“Libby.” His voice was raw. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t hold back anymore.”
He no longer had a reason to wait.
He drove into me—certain, absolute—and I arched in a sharp, involuntary bow, a cry tearing free that I made no effort to conceal. The intensity bordered on overwhelming, but my body had been aching for this. My nails found his back, leaving marks he’d carry for days, evidence of this moment pressed into his skin like a signature.
He didn’t stop.
He pulled back slowly, then drove forward again, harder, deeper, settling into a rhythm that was relentless and consuming. Each thrust forced the breath from my lungs, rocked the bed frame beneath us, and sent heat racing the full length of my body. The slick, intimate sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room alongside our ragged breathing. Neither of us made any effort to be quiet; it had stopped being relevant.
His arm slid beneath the small of my back and lifted my hips, changing the angle, pulling me into every thrust. Whatever composure I had left went up in smoke.
I wrapped my legs around his waist—pulling him closer, demanding closer. He growled against my throat in response, his teeth grazing the tender skin there before biting down. The sharp sting twisted into pleasure so quickly my vision blurred, and I stopped caring about anything that existed outside this bed.
He found my mouth again, and the kiss tasted of salt and need.
One hand cradled the back of my head, fingers threaded through my hair, holding me as if I might disappear the moment he loosened his grip. The other slid between us, rough fingertips finding my clit, rubbing tight, urgent circles that matched the relentless snap of his hips.
Fast. Too fast.
“Finn—I’m—I’m gonna—”
“I know,” he panted against my lips, voice splintering. “I know. Come for me, baby. Let me have it. Please.”
That severed the last thread holding me together. The orgasm started low in my belly and tore outward in a single, devastating wave, my body seizing around him so hard it ripped a guttural sound from deep in his chest, his name breaking apart in my throat on the way out. Tears spilled hot down my cheeks and disappeared into my hair, and I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but hold on to him as each wave crashed through before the last had released me.
He kept moving—faster, chasing his own release through the grip of my body—until his rhythm came apart. His hips drove forward, burying himself completely, and he came with a ragged, shattered sob pressed into the curve of my neck.
“Libby—fuck—Libby—baby—”
He pulsed inside me, hot and deep, his entire body trembling as he poured his warm, thick release into me.
His arms gave out. He collapsed over me, heaving, face buried in the crook of my neck, breath coming in hot, shuddering gasps against my skin. I held him tight, legs still tangled with his, refusing to let go. His heart slammed against my chest, wild and urgent, matching my own.
For long minutes neither of us moved or spoke. We stayed tangled and sweating and trembling, his breath against my throat, my fingers still twisted in his shirt, neither of us willing to be the one who let go first.
Eventually he lifted his head enough to look at me—and the face I found nearly broke me. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression stripped of everything but a raw vulnerability that made him look like the boy he must have been before the world handed him its armor.
His thumb traced across my cheekbone, catching tears I hadn’t realized still fell.
“You’re more than nothing, Libby.” Barely a whisper, but I heard every syllable as though he’d tattooed them into my body.
Fresh tears burned and spilled before I could stop them, and I didn’t try. He kissed me then—a tender, searching kiss—and I tasted the promise in it before he ever put it into words.
When he finally eased out of me, he didn’t go far. He rolled us onto our sides, tucked me against his chest, and circled his arms around me—solid—one hand stroking my hair in long, steady passes. I pressed my face into the hollow of his throat, his pulse strong and steady beneath my lips, the scent of him wrapping around me.
“You see that now, don’t you?” he murmured again, mouth pressed to the top of my head. “That you’re not nothing.”
Twenty Two
Back To Her -Finn
Islipped out of Libby’s arms without waking her, then stood for a moment, just looking at her.
She was curled on her side in the dim light, finally sleeping—really sleeping—as if she’d surrendered after carrying too much for too long. One hand rested where I’d been, fingers still loosely curled around the warmth I’d left behind.
I looked at her hand for a moment before looking away.
Not now.
