21. Finn

Finn

I should not be sitting on this desk with Sammy Braun’s cock in my hand. My pussy should not be pulsing with need, wet and aching with the thought of him bending me over this desk. Of everything we’ve yet to try together.

And yet, here I am, body lighting on fire when he says, “Finn, I want to fuck you again.”

His lips find my neck again, trailing scorching hot kisses from my collar bone to my chin, biting and nipping, my mind turning off, fingers tightening around his cock, body considering what it might be like to have him inside me.

How easy it would be to make that happen. The only thing separating us a thin layer of underwear, the time it would take to get him hard again.

“Fucking you makes me better,” he says, voice low and gruff just under my ear. His thumb is still against my clit, and he presses it in, sending a jolt of awareness through my body. “It’s not the B12 or the iron, Finn, it’s the fact that I had my face in your pussy. That’s what made the difference.”

My laugh morphs into a gasp when he increases his speed, his thumb moving harder and faster against me, making the pleasure spike and tighten.

“You think I’m joking—I’m not,” he says, voice still low and urgent in my ear. “I need you, Finn.”

My orgasm comes quick, flashing through me so fast and hard that my mouth drops open. Sammy takes advantage of it by kissing me, his tongue in my mouth, the friction on my clit and tongue lining up and amplifying the pleasure.

Somewhere, distantly, in the back of my mind, I think: What the fuck am I doing?

But it feels too good to think about that. And what if—it’s a ridiculous thought—but what if Sammy is serious? He did have a sudden and almost unexplained spike in his performance the past couple of days—without any significant improvement on the Harper front.

We haven’t even spoken about the photo he posted of us to his Instagram story, though I’d looked at it more times than I’d ever admit. And I saw that harper_gurl had also seen it, and several people had already started speculating about who the woman tucked into his chest could possibly be.

Sammy continues kissing me, his lips moving slowly against my skin, like he can’t stop himself from pressing kiss after kiss to my neck and collarbone.

Before I can stop myself, I say, “Why did you apologize?”

With the words in the air between us, Sammy pulls back, his eyes finding mine, something like confusion there. With one hand, he reaches down and hikes his pants back up around his hips, and I get one last eyeful of him before he disappears behind his jeans.

“After…in the hotel room,” I clarify, embarrassed at how vulnerable I sound. I’m a grown woman with many one-night-stands and short relationships under my belt. There’s no reason why I should be nervous to ask Sammy about this.

And yet.

“I…” he says, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. “I felt like an ass. You gave me that whole speech about being a woman in this industry, and what it would mean for you if people thought you were involved with your clients. Then I kissed you, and…I thought you regretted it. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”

I sit, stunned, staring at him. He thought I was angry .

“Oh,” I manage to say, and Sammy grins.

“So?” he asks, voice lowering as his eyes drop to my lips.

“So?”

“Should we—?” He stops, assessing me, his expression changing. I watch, in real time, as something like confidence rolls over his features.

“We should do this again, Finn.”

It’s impossible for me to think with him this close, his entire bare torso stretched out in front of me. As much as I’ve been working on improving his body, I can’t deny it’s pretty fucking great as it is.

Without answering him, I reach up, running my hands over his pecks, hearing his little inhale when I scrape my nails over his nipples. For the first time in a long, long time, I let myself look at Sammy Braun.

Every time he was changing in front of me, or shirtless for a conditioning session, I’d force myself to look away. Focus on something else. But now—now I let my eyes wander over his stomach, broad and strong, those muscles stacked up and corded. They tighten and release as I trail my fingers over them, listening to the rapid sound of Sammy’s breathing echoing through the room.

I’ve been so focused on building my career all this time that I thought how nice it feels to give into temptation every once in a while. Would it really be so bad to have something—a fling? To work through some stress with a gorgeous man instead of the same old, tired vibrator?

“Okay,” I say finally, not fully believing the word is coming out of my mouth. “Yes.”

“Okay?” he asks, the word like a breath. Maybe that’s because I’m touching him, or maybe that’s because he can’t quite believe it himself. Either way, I like the sound, and I chase after it, applying more pressure on my way back up his torso.

“Yes,” I breathe, finally reaching his shoulders. I watch the goosebumps break out over his skin as I trace lazy circles there. “Nobody can know—obviously. And at the first sign that it impacts your performance poorly, we’re done. And if you ever, ever tell anyone about it, I will hit you with a case of defamation so fast it will make your head spin.”

“Anything else?” He’s grinning, like being sued by me would be an honor. I roll my eyes.

“We’re still going after Harper,” I say. “And just—just to clarify, this is no strings . Got that? I’m going home, back to California, at the end of the season, as originally planned. There is no version of this reality in which we fall in love, and I move to Vermont and we have a syrupy little family.”

The last few words are dripping with sarcasm, but they twist in my chest. There is no version of the future in which I have a family with Sammy Braun. The way things are looking, there’s no future in which I have a family, period.

“Whatever you want, Finn,” Sammy says, his eyes dark as they flick down to my lips. “You can write up a contract—I’ll sign it. No strings. No Vermont. No maple syrup. Just put in there that I get to come with you when you go home for Christmas.”

“Oh,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not going home for Christmas.”

What I don’t add is There’s nothing to go home to .

“But Penny was booking a flight,” Sammy says, brow wrinkling. “Round trip. Los Angeles.”

“Yes, for herself. She’s flying home to see her family.”

“So…who are you spending the holidays with?”

I already don’t like the direction this is going—the puppy dog look in his eyes. The way he’s staring down at me, like I’m a lost little orphan.

Maybe I am, but I don’t want to be treated like one.

“Myself,” I say, using the confident tone that shouts, I need nobody .

“Your…self.” He shakes his head. “Come with me to Brett’s cabin. For the holidays.”

“What part of nobody can know do you not understand?”

“Why would anyone know? We’ll get separate rooms—I’ll just tell them you’re lonely during Christmas and I wanted to invite you. He and Fallon wouldn’t want anyone to spend the holidays alone.”

“I don’t—”

“Just say yes,” he insists, stepping in closer to me, and I think he must know how much he affects me. How much the scent of him, his bare skin, and his heat swirl around me, creating a thick, unthinking fog.

“I won’t be able to relax if I know you’re here on your own for Christmas,” Sammy says, “and if I don’t relax, I’ll play worse. And that won’t reflect well on either of us.

It’s a load of bullshit, but he knows that I know that. His eyes are wide, flicking between mine, and looking right at him makes it hard to breathe.

Without meaning to, I sigh. “Fine.”

“Perfect,” Sammy says, his eyes skipping to my lips again. He starts to lean in, but at that exact moment, we both hear the slow churn of the elevator in the lobby. I glance at the clock as Sammy scrambles to help me down from the desk, hastily wiping at my thigh and the wooden top.

It’s nearly noon, and Penny is back with lunch.