tell you how badly I want you again,” he says, “even though you probably need water and a normal breakfast before anything else.”
