Page 51 of Lightness In My Dark

“I have nothing to wear that I’m willing to get paint on.”

Finn set the ladder near the back wall. “I’ve seen some clothes you brought, and they would look better splattered in paint.”

I gasped while I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re mean, you know that.”

He crouched down to open the paint can, his shiny disheveled hair falling into his eyes, tossing his head back so he could see better.

My eyes roamed his body. His muscles tensing and easing with every swirl of the wooden stick he used to mix it. His back, torso, thighs, hell, all of him screamed sexy. If only I wasn’t scared, intimidated, shy, and tainted, I’d go over there and touch him.

No, you wouldn’t. HE ruined you and you’ll never have the nerve or strength to be with anyone else. But you can enjoy him from afar.

Plus, I hadn’t forgotten what Finn confessed. He experienced abuse at such a young age it changed him forever. Finn tossed his childhood aside to endure violence, which formed his hardened disposition. When I thought about it, my chest ached, knowing he became who he was by force. He lost out on blossoming through adolescence. Finn took control before it ruined him.

Finn snapped me out of my daydream. “How about I tape the top portions of the walls and you do the bottom?”

Sounded good, so we got to work. Finn climbed the ladder to tape the ceiling and halfway down the sides of the wall. At one point, I was at eye level with his crotch. My eyes drifted to his front area, having to redo the tape because it drifted on an angle. I relocated to the other wall to avoid any more distractions.

We finished taping, and Finn went into the gym to put on some music. Like me, he enjoyed all types of genres. Finn used the roller, completing the top half of the wall. When he finished, he collected the ladder to do the other wall while I finished painting the back one. We worked, listened to music, my mind drifting to Finn’s body. My imagination ran wild at how hard it probably felt. I fantasized about him being gentle, even though unlikely. But it was my fictional daydream, and I imagined him taking his time kissing my face, neck, working his way down. On their own, my eyes closed to my methodic breathing, hand touching my breast, picturing his mouth on my skin. His soft lips and hands studying my body’s contours while his warm breath inflamed a desire I never experienced before.

Something startled me, and when I opened my eyes, Finn stood with his arms folded and a ‘shit-eating’ grin plastered on his face.

“Don’t let me stop you. Keep going.” I averted my eyes from him, too embarrassed to say or do anything.

What’s wrong with you? How are you going to get out of this one?

“What were you thinking about, Wren?” He took a step closer to me.

My body twisted away, and I wrapped my arms across my stomach. Then his breath teased my ear. His gaze on me.

“I’m kidding with you.” Our eyes met. “But I hope I was the one affecting you that way.” He kissed my temple and gestured with his hand to the room. “You like?”

Both walls were finished, I stepped back, absorbing how the white enhanced the aqua color.

“Amazing! I love it! What about you? Was it a good color choice?”

He put the paintbrushes and rollers on the trays. “Yeah, it’s a whole new room.”

Glad he let my earlier embarrassment slide. Maybe the holidays or my new room had me flirting with desires I ignored for so long. I planned to continue ignoring them, if possible.

Finn fit the lid on the can and pressed down, coating his hands with paint. He walked toward me, pretending to trip, and wiped it on my overalls and face. “Oops, my bad.” Finn bent over, holding his muscular abs, pointing at my face.

My mouth made the shape of an “O” and I snickered at the paint on my shirt. “You think that was funny, huh?” I retrieved a paintbrush, dabbed one of his cheeks, and slid it down his chest. My gaze followed the brush, actions slowed, holding my breath. Finn closed the gap between us, and when I glanced up, his eyes pierced mine. In slow motion, he slid his hand to the small of my back, the other cupped the back of my head. Finn lowered, waiting for a sign of disapproval, and the softness of his lips met mine. He left his lips there for a moment, parted them, and I followed suit. His velvet tongue slid along mine. I moaned into his mouth and my arms gripped the sides of his waist, the paintbrush falling out of my hand. Finn pulled me closer, bodies flushed. Our kisses were like the tides—low and high—gentle and demanding.

Finn broke the link, his forehead to mine, heavy exhales fogged our minds. I saw confusion on his face, or maybe it was turmoil. I wasn’t sure which one and I refused to ask in case it was regret.

His voice crackled when he said, “We better clean up.”

We moved apart and dropped our grips. I picked up the brush that had fallen on the tarp. Without talking, we folded the drop cloths, took off the tape, and brought all the items to the foyer to put in the garage later.

I returned to the room and tossed the rugs in different areas, piling the pillows against the single step, and watched the snow. It melted before it hit the ground, and the window had condensation droplets trickling down. I closed my eyes and wondered if I should have kissed him. In truth, I wondered if Finn had made a mistake. He didn’t want to kiss me. It was a thoughtless decision. But I wanted him to kiss me. The New Year’s kiss had lingered in my mind. Finn put my body in overdrive, responding to everything he did. The New Year’s kiss was a prequel to what I imagined. What I wanted. I struggled with thoughts ofno wayandwhen next.

The pillows shifted next to me. From my peripheral, I saw Finn lean back with his hands behind his head and close his eyes. I did the same.Into the Mystic by Van Morrisonbellowed from the speakers. I had loved the song since the first time I heard it with its moving lyrics. I mouthed the words as my foot tapped the floor. It ended andCrazy Bitch by Buckcherrycame on, making me laugh at the change in beat and words. Finn joined me. It put us into a fit of laughter, grabbing our stomachs and rolling onto our sides. We laughed harder when we looked at each other. Then it died after the song, and we laid on our sides, staring.

Finn raised his hand to wipe my cheek. “Paint is still on you.”

I pointed to his face and whispered, “You too.”

In this room, the color of his eyes appeared lighter. He scooted closer, his hand on my chin, thumb stroking my lower lip. My heartbeat went from steam engine to a high-speed train in record time. A tsunami of blood pulsing in my ears. Finn’s lips found mine again. It was a cautious kiss, a trickle of rain. Our mouths slightly opened, tongues whispered over teeth until they found a pace with our lips, a pitter-patter rhythm. My breaths became ragged, delirious from Finn’s increased craving, which set us off on another collision course. A torrential rain, most of his body covered mine, his hands impulsive, roaming to new territory. I wasn’t any better. My hands groped his arms, neck, and shoulders. Finn’s mouth abandoned mine. His bruising kisses shifted to my jawline, trailing my neck, collarbone, his teeth nipped every so often, then his tongue soothed his markings.

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