Page 92 of The Hot Shot
In and out goes his cock, invading retreating.
I swallow hard, try to concentrate on the words. “No,” I whisper. “You’d have to hold still on your own. Your willpower against my tongue. That’s part of the fun.”
He moans low and pained.
I run a hand down his back and cup his ass, push him into me. The muscles flex under my palm. “I’d milk you dry like that, Finn. Your thighs parted, your body strung tight.”
He grunts this time, his thrust a little less controlled, a little more greedy.
“After you come, I’ll keep you in my mouth until you got soft,” I whisper against his cheek. “Then nurse that dick hard again.”
“Oh, fuck.” Finn loses control with a groan and thrashes against me. “Oh, fuck.”
He pumps without finesse, without thought, hard and fast. The tight coil of pleasure within me grows almost unbearable. I arch against him, keening as I come. He’s right there with me, his mouth open and wet on my neck.
He stays with me until the trembles die down and our breath cools. With a pleased sort of grunt, he rolls us to the side, his dick still deep in me. We lie wrapped up in each other, limbs twining.
For a long time, neither of us says a word. I draw circles through the smattering of hair on his hard chest, and Finn runs his fingertips up and down my arm.
“We should have been doing that since the beginning,” he says.
I smile against his skin. “The beginning, huh?”
“Yeah. I should have set aside my towel. And you should have put down your camera. And we should have fucked under those hot lights until we forgot the world around us.”
I huff out a laugh. “Aren’t we supposed to do it until we forget our names? Isn’t that how it goes?”
“Nope.” He kisses the crown of my head. “I want you to know exactly who’s fucking you. I sure as hell am never forgetting that it’s you I’m with.”
Gently, he cups my cheek and tilts my head back so his gaze meets mine. “I’m with you, Chess. You know that, right?”
He looks different now, as if the intimacy of sex has exposed a new layer of him.
Or maybe it’s simply freed a part of him that he’s kept hidden. This Finn looks at me as if I’m his, as if he’s mine. This Finn is irresistible because I can touch him however I want, whenever I want. So I do.
I kiss his lips, the crest of his cheek, the stubborn edge of his chin. “I’m with you, Finn. All the way.”
Fifteen
Finn
I take Chess to a restaurant on the beach. We sit on a huge terrace strung with lights, our table right beside the glass railing, and watch the sun set over the ocean as Chess drinks a fruity cocktail and I nurse a beer.
“What’s good here?” she asks me.
For a moment, I can only stare. Her skin glows with a light tan that makes her green eyes brighter. The ocean breeze kicks up the silky strands of her dark hair, making them dance around her slim shoulders. She looks happy, relaxed, and well satisfied.
I did that. I gave her that soft, content look. I gave her those kiss-swollen lips. Because I now can, because she’s right here, I lean in and kiss her again. A gentle, lazy exploration of her mouth with mine. She tastes of tequila and passion fruit. And I could gladly kiss her all night.
I pull back just far enough to see her smile, those green eyes lit with happiness, and I smile, too.
I want to tell her things. Important, emotional things that I’ve never said to anyone else. But this shift between us is too new and the place too public. Besides, she wants to order food.
“Get the lobster tacos,” I tell her with another soft kiss.
She hums against my mouth and, when I sit back, gives me an assessing look. “Why do I suspect that you come home for tacos almost as much as you do to see your parents?”
I laugh. “Because I do. They’re the best in SoCal.”
