Counterfeit Love

His hand reached for mine as his fingers twisted in me, moved to stroke over my top wall, creating an entirely new sensation.

It was strange, if I thought about it, to realize there were things my body could do that I had yet to experience. Once, because I had been young and shy and carrying around more than a small bit of body shame. Then, because men had taken my body and used it, in the process taking something from me, leaving a different kind of discomfort with the sensual parts of me.

Technically speaking, I was experienced. Yet I was also as inexperienced as a girl just coming into womanhood.

Somehow, I didn't feel insecurity about that, didn't worry about how Finch would respond. Because I knew him. I trusted him. I had to believe that this meant something to him as well.

"Come, angel," he demanded softly as my hips wiggled against his strokes, as my muscles tightened painfully, then, finally, spasmed hard, making my body fold forward, a gasp escaping me as I buried my face in his neck.

"You still want more," he asked a long moment later, voice rough, arm trapped between us.

There wasn't even the slightest hesitation as I felt hunger renew, impossible to ignore, so long buried that now that it surfaced, it was insatiable.

"Yes," I agreed, sitting back up, reaching toward the nightstand to snag his wallet he'd deposited there, fishing inside, finding what I was looking for, holding it up with a smile that felt both shy and triumphant at the same time.

"How'd you know I'd have that?" he asked, smile teasing.

"I didn't. But I also picked up a box when I went to the convenience store," I told him, leaving out the part where I'd felt more than a little embarrassment at putting them on the counter, even if I had bought half of the store to try to hide them in the shuffle so they wouldn't scream out to the cashier and everyone in line behind me, 'I plan to have sex soon!'.

"My girl. Always prepared for everything," he said, eyes shining, smile sweet. "Gotta love that personality trait."

The crazy thing? I was pretty sure he meant that. Which was amazing, because very few people in my life--outside of work--liked my propensity toward being over-prepared. It was incredible to know I found a person who didn't like me despite my 'shortcomings,' but because of them.

Finch planted his hands, wincing a little as he folded upward, his ribs hurting him more than he wanted to let on. And just this once, I was going to let that slide.

Snagging the condom from me, he reached between us, protected us, not making a big deal about it, then reached behind me to grab the back of my neck. Not roughly, but almost desperately, pulling me forward, sealing his lips over mine.

For a long time, that was all there was.

Lips--pressing, demanding, receiving, nearly bruising with their intensity.

It was me, and the desire that had a vice grip on my system that had me moving things forward, lifting up my hips, reaching between us, finding a boldness I wouldn't have expected when my hand closed around him, guiding him toward me, pressing as I slowly slid down, taking him inch by perfect inch, filling me completely.

It sounded silly, but it felt like a victory as my lips ripped from his, seeking his gaze, needing to share that with someone, this moment when my body felt fully mine again.

Finch's hand shifted, cradling my jaw, his thumb sliding over my swollen lower lip as his eyes grew warm.

And I knew he felt it.

I knew he understood.

Taking a deep breath, my hands planted on his shoulders for leverage as my hips shifted, then lifted, feeling this delicious pressure, this satisfying fullness.

Soon, it became too intoxicating to explore slowly. The aching in my core demanded harder, faster, begged for the promised oblivion I felt growing.

I was pushed to that edge, felt myself teetering there, but my body froze, suspended, refused to move, to get that one last push.

Finch's arms braced around my shoulders, leaning me backward slightly, giving him space to thrust upward into me--hard, fast, desperation overtaking his system as much as it was gripping mine.

"Come for me, Chris," he demanded, voice raspy, breathless.

Another thrust and I did just that, a deep pulsation that radiated in my core and the base of my spine then ricocheted outward until it overtook me completely, making my breath catch, my whole body jolt, my vision blank out for one intense moment.

I was vaguely aware of Finch gritting out my name, heard my own voice crying out his.

And it was utterly, exceptionally, staggeringly beautiful.

Coming down, I fell forward against him, face burying in his neck, gasping for breath as my body seemed to lose control of itself, trembling in a way that was both fascinating and worrisome.