Covet (Sinful Secrets 3)

I’m surprised to see her hold up a black package. “Got the large size from the clinic bins.” She laughs, and strokes me faster.

Christ—I must have died and gone to heaven. Finley rolls the condom onto me—“I read the brochure,” she whispers smugly—and then lifts my cock away from my abs, pointing the head at herself.

“I’d like to try on top…if that’s all right. Only for a moment, just to feel it.”

I laugh—a sound of shock—and then she’s crouching over me. With her eyes on mine and her mouth a little unsteady with nervousness, she presses me against herself and slowly sinks down.

Holy fuckshit…

I’m engulfed in heat. Her pussy squeezes me. She’s so damn tight, I nearly blow right then. She rocks slowly forward, kissing my chin before I can’t take it another second; I lift her by the hips and thrust up into her as I lower her back down.

I’m breathing hard and heavy as she finds her rhythm. Then I’m getting fucking. I’m grunting and groaning, still fuzzy from her potion, and so damn stiff and hot and hard…even my balls are hard.

“Finley. God. Fuck.” I feel it coming, and it’s like a dream, this whole damn thing. She’s bouncing on me, her mouth open and her eyes closed tight as I come. I hear a guttural sound from my throat and I sort of laugh at that, but then my eyes are rolling back into my head. I hear her panting over me.

“Did you come?” My head feels heavy, and my voice sounds rough.

Her fingers stroke my chest. Her soft laugh sends light spinning through me. “Yes, of course.”

I feel her moving off me, and I drag my eyelids open. I reach for her, and she takes my hand. Kisses the palm.

“You’re…so good.” My throat is tight. The word cracks.

“You’re better, Sailor.”

* * *

Finley

I know how to pleasure him. I’m heady with it. If he feels the way I do…during, and just after… I would like to do that for him every day. And I plan to. It’s as if a switch flipped last night. I’m “all in” now. This is what I’m doing, and I want to do it well. I want to well and truly be with him before he goes. Today, as I pondered all of this between patients, I concluded it can be quite freeing, letting go. Falling with no though of safety nets.

What do I have to lose? I laugh quietly. One might say I’m desperate. I’m willing to gamble with my soul—if that’s the price of following my heart. I realized after our moment at Vloeiende Trane: life is never going to be perfect. So I choose the next best thing. I’m choosing perfect for a time. I’m choosing bliss for all the moments we can find it. When the game is over, no regrets. Even though I know I’m going to lose.

I clean myself up, sifting through my drawers and then his bag before deciding to tuck in beside him sans clothing. I climb carefully over his legs and curl up beside him, covering myself up to the shoulders. Then, gently, I rest my cheek on his bicep. In his sleep, he stretches his arm out. It feels like an invitation. I stare for a moment. Then I fit myself against his side, melding my curves against his angles. His hand curls around my shoulder before slackening as sleep reclaims him.

I snuggle up against him, shut my eyes, and let myself disperse into the rhythm of our breathi

ng. I follow his pulse, inhale his scent, and meditate a bit.

I am here, and I am fine.

I am here, and I am fine.

I am here, and I am fine.

I’m better than fine.

What will happen? I push that errant thought aside and go on drifting.

I mean to enjoy him. Nothing more and nothing less.

About the time the light that’s seeping through the curtains darkens to a dusky indigo, his eyes flip open. They’re wide on the ceiling. Then they move to my face, and he startles.

“It’s all right.” I stroke his forearm. “We were napping. You’re just waking up. It’s dusk.”

He draws a deep breath. I can see the grief in his eyes.

I whisper, “Are you feeling poorly?”