She wanted this.
And she wasn’t going to overthink herself out of it.
Iris’s hand slipped down, covering his, and pressing his hand between her thighs.
Her moan mingled with his hiss as he felt the proof of her desire.
Iris’s hand slipped away, letting Finn have full control. Her hand slid up his forearm instead, holding on to his bicep as his fingers moved upward.
A soft whimper escaped her as his thumb circled that pearl of her desire. The sound had Finn’s eyes burning as he watched her. He did another circle. Then another. Slow, deliberate. Over and over. Until her thighs were shaking and her nails were digging into his arm.
Only then did his movements pick up pace. Every brush of touch was a tide rising, every moan that escaped her the sound of waves cresting.
“Finn,” she whimpered, her hips rocking against his touch, begging—demanding—more.
Finn was happy to give her exactly what he sensed she needed.
Two of his fingers skimmed down, then slipped inside her.
He pressed her more firmly against the wall like he was bracing her for a storm as his fingers started to thrust.
The need was swelling, driving her up higher and higher, leaving her clinging to him, bracing for the fall, for the crash.
Her walls tightened around his fingers, dragging a groan out of Finn as his thumb continued to circle, as his fingers thrust.
“There you go,” he murmured. His voice was both rough and soft at the same time as her body tensed, as her head tilted up and a long moan escaped her.
The climax moved through her, a deep, throbbing pleasure that pulled her under the surface over and over, leaving her clinging to him, letting him anchor her as the waves kept pulling her under.
Her head fell into Finn’s chest, breathing in the scent of him that she’d grown so accustomed to.
She hadn’t known the notes at first, being earth scents.
She knew them then: bergamot, sandalwood, and vetiver.
They’re the most universally liked scents, Finn had told her when she’d mentioned his cologne.
That alone was enough to break the spell of her post-pleasure contentedness.
What was shedoing?
How could she let Finn, of all humans, touch her that way?
She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand from between her thighs. Then shoved her hands against his chest for good measure.
She couldn’t blame him. She knew that logically. She’d wanted that. She’d encouraged it.
She was madder at herself than anything.
“Iris …” Finn called, gently grabbing her wrist as she started toward the bathroom again.
Was that regret in his voice? Remorse? Confusion? A combination of all three, maybe.
“That’s never happening again,” she told him, clearing his conscience but making it clear that it was a momentary lapse in judgment.
She closed herself in the bathroom, slumping against the door and trying to pull herself together.
She wasn’t supposed tolikehim. That hadn’t been part of the deal. She was supposed to sabotage the engagement, not sink into his touch like it was a riptide dragging her under. Worse still, she didn’t even knowwhoshe liked. The real Finn? The one who touched her like she mattered? Or The Suit Finn, built from campaign promises and perfect smiles?
