CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

F inn

The kiss is every bit as good as I was certain it would be.

Yup, my instincts are still amazing.

After a few moments of confusion, Noah groans into my mouth, his lashes fluttering, and then it's on, baby.

My heart races, and I swear I can feel Noah's heart pattering on the other side of my chest. I inhale his scent, and lose myself in the feel of his arms, slightly slick from sweat.

My body brushes against his waffle-textured t-shirt.

"Too many clothes," I mutter, breaking free of Noah's mouth. I pull his shirt up, and his eyes widen.

"You want this?" he asks.

"Of course, I fucking want this."

He blinks, then we work like the pro athletes we are in ridding ourselves of our clothes as quickly as possible. Our clothes rustle as they drop to the floor. If there were an Olympic category for undressing, we would totally be representing our country.

Then I slam Noah into the wall again because whoever designed this apartment made the hallway far too long.

But this time my chest touches Noah's bare one, and his flat pink nipples tighten. This time, my thighs touch his just as sturdy ones. And this time, my cock touches his.

Oh, God.

I press against his cock again, feeling my nerve endings jolt. They've never experienced anything like this. I've never experienced anything like this. His smattering of dark chest hair brushes against me, the masculine sensation not unappealing.

Life is fucking amazing.

"Have you ever—?" I ask.

Noah shakes his head. "No. Never. But—"

"But?"

"It's amazing..." he murmurs, and his eyes roll back, and I decide my time is best spent sucking on the tender, salty skin of his neck. Noah's groans and moans and pants have become my own personal favorite soundtrack. There's no need to buy any music when I can just hear this. Noah has got this covered.

"I didn't think you would want—" he murmurs, then his cheeks turn ruddy. He's been thinking about this. I'm certain. Joy surges through me, like hats are dropping around me on the ice, and an audience is clapping, clapping, clapping.

"I absolutely want," I say. "You've been driving me crazy all week."

His eyes brighten. "Oh, yeah?"

"Totally. A thousand percent."

A smile breaks over his face, and I would stare at it for centuries, except I want my tongue back in his mouth right now.

Then we're kissing some more, my new favorite thing. I brush my cock against his. It feels fucking amazing. This all feels fucking amazing.

NOAH

It's possible I've fallen asleep at the breakfast table, and I'm drooling, and my parents and Finn are staring at me.

Because, surely, having a dream about Finn is more likely than what's happening here.

Finn Carrington can't be kissing me.

He can't be groaning into my mouth.

He can't have torn off my clothes in a fit of passion, because Finn Carrington isn't supposed to feel passionately toward me.

He's supposed to like me...as a friend. Tolerate me...like an imperfect colleague.

But kiss me? Slam me against the wall so I thud against its so he can make out with me? Rub his cock against mine? No way.

Finn pulls away, and for a wild moment I think his eyes are going to dance, his lips are going to smirk, and he's going to announce "called it" and tell me to leave his apartment, leave the team, leave his life.

His eyes dance, and his lips swerve upward, though not in a smirk-like manner. "Bedroom."

"Seriously?"

"Too much talking, Fitzpatrick." He bends down, grabs my thighs, and starts carrying me.

"Wait! You can't do that!"

"I can't help that you're a slowpoke, Fitzpatrick."

The hallway furniture moves at a fast pace, but of course, I'm the person moving. And Finn is carrying me.

"I'm bigger than you!" I exclaim.

He snorts. "Taller. Are you calling me unfit?"

"I would never—"

"Good." He drops me in front of his bedroom door, putting me down carefully, so my legs slide against his, my chest slides against his sweat-slicked one, and oh, yeah, then we're kissing again. I've seen him bare chested before, but that's nothing like feeling his warm muscular frame press against me.

Kissing Finn is my absolute new favorite thing in the world. There's nothing small about his mouth, nothing dainty, nothing careful about his kissing style.

His hard body sends desire shooting through me.

Then he's backing me toward his bed, the same place I carefully, painstakingly, though perhaps not effectively, cleaned.

He flings me backward, and I fall onto unmade covers, but there's no way I'm going to fix them now. The privacy shades are still down, and dim golden light floods the room. Finn crawls between my legs, his pupils dilated, lowers himself over me, and we're kissing again.

Oh, yeah. Finn was totally right. This is even better than kissing in the hallway. I sink into the mattress, feeling all of him press against me. Our skin slides together, and everything is hot and wonderful and smells like him.

Finn grabs hold of my cock and positions his right next to it. My cock hardens.

And hardens.

And hardens.

In fact, I'm sure it's never felt more like a rock in my twenty-two years .

There's nothing careful about the exploration of my body, and I'm suddenly reminded of all the awkward sex I used to have. All the smoothing of hair, and the ready flow of compliments that ushered out of me more out of a sense of politeness than passion, and the ordered attention to various parts of the body before I proceeded with the main event.

I thought it was fine. A bit silly that everyone made such a big deal about it, especially since some parts of it made me recoil, but for the most part it was perfectly pleasant.

This isn't pleasant.

It's awe-inducing.

And all we've done is kiss and rut against each other.

Our cocks slide together, pre-cum spilling and merging. The scent of sex fills the air, and I feel drunk.

He thrusts, I thrust.

We're animals.

He moves his hand through my hair, unconcerned it's not long and luscious and Madison-like, and when he looks at me, I only see wonder.

Then I explode.

He follows me right after, and he collapses onto me, pulling me beside him.

My heart zooms. My nerves zing.

Then Finn starts to laugh, and I draw back. Is he regretting this? Does he think it's...ridiculous?

"What's funny?" My voice is cautious, and I focus on the ceiling.

"All your good work cleaning this morning," he huffs between laughs. "And now we'll have to do it all over again."

Relief swoops through my body, and I elbow him. "I was genuinely stressed."

"I know," he assures me. "That's why I politely pretended to be asleep. You may call me the Sleeping Gentleman."

"God."

"That works too."

Then we're tackling each other and giggling, and maybe we'll have to move to another bed because we're totally destroying this one.

I was with a man.

I was with Finn.

Happiness fills all my cells, and I might never stop smiling.