Page 88 of When The Rain Falls

"Yeah. It's pretty bad." Finn smiles again, and even though I've had the smallest sip of alcohol, I'm completely drunk off his smile. "Maybe we don't drink this one. Let's just enjoy the label." He takes the glass from my hand and as we touch it feels like a thousand tiny matches have been struck against my skin. But I almost don’t even notice, because I’m still stuck on his smile. The smile that’s lighting a five-alarm fire in my chest.

“Finn Hudson,” I scold. He freezes and looks at me with alarm.

“You bastard,” I scold. “I’ve known you for over a week and you waited all this time to show me those dimples?!” I reach out to clasp his cheek. I admiringly run my thumb along the indent. “I love them.”

He smiles again. The dimple curving around my thumb as he brings his hand up to my wrist. I feel his fingers flick against my skin, caressing a thin, delicate vein.

Then he flattens his lips. “Aimee,” he says seriously. “I need you to pretend you didn’t see that. I have a reputation, babe.” Even though he’s no longer smiling, his eyes are.

Why is he still babe-ing me?

My head falls back and I laugh from the bottom of my stomach. It clenches and twists happily. My palm still against his cheek and his hand still clasping my wrist. And I can’t do it anymore. I’m not strong. I’m not mature and I’m not making good decisions. Instead, I’m desperate. I’m reckless. I’m impulsive. And even if it means chasing another thrill and waking up in a heap of regret, I want him.

“What if it’s ok?” I ask, lowering my head to study his face as I pull my hand away. He releases my wrist and stares at me, with stormy, grey eyes.

“If what’s ok?” he asks quietly.

Adrenaline is pounding in my chest. “That you think about her when we’re together…” I have to think about my next words carefully, to make sure I don’t stammer. “Now that I know, I mean. Now that there’s full disclosure.”

“Don’t, Aimee.” His warning is harsh and ominous.

“What?” My tone is flippant and light.

“Don’t do this. Put me in this position.” His voice is lined with anger. “You’re worth more than I can give you.”

There’s another moment of silence as I think about how to respond. I’m so torn. The memory of his touch on my skin doesnot seem like it’s going to fade anytime soon. Not until we finish what we started.

I run both hands up his arms. And I do it again, I slip on that voice. The one that works on men every time. “I need you to touch me,” I rasp.

He slowly draws closer, his eyes darting across my face. When his palm skitters up the side of my neck, I wonder if he can feel my pulse beating wildly. He hesitates and I’m consumed by an anticipation so thrilling that it captures my breath. We both lean in. Our noses brush. He tilts his head. And then his lips are on mine. And it’s like being pulled headfirst into a warm pool. I part his mouth and we explore. It’s gentle and delicious. Decadent. And then he pulls away.

“Aimee, if…” He pauses. And the entire moment hinges on what he’s about to say next. “If we did. There’d be ground rules.” A bloom of hope opens inside me. I force myself to focus on my breathing and not on the gentle heat forming between my legs.

“Like what?” My voice is all air.

“I do all the touching,” he says carefully.

“What—"

“That’s how this is going to work,” he insists, rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip and sending me into another thrilling tailspin. I don’t understand it. This condition. But he’s standing between my legs and I’m finding it hard to argue with anything that might grant me one more second with him.

“I can’t touch at all?” I whisper, flicking my tongue against his thumb.

“Only when I say you can,” he says in a heated whisper. His hand falls to my waist. Then he’s pulling my shirt up. He teases a breast free, rubbing the thumb that I just kissed across my hard nipple. I arch into his touch as the space between my thighs dampen. When he notices the pant in my breath, his eyes flare with heat.

“Aimee,” he all but purrs. “You came here because you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“I always want this,” I confess.

He lowers his lips to my nipple, his eyes never leaving mine. “If I suck, how wet will I make you?”

“I’m already wet,” I moan, arching my back further, teasing my nipple closer. “If you suck, I might come right here.”

“You better not,” he scolds me gently. “We’re just getting started. And I want you to soak my sheets.” He rolls my nipple between his fingers, his mouth achingly close to the tip. Every inch of my skin feels like it’s being warmed over the flames of a bonfire.

He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Now, I’m taking you upstairs.”

30HALF-COCKED

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