Page 39 of Protecting His Finch

I lower myself slowly into the bed, the way one might a hot bath. By the time I’m settled in, there’s a small knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Finley is sleepover ready. Her oversized T-shirt swallows her. Her hair is down, face soft, brow relaxed, lips gentle.

She’s adorable.

She climbs into bed beside me and gets under the thick comforter. For a while, the two of us just lie there side by side on our backs, staring at the ceiling. I can feel her small weight in the mattress. The warmth of her arm pressed against mine.

“You can come closer,” I tell her. “If you want.”

She snuggles up to me. Now, she has her head on my chest. Her hand rests on my stomach. She’s so warm, so comforting, and this feels so right.

And makes my cock unbearably hard.

Finley addresses the elephant in the room. “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, not right now. I just—we’ve been drinking. And you’re in pain.”

“I understand.”

“But…with your consent, obviously…I’d like to touch it.”

“You mean…”

“I want to give you a hand job.” She says the words sternly, like she’s applying for a job interview.

“Why?”

“I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

I scoff on a laugh. “What you’re dealing with? You make it sound like you’re going up against an army.”

Her face turns red.

“Finley.” I touch her jaw and coax her toward me. Those large eyes gaze up at me, kitten-like. “Am I so terrifying?”

“Yes.” She says it softly, in a breath.

My heart sinks at that. Of course she’s afraid of me. I’m a killer. I’m the man who shot her father. I’m the man who splattered her with blood.

She has every right to shrink at my touch. To treat me like the monster that’s crawled out from underneath the bed.

But then she shifts closer and nuzzles my face. I feel the warmth of her cheek against mine. “I’m terrified of disappointing you,” she confesses.

I’m alive again. Her words pump fresh blood through my veins. “Don’t be,” I tell her.

“I’ve never done this before. If I do it wrong…”

“I’ll show you how.”

“Do you promise? I don’t want you to just…grit your teeth and endure it. I want it to be good. No. I want it to be the best you’ve ever had.”

“Are you ever anything less than perfect?”

She bites her lip. “It’s a character flaw.”

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