“Oh, fuck.” Finn loses control with a groan, and trashes against me. “Oh, fuck.”
He pumps without finesse, without thought, hard and fast. The tight coil of pleasure within me grows almost unbearable. I arch against him, keening as I come. And he’s right there with me, his mouth open and wet on my neck, his pants buffeting my skin.
He stays with me until the trembles die down and our breath cools. And then, with a please sort of grunt, he rolls us to the side, his dick still deep in me. We lie wrapped up in each other, limbs twining, my head on his chest.
For a long time, neither of us says a word. I draw circles through the smattering of hair on his hard chest, and Finn runs his fingertip up and down my arm.
“We should have been doing that since the beginning.”
I smile against his chest. “The beginning, huh?”
“Yeah. I should have set aside my towel. And you should have put down your camera. And we’d fuck under those hot lights until we forgot the world around us.”
I huff out a laugh. “Aren’t we supposed to do it until we forget our names? Isn’t that how it goes?”
“Nope.” He kisses the crown of my head. “I want you to know exactly who’s fucking you. And I sure as hell am never forgetting that it’s you I’m with.”
Gently, he cups my cheek and tilts my head back so his gaze meets mine. “I’m with you, Chess. You know that, right?”
He looks different now, as if the intimacy of sex has exposed a new layer of him. Or maybe it’s simply freed a part of him he’s kept hidden. This Finn looks at me as if I’m his, as if he’s mine. This Finn is irresistible, because I can touch him however I want, whenever I want. So I do.
I kiss his lips, the crest of his cheek, the stubborn edge of his chin. “I’m with you, Finn. All the way.”
Chapter Fifteen
Finn
* * *
I take Chess to a restaurant by the water. We sit on a huge terrace strung with lights, our table right beside the glass railing, and watch the sun set over the sea as Chess drinks a fruity cocktail and I nurse a beer.
“What’s good here?” she asks me.
For a moment, I can only stare. Her skin glows with a light tan that makes her green eyes brighter. The ocean breeze kicks up the silky strands of her dark hair, making them dance around her slim shoulders. She looks happy, relaxed, and well satisfied.
I did that. I gave her that soft, content look. I gave her those kiss-swollen lips.
And because I now can, because she’s right here, I lean in and kiss her again. A gentle, lazy exploration of her mouth with mine. She tastes of tequila and passion fruit. And I could gladly kiss her all night. I pull back just far enough to see her smile, those green eyes light with happiness, and I smile too.
I want to tell her things. Important, emotional things that I’ve never said to anyone else. But this shift between us is too new and the place too public. Besides, she wants to order food.
“Get the lobster tacos,” I tell her with another soft kiss.
She hums against my mouth and, when I sit back, gives me an assessing look. “Why do I suspect that you come home for tacos almost as much as you do to see your parents?”
I laugh. “Because I do. They’re the best in SoCal.”
“Pretty sure there are taco lovers who would defend their own hometowns.”
“They can try.” I wink. Looking her over, a swelling sense of rightness fills me. I’ve had moments I thought were perfect. They were preludes to this. To truly being with Chess.
“This should have been our first date,” I tell her.
Chess quirks a brow, but she’s still smiling. “I thought it was.”
“Our first date was eating fried fish and talking about bad sex. We just didn’t realize it yet.”
“We didn’t?”
“Nope.” Slowly I shake my head. “But the execution was all wrong. I shouldn’t have made it a friend thing. I should have gone up to you and said, ‘I like you at lot, Chester Copper. Will you go out with me for, like, real?’”
She snickers, but it sounds suspiciously like a happy giggle. “How do you know it would have worked?”
God, I love her smile. I want to keep teasing her just to see it bloom again and again. “It would have worked. I would have kissed you the way I’d wanted to since we met, and you would have been mine.”
“Oh really,” she deadpans, but I see the knowledge in her eyes.
“Really. I was made to kiss you, Chess.”
She goes soft at that, giving me those bedroom eyes. And her voice grows husky, making me hard and tight with anticipation. “Maybe I was the one made to kiss you, Finn.”
Emotion rushes through my chest, taking my air, and I have to breath deep. “You were.”
The waitress arrives to take our order.
When she’s gone, Chess looks out over the water, giving me her profile. She’s flustered, her fingers tapping the glass in her hand. Neither of us have been in a relationship, me because I didn’t want to, Chess because she never found anyone she wanted. In a way, I’m glad that we’re both new to this. We can be each other’s only. But part of me wishes we both knew more, or at least one of us had some knowledge of how to play this.
But it is what it is, and I’m content to drink my beer, watch the sunlight dance in my girl’s hair. Our food arrives and we eat with gusto, talking about nothing in particular. The sun sinks behind the horizon, and the string-lights twinkle overhead.
A dance floor is set up on one corner of the patio. Mostly older patrons are slow dancing to a Sinatra song. Chess watches them, the corners of her lips tilted up. “I wish I brought my camera. That couple there…”