Текст книги "Finn Beckett"

Автор книги: M. J. Fields

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

I don’t want to run after her, spook her, but if she doesn’t turn the fuck around, I will have no other choice.

I reach in my pocket for a cigarette, fucking anxious as all hell, as she stops yet doesn’t turn around. I light it up and wait.

Finally, she turns around. “Do you really need that?”

“Yeah,” I say on an exhale.

“Why?’

“It calms me down,” I answer before taking another drag.

She crosses her arms. “And the pot?”

I exhale. “Relaxes me.”

“You didn’t need it in Houston,” she states.

I nod. “Different times.”

“How so?”

I shake my head and take another drag. You weren’t running, I think to myself.

“You need to stop smoking. It’s a disgusting habit.”

I just look at for a moment. “It’s not a habit.”

“No? Then what is it?”

“Come closer, and I’ll tell you,” I say as I inhale the last drag, toss it down, then stomp it out with my boot.

“You come here,” she says as she looks down at her feet.

Good plan, I think to myself.

It takes three long strides to get to her, and then two eyes gazes up at me, telling me she wants me, one kiss to make the fear go away.

I grip her hips and pull her close, and she relaxes into me immediately. I then take my hands from her hips and hold her face, tilting it to the side before pushing my tongue in deeper. Her thumbs hook into my belt loops, and then she pulls me even closer as her tongue begins stroking mine in return.

I slowly pull my mouth away, leaving one hand on her face and rubbing up her back with the other.

“Tell me,” she says quietly.

“A replacement for that.”

She leans forward and rests her head on my chest. “Didn’t I scare you away last night?”

“Scare me away?” I tilt her chin so I am looking in her eyes again. “Not a chance, Yaya. I was just waiting for you to give me the green light. Took you long enough.”

“How was me being pissed at you the green light?” she asks, tugging down on my loops.

“You were looking at me. You were showing some sort of emotion. You let loose the badass you’ve been lugging around all day.”

She looks up at me, her eyebrows slightly arched.

“There she is again.”

“Then you should run,” she says, shaking her head. “I need a little badass to continue on the path I am choosing to follow.”

“Is there room on that path for someone to stand in the shadows and help you out once in a while?”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “I need to take this time to become strong. You should do the same.”

“I’m strong. I’m really fucking strong.” I pull her closer, afraid if I don’t, she’ll walk away when I know damn well she can be stronger with me.

“Prove it?”

“Are we twelve?”

“No, Finn. We are much older than twelve, and look at the time we’ve both wasted being drawn down by our demons.” She looks to the side. “I want you to be happy. I want you to—” She pauses, and then her hand touches the side of my face, her fingers stroking my beard. “I want you to see. Like the song, Finn. I want you to see.”

“I see you. I see the parts of you that you hide, the parts of you that you don’t let anyone else see. Make no mistake about that. I see you.”

“And when I am where I want to be, where I know I can be, what will you see then?”

I look at her, certain she’s pushing me away, but she hasn’t let go, even if she’s telling herself she has. “I see me taking you on a date.”

She looks completely shocked. “A date?”

“Yes, because my demons don’t drive me, Yaya. They make me stronger, but they don’t drive me.”

“Prove it,” she says, trying not to smile.

“Will do.”

“Finn,” she sighs and shakes her head again. “Smart girls don’t date rock stars.”

“No, lucky ones date men who create music.” As she bites her lip, I lean in and whisper, “On and in between the sheets.”

She can’t contain the smile now, and the look in her eyes is unmistakable.

“I know you want me, and I want you bad,” I tell her.

“Bad?” she says, swallowing back her desire.

“Really bad. You and I are dating now,” I inform her.

“We are?” she says, lifting her chin and licking her lips. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t. I can’t. We—”

“Spit it out, Yaya,” I say, pulling her to me more tightly.

“I don’t want anyone to … I like how things … Oh, Finn, this isn’t a good idea,” she sighs, looking so frustrated it drives me insane and makes me hard.

“You can pretend all you want, but don’t ask me to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispers, her eyes shifting around as if she thinks someone will see us.

“It means I’m not going to act like I don’t like to be around you,” I answer.

“I can’t. People will dig, Finn. People will find out who I am. Besides, I have no idea what is going to happen to me when this tour’s over.”

The frustration she feels, I feel it, too. I feel it for her.

“I gave up giving a shit about what people think of me a long time ago,” I say, easing my hold on her a little, but fuck if I will let go. “I understand, though.”

She looks at me in confusion.

“We’re good friends, really good friends. I won’t hide from the people in this circle, but I can promise you I will do what it takes to keep the outside world out. Don’t ask me for any more than that.”

“I don’t want them to know, either,” she argues.

“About your past, I feel you; I understand, but—”

She puts her finger over my mouth. “No buts, Finn.”

I groan in frustration, then lean in and kiss her before stepping back. “I hope, when you feel comfortable, you can trust them. I do.”

“I hope you can let go of what’s causing you to … smoke and stuff.”

“Letting go would cause it to be worse,” I say without thinking.

“Meaning?” Not having you, that’s what I mean.

“Meaning I will get my shit together, and you’ll see my past doesn’t prevent me from chasing whatever the hell it is I want.”

“You scare me,” slips out of her mouth.

“No need for that.”

“Do you understand that I am trying to be strong?”

“I sure as hell do. Let me help you.”

“Finn, have you tried to help River?”

Reality hits me, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“You’re afraid because—” Oh fuck no.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“But something that’s eating at you. Have I tried to help River? No, he has to want it. You may think I’m a mess now, but I’m not. I was a hell of a lot worse once. I gave zero fucks about anything, including myself. I care about my music. I’m realizing a dream, and I will hold on to it by any means possible. Right now, I am stronger than I was a week ago, and in a week, I’ll be stronger than I am now. You will be, too, little Yaya.” I smile at her new nickname. “We’ll do this together.”

“And if I leave after the tour?”

“I’m not asking you to give up something for me. I would never ask you to walk from your little man. I’m simply asking you to spend some time with me, ’cause you know as well as I do, it feels damn good. If our paths lead in different directions, we shake hands, walk away, and make damn sure we walk with respect.”

She nods.

“Yeah?” I ask just to fucking clarify.

“Yes.” She smiles and nods. “Yes.”

Instead of kissing her, I nod to the arena. “As much as I want to take you right here and right now, we should get back in before anyone notices we’re gone.”

***

We leave the venue and head to the airport. As we board the plane, headed for Orlando, I make sure she is sitting next to me, and River is on the other side. Not that I want him to be fucked up all the time, but fucked up friends miss shit, like me holding her hand.

She pulls out a Blow Pop and hands it to me. I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth as she does the same with hers.

“Your new vice.” She smiles, and I can’t help watching those lips.

“I have a new vice. You should, too,” I tell her, already having something bigger than a Blow Pop in mind.

“Care to enlighten me?”

I bite my lip and shake my head. Then I pull the Blow Pop out of her mouth slowly and rub it across her lower lip.

“See? Addicted already; you’re stealing mine.” She sighs, “Again.”

“I might take it out, Yaya, but I promise to always put it back in.” I slowly move it to her mouth. “Now open up and say ‘ah.’ ”

“Ah,” she plays along, but clearly has no clue what I am alluding to. Fuck! Even that is hot.

“You’re killing me, girl. Fucking killing me,” I groan as I adjust my shit.

I look back and her eyes are big as saucers, her mouth hanging open slightly.

She looks around and whispers, “You meant—”

“Perfect new addiction.”

“You’re so bad.” She smiles, her eyes lighting up.

I shrug. “I’m better when I’m bad. Let’s hope I can prove that to you … very soon.”

Contentment must bring on exhaustion in me, because when I next open my eyes, she has a laptop open and is typing a mile a minute. I glance over to see two screens open. One is Rocking Reviews and the other is Single Mom Saves. I watch as she types up product reviews and posts them. Some, she saves and schedules for a later date.

She clicks to the other page and starts posting about the top hits on Indie, Rock, and Pop music. She highlights tweaks and posts. As with the other page, she schedules some for later dates.

Then she clicks on a tab that takes her to a page that says something about favorites, and I see “Beckett is Bangable.” She types and glances over, slams the computer shut, and blushes furiously.

Pulling out her ear buds, she whispers, “Let me explain.”

“Explaining means you think I’m confused. There is nothing confusing me.” I lean my head back against the seat, reach over, and pull a few strands of her hair toward me. When we are nose to nose, I whisper, “I’m just glad you think so.”

She closes her eyes. “It’s just …”

“You do that a lot, you know, Yaya. Closing your eyes doesn’t mean I can’t see you. You just can’t see me.”

She grins, giggles, and then says, “I run a few blogs. That’s how I make money—made money … Well, I guess I still do.” She opens her eyes. “It helped a lot when I was … Well, when I didn’t leave, when Noah was a baby.” Her eyes smile when she says his name.

I sit back a little, let go of her hair, and take her hand, instead. “Tell me about him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Well, he’s beautiful.”

“Looks like his mom, then.” I smile, but her face doesn’t follow suit.

“He has darker hair and eyes.”

I nod and smile, and yes, I’m thinking of that motherfucker I want to rip apart with my bare hands.

“Two little dimples. He’s small for his age, but he’s growing.”

“That’s a good thing.”

She nods. “He was early—really early—so he has some … issues.”

“How early?”

“Ten weeks. He was born at thirty weeks. His lungs weren’t developed well, but they’re getting stronger. He was in the hospital for a long time. He gets sick easily.” She closes her eyes. “He didn’t talk until he was two. They thought he had more serious problems … mental health problems.” She smiles. “You really don’t want to know all this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I figured out he could communicate with me. I waved to him; he waved back. He pointed to what he wanted, smiled, and mimicked facial expressions—that kind of thing. He wasn’t slow; he was … well, a little monkey. He climbed everything, and one day, I dropped something right beside him on his left side. It didn’t make him jump, so I dropped something next to his right side, and he reacted. Come to find out, he has fifty percent hearing loss in that ear. He has a hearing aid now and talks just like a normal four-year-old.”

“And you figured that out?”

She nods.

“You’re a good mom.”

“I’m gonna be better,” she says with forced conviction.

“Why do you think you aren’t good enough? Some moms don’t even make sure they feed their kids or keep them clean. You paid attention and diagnosed an issue a doctor couldn’t.”

“Well”—she swallows—“I suppose it’s because, at first, I went through the motions. I was just seventeen. My mother really wasn’t all that affectionate, so I suppose I didn’t know how.”

“And how is she with him?” I ask.

“She’s never met him,” she whispers. “She was in prison for dealing. She had a good lawyer or it would have been a much longer sentence, turns out she only did four years. When she got out, she left the country, illegally.”

“Left you?” I ask, staying calmer than I feel.

She nods. “She left me, but she left me the house. It was in my name before she divorced her latest husband. She also left me enough money to live on for a few years.”

“So, your work online is more a hobby?”

“No.” She shakes her head and smiles. “That’s how we live.”

“You and Noah?”

“My aunt and her kids who used to live there, too. Then they kind of moved back West. My cousins”—she holds up her hand—“all five of them, had a hard time with school.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, some of them got kicked out a lot, so she home-schooled them. Anyways, we ran out of money faster than Mom had planned for. When I was eighteen, I was either going to have to sell or get a mortgage on the house. I like my house. It’s—” She stops and looks down then up at me again. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone. It feels—”

“Weird?”

“No, good.”

I hold her hand up and kiss it. “Good.”

The flight attendant announces we will be landing soon.

“Saved by the bell.” She smiles, buckling her seat belt, then opening the laptop.

“I know it’s not rock star money, but after a year, I was able to make more than enough to pay the mortgage payment I ended up having to take out, and now we have a household account. See?” She points to some sort of bar that shows two thousand dollars. “This is paid for reviews. This is a slow month, but I’m not concerned. I have a job and the Stevie money in the account.” She then puts her laptop in her bag and shoves it under her seat.

I put my seat up and ask, “Where does your aunt work?”

“She works the online business and helps with Noah so that I can do the things she doesn’t understand.”

“Not a bad gig, Sonya. Two grand is nothing to complain about.”

“The mortgage is five.”

“Five grand? That’s a shit-ton of money.”

“It’s a big house.”

“But it was paid off.”

She holds up her hand. “Five teenagers and a lot of medical bills.”

“And you carry that burden and raise your boy?”

“She helps.”

I shut my mouth and then I can’t. “When I was a teenager, I slung newspapers and rode my bike into town to shovel sidewalks when I was hungry.”

“You were hungry?” she asks in a voice that tells me she feels sorry for me.

“No, I worked.”

This time, it’s her turn to reach over and hold my hand, and it feels good.

***

When we get to the hotel in Orlando, it’s late, really late. I know she slept for shit last night, so tonight, I have to let her sleep, but tomorrow, I have other plans.

This stay is longer, so I manipulate like a motherfucker to get us adjoining rooms again.

I watch her walk in her room and then go into mine. I set my bags down and decide to shower. After I’m done, I walk out and am starting to go through my bags to find a brush when I hear a knock on the door between our rooms.

I grab the towel off the floor and wrap it around my waist, open the door, and she’s standing in a towel.

“You need some sugar, neighbor?” I ask, stepping back so she can come get some.

My dick is immediately hard as she walks by.

“Did the bell boy bring my bags in here?”

“Not yet. I have my bag if you need something for now.”

She looks back at me, then glances down and quickly away.

“Yaya, there is no way in hell you missed that, so let’s not pretend I’m standing here limp or that you’re gonna get a stitch of clothes.”

“I’m tired.” She walks around, looking for something. “I hope they didn’t lose my luggage.”

“It’s not here.”

She blows out a long breath, then yawns.

I walk over and turn down the bed. “Sleep with me?”

She nods.

“I’m gonna make damn sure you sleep tonight,” I say as I climb in bed behind her. “In the morning, I’m gonna make damn sure you’re feeling me well into the next day. Then, I’m gonna do it again.”

She rolls to her side and backs her little towel-clad ass against me. Then I roll facing her back and start to push my arm under hers. When she lifts it, I wrap my arm around her and pull her back against me.

“Goodnight, Finn.”

“Not bad at all.”

***

I wake to her voice, and although the curtains are drawn, I can see slivers of the hot Florida sun.

I get up and walk into the bathroom, where she is looking in the mirror.

“Good morning,” I say before kissing the back of her head.

“It is now.” She smiles at me through the mirror’s reflection.

Her phone rings and she grabs it up. “I saw two missed calls and tried to call you back. Is everything okay?”

I rest my chin on her shoulder, and she rests her head against my cheek.

I hear a woman on the other end say, “Noah needs to go in for a treatment. When we get back, I’ll call and let you know how it goes.”

“How is he?” she asks in obvious concern.

“He’s running a low grade fever, and his breathing is labored. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll catch a flight. There’s enough money in the household account, isn’t there?” she asks.

“I don’t know, but it’s not necessary. I will call you after we see a doctor.”

“Aunt Margie, I’ll be home as soon as I can.” She hangs up the phone and looks at me.

“I’ll call the front desk about your luggage.”

After wrapping the sheet around me, I search the web for flight information. I can’t stay holed up in a hotel when Noah is sick. What was I thinking leaving him for this long?

I find a flight from Orlando to Columbus that departs in four hours. Nine hundred dollars. That’s a lot of money, a lot, but I can do it. I know the money is there.

I grab my hair and take a deep breath, knowing I need to call Taelyn. I hit her number on my contact list, and she answers on the second ring.

“Sorry to bother you, but … well …” Frustration beckons tears, and the fear of losing my job drags them out. “I was wondering if it would be all right to go home for a couple days. My son is sick, and—”

“Of course. Family first, Sonya, always,” she says with the utmost sincerity in her voice.

“You’re sure? Because I really need this job,” I reply.

“Nothing is scheduled for the next three days. Just spreading the word about the open auditions. I am sure Tally can handle it. Go, get home.” She is almost insistent.

“Thank you so much,” I say as I wipe the tears from my face. “Taelyn, I want you to know I am sincerely sorry about how I came to get this job, but I want you to know I am so grateful for the opportunity.”

“Well,” she whispers, “I am sure Xavier hired you because of his concern for Memphis and the band, but I pushed it because I had a feeling about you. You are an asset to this team. Now get off the phone and book your flight. If you need to use the corporate card, feel free.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure I still have enough money. Taelyn, thank you.”

“Of course.”

I click on the flight as I walk through the room’s adjoining door to grab my purse. I take out the debit card and sit on the bed, beginning to type in my information. I wait for the server to process and am stunned when it comes back purchase denied.

“Must be a mistake,” I think out loud, then type it in again and again and again.

I click on my online banking information and log in, and the account shows four hundred dollars. I click through the transaction information and see that money, a lot of money, has been transferred into different accounts, none familiar. However, the situation is.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper.

“Everything okay?” Finn asks as he pulls my bags in my room.

I nod and go back to try to find a cheaper flight. There’s nothing today, nothing tomorrow, and nothing I can afford for another two weeks.

I stand up, needing to have a moment alone. I don’t need an audience when I break down, especially not Finn. I need to think. I need to get home. This whole thing was a bad idea.

When Noah was a baby, showers renewed me when I was frustrated. They became my escape from the crying. They washed away the spit up that comes more often from a baby with reflux. They soothed my sore breasts and allowed me to let go of my emotions without anyone seeing me break.

Needing that same release, I strip down and get in, crying in anger, in frustration, and in self-doubt. Why did I need this job so badly? I had everything I needed, more than some people. I was a survivor in more ways than one.

I will get a bus ticket to get home. Then I will take more classes online so that, when Noah is in school full-time, I can maybe teach or assistant teach while working the online business.

Having a plan kicks my survivor’s instinct into overdrive.

I get out, throw my hair into a towel, and put on the hotel robe. Then I walk out into the room where Finn is showered and dressed.

I look at the bed where a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved, light blouse lay next to my white panties and matching bra.

“Get dressed, Sonya. You have a flight to catch.”

I look back at the bra and panties and my face burns.

He smirks. “When you have your boy all set, as your friend, I need to take you shopping. A body like yours should not be covered by panties like that.”

“I have nice ones,” I say defensively.

“I’m well aware. I have taken them off you. But these,” he says, reaching down and picking them up, letting them dangle from his fingers, “need to go.”

I snatch them up and then turn, putting me feet in them and pulling them up.

“Yaya, turn around. I need to see.” The humor he finds is evident in his voice.

“Not a chance,” I grumble, grabbing for my leggings.

When he grabs my arm and spins me around, I swat at his hand and he laughs.

“Well, I’ll be.”

“Stop picking on my panties, Finn Beckett.” I try not to laugh.

“Amazing.”

I pull my hand away and step into the leggings. “What’s amazing? That you ever thought you wanted me when I—”

“No, you somehow make white, cotton briefs look hot.”

“Now you’re okay with them?” I say, pulling my shirt over my head.

“Not just okay with ’em, I’m a fucking fan.”

I catch myself laughing and then shake my head. “I don’t know how you can make me laugh right now.” I pull the shirt down and grab my bra. I clasp it in front of me, twist it around, and pull my arms back in my shirtsleeves.

“We’re friends. Friends do stuff like that.”

“I never had many.” I stop myself. “Well, in school I did, but that’s because everyone knew my mother had money.”

“I have money; is that why we’re friends?”

“Of course not.” I take the towel off my head and run it over my wet hair.

“I’m sure your friends didn’t like you because of your family’s money.”

“Well, they sure as hell disappeared after Noah was born,” I comment as I walk the towel into the bathroom.

When I come out, he is sitting on the bed. I grab my phone and see a text alert from Delta.

Your flight is on time. Please arrive ninety minutes before departure to ensure enough time for security check.

I hear another message alarm. It’s Zeppelin’s “Black Dog.” I look over at him to see he is looking at his phone.

“I need to go pack an overnight bag. I thought I’d go visit my old man for a couple days.” He winks.

“In Ohio.” I don’t ask. I know the answer.

His eyes are sparkling as he nods, turns around, and walks into his room.

I get up and follow him. “You bought me a ticket?”

With his back still to me, he shrugs. If he wasn’t so very handsome, beautiful, thoughtful, and desired by me, I would throw a big fit. He’s lucky I’m just planning a little one.

“You can’t do that,” I say with conviction. “I was planning to take a bus. I would have figured it out. You—” When he turns and looks at me, I immediately stop.

“I can and I did.”

“I’m paying you back every cent. I am—”

“Damn straight you are,” he says, looking me up and down, making me warm and fuzzy all over. “I was thinking Mile High Club.”

“That’s sex on a plane,” I say flatly.

His smile grows. “That is correct.”

“So you bought me a ticket so you could what? Check something off a bucket list?”

“While the check mark on the Beckett list is a bonus for sure, I bought a ticket ’cause you apparently thought you had the funds and didn’t. That’s what a friend would do. It’s also something a selfish prick who hates to fly except when he’s next to you would do if he thought he might need to visit his old man for the first time in a couple years. It’s a win-win, Yaya.”

“I’m paying you back in cash,” I say sternly.

“How about you use the cash to buy some new, sexy panties and call it even?”

***

As we’re sitting at Orlando International, waiting to board, Finn’s knee starts to bounce.

I look over at him. “You okay?”

He nods once and stands. “Not used to sitting around.” He stretches, his shirt lifting slightly and exposing his little trail of hair.

I look up at him, and he sighs, pushing his Henley sleeves up. Then he leans down, placing one hand on each arm of the chair.

“You can’t get enough of me.”

“I so can—”

“Not.” He grabs the back of my head and pulls it forward, kissing the top of my head. “It’s cool, Yaya. I feel the same way.” He straightens and stretches one more time, this time exaggerating it a bit, and then grins at me before plopping down next to me again, linking his hands behind his head.

“I despise waiting, too,” I say.

He looks over at me. “You’ll be there soon.”

Our flight is called, and we find ourselves in the very back of the plane.

“Did you do this because you knew it was closest to the bathroom?” I ask, moving into the window seat as he puts my bag and then his in the overhead compartment.

“Safest seats on a plane,” he says seriously as he closes the overhead compartment.

I pat the seat next to me when he remains standing. He runs his hands through his silky, dark hair and then sits. He rests his elbows on his knees, leans forward, and looks at me.

“Yaya, you are stunning, but you look tired. You should try to sleep. You’re gonna be a busy mom in a few hours.”

“But who will feed you Blow Pops and hold your hand?”

“I’ll be fine.” He lifts the armrest that divides our seats.

“You sure?” I ask as I yawn. I am clearly in need of sleep, but apparently … stunning. I smile at the thought of him saying that word to describe me.

Later, I wake up feeling warm and content with my head on his lap. I look up and he looks down at me with a Blow Pop stick hanging out of his mouth. He pulls it out and licks his lips.

“Still got about an hour. Go back to sleep.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“No,” he says in that deep rasp that sends shivers … everywhere.

He pushes my hair away from my face, and then his thumb strokes my lower lip. Instinctively, I stroke it with my tongue, and his eyes widen and nostrils flare. I do it again, this time slower, and I feel him plump against my cheek. He pushes his thumb just between my lips, and I wrap them around it and suck lightly.

“Jesus,” he groans as his hips gyrate.

I pull my head back off his bulging erection and hook my thumb into his waistband.

“Don’t tease me, Yaya.”

I work my thumb to unbutton the top button of his pants and feel the smooth, silky head of his erection.

“You’re playing with me,” he hisses.

“Want me to stop?” I ask in a voice I don’t even recognize.

“No, dammit,” he says, quickly unzipping his pants and un-tucking his shirt.

I glance across the aisle toward the bathroom door.

“Someone comes down this aisle, and you better fake being asleep. Until then, don’t you fucking stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He grabs my sweater off the back of my seat and uses it as a semi-shield, blocking what is going on in row thirty-four of Delta airlines flight 7299.

I watch him as I taste his delicious, hot skin. His eyes are on fire, his nostrils flaring, his jaw tense, and the muscles in it bulge.

I suck just the tip, and he bites his lower lips as his eyes roll. My tongue circles his head, and his body tenses.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he hisses. “Please,” he grunts.

I taste a salty, sticky mixture as I swipe my tongue across his head again and suck harder, hollowing my cheeks.

“Two seconds,” he grunts as his hips thrust forward. “I’m warning you.”

I suck harder and use my hand to pump his exposed, delicious cock faster.

“Fuck.” He grits his teeth.

I pump faster and tighten my grip. I suck harder and lower.

“Ten,” he hisses, pushing his hand between us and squeezing my nipple hard.

I take him in fully, and his head falls back against the headrest.

“Nine,” he hisses. “Fucking nine.”

I stroke him and suck him, and he opens his mouth then snaps it shut, eyes hooded.

“Eight,” he groans.

I do it again.

“Seven. Fucking seven,” he grunts, thrusting forward.

I take him in farther and flatten my tongue down the underside.

“Six, fuck,” he groans.

I do it again.

“Five. Fuck, Sonya.”

I move my head up and down, my mouth watering.

“Four.”

I look up and moan.

“Three.”

I move to his tip, licking circles around it.

“Two. Last chance.”

I do it again.

“One,” he hisses.

I pump him while watching his now clear, black, and hooded eyes shine with nothing but raw need.

“I’m there,” he growls, then thrusts as his hot liquid fills my mouth in not one, not two, but three jerks of his hot and delicious come.

He pants as he rests his head against the headrest and pets my hair slowly and adoringly. He then looks down, still fighting to catch his breath, and his eyes narrow as he shakes his head then groans.

“Swear to God,” he says, “I thought you were trying to kill me.” He smirks and his head falls back again.

I sit up and tuck him away. I even zip and button his jeans. Smiling inside, I giggle quietly.

I feel his hand take mine. “I knew I didn’t want to let go before, Yaya. Now it’s going to be impossible.” He sits up and turns to me. “You just became an obsession.”

I simply look at him.

“Did I scare you?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

I shake my head. “I think I like that.”

“Good damn thing,” he says in a deeper rasp than usual before leaning forward and kissing me hard, just the way I like him to. It’s possessive, and I like that from him.

She called him a dark knight in her journal. Finn Beckett isn’t dark, and he isn’t light; he is gray and perfect.

I smile. “I know I like it.”

He smiles in return and laughs, then sits back in his seat and laughs again.

“You just sucked any toxins that I have ever allowed inside of me out. I swear to you, I feel like a new man, Yaya. A very happy and deeply satisfied man who owes his girl big.” He glances over at me. “Holy fuck. You just … fuck.” He pulls me into a hug, and I can hear his heart beating against his chest. “You just got me off in public.”