Page 48 of The Neighborly Thing To Do
I think I groan my assent, and then before I can figure out what’s happening, the damn vibrator is back against my clit.
It’s like getting fucked and eaten out at the same time. My brain is fried, completely gone, my whole world for a moment the feeling of pleasure andFinn.
“That’s it, my good girl,” he murmurs as he fucks me hard and deep. I clutch the blanket on my bed, getting pushed around by his powerful thrusts and loving every second of it. “Are you gonna come for me, baby? You’re squeezing my cock like you’re gonna.”
I don’t know. I can’t think, can’t process anything. I don’t know what way is up anymore, just the feeling of being full, of being pushed closer and closer to snapping in the best way—
I break, shattering into a million pieces, crying into my mattress as I have the best orgasm of my life.
Finn groans my name and follows me, filling me with hot, sticky come as I gasp, every inch of my body feeling like a live wire.
He drops the vibrator, running his hands over my sides and hips before he picks me up and moves me, sitting on the bed with me cuddled into his chest. One of those huge wings comes around to cradle me, and I’ve never felt safer in my life.
“Was that okay?” he whispers after a few minutes.
“Uh-huh.” That’s all I can say. He grins at me, a little silly, and I would touch the corners of that smile if I could move my arms.
“Good girl,” he says, the phrase still sending a shiver through me. “Loved seeing you let go like that. I want you to enjoy yourself, baby. You don’t have to worry about anything when we’re like that—just feel good.”
“I feelsoogood,“ I slur. I don’t think I’ve ever been this dick-drunk after getting fucked before, not that I have a large sample size to pull from.
“That’s good, baby.” He holds me for another few minutes, and my brain starts to come back. But the million things on my mind at any given time don’t come back with it. I’m just—here. Basking in the moment with Finn.
“Do you want dinner? It should be ready now,” he says.
We should. I have no idea what time it is, but I’m positive it’s after dinner time. Still, the thought of getting up, of leaving his safe arms and the wing that keeps me sheltered… “Can we take a nap first?”
Finn doesn’t need any convincing, laying down with me still in his arms, his wing cocooning the two of us. “Of course, baby. Whatever you want.”
Chapter 24
Cassidy
Mrs. Amelia Devarra is about eighty, richer than god, and has been waiting to buy one of Finn’s sculptures for over a year. After Tate and Petra get the sculpture situated in her sculpture garden—because of course this lady has a sculpture garden—she admires it from every single angle.
I don’t blame her. I’m also admiring it, because Finn’s little fox looks so alive it still blows me away sometimes. But it’s hard to take the pictures I want when she won’t get out of the shot.
At last she steps out of my way, and I quickly snap a half dozen pictures before she changes her mind. When I kneel down to get a better angle, Mrs. Devarra gives me a quizzical look. “No one takes proof of delivery pictures with that much passion.”
“Not proof of delivery.” Although they can serve as that, too, I suppose. “I’m Finn’s social media manager.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And does that help?”
Well, it doesn’t hurt, I think sourly. Still, I can’t prove I help yet, since I haven’t been doing it that long. Yes, Finn’s new socials have DMs from prospective clients, but he has yet to go through them to determine who’s real. They could all be window-shopping, for all I know.
“It helps,” I tell her, manifesting it for myself. I want to help him, in part because he’s so great and he deserves the absolute best career he can have, and in part because I want to be useful. I want to deserve this job.
“Then by all means, take your photos,” she says grandly. “Your Finn Delaney could use more publicity, because this is stunning work. Are you sure I can’t convince him to come speak at my garden party next month?”
That’d go over well. I saw on the way in that she even has gargoyle sculptures. Somehow, I doubt she’d respond as positively to the real thing. “I’m sure. He values his privacy highly. He’s a recluse, to be honest.”
“But you see him?”
“I do.” Like in my bed this morning. He’d kissed me a thousand times before we got up and packed up the fox.
“Then tell him I said thank you, and that it’s perfect.” She starts admiring her new piece again, and I know my photo-taking time is over.
I’m honestly happy about it, though. Mrs. Devarra seems to enjoy what she collects, instead of just being a rich womancollecting assets. It’s good that Finn’s work is going to be truly appreciated.
