Page 42 of Songbird
I stand slowly, balling the hem of his flannel into my fists as butterflies the size of swallows spin and dive in my stomach. With all the poise I can muster and all the calmness I can feign, I walk to the ladder, sparing a pat for Dakota who’s dozing in her bed, and climb my stairway to sex heaven.
But when I get to the top, I’m not sure what to do. Finn’s bed is neat and the covers are smooth. There’s a mirrored dresser opposite the bed and an armchair in the corner. The guitar I’vebeen playing leans against the far wall, my notepad and pencil are stacked on the nightstand. Do I stand here? Sit? Lie down? Stay dressed? Get naked?
When Finn promised to make up for all the orgasms Chip neglected to give me these last six years, I didn’t stop to wonder about the logistics.
I’m fussing with the buttons on my shirt when Finn appears at the top of the ladder. He looks completely in control of his nerves, if he has any, and his confidence relaxes me. If Finn thinks there’s nothing to worry about, then there’s nothing to worry about. He slides his hand around the back of my neck and drags my mouth to his in a soft but demanding open-mouth kiss, and the butterflies spiral lower, teasing and tightening my core.
He releases my mouth much too soon and, with his eyes closed, presses his forehead against mine. “This is how it could go. I make you come.”
My exhale quivers at the word alone, and Finn’s mouth tips up on one side.
“I make you come,” he repeats, “and it’ll be the kind of orgasm you think about later when you’re touching yourself. But that’s no good to you if you don’t knowhowto touch yourself. Right?”
“Right,” I agree absently, craning my neck for another kiss, which he bestows with a grin against my lips.
“So that’s what I want you to do,” he says. “Before I touch you, I want you to touch yourself.”
His words and his hands and his kiss—oh my God, he’s such a good kisser—have fogged my brain past the point of coherent thought, so I replay his words to understand what he’s saying.
Heat rises in my cheeks as I pull his hand from my face. “I can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because I… Because you…” My cheeks burn like fire. “Because it’s embarrassing.”
Finn shakes his head, mouth tipped up on one side. “There’s nothing embarrassing about a gorgeous woman who knows how to get herself off. Believe me.”
The intensity of his tone, matched by his caramel eyes, makes my breath come fast. I drop my gaze down his hard body, and I’m met with an erection tenting the front of his gray sweats. Is it possible that the idea of my own hand between my legs is making him hard? The thought is enough to make me want to stroke myself, and suddenly I’m considering it.
“You don’t have to,” Finn says. He collects my hands in his, twining our fingers between us. “I’d never ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but you need to know your own body and understand what brings you pleasure before you’re able to tell a man what you need in the bedroom. I can help you, if you want, or I can give you some time alone. This isn’t about me. I want you to do this for you and only you.”
I bite my lip and look down at what I’m wearing, then glance at my reflection in the mirror behind Finn. Flannel shirt. Hair in a ponytail. No makeup. I’m not what anyone would call a sex kitten… except for one small detail. I’m wearing a white lace thong from Violet’s collection, and I recall what she said about her designs when we were in her studio. She created her lingerie line to make women feel confident, comfortable, and beautiful. Sexy. Empowered. In control. I bite my lip and cast a shy look up at Finn.
His expression, bright and burning and so ready to shut this down if I say the word, makes me want to do this. I want to take back my life, and that includes owning my body. If I’m not going to let myself be treated like a commodity anymore, I need to take control of my own pleasure as much as anything else.
I unbutton my shirt and let it pool on the floor around my feet. Finn’s throat bobs in a swallow as his eyes fall, sweeping over my bare breasts and belly, past my lacy thong to my thighs, and upagain with a tension so tight I feel its touch. Goose bumps flare and my nipples furl into hard, aching tips.
Finn’s hand flinches at his side, and I silently beg him to touch me, but he balls it into a fist with a heaving breath of self-discipline.
“I’m ready,” I murmur. “Will you stay?”
“Mm-hmm.” His quiet hum cracks with desire. “I can do that.”
“Where should I go?”
“On the bed,” he whispers.
As I lay myself down on the covers, Finn takes a seat in the armchair by the foot of the bed. He leans back, knees wide and sweatpants clinging to his hard-on, and from here I have a full view of myself in the mirror above his dresser. I study my near-naked body and pull out my hair so it splays over the pillows, and when I run a hesitant hand down my neck and toward my breast, Finn responds with a choked groan.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Touch yourself, Songbird.”
I cup my breast and tweak a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pulling it just enough to cause a twinge of pain, then gasp at the unexpected wet pulse in my pussy.
“What next?” I ask.
“Grab both tits,” he orders. “Squeeze them a little. Harder. Push them together. Just like that.”
It’s not like I haven’t touched myself before. I’ve played a little, tried to do what Chip never could, but it didn’t feel erotic and I couldn’t everget there. But now, my body buzzes with arousal, and the reason is Finn. Not only how attractive I find him or how safe he makes me feel, but the press of his eyes on me. Finn watching me is turning me on.
