“Maybe.” I wove my hands into his hair. “Or maybe just from you. From this. From…” I shook my head. “I never thought I’d have you again.”
He nodded, solemn. “I know.”
“Is this a dream?”
A firm shake of his head. “No, love. It’s real.” He kissed me, slow and long. “Real fecked up, maybe, but still real.”
I laughed at that, winding my arms around his neck and holding him to me for another lazy kiss. We stayed like that for a beat, our ragged breathing the only sound between us, the tension morphing into something softer, something sweeter — but no less intense. My entire body was buzzing, sated enough to sleep.
But I needed more of him.
“Finn.”
“Mm?”
I slid my fingers beneath the band of his briefs. “Off.”
He smirked against my neck, kissing me there before he leaned back on his knees. Without breaking my gaze, he reached for his waistband and slid the fabric down slowly, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he freed himself.
My mouth parted before I could stop it, breath catching at the sight of him — hard and thick and heavy, the tip flushed and glistening.
A foreign noise rumbled in my throat, but I couldn’t find it in me to be even slightly embarrassed. I could have stayed just like that, staring at him for hours like he was a painting in a museum. He was more beautiful than I remembered, the shadows of the room playing with all the lines and mounds andvalleys of his body. I reached forward instinctively, fingertips trailing goosebumps over his flesh as I dragged them down his abdomen.
“My turn to taste,” I tried, but before I could even wrap my hands around his shaft, he snatched me by the wrists and pushed me back into the mattress.
“Not a chance, Firefly,” he said, punctuating that statement with a hard kiss. “I need to be inside you.”
“You don’t play fair,” I whispered, nipping at his chin.
“Says the one who purposefully drove me to my limit tonight.”
“Zero regrets.”
That earned me a deep chuckle and another swift kiss. Then, he pressed back up to his knees and hooked his grip under my thigh, hiking up my left leg.
My heart was a free-running stallion as Finn wrapped his large hand around my ankle and brought it to his lips. He kissed the sensitive flesh just below the bone, along the curve of my calf, and up the inside of my knee. Every touch of his mouth felt like a promise, like an apology, like a poem written on my skin.
When he reached my inner thigh, he sucked in a breath like being inside me was jumping off a cliff into ice cold water, like he was bracing for the excitement and the pain, too.
“You’re wreckin’ me,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough as his teeth scraped just enough to make me gasp. “Always have.”
And then he bit down, marking me.
I let him.
With a moan, my fingers twisted in the rumpled comforter beneath us as he eased my leg up and settled it over his shoulder. His hands slid beneath my hips, tugging until I was right where he needed me, and with one last look — one filled with equal parts heat and heartbreak — he sank into the space between us.
The moment his cock brushed against me, I trembled, black invading the edges of my vision.
And the second he began to push in, I knew.
This wasn’t just sex.
It was resurrection.
We both came back to life the moment he flexed and filled me that first inch. I saw the way he fought the urge to plunge all the way in, to satisfy himself no matter the cost. He groaned and battled with restraint to pull out and edge back in, over and over, the wetness from my first two climaxes coating him a little more each thrust.
A flex and a kiss.