Page 118 of Love Overboard
At that, Finn slid his hand over my jaw, hooking me behind the neck and pulling me into him. “Damn right.”
He kissed me, and those flutters I’d felt in my stomach from his words dipped lower, igniting a part of me I’d thought was dead. I’d tried so hard to use other people as a distraction since we broke up, but it never worked.
And now that my body was firing up from the simplest kiss, I remembered why.
Sharing intimacy with anyone after having Finn was like trying to substitute a shot of whiskey with a non-alcoholic beer. It didn’t burn. It didn’t tingle. It didn’t satisfy.
“I’m not even drunk,” I whispered against his lips before I was seeking another kiss. “I can’t blame any of this on alcohol.”
“I haven’t had a single sip tonight.”
I laughed, and then I was on the move, crawling into his lap with my mouth traveling along his stubbled jaw. “We’re terrible.”
“Truly awful,” he said breathlessly, his hands fastening to my hips and helping me climb him.
“They’re going to hate us.”
“Absolutely loathe our existence.”
Each sentence came between a heated kiss, a passionate roll of my body against his, a claiming grip of his fingertips in my skin.
“No one will understand.”
“Weunderstand,” Finn said, and this time he stopped everything long enough to lock his eyes on mine. “That’s all that matters to me. I know what I want. I know I’ll risk everything to have it.” He swallowed. “But I’ll walk out of this room and leave you alone forever if you don’t feel the same. If this is too much…”
“Shut up,” I breathed against his mouth, and then the words and confessions faded away as I raked my hands through his hair and held on tight.
I sat fully on him, rocking my hips, the sensitive heat between my legs finding the sweetest friction against his hard shaft. We groaned together, my body trembling as Finn’s hands slid from my hips to my ass and gripped hard. He used the new handle on me to help me roll, to pull me flush against him as he bucked his hips up to meet mine.
It was too much and not enough. I needed more of him, and also felt I’d die from even one more touch. Every sensation was overloaded — my head light, skin buzzing, blood pumping.
This was it.
The dynamite explosion.
For years, I’d convinced myself I’d never have him again. My body had mourned the death of his touch and now it was being revived. Shock and disbelief mixed with such an intense longing and sense ofrightthat I had no choice but to submit to the confusing ecstasy of it all.
I fell into the dark, passionate, bottomless pit.
And Finn caught me.
His touch was everywhere — hands dragging from hips to hair and back again, lips trailing fiery kisses along the column of my throat, down the lacy neckline of my silk top, over each swell of my breast and back up to my mouth.
We couldn’t catch our breaths, both of us panting and moaning and gripping and clawing. We were torn between savoring each taste of skin or shredding every piece of clothing still separating us.
A man possessed. A woman consumed. The kind of passion that ends wars or starts them.
Maybe it was toxic. Maybe we were the villains.
Butfuck,to me?
This felt like the victorious sunset ride as the credits rolled.
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
SEASON 4, EPISODE 11
