She laughed, her breasts wobbling a little, and for a moment she contemplated teasing him about assumptions and maybe even playing a little hard to get, but his heated gaze drifted to her nipples still hard as pennies beneath the blast of the air-con, and her breath hitched.
‘You betcha ass.’
Twenty-Seven
An hour later, after a very long, very soapy, very fun shower during which Fin got to show off how very good he was with his tongue, they were back in bed—her in one of his fresh Banshees jerseys, him in his underwear—looking at the day’s photos on her laptop.
They were propped up against the bedhead, their shoulders and arms pressed together. Fin’s scalp still smarted from where she’d yanked his hair during the throes of her release. He was sure she’d actually pulled some of it out. And for sure he was going to have a huge purple bruise dead centre of his back where her heel had drummed as the orgasm had rocketed through her system. He hadn’t known that was a potential outcome when he’d sunk to his knees and thrown her leg over his shoulder but he’d take it.
Considering how hard he’d made her come, he’d wear that sucker as a badge of honour.
The one thing he was determinedly not doing right now was psychoanalysing this very real development in their fake relationship. He wasn’t going to go poking around inside his head trying to figure out what was going on here. He wasn’t thinking about what it meant for them tomorrow or in the future—he was living in the moment.
So, apparently, was Sweeney, who hadn’t initiated anywhat’s happeningconversations.
Maybe because she knew, as he did, that this thing right now was nothing but a product of lust. It hadn’t come from an emotional place like last night, when they’d spooned after their deep and meaningfuls at the diner. Or that night two weeks ago at the lake after he’d been sucker-punched by his father’s letter.
It had been physical. Feral. Lust, pure and simple.
Lust that had been simmering since they’d first stared askance at the bed on Thursday night and had swelled over the course of their time here, amping up significantly during the drive in the mini-van, squished against each other, his smouldering libido sent into hyperdrive. It was no wonder it had exploded into this mushroom cloud of lust as soon as the door had shut.
But that was okay because lust was utterly superficial and burned out quickly. It wasn’t about feelings or emotions, it was about physical gratification. And that could be found anywhere. With someone else. Or all alone by himself.
It didn’tmeananything.
And that’s how he and Sweeney could succumb to this and still be okay. Sure, it’d be weird for a while, but it wasn’t as though they saw each other every day. This wasn’t a heart thing that could end disastrously for them, it was a hormone thing.
‘That’s the shot.’
Fin tapped the screen, displaying a crisp image of Winnie, the net a blur behind her, her arms straight up in the air, her head back slightly, her face scrunched, her mouth wide open mid-thunderingyaaaasss.
‘It’s encapsulated that moment toperfection,’ he added.
The overhead light was still on but the glow from the screen picked up the subtle play of emotion across Sweeney’s features as she studied the image. Her hair was still in the messy knot she’d shoved it in prior to their shower and was bearing the marks of her ravagement in said shower, damp at the back, with multiple strands escaping in sexy tendrils that draped against her face and brushed her neck.
‘Yeah.’ She nodded at the screen. ‘I think it might be one of the best photos I’ve ever taken.’
Fin agreed wholeheartedly. Not that he’d seen every picture she’d ever taken, but it was the best one she’d taken for the Banshees. Curious, though, as to her reasons for the statement, he asked, ‘Because?’
‘It’s not this flat two-D image of scenery. It’s… joyous. You canfeelher jubilation, her… freedom in that moment. Like she was letting go of something she maybe hadn’t consciously beenableto let go of until she’d kicked that goal.’
Fin nodded as his gaze returned to the photo. Winnie looked like a ray of sunshine had burst out of her chest and he smiled. She hadn’t stopped signing, because of course the ravages of deep trauma were never erased in an instant, but the fact everybody on the team had been fine to keep communicating with Winnie the way she needed would be another healing step in her journey.
‘You’re really good at this people photography thing.’
She glanced sideways at him, placing the flats of four fingers to her chin before dropping them towards him as if mimicking a felled tree. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
He smiled, returning the sign. ‘Thankyou.’
She tapped the arrow button, flipping through the sequence of that moment in order, frame by frame. ‘You going to keep it up? When you—’ He’d been about to say leave. When youleave. But the word stuck in his throat. ‘When you get back to work.’
‘Definitely.’ She nodded. ‘This whole experience has made me really want to explore portraiture in more depth.’
‘You mean like … wedding photography?’ Fin asked, forging an innocent smile.
‘Ha.’ She nudged his arms with hers, pushing him slightly. ‘You’re hysterical.’
Fin grinned. ‘I know.’
