Twenty One
Your Not Nothing -Libby
Icouldn’t stop looking at him.
Finn—steady, certain Finn—staring down at me. His mouth, still wet from me, his lips swollen, an unguarded hunger in his eyes as he settled his weight above mine. The pressure did stupid things to my heartbeat.
He shed his clothes quickly, then positioned himself between my thighs, hard against me, and stopped. He just held himself there, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing. I could feel his heartbeat where our skin touched—or maybe that was mine; I couldn’t tell anymore. Every slight shift of my hips drew a low sound from him that he swallowed back. The restraint of it, the fact that he was holding himself still for me, undid me far more completely than if he had simply taken what he wanted.
His eyes darkened.
His mouth found the hollow of my throat—soft, open-mouthed kisses—then traveled lower with unhurried patience. When he reached my breasts, he stopped. He simply looked, hisgaze moving over me with a weight that sent heat flooding my cheeks and tightened low in my stomach.
“God, Libby.” His voice was a low rasp. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He didn’t rush.
One hand slid to cup the underside, his thumb brushing the soft curve just below my nipple, lifting gently—then his mouth followed. Warm, wet, closing over the peak in a slow, sucking kiss that pulled a sound from me. He didn’t bite. He didn’t push too hard. He simply devoted himself to gently loving my body.
His tongue moved in slow circles, tightening inward until he reached the peak and flicked once, twice—unhurried, like he had already decided this would take as long as it took. My back curved toward him without my permission. He made a low sound against my skin, and the warmth of it moved through me and settled somewhere deeper. Then he turned his head, pressed his lips to the soft inner curve, and began again from the beginning on the other side.
His free hand mirrored his mouth—kneading softly, rolling the neglected nipple between thumb and forefinger with a pressure calibrated exactly to make me gasp. I moved beneath him, my thighs closing around his hips, slick and aching and increasingly desperate.
“Finn…” The name was a plea, my fingers tightening on his shoulders.
He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes, lips glistening, his cheeks flushed with color. “I could do this all night,” he said quietly. “Just tasting you… feeling you melt for me is everything.”
He dipped his head again before I could respond—took my nipple between his teeth, the tiny sting turning immediately into heat, and sucked hard enough to make my hips grind against him. I moaned, my fingers sliding into his hair and holding himthere while he moved between each side with open-mouthed attention until my skin flushed dark and every nerve ending in my body was vibrating with need.
I shook by the time he lifted his head, breathing hard, eyes warm with arousal.
I didn’t wait for him to decide what came next.
When I moved, his expression darkened—surprise first, then softening. He carefully rolled us, letting me straddle him and take the lead, his hands steady on my waist. But I didn’t stay there.
Slowly, I slid down his body, my mouth open against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under my lips as I descended. His skin tasted of salt and warmth. When my tongue traced the shallow valley between his abs, his breath hitched, the muscle beneath me jumped, and both his hands found the sheets at once.
I settled between his legs and looked up at him.
The way he watched me made me pause.
It wasn’t hunger or demand, but almost… awe.
I wrapped my hand around the base of him, one slow, deliberate stroke. He made a low sound in his throat, his head dropping back before his gaze snapped immediately to mine—refusing to miss a single moment, whatever the cost to his composure.
“Libby…”
I didn’t answer with words.
I leaned in and slid my tongue in an unhurried path from base to tip, tasting salty precum. The groan that broke from him—stripped of every layer of discipline—echoed through the quiet room, and one hand came up to thread gently through my hair. Not pushing, just anchoring himself to me.
I took my time.
I swirled my tongue around the head, carefully traced the sensitive ridge beneath, then drew just the tip into my mouth—soft pulls, slow suction—until his hips jerked forward.
“Fuck— baby—”
That word, soft and broken, moved through me like a current. The knowledge that I could take this man apart, this controlled and armored man, was a heady feeling.
