Page 128 of The Hot Shot
Things get hazy. My hands go to the skirt of her dress, gathering the fabric, wrenching it up and up until I find the smooth length of her thighs.
“Hold on,” I say, kissing her deeper, a little frantic now.
Her long legs wrap around my waist, gripping tight, pulling me in.
I find the wet heat of her, stroke the soft slickness with the tips of my fingers. Chess shudders, her breath gusting out in a pant. “Finn. Now.”
My forehead rests against hers. “Always.”
It almost hurts, that first thrust. She so fucking tight, and I’m so fucking swollen with need. I groan like I’m dying. Maybe I am. I’m so hot, I can’t find a breath.
She’s arching her neck, whimpering and clawing at my shoulders. Her thighs spread wider, opening for me with a demand for more.
I know she expects a fast, hard fuck. I go slow, rocking into her, loving the way her body lifts a little when I’m balls deep, then sinks back as I draw out. With every push into the snug, slick well of her body, she makes a raspy noise in her throat, a bit helpless, a bit needy, like she’s begging for it, but doesn’t want to. It gets me hotter, sweat rolling down my spine, heat flickering up my thighs, over my ass.
Her hand cups the back of my neck, and she kisses me. It’s disjointed, sloppy.
We’re both breathing too fast, shaking too much for finesse. Somehow, it makes it better, earthier, everything boiled down to primitive fucking and base lust. I take her air then give her mine. The press of her fingers against my skin makes me shiver.
I’m claiming her against a wall, but if feels as though she’s claiming me. I’m losing my damn mind. I’m afraid I might cry. Cry and fuck her and beg for something I don’t fully understand. Every time I push into her, I’m begging for it. Every pull though her heat, I’m anticipating the next thrust.
I grip her ass and pump harder. “Chess.”
She seems to understand better than I do, because she strokes my hair, trying to calm even as her hips rise to meet mine with increasing need. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting on a gasp. And she is so fucking beautiful it tears me wide-open.
We come together. I fill her up, until she’s overflowing, warm wetness running back down over my cock. I’m supposed to be the strong one, her protector, but she is the one who holds me close, murmurs soothing sounds as I shake and struggle to pull myself together.
Something has changed, leaving me exposed and feeling out of control. And it scares the fuck out of me.
Twenty-One
Chess
The Whett gala is being held at a mansion in the Garden District. Set back from the street and surrounded by iron gates, the neoclassical mansion is surrounded by sprawling lawns and gardens. Inside, the scale of the place is immense, soaring ceilings, grand hallways, an enormous curved stairway built in the days when women wore hooped skirts that gently swayed when they descended those stairs like queens.
I won’t glorify the past, but I can appreciate the hell out of the architecture.
With a warm hand on the small of my back, Finn leads me past throngs of guests and down the main hall.
“One day, I want a place like this,” I tell him as we pass under a chandelier glittering twenty feet above.
Finn’s brows quirk as he glances at me. “Really? I thought you’d want something a little less massive.”
I tuck myself closer to him as the crowd gets thicker. “Well, not this big. I’d get lost in here. But something with history like this. A house that’s graceful and grand in its proportions. And I’ve always wanted to live in the Garden District.”
We enter a reception room done in shades of cream and gold, where they’ve set up a bar. Finn takes in the space, as if really looking at it for the first time. His hair is adorably mussed,the satin lapels of his suit jacket snagged and rumpled, having been crushed under my grip.
I probably look equally disheveled. Though we’d tried to tidy up, short of a shower and starting from scratch, there was no hiding the fact that we’d been messing around.
A warm hum of satisfaction moves through me.Messing aroundis a weak term for what we’d done. It had been the best sex of my life. Transcendent. Altering.
Finn’s gaze clashes with mine now, and there’s a subtle gleam in his eyes. He knows me too well. Thankfully, he has better restraint than I do at the moment. He keeps his voice light, his touch on my back gentle. “We could get one, you know? A nice-sized place with a pool and a guesthouse. Fill it up with...”
He trails off, going pale under his tan.
I don’t know if I hurt for him or me. Either way, the sensation isn’t pleasant. I step away from his touch, my gaze drifting over the room filled with smiling faces.
“Chess,” he says, low and rough. “I meant friends and family.”
