I claw at his hair, tugging and scraping his scalp as I move against him, chasing the promise of release that’s been so unfulfilling for so long. My muscles tighten as I shiver, closing my eyes as I feel it expand in my belly. I’m soaking his briefs, and there’s something about knowing I’m leaving my mark on him somewhere that only intensifies the pleasure I’m feeling. Like a moth to a flame, I barrel toward what I know is going to change everything.
With a wet noise, he releases my nipple and drags his mouth up my chest and neck before grazing his teeth along my jaw. “I know, sweetheart. You’re going to come for me, and you’re going to do it where I can feel it happen. Where you’ll moan against my lips and get me nice and wet. More than you already have.”
His cock throbs again, harder this time as I buck against it, my clit rubbing just right. Calloused fingers pinch my nipple, finding it still wet as he twists and tugs. The dual sensation is too much. I lose my rhythm, and he takes over again, his fingers pressing so deep he might leave marks on my skin.
“That’s it. Use me, Bree. Use my cock like it belongs to you. You’re doing so well. Riding me like you’ve been doing it for years. Just a little more.”
His praise is gasoline on a bonfire. I go up in flames so bright and out of control that it should scare me. One second, I’m in his arms on his lap, and the next, I’m somewhere else. Heat and pleasure blur as I come, my hearing fading from the strength of my orgasm.
I fall back into my body a beat later, gasping as I tremble, my fingers still buried deep in his hair. Low, ruined groans fill the air, stroking the lingering pleasure sparking out inside of me. Finn’s mouth is open against my throat, and he’s jerking beneath me, warmth pooling in his briefs. He’s breathing heavily over my skin, and I grin hopelessly, hiding it in his hair.
“You’re happy,” he breathes out, knowing without needing to see me.
I hesitate to reply, waiting for the regret to sink in. For the immediate guilt of what we’ve done—what we’ve risked—to have me pulling away and hiding. But the seconds pass, and all I feel is . . . happy. Relaxed, even, in a way I haven’t since before I started law school and realized that my life was going to be driven by my career for as long as possible.
Being successful is all that I’ve wanted from the time I was old enough to realize that being a woman meant needing to work three times as hard as any man I’ve ever met would. I strive to be the most intimidating person in every room I step into, and that means sacrificing a love life and any new friendships in order to accomplish that goal.
But right now . . . work is the last thing on my mind. I don’t care about my cases or accomplishments.
Finn’s here, and this isnice. It’s calm and quiet and inviting. There’s no regret or guilt like I feared there would be. Instead, I’m at peace.
I flatten my hand against his head, burying it in his hair as I say, “Yeah, I’m happy.”
25
“What’s with the grin?”
Sitting on the couch, I’m roughly shoved to the side, knocking shoulders with both Kellan and Beck. Kellan’s smirking like a douche from my right, responsible for jostling me around. I push him right back and reach for his beer, nudging it into the centre of the coffee table, nearly out of his reach.
With a forced glare, I ask, “Do you have to be such a brute?”
“Someone here has to be since Ash isn’t here.”
Beck looks up from his phone long enough to say, “He actually might show up. I think I convinced him to come over for a beer when I chatted him up earlier.”
“You what?” Wes gawks at him across the room, slouching into the giant green beanbag he ordered off some novelty website. The comic book characters drawn all over the slippery fabric added a good two grand to the cost of it. “And you’re just dropping that on us now? I would have ordered better beer if I’d known.”
I lift a single eyebrow. “Why does he get the expensive shit and we don’t?”
“Because I doubt he’ll go through it at the speed the lot of you do.”
“For someone who has a full arcade in his basement, you’re cheap as hell, Wes,” Kellan grumbles.
Beck pockets his phone and drapes his arms over his knees. “It’s actually not a shock why the resident grump never hangs with us when you bicker like old ladies at bingo.”
“Speaking from experience?” I ask.
“Yeah. Your mom invites me to join her often.”
“Jesus,” Kellan says before grabbing his beer from where I’ve moved it and taking a long swig.
“When’s he supposed to get here?” Wes stands from his luxury beanbag chair and stretches his arm above his head.
We all look at Beck.
“Soon, I’m sure,” he drawls.
Kellen’s the first to reply. “How convincing.”
