"Ye going to stand there all night wanting to be inside me," he said, "or are ye going to do something about it?"
I met his eyes and swallowed. Not because of nerves. I wasn't a complete idiot, and I wasn't about to get sappy over some Scotsman in his underwear. It was because I was used to being the most experienced, competent man in every room I walked into. But this? I knew next to nothing about this. I hadn't even seen gay porn except by accident that one time and I....
I don't want to hurt him.
"C'mon, Aleksi," Fin said, arching an eyebrow. "Ye think I didnae see the drugstore bag that come with the meal?"
"It's not that. I just..." My face burned, and I had to look away. "I don't know what I'm doing, okay?"
Fin closed the distance and took my face in his hands.
"Lucky for ye," he said, "I do. Ye knew what ye were about fine when ye were giving orders, Aleksi. It's the asking that's got ye scared." His thumbs pressed along my jaw. "So dinnae ask. Do as yer told."
He kissed me again, slower, and walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. I sat because he pushed. He climbed into my lap like he'd done it a hundred times, knees either side of my thighs, and took my hands and put them on his hips.
"There," he said. "That's where they go. Ye'll work the rest out."
"You're enjoying this."
"Aye. Bossing a vor around in his pants. Wee bit." He rolled his hips. "Less talking."
He kissed me like he had something to prove. The bag from the drugstore was digging into my hip where I'd dropped it on the bed. He found it without looking, which meant he'd clocked exactly where it landed, which was Fin all over. He pulled the bottle out and pressed it into my hand and went back to my mouth.
"Ye know what that's for."
"I'm not stupid."
"Debatable." He bit my jaw. "Open it."
I got the cap with my thumb. My hands were not as steady as I'd have liked, and he felt it because he caught my wrist and held it a second.
"Hey." He pulled back far enough to look at me. The brat was still there in his eyes, but underneath it was the other thing, the steady thing, the one that had counted me through breathing on my own floor. "Yer no going to hurt me. I'll tell ye if ye do. I'm a mouthy bastard, aye? Ye think I'll go quiet about it?"
"No."
"No. So." He let my wrist go. "Slow. Lots of this." He tapped the bottle. "And ye listen to me. Can ye do that? Take an order for once in your miserable life?"
"I can try."
"He can try. Mark the day." He reached back, got the bottle out of my hand, pressed it back into it the right way round. "Here's how this goes. Ye do exactly what I say, when I say it, and if ye get clever, I stop and ye get nothing. Ye understand the rules, big man?"
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Aye, I'm having the time of my life. Forty-year-old killer in his pants doing as he's told." He bit down on the cord of muscle at my neck, and I felt it go all the way down my spine. "Now. Slow. And ye keep yer eyes on me, because if ye go away in yer head I'll know, and I'll bring ye back, and ye'll no enjoy how."
I kept my eyes on him.
He tipped the bottle over my fingers, slicked them, pressed them back behind him with his hand guiding mine. "Slow," he said into my mouth. "Push in." I pushed in. The heat of him closed around me, and the sound he made went down my spine like a struck wire. Tight. Hot. Nothing I had a comparison for. He sank onto my hand, greedy, and took it deeper.
"That's it. Curl it. There, ye bastard, right there." His nails went into my shoulders. "Ye've hands like a surgeon. Use them."
I used them.
"More." The word came out of him cracked. "Another. C'mon, I can take it."
I gave him a second finger, slow, the way he'd told me. He swore and pushed back onto it like he'd been waiting on it his whole life.
"There. God, there. Curl them. No—aye—like that." His head dropped onto my shoulder. "For a man who swore blind he was straight, ye learn awful fast."