I draw back slowly and shake my head. “Is that a problem?”
“No!” he says quickly. “No. I just…I want you to be sure. I don’t want you do anything you’re going to regret.”
“Do you think we’ll regret it?”
“I won’t,” Finn says. He’s warring with something. “But it’s not my first time.”
“I understand that.”
“And you don’t care?”
I try to reassure him. “Isn’t it better that one of us knows what we’re doing?”
He laughs. “I suppose.”
I lean in to him again. His lips find mine, and he kisses me fiercely. We move so I’m straddling him. He brushes the hair back from my face, finding my ears—outlining their pointed tips under my silken kerchief.
He pauses. “May I?”
I nod silently, and he gently pulls the scarf off. I watch him, breathing steadily, as he traces their shape. “Beautiful,” Finn murmurs. Then he leans in and kisses them.
The sensation sets my body aflame. Then it’s his turn to kiss a trail down my throat and over my shoulders. His hands run a line up and down my spine. “I just…I want this to be perfect for you,” Finn says roughly, finding a breath.
“It will be,” I assure him, kissing him again.
“It…it isn’t, for most,” he manages.
I’m surprised by the nervous edge in his voice. It’s enough to make me pause, reaching up to take his face between my hands.
“I don’t care if it’s perfect,” I whisper. “I just want it to be with you.”
I mean it.
Those words seem to be the permission he needs. In one smooth motion, Finn flips me onto my back. I expect him to move over me. But instead he pulls away, and those callusedhands encircle my ankles. Then they start sliding up my calves, then my thighs…
“What are you doing?” I ask, sounding breathy.
“Something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”
I feel vulnerable like this, swept away by the same self-consciousness that characterized our first conversations. The shyness fades into the background as he dips his head and kisses near my ankle.
My stomach vaults. I’ve imagined this many ways, but not…this way.
His lips are soft enough to make me shiver. I reach out and drag my fingers through his dark hair. Finn pauses, craning to kiss my wrist; then he returns to my legs, with another brush on my thigh, as soft as the flap of a butterfly wing. He moves to the opposite leg, drawing lazy circles with his lips and tongue.
“Finn…” I say roughly.
He pauses, lips a breath from my skin. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I say emphatically.
“Are you sure?” He smirks, kissing me again.
“Yes.” I swallow, trembling and flushed. I’ve decided I am going to face the fear. This is what I want. What I need to experience with Finn, even once.
“So you don’t want me to stop?” Another smirk. Another kiss, higher this time.
I shake my head, whimpering. I’m flooded with conflicted emotions, apprehension mingling with desire. My Talent burns all over like wildfyre. Rising above all other emotions is the love I feel for Finn: the adamant, all-consuming devotion. I want him to have this moment with me. I want to take it. So I don’t say no when Finn finally stops exactly where I want him.
