Page 44 of Riptide

Finn

Mybodyisn’tmyown yet. I’m still on cloud fucking nine, barely holding myself up on unstable arms. With every nerve wired from the way he just broke me, my skin thrums with oversensitivity.

Behind me, Foxx is silent. I don’t even hear him breathe.

Then there’s a shift, a subtle movement, and the absence of him is immediate, unbearable. The heat of his body vanishes, replaced by a cool draft against my back, and the room feels too big, too quiet. He’s so fucking good at pulling me out of my own head, at stripping me down to nothing but raw feeling, but the quiet after feels so fucking loud. I need more of him.

A rustle from his desk drawer makes me straighten, forcing my body to comply as I tuck myself away. Then comes a metallic clink, sharp in the silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of a belt being unbuckled.

I turn quickly, blinking through the haze of my own spent body, but the second my eyes land on him, my breath catches.

Foxx stands there, his shirt still wrinkled, cheeks pink. His hand moves with practiced ease, methodical, clinical, like he’s trying to erase the evidence.

Except the evidence is right in front of me. He came.

A slow, molten heat curls low in my stomach, the aftershocks of pleasure giving way to something deeper, something possessive and intoxicating. My head tilts back as a groan escapes me, my body reigniting even as exhaustion weighs me down.

“Fuck me, Foxx.” My voice is hoarse, thick with exhaustion, with awe, with absolute fucking lust that makes me want to drop to my knees and clean him with my tongue.

His chest rises too fast, pupils blown wide, lips parted just enough to tell me he hasn’t fully caught his breath either. A lazy smirk tugs at my lips, creeping in despite the way my body feels seconds from giving out. “Did you just come in your pants?”

His jaw locks, the muscle twitching.

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches me, breathing heavily, fingers still curled around himself like he hasn’t fully let go. I see it, the flicker of conflict, the frustration bleeding into humiliation, the realization that he was so fucking gone for what we just did that he lost control completely.

Then, with gritted teeth, he yanks his hand away, quickly fastening his belt like he can undo what just happened. But that’s not something I’ll forget in a hurry.

“Foxx,” I murmur, softer now. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, to test the boundaries here.

His gaze snaps to mine, still dark and sharp, but there’s something else there too. The reality of the fact that he came, fully dressed, untouched, simply by what he did to me. I push up from the desk, steadying myself as I take a step toward him. My body feels weak, unsteady, but I don’t let it show. Instead, Ihold his gaze, watching him closely, waiting for the moment he cracks.

He exhales, drags a hand down his face, and shakes his head once. When he finally speaks, his voice is shaky.

“You need to leave. Anyone could walk in.” He’s back to frowning and looking like he wants to kill me, but I know he can’t resist me now.

I arch an eyebrow, unfazed, taking another slow step forward. I could touch him if I wanted to. But he’s still on edge, still wound so fucking tight, and it’s probably because he’s feeling a little exposed. He might’ve come, but his body hasn’t fully let go. He’s tense, fighting whatever war is raging in his head.

Eh, fuck it. I’m about to make it worse.

I reach out, fingers grazing the leather of his belt where he just tucked himself away. The touch is barely there, teasing, testing. “Didn’t seem to bother you a second ago.”

His nostrils flaring, fingers snapping out to grip my wrist in a firm, unyielding hold.

The heat between us spikes instantly, a pull so strong it steals the breath from my lungs.

Licking my lips, I tilt my head as my gaze flicks up to his. “I can still feel how hard you are. Do you need more from me?”

His fingers press into my skin in a silent warning.

But he doesn’t deny it. He also doesn’t push me away.

I smirk, leaning in just enough to let my lips brush along the sharp line of his scruff covered jaw. “We’re not done, and I think you already know that.”

His grip tightens for a second, then abruptly releases, like he’s just remembered himself, like he’s just realized how close he was to pulling me back in.

He steps away, forcing space between us, his hands shoving into his pockets. His breath comes a little too slow, but uneven,the kind of inhale someone takes when they’re coming down from exercise.

Then, after a pause, he lifts his chin and fixes me with a cool stare. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says, but his voice is water thin. He already knows this isn’t over.

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