Page 41 of Riptide

I see everything in the way his expression cracks for half a second. The relief, the realization, but there’s still something else beyond that. I can almost see past the wall he’s got up, but it’s just out of reach.

“It wasn’tjustthat I thought you had a family, Finn,” he whispers.

My head inclines toward him as I watch and wait. He takes one measured breath and then, “I thought I broke your family. That what we did was a secret, and I hated that I was on that side of it. I couldn’t stand the fact that I was the other person.”

All the angst leaves my body at his admission, the last few days of frustration dissolving. “You were never the other person.” And it’s his reaction, and me saying that out loud, that has me realizing maybe he relates to something there. Maybe there’s something I want to unpack that he’s not saying, but showing me, a weak thread that every instinct in me wants to pull at. And that makes me pause. I’ve never wanted to get under someone’s skin like this before. Not just to touch, not just to fuck, but to know. And dammit, I am gonna get to know this man. “You were just you, and I was just me. No lies.”

He doesn’t speak, but I know he takes something from what I said because his hands finally relax.

I take a few more sure steps toward him, until I’m close enough to smell his cologne. His woodsy, deep scent sneaks up on me as I inhale. I love it because it’s nothing like the stiff, buttoned-up persona he tries to wear; it’s the raw version of him that I saw that night. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

He pushes back in his chair, but he’s got nowhere to go. I’m blocking his way out with the wall behind him.

“I told you,” he says, but it’s weaker this time. “This is…”

“Inappropriate?” I finish for him, voice like silk, my lips already curling. Foxx starts to say something else, but I lift my foot and hook it under the leg of his chair, twisting it hard and fast, spinning him to face me fully before he can react.

He barely has time to register what’s happening before I step forward, planting my hands on the arms of his chair, leaning in, caging him in on both sides. As his wide-eyed gaze flickers to my mouth, then back up, his breathing shallows.

“That’s not arealreason, Foxx,” I drawl. “That’s the one you’re telling yourself when you get in your head about me.”

Heat rolls off him in waves, and it’s toying with my energy, teasing me, and soon, it’ll be to a point where it’s provoking me, because even the way his glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose is turning me the fuck on. Reaching out to him, he tracks my every move as I carefully pull them off his face, revealing those intense eyes that burn brighter the closer I get.

“Deny it, I dare you,” I murmur, placing his glasses down.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t turn away from me. If anything, I swear I see his chin jut forward slightly.

“Go on,” I taunt, voice barely above a whisper. “Give me one reason to stop.”

Strong hands shoot up to grab my waist, his fingers digging in like he’s seconds from breaking. He doesn’t drag me down onto him like I want, but it feels euphoric having his hands on me anyway. The glisten of anticipation coating his skin makes me want to taste every inch of him again. My breath hitches on a whimper, my cock throbbing with need, the tension so fucking thick it could crush me whole. I lean to the side, lips grazing along his jaw.

“Tell me I don’t make you hard, Foxx.”

His breath shudders, the whisper of a moan echoing between us.

I drag my mouth down the sharp edge of his scruff-covered jawline, skimming the heat of his throat, just hinting at what he wants. What we both want.

His grip tightens, and I purr into his neck before returning to hover over his mouth, my breath mixing with his, my hands sliding down the tension in his arms, feeling the way he’s quivering with restraint.

“Tell me you don’t think about me every time you touch that beautiful thick cock of yours, wishing it was my mouth, my hand…my ass making you come.”

He inhales sharply, and I wait. Wait for him to do it. Wait for him to snap. The next move is his, and I’ve laid out the red carpet. Those pitch-black eyes almost swallow me whole. With a low, guttural sound, he grabs me by the front of my shirt and crushes his mouth against mine.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s eager and messy, and I’m obsessed.

His lips are hot, demanding, punishing, as his fingers move back to digging into my hips like he’s trying to anchor himself as he pulls me down on top of him.

I groan into his mouth, gripping his shoulders, dragging my hands through his hair, fisting the strands because I want him closer, rougher, harder. I want more.

Biting my lip, he yanks me forward, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands, turning us and backing me up against the desk now, pinning me there.

I feel everything. The heat, the tension, the goddamn relief of him.

He rips his mouth away, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to mine, and fucks me over with just once sentence

“On your fucking knees.”

I whimper, actually fucking whimper, because—holy shit—his voice is nothing but gravel and sin.

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