Spin (17 page)

“From what?”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Home.”

Okay, he had a point. I pretty much had run
away from home, but that was a long time ago. “How can I still be
running from home, Finn?” I asked irritably. “I’m almost thirty
years old.”

“Exactly.”

I didn’t understand what that meant, but I
got distracted when he tugged the collar of my shirt to the side
and licked the curve of my neck.

“And I’m not scared of losing control,” I
added, mostly so we didn’t start talking about home.

“No?”

“N-no.” I didn’t like how he was looking at
me. “Not much,” I amended.

He tumbled us around and the next thing I
knew, I was flat on my back on the couch. He grabbed hold of my
wrists and pinned them above my head, but slowly. Real slowly.

“What are you doing?” I asked nervously.

“Checking.”

“What?”

“How much out of control you can
handle.”

“Not much,” I said, willing to concede the
point.

“So you’re scared?”

“Fine.”

“Let’s push it.”

I stared at him.

His hard, dark eyes held mine, calm and
watchful. “Were you serious, when you said you wanted me to push
you?”

“We were talking about ginger at that
particular moment,” I said, my voice real low.

“I’ll talk about anything.”

“Okay, now I’m scared.”

His eyes never left mine. “The other night,
you told me to ‘just do it,’ to make things happen. That if we
waited for you, we’d never get there.”

“Oh, right,” I whispered. “Yeah, that’s
right. I almost forgot.” I was definitely scared now, scared and
light-headed, because of how he kept saying ‘we’ and how I really,
really liked that.

“Babe, I can stop.”

“I don’t even know where you’re going,” I
said kind of wildly.

“And you love it.” His mouth was close to my
ear. “You love not knowing, being out of control. You want it, but
you’re scared.”

“Okay, right, entirely, yes. I am
scared.”

Our eyes locked. “So should I stop?”

My body was right now hotter than it had
ever been, because I now knew that
Finn
knew I was a total
nut job, and that it was okay with him.

I was absolutely not stopping.

You don’t hit the brakes when you meet
someone who thinks your kind of crazy is okay.

I opened my mouth to force air into my
lungs. “No. I mean, you should keep going.”

He kissed me.

“What are you going to do?” I whispered
against his kiss.

“Do you have any suggestions?”

I shook my head.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m thinking we can
either tie you up, or try the ginger, or take you out and make you
come on the roof of my car on the side of the road.”

I stared at him in horror. He started to
smile. The remote heaviness I’d felt in him since I heard his music
coming through the air was lifting, dissipating, all in the face of
dirty sex. How like a man. But really, it was good. It’s just….

“The side of the
road
?”

He shifted on top of me. “I’d bring a
blanket.”

“Well, sure, because you’re a
gentleman.”

He grinned. “You want to be found out.”

“I absolutely do not want to be found out.
What do you mean?”

He laughed, low and amused. “You have
discovery fantasies, babe. Face it, you’re an exhibitionist at
heart.”

I stilled. It was true, I was.

“But we can wait on that,” he allowed.

“This is why I’m with you, because you’re so
sensitive,” I said, acting tough and condescending, but inside all
I wanted was to hear the rest of his ideas.

He didn’t say anything for a minute. I
shuggled down a little, to get under him. “So…?”

Oh, he knew me so well. I felt the smile
take hold deep inside him. I smelled his smile and felt his smile
and heard the smile in his voice when he leaned close to my mouth
and said, “You choose.”

I swallowed. “Choose?”

“You want to be tied up, or you want the
ginger?”

I stared.

“Or none of the above,” he added
belatedly.

I opened my mouth because there wasn’t
enough air in the room. “I just… If we… I don’t…”

“Okay.” He started rolling off me.

I pulled him back down. “Ginger,” I
whispered as low as I could.

He laughed.

“So, how’s it work?” I asked when he seemed
perfectly content to just kiss me while I melted down in small, hot
tremors.

“Calm down, Janey,” he murmured, kissing
down my neck.

“Right.” I was shaking.

He kissed to where the buttons came together
over my cleavage; then he pushed up off me and tugged me to a
sitting position. “Sit here.”

Bands of electricity tightened around my
body. I was in a coil, a vise grip of excitement and fear. I sat
there.

He went into the kitchen and came back. With
a ginger root, one nub of it peeled.

“Slide forward,” he murmured.

I did. “I’m scared,” I whispered.

He knelt down in front of me. “You’re
excited.”

“Pretty sure I’m both.”

“That’s the point, Janey. You focus on what
there is to be scared of, instead of what there is to be excited
about.”

“I think you’re saying something important,”
I said hoarsely, running my hand down his cheek. “But I can hardly
hear you.”

He gave a low rumble of something. I think
it was a laugh, but his gaze was so hard and fierce and wild. If we
weren’t doing what we were doing, I’d be scared if he looked at me
like that.

He pulled my food-stained shirt off and
removed my skirt in quick, competent moves. The ginger root sat
beside me on the couch, gleaming golden. I felt like I should scoot
over for it.

He leaned to me and kissed my mouth; then,
much as I was liking that, he started moving down my body. “There
are lots of things that are very similar,” he said as he went down
the center of me. “Different states of mind and emotion that seem
like they’d be total opposites, but they’re not.”

“Right,” I said, shaking.

“Like fear and excitement.”

“You got that.”

He pushed my knees apart. “Pleasure and
pain.”

“Jesus,” I whispered.

He lowered his face to everything that was
wet in me and reached for the ginger. I loosed a hot exhale and
watched him slide it across my abdomen, while lower down, his mouth
finally moved down between my thighs and deep into my pussy. The
breath shot out of me. I parted my legs, and his tongue worked me,
slow and confident, until, as tense as I was, my eyes began to
close and my head dropped back.

He slid the cool, golden ginger root up my
inner thigh. My eyes popped open.

“I’m going to put this inside you,” he
murmured.

I was hyperventilating. “Right. That’s what
I was thinking.” God I was an idiot.

He smiled and slid the ginger through all my
wetness, up to my clitoris, gently dancing over, then down through
every wet fold. He followed after it with his tongue. “That tastes
good,” he said, his voice rough.

“Finn, fuck.” I whispered the little
chant.

His dark eyes lifted from his work. “Do I
stop?”

“You do not.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t stop?” he confirmed again.

“Stop asking, or I might say yes.”

“I’m just making sure.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

If he wasn’t so into me, I’d be scared if he
looked at me like this. He moved the ginger up against my opening,
rubbed it up and down. “I’m going to put it inside you, Janey.”

“I thought maybe,” I whispered, because that
was insane, and I was into insane right now. I felt like I was on
another plane of existence, being concurrently pushed out on a
cliff by Finn and held by him.

“But not here.” He swirled it around my
wetness some more, slippery and hard. “Because when ginger is
inside you, it burns if you put pressure on it, and we don’t want
that here.” He tenderly kissed me, then slid the ginger root down
farther, between my legs, to the back of me, and slid it up between
my bottom cheeks.

“
Oh. My. God,
” I whispered.

“Here’s where I’m going to put it.” He
pushed it up between my cheeks, then farther, up inside me a
little, with slow, firm pressure. My body bucked up off the couch.
I gave a gasping cry.

He straightened on his knees, stretched up
over my body, his chest over mine, while his hand was still down
low, at my bottom, holding things in place. He pushed it up a
little farther, just nudging it up inside me.

“Fuck,” I whispered, frozen.

“Okay?” His voice was hard heat. His body
was tense.

I gasped. “Okay.”

“Now, baby, if you squeeze, you’re going to
feel it.” Our eyes were locked. “Squeeze.”

I did. Stinging, burning, hard, dangerous,
fuck
.

The breath ripped out of me, swift and
ragged as I stared into his eyes.

He rose up on his knees and nudged my legs
apart, making me tense, which made me squeeze, which made it burn,
which was so fucking insane.

“We’re going to leave that in you, and I’m
going to fuck you.” He gripped his shaft with one hard hand, the
head of his cock positioned to enter me. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah,” I gasped. Because who was
I?

He plunged into me with a hard shove and
froze, his head thrown back, his jaw locked, his eyes closed.

I screamed. In pleasure.

“I’ll go slow,” he rasped.

“Just
go
.” I wanted everything he
had.

He pulled back and moved into me, full
pressure, long burn. Then he did it again, and again. Every thrust
of Finn’s body jammed me front and back, filling me, burning me,
getting off on me. My body shuddered and bucked. It took about two
seconds for me to come. And I came
forever
.

Finn’s gaze was locked down between our
bodies, watching his cock move in and out of me while I came. God,
I loved when he did that. I loved when he hooked my knee over his
forearm and fucked me straight to the wall. I loved how into us he
was, how much he loved being inside me.

God, I loved dirty sex.

“I FEEL LIKE you had a point, way back there at the
beginning,” I said in bed later, tired and curled as close to him
as I could be without actually crawling inside him.

“Being afraid isn’t the end of the world,”
he said flatly.

I lifted my exhausted, heavy head and looked
over. He was lying on his back, his palms crossed behind his head,
staring up at the ceiling. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he had that
remote, going-away feel. I didn’t like that.

I pushed up on an elbow and looked down at
him. He turned his head to me, but his eyes were distant, like he
was only partly here.

“You’re not talking about me, are you?” I
asked quietly.

“Probably not.”

I toed the line erected by this noncommittal
answer for a few seconds; then I stepped over it.

“I don’t know what you’re scared of, Finn,
but maybe I can help,” I said, but so quietly he didn’t have to
hear me if he didn’t want.

For a minute, I thought that was how it
would go. Then he reached over and ran the backs of his fingers
down my cheek.

“I’m scared of snipers, unexploded bombs,
and what you’re doing to me,” he said.

The little fissures across the hard shell of
my empty center trembled and I felt a huge welling up inside me,
hot and shivery. Oh, I thought, as my eyes filled with tears, so I
am not just a shell after all.

I leaned up to kiss him, and he leaned down
to kiss me, and we didn’t stop for a long time. In fact, we sort of
fell asleep that way, breathing into each other, the conversation
turning into a dream, that being afraid wasn’t the end of the
world.