Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“Sorry.” He aims the lens right at me, but nothing happens. He sets the camera on the table with a thud. His hands are on my waist. Large. Warm. He slides me down the couch until my head falls from the arm to the cushion, and my crotch is pressed up against his knee.

For an electric moment we stay that way. Only my chest moves, and his hair, which lags behind his sudden movements, falls sluggishly over his face. He lowers his head.

When he’s an inch away, I slap my palms against his chest, halting him. “Finn.” His name comes out like a moan. “God. We can’t.”

His hair is liquid gold, tickling my forehead. “I can.”

I open my mouth to say “It’s wrong” but it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Yes, but—”

“So let me satisfy it.” He cups his hand under the hem of my dress, right over the core of me. I hiss through my clenched teeth. “Your curiosity, that is.”

I should leave. I should be outraged. I should not, however, be surprised it’s come to this. As if I didn’t know it might.

“I want you, Sadie.” I can practically taste the coffee on his breath. Lightly, over my lace thong, he strokes my opening with his fingertips, presses his palm to my clit. “I think about nothing else. Just you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your wet cunt.”

I groan. A flush overtakes my entire body—embarrassment. Arousal. He’s only touching me enough to tease my pleasure to the surface, just to where it overtakes my protests.

“We can do it this way if you want,” he goads. “If it makes you feel less guilty. It’ll take longer, but I don’t have anywhere to be.”

I’m trying not to squirm. His gentle, fluttering touch is infuriating. My panties are wetter now than they were even seconds ago. Knowing one word will get me what I want destroys my control.

“I think about you too,” I say.

He stabs a finger into the fabric, almost piercing the lace, nearly inside me. My hips buck. I put my palms on his cheeks. I don’t know if it’s to stop him or bring him closer. The thought of another man terrifies me. The reality, though, excites me. That he wants me this badly. That he can’t keep his hands off what doesn’t belong to him. My mind is wondrously wrapped up in him, and we’ve barely touched.

With his other hand, he grabs my hair by the roots. “If you can’t do this, I will,” he says. “I’ll make this decision for us. When you hurt tomorrow, physically or emotionally . . . when you question what we did . . . when you ache to do it again—I’ll take the blame for all of it, Sadie.”

He assaults my mouth with his kiss. My heart seizes up with surprise and fear. His tongue dominates mine, his lips hard and bruising, and the burn of desire scorches my final reservations. I catch up with his greedy lips, sweeping my tongue in broad strokes, searching for purchase with my teeth. I nab his pouty bottom lip, as I’ve wanted to for weeks, and he growls into my mouth.

He’s stopped touching me, but I bury my hands under his clothing. He’s fiery hot, shuddering when I spread my fingers across his abs. I pull at his shirt, and he props himself on one arm to remove it by the collar.

As I thought, my blond, bearded lover has the physique of a Greek god. I run my hands over the planes of his pecs, the grid of his stomach. He doesn’t let me adulate long. He pinches my chin between his fingers and turns my head toward the room, the front door. “I saw you in the hallway with him the other night,” he says into my ear. “I was crazy over it.”

I curl my fingers into the scratchy velvet. It’s infuriating—Finn watching us, thinking he has any right to be crazy over me, bringing it up now. Any emotion I have is fuel on the fire, though. It just makes me twist under him, desperate for some measure of relief.

He jams my underwear to one side, and my groan is guttural. He smiles. “There she is,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for that.”

I turn my head back to him. “What?”

He kisses me once, much more gently. “I saw it through the lens. It’s hard for you to open yourself up, but you want to. You want to be explored.” He drags his hand from my throat to my chest and spreads his fingers between my breasts. “Open for me.”

My exhale stutters from my mouth. I try not to hear his words. My body is asking for this—not my mind, not my heart. We’re connected, but not bound. If anything’s going to open, it’ll be my legs. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

His eyes twinkle as he narrows them. He takes both my wrists, clasps them in one hand, and pins them by my head. The angle of my right arm blocks part of my vision.

“That what you want?” he asks. “Me to stick it in without any fun first?”

A mischievous thrill shoots up my spine like an arrow. “Fun?” I breathe.

He slides his free hand under my ass and squeezes. His fingers roam, tracing the elastic of my panties. My stomach dips and swells with each breath. I haven’t shaken this hard since high school, since the night my dad caught me trying to sneak his car out of the garage.

“Fun. You know, F . . .” Finn nips my stomach. “U . . .” He dips his hand between my legs. “N.”

He snaps the elastic of my panties against my skin. I gasp loudly. The sting makes me writhe, my wrists still secured by his hands. He breaches my opening and without ceremony, his fingers are inside me. I don’t stop his sudden, searching thrusts. I’m in trouble, and I can’t seem to put the brakes on. My compliance is easier won than I thought. All I can say is “God, oh, God” over and over. No other words seem to fit.

“How’s it feel to be this wet for so long?” he asks. “To finally be this close?” He releases my wrists before I can answer and sits back on his calves. My hands tingle as blood flows back to my fingers.

He undoes his pants with focus, his lips parted, the bottom one exposed to me. How would that plush mouth, that scratchy beard, feel eating me out?

He looks up as he takes out his cock, huge and hard in his fist. His fingers glisten with my juices. “I just want to taste—” He gets a condom from his back pocket and rolls it on. “Just for a second—” He pulls my hips up his thighs, fits himself to my opening, and slides inside me. His eyes go to the ceiling like he’s in prayer, and he clenches his teeth.

My vision doubles. I was expecting the fun first, but the surprise of him, stiff as stone, tilts my center. He takes me by the waist and pumps into me a few times. We both grunt.

After weeks of foreplay, I think I’m going to come already, but he pulls out and drops me back onto the couch.

I lift my head, breathless. “What’re you doing?”

Removing the rest of his clothes, he says, “Warming you up.”

SEVENTEEN

Finn wants to make art of his fucking. His prize-worthy lips are on my pubic bone. A few licks, a chaste peck on my nethermost lips. He sucks my clit, kisses me right on the pussy, dips his tongue in me like I’m ice cream melting over a cone. He’s warming me up.

I arch my back, moan at the ceiling, rake a hand into his hair. The strands are soft, but I pull them hard. He eats me more furiously. I slap my other hand over my mouth, as if screaming will give us away. I can’t take it. My thighs quiver around his head. He stops and looks up at me. “How do I make you come?”

“For one,” I pant, “don’t stop to ask questions. I was almost there.”

He grins lazily at me, his eyes hooded. “Flip over.”

“But—”

He lifts me with a hand under my ass, urging me onto my stomach. I do as I’m told. He covers me completely with his body, somehow both comforting me and sending me to the e

dge of madness. He knows what I need before I do. We’re both sweating, our bodies suctioning together. “Here’s a tip,” he says, pushing my hair aside. “Don’t make it easy for me. You tell me how to make you come, I’ll find another way. I want you on the brink for as long as I want to keep you there. Until I decide to push you off.”

“You don’t have to push me at all.”

“Is that right? You’re the type who comes at the drop of a pin?”

“Right now I am,” I say.

He kisses his way down my spine. Bumps tingle over my back with the scrape and scuff of his beard. He pinches the meat of my ass between his teeth, then tongues my slit from behind. With each lick, I mash my face harder into the couch. He pushes my thighs apart and kisses the insides, massages them, his hands dangerously close to my core. He loves every inch of my legs with his mouth, then the bridges of my feet and the paper-thin skin around my ankles.

“This is what happens to a man consumed by a woman he can’t have,” he says from somewhere I can’t see. “I get carried away. I want to see and touch as much of you as I can, while I can.”

I’m still thrumming from how heavy his cock felt inside me for that brief moment. I want it there again. “Fuck me now,” I plead. “Get carried away another time.”

He chuckles, low and deep, and climbs back up the couch. He puts his mouth in my hair, nuzzles me. “Do I have to fuck you?” he asks. “Can I make love to you? Can I do a little of both?”

I am, almost literally, jelly underneath him. There isn’t much I’d protest to at the moment. “Whatever you want.”

“That’s what I like to hear. But the first time, I want you on your back so I can see you.”

I turn over. I admit, I couldn’t give a damn how he takes me as long as it’s without mercy. I don’t deserve mercy tonight, and I don’t want it. He settles himself over me. I lock his big body up in my thighs, calves, and ankles.

Looking between us, he takes himself in his hand. He tests me with just his tip and checks my expression.

“Let me watch,” I say. I want more, even just a little bit.