14. I’m Resisting

14 I’M RESISTING

FINN

I set the bikini down, very much not imagining the places it's meant to cover. I only picked it up to change the subject. To move on as quickly as possible from the fact that I touched her vibrator. I try not to think about where she puts that . I even try to forget that she has legs. And about what's between her legs. Fuck. This needs to stop. My neck and my ears still feel like they're burning, but I'm doing my best to recover from what just happened.

"Oh, while you're here, can you help me with something?" Aimee’s voice is light and sweet. And I’m immediately suspicious. Her lips press together and I can't stop staring at them. She's putting me into a trance. I hope she's going to ask for something simple. Because right now. I feel like I'd give her anything she wants. And if this has something to do with her vibrator than fuck yes, I will help her with something .

"What color?" She puts on one red heel and one black one. She alternates between lifting up each leg to demonstrate what each one would look like. I watch the muscles on her leg contract and release. I didn't realize calf muscles could be so attractive. My gaze travels upward. Up her thigh. To the narrow of her waist. The round of her ass. The swell of her— Stop it, idiot . Back down the leg my eyes go.

She’s doing this on purpose.

I just know it.

And it’s fucking working. Because right now, all I can think about is sliding my hand up her legs and bringing the lacy hem of her dress with them until she’s bare, and exposed, and fucking wet for me. I shake the fantasy from my head.

"You should wear flat shoes," I scold her, because apparently when I get sexually frustrated by women that I can’t have, I go into protective dad mode. "They're more practical." I don't mention that the heels elongate her legs. Or that the dress sits at just the right height on her thigh to tempt me into imagining the rest of her. Or that she looks absolutely irresistible. But she is resistible. Because I’m resisting. I clench my jaw.

You’re resisting, Finn. Resisting.

I don’t care if some dick-wad is going to see her this way. And probably touch her. And fuck.

I’m resisting.

"It's a date," she says matter-of-factly. "It's not about being practical. It's about being sexy."

"A date with who ?" I ask her. Even though I'm pretty sure I already know.

" Whom ," she corrects me.

"A date with whom ?" I obediently repeat the question like a good boy. Fuck. I’m just eating right out of her hands. Speaking of eating, it would be so easy to lay her down in that sorry excuse for a dress, pull it up above her hips, and?—

"Jack," she says, just in time to, once again, keep my brain on track. Her answer causes my hands to ball up into tight fists at my side.

"Who’s Jack? The motorcycle kid?" I ask. Anyone who drives through a residential neighborhood revving their motorcycle engine is a child. Not a man. Aimee laughs at me and gives me a half-cocked smile.

"He's not a kid," she says. "Because if he's a kid, then I'm a kid. Do you think I'm a kid?" That reminds me that I don't actually know her age. I just know she's probably too young. Too young for what? I'm not sure. Everything. And who cares how young she is? Doesn't matter to me. I’m not going to fucking touch her. I’m just going to think about it every third second of the day.

"You act like one," I tell her. She hoots. Like a fucking owl. Aimee picks up the purple vibrator, turns it on, and waves it in front of my face. My mind is assaulted by an intrusive image. Aimee holding the vibrator between her legs. Head back, mouth open, and moaning. Tweaking one delicious nipple.

Hi, my name is Finn Hudson and I’m fucked. Nice to meet you.

"Cut it out." I push her hand away. "You're going to give me a stroke."

"Oh, I'll give you a stroke," she says as she runs her hand up and down the length of the vibrator.

"This," I tell her sternly, "this is what I'm talking about." I step closer. I don't know why. I should be stepping backwards, but I'm not thinking at all. I'm moving on pure, hot, lustful instinct. She laughs and rests her back against the wall. It would be so easy to grab her hands and pin them above her. Pressure is building inside me and crashing against the walls of my chest.

"Goddamn woman, stop being such a..." It was a half-baked sentence and now I don't know how to end it.

"A what? A cock tease?" she asks.

"A brat."

"If I'm a brat. Does that make you my daddy?" she asks as she runs her finger up my pec. She traces my nipple and, with all the willpower in me, I command my dick to stay down. The tiny little devil has returned to dancing in her eyes. It's playing the fiddle and dancing around a blazing fire.

"I told you not to call me that. It sounds filthy," I mutter under my breath. My body freezes as I drink in the sight of her. All strappy lace, her backside pressed up against a wall. I could press my knee between her legs right now. So easily. Split them apart. Spread them wide. Force myself between them. I feel my chest rise and fall rapidly. I'm not sure exactly how I got here, but I'm only a step away from her now. There's nothing but air between us. And it doesn't seem like enough. Aimee slowly slides her back down the wall. The back of her dress rides up with the friction. Two creamy, thick thighs appear in front of my own. I'm in actual hell. Actual living hell.

"What are you doing?" I mutter.

"Showing you filthy ," she whispers, bringing her mouth level with my groin. There's nothing but inches of empty, vaporous air between her round lips and my pants. I begin to harden under her gaze. I’m both mortified and extremely enthralled all at the same time. I swear to God this woman is fire. And her heat is starting to singe me around the edges.

“Mmmm,” Aimee hums as she swipes a fleshy, wet tongue across her lips. She reaches a hand between her thighs and I can’t see what she’s doing from this angle, but I can imagine it. Soft fingers entangled in the slick, wet folds of her. And now, I’m rock hard, tenting my joggers, thick and long, right between her eyes. Fuck, I want to gather her hair in my hands.

Aimee’s eyes are focused on mine, hungry and seductive under her thickly coated lashes. Her hands find their way to my knees and they begin to slide up my thigh slowly. I let out a deep exhale as they make their way to the top of my thigh. My cock jerks between us and that simple movement snaps me back to reality.

"Get up." My words are harsh and throaty.

Two rich brown eyes blink slowly at me. The devil in them is jumping now, as her irises flicker with mischief.

"I said get up," I growl, tilting my head to the ceiling to break eye contact.

Aimee doesn't move. And, for some reason, it takes way too long to remember that I, too, have the ability to move. I take a step back. Then another. Soon I'm walking backwards out of Aimee's room. The phone in my pocket rings and I leap into the air in surprise. I pull it out and answer it. Saved by the bell. Or ring.

"Hi, Rebecca." I run my hand through my hair. I turn and step into the hallway.

Aimee

Rebecca? Who's Rebecca? Why haven't I heard anything about her before? I pause near the doorway, just out of eyesight of where Finn is standing in the hall. I hear him chuckle. It's low, and rumbly, and throaty. It's the sexiest chuckle I ever heard.

"Sure. Dinner sounds great," Finn says. Dinner? Oh shit. He has a girlfriend? And I just slid down the wall and was halfway to taking his cock in my mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm such an idiot. I’m doing it again. Just throwing myself at men without thinking.

"Either one," he says. "Yeah. You pick."

I don't listen to the rest of the conversation. I'm too preoccupied with how disappointed I am that he has a girlfriend. For some reason it hit me like a perfectly aimed punch. Why do I feel so disappointed? I don’t like him. Sure, he’s hot. Sure, he makes my heart beat like a frantic, trapped animal. Sure, it’s hard to walk around him when my wet panties are always bunching up between my legs. But that’s it.

Ugh. But I can’t deny it. The feeling that I'm picking my heart off the ground after it's fallen from a twenty story building and then been stomped on by a herd of elephants. Is this a crush? Crushes are stupid. I am stupid.

Whatever. I have a date tonight. A real date. Hopefully a date that will turn into something real. I peek down the hallway, but Finn must have gone down the stairs.

I grab my actual curling iron and sneak into the bathroom. I think back to the horrified look on Finn's face when I shook my vibrator at him. Clearly, Rebecca is not doing her job if he's this uptight about stuff like vibrators.

A couple minutes later, I'm setting the last of the loose curls in my hair. I just did a quick swipe through my locks, trying to tame my naturally, wild waves. I release the last strand and wince as it burns my finger when I set it neatly to the side of my head.

That’s when the revving of a loud engine rises from the distance. It's Jack. This is just what I need. A motorcycle adventure.

As I jump from the last step, I nearly collide with Finn who is standing in the foyer, still on the phone. His elbow is propped over the hand resting across his chest. I don't look at him. I walk right past and open the door. But I feel him. The weight of his eyes, to be precise. They drag down my back as I walk out the door. Good. Let him look. I bend down to straighten out a heel. There's absolutely nothing wrong with my heel. I just want to show Finn what he's missing. I know for a fact that the hem of my dress is rising awfully high up my leg. I swear I hear his breath stop for a moment. When I stand up, I move ever so slowly, arching my back and rounding my backside. I look over my shoulder and give him a smoldering smile.

The look in his eyes. I can't even describe it. Is it possible for the color grey to look fiery and hot? Is it possible for the edge of one's irises to look slightly tinged by flames? That's exactly what I see in Finn's eyes right now. His mouth is slightly gaped open.

"Try to keep your tongue in your mouth,” I tease him, copying the phrase he used on me yesterday after he finished his pull ups. I skip down the steps of the front porch just as Jack pulls up to the mailbox on his motorcycle. When he pulls his helmet off his head, short, thick curls fall loosely around his eyes.

He whistles at me. "Damn girl," he says. "Look at you." But Jack's eyes don't stop at my figure. They roam past me, over my shoulder. They narrow slightly. Without even looking, I know Finn has stepped outside onto the porch. I don't know why that would cause Jack to prickle. Unless, of course, Finn is being intimidating and surly. Which is probably the case. I see Jack assess him. I sense a cock-fight brewing. And I’m not going to lie, I love every second of it.

I step up to the motorcycle, lean forward, and press my lips against Jack's mouth. His lips taste overwhelmingly like lip balm. “Mmmmm,” I say as I pretend to enjoy it. I’m thinking about the night I kissed Finn. His lips were so soft. So thick. So warm. I wonder what it would feel like for him to kiss me back. Like, really kiss me back. I pull away and Jack gives me an arrogant smirk. I can't tell if it's a sexy arrogant or an asshole arrogant. But I have all night to find out.

Jack turns his wrist and the engine revs. "Hop on, sweetheart," he says. "Let me take you for a ride."

"Hey, she needs a helmet." I hear Finn call out from behind me.

"Relax, grandpa," Jack sneers at him. Then he hands me a helmet. I'm not sure where it had been hiding before now, but I hadn't really been looking at his motorcycle. I had been too preoccupied with trying to make Finn jealous.

I slip the helmet over my head and swing a leg over the motorcycle. Did I flash my panties at anyone? It's possible. Do I care? Absolutely not.

"Hold on tight," Jack says. I wrap my arms around his waist and smile sweetly at Finn.

"What about protective gear?" Finn asks. He's standing on the porch, hands on his hips. His eyes narrow and full of daggers. His voice deep and menacing. Why is he wasting so much mental energy on me? He has Rebecca. He should go be overprotective over her.

"Who is that guy?" Jack asks as he flicks a thumb in Finn's direction. "And why is he such a tight wad?" I swear smoke fumes rise from Finn's nostrils as he trains the most dangerous pair of murder eyes on Jack's face.

If eyes were capable of murder, Finn would be a double felon right now.