Page 103 of When The Rain Falls

And then a flip switches. Something launches Finn into a fiery throng of desperation. He moves beneath me. His hipspulsing forward, powerful and strong. His thick thighs slap the bottom of my ass as he holds me in place by my waist. Without any warning, his body takes over. He leans forward and I ring my arms around his neck so that I don’t topple backward. He stands, me still impaled on him. And that’s when I realize that his muscles aren’t just for show. He hefts me up and flips me on my back against the seat of the swing, cradling my head in the process.

He hunches his body over me, flicking my breasts, teasing my nipples. Groaning, as he rocks over my body like a hot, crushing wave. I grip his glutes, feeling them contract and tense with each thrust. I realize I’m shaking. From the rapture. The bliss of his body taking me, wanting me, hungry for me. Finally, for once, he’s not holding anything back. He’s giving me everything. And I love it.

“Yes,” I cry, the word fluttering in my throat as he pounds and pumps into me.

His fingers find my tender spot and he begins to flick, and rub, and tend to me, swollen and needy. I arch my back and moan into the air.

“I need you to come, Aimee,” he demands. “Because I’m not going to last.” His face pinches in pained concentration and I know he’s wrestling with self-control. “Tell me how to make you come like this. Because, fuck, I don’t have time to figure it out on my own.”

“Bear, talk dirty to me,” I urge. Hearing men tell me how much they want my body has always thrilled me in the past. As their desire becomes words to fill my head.

“No, baby,” he coos, rubbing me with the perfect amount of pressure as he pushes inside me again and again. “I want to tell you I adore you. I’m putting you so damn high on a pedestal, I’m afraid I’m going to set you out of my reach. And I can’t bearthe thought of you not being in my reach. I don’t deserve you, Aimee. But you’re mine, darling.”

His words surprise me. Unsteady me. Tip me over. Until I’m face down in a sea of euphoria. I’m drowning in it now. And the only thing to breathe is him. The faint dewy scent of his sweat, his exertion, his skin.

He’s right behind me. I feel him tense inside me, as his abs clench and his head lowers. A feral groan rumbles free from his throat and then he’s panting. Sliding down on top of me, spent and satisfied. I wrap my legs around him and bring his mouth into mine.

After we’ve both come out of our pleasure, he wraps the blanket around us both and takes us in. He looks a bit dazed, a bit surprised, and completely disoriented. He rubs a hand across his face and lets out the loudest, wildest laugh I’ve ever heard come out of a man’s mouth.

36SIGNS

FINN

When I get homefrom work, there are signs of Aimee all over my house. Every fucking light in the house is on. The furnace is turned up way too high. And the smell of something cooking permeates the air.

I kick my shoes off and set them in the shoe cubby.

I had to work late and Aimee offered to pick up Vivian from soccer. When I pulled into the driveway, I was struck by how snug the house looked. Usually, when I get home, it looks cold and lifeless. But tonight, the windows glowed and it somehow seemed, I don’t know, lively somehow.

“Aimee?” I call out as I walk through the house. The living room is empty. But there are signs of Aimee there, too. Particularly, in the way the throw pillows have been mashed into the cushions. When she sits on the couch, she likes to build a little nest around her body. The improper use of throw pillows makes me twitchy. But it’s fucking adorable.

I walk down the hallway, expecting to round the corner and find her doing something unexpected in my kitchen. But when I round the corner, I’m greeted by the sight of Vivian. She’s perched at the bar, pouring over a school book. Her hair is set into French braids.

“Hey, Viv.” I give one of her braids a gentle tug.

“Oh hey,” Vivian says, barely glancing up from what appears to be homework.

“I like the hair.”

“Thanks.” She throws a braid over her shoulder. “Aimee did it.”

I shake my head and smile. Of course she did.

“What’s that smell?” I ask, lifting my nose to the air.

“Aimee made dinner.” Without looking up from her book, Vivian gestures to a casserole dish on the stove. Bless that fucking woman. Like I said, she’s left little signs of herself all over my house. All over my life. All over my heart. Why isn’t shehere?

“Where is she?” I ask, glancing into the empty TV room off the kitchen.

“She had to go,” Vivian says. She turns the page and her gaze rises to the top of the textbook.

My chest deflates a little. I prop my hands on my hips and eye the casserole dish that’s been thoughtfully covered with foil. There’s not a single dirty dish in the sink.

I don’t have to cook tonight. I don’t have to clean. I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself. I’ve gotten so used to her being here. This doesn’t feel right. I don’t like it.

But also. I’m noticing Laurel’s absence less and less. And I’m not sure how to feel about that.

“So,” I glance at Vivian, “what do you think about her? About Aimee?”

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