I knew that.
That was the core of it, the reason the entire argument was so difficult to maintain. She wasn’t someone content to sit and wait. She had never been that person, and our two weeks in this clinic had only amplified that fact. I couldn’t control what she did; I couldn’t guarantee her safety in the way I desperately needed to. That gap between my need and reality—
That’s where all the conflict resided.
I exhaled long and slow.
“I know,” I said.
Not an apology.
Not quite.
But it was the truth, plainly stated, and for now, that was as much ground as I had to concede.
Thirty Nine
Please I Need— -Libby
Dawn filtered through the narrow windows, casting thin stripes of grey-gold light across the cluttered floor of the vet’s office.
I shifted slightly on our makeshift bed. Finn’s hand settled against my hip in response—automatic, possessive, his fingers spreading wide over the curve there as if, even in sleep, some part of him kept track of me. His body was solid and warm along my back, his breath slow and even against the nape of my neck.
My pulse dropped lower than it should have.
I pressed back against him, just slightly, just enough—and found him already half-hard, the thick, warm weight of him nestled against my ass through the thin layers of his boxers and my cotton underwear. The contact hitched my breath.
Finn stirred with a low rumble, rough, sleep-heavy, and entirely male. His hand slid upward under the hem of my t-shirt, calloused fingertips grazing bare skin, then his palm cupped my breast fully, squeezing with a possessiveness that always undid me faster than anything else. His thumb found my nipple andcircled it slowly, deliberately, and the sensitive peak tightened instantly, a sharp thread of pleasure pulling straight down between my thighs.
A quiet gasp escaped my lips.
“Libby.” His voice was gravelly with sleep and something warmer underneath it, his lips brushing the back of my neck as he spoke. “Morning already?”
“Mmm.” I turned my head just enough to find his mouth with mine.
The kiss started soft and turned hungry within seconds, his tongue sliding against mine with a familiarity that hadn’t dulled any of the want behind it. I felt the scratch of his stubble against my chin, the warmth of his breath mixing with mine, the way his hand tightened against my breast as if the kiss had reminded him it was there.
He rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger—a slow pinch, a careful tug—and my whole body clenched in response, a rush of slick heat flooding between my thighs. I pressed them together instinctively against the ache building there and moaned into his mouth, the sound electric between us in the quiet of the room.
Finn broke the kiss and trailed his lips down the side of my neck, finding that spot just below my ear that he returned to often. He sucked lightly at first, then harder, his tongue pressing against my skin before he pulled it between his lips. My toes curled.
“I need you, baby,” he said against my neck, his voice carrying a roughness that only happened in the early mornings. I shivered at the endearment. “Let me feel you, baby. All of you.”
“Yes.”
We shed our clothes in the dim morning light, unhurried. His shirt came off first, my hands immediately smoothing over the warm planes of his chest and the scarred terrain of his shoulder—a daily reminder of how close he’d come. Then mine, the thin fabric whispering away, the cool air of the abandoned clinic raising goosebumps on my bare skin before his warmth replaced it.
With careful hands, he rolled me onto my back and settled between my thighs, his weight pressing me into the makeshift bed, quieting something restless within me. His hips met mine, his hard length sliding against me. My hips lifted toward him without conscious instruction, chasing the pressure, my clit throbbing with a want that had long since moved past patience.
He looked down at me, and whatever he found in my expression changed something in his—something unguarded, unrelated to survival or strategy or the careful distance he usually kept from anything that could matter too much.
Just him. Just me. Just this.
He looked at me as if I were something worth surviving for.
That alone was enough—more than his hands, more than the way he said my name. Just that look, dark and open.
His hand slid down my side, tracing the curve of my waist and the dip of my hip with a patience that contradicted the heat in his eyes. Then his fingers slid between my thighs, eliciting a gasp and a sigh. Two thick fingers parted my folds, gliding through the slickness already gathered there, spreading it slowly while his eyes remained locked on mine.
