“How could I say no to you?”
“You can’t.” He smirked. “Now, before I take this shirt off, I need those pants in that pile over there. Underwear and socks, too. If you weren’t born wearing it, take it off.”
That made me snicker. Bossy Finn was sexy . . . and utterly unbelievable. It just wasn’t him.
But God, I loved hearing him try.
The moment my second sock hit the floor, he reached for the hem of his shirt. I darted forward, my rock-hard cock leading the way. “Oh, no. That’s my job.”
He shrugged and lifted his arms, allowing me to tug his shirt upward and off.
We’d fooled around before. I’d had his dick so far down my throat it was on a first-name basis with my tonsils.
But we hadn’t been naked, not together, not at the same time.
His eyes kept searching, studying, cataloguing. It felt like I was being examined by the most thorough doctor ever. And then, he said six words that nearly knocked me off my feet.
“You’re going to fuck me now.”
My cock twitched so hard I felt it in the back ofmy skull.
“Bedroom. Now,” I instructed.
Finn didn’t argue, but he didn’t run up the stairs either. He arched a brow, turned, and strode into the kitchen as though I’d just asked him to make an omelet. I stood there in my living room, watching his perky butt the whole way.
And then . . .
He hopped onto the granite countertop, laid down as though it was the most comfortable bed in the world, and turned his head toward me.
“Uh, Finn?”
He patted the counter beside him and grinned. “I told you I liked your kitchen. Come, make me love it.”
Well, shit. I might be thick-headed at times, but he didn’t have to tell me that twice. In a few strides, I stood before the counter and the naked man lying atop it. Then I glanced at the counter’s height. I couldn’t reach him while standing on the floor. How was this supposed to work?
He patted the granite again. “Up ya go.”
I blinked. Looked at where his palm was tapping. Then blinked again.
“Come on. Don’t be shy now.”
Not wanting to disappoint him but still baffled as to what we were about to do, I braced my palmson the countertop and hurled myself up. It was an awkward jump. The Russian judge gave it a 5.5. For once, the others on the panel agreed.
Finn chuckled.
“Okay,” I said, crouched on my knees, looking up at the length of his prostrated body. “Now what.”
He shrugged. “Now you do whatever you want. Aren’t you supposed to be the bossy one?”
Had no one ever told Finn that granite was hard?
Like really hard.
My knees already hated the counter, and they’d only been pressed into its surface for a minute or so. Still, if this was a fantasy Finn wanted to live out, I wanted to give it to him. His bleach-white skin and fire-engine crotch did look amazing against the dark coloring of the stone.
Tentatively, I leaned down and tried to find a position that didn’t crush him while requiring knee surgery for me when this was over. My hand slipped, then my knee scooted. Finn let out a massive “Fuck!” as my full weight slammed into him, squishing him between the counter and me like cheese inside a grilled sandwich.
“Maybe this wasn’t my best idea,” he said in a breathless, pained voice.
