All the Way (Romancing Manhattan #1)(20)

Finally, finally, his tongue grazes over my hard clit, and down into my folds, and I let out a long, lusty moan as his mouth does things to me that could possibly be illegal in some states.

Maybe even this state.

He pulls my lips into his mouth, hollows his cheeks, and makes a pulsing motion that sends me into a tailspin. My hips are bucking and grinding against him, so hard that he has to cup my ass in his hands to keep me still while he has his way with me.

He presses his thumb against my clit and I come apart, the sky explodes, and I cry out as the orgasm consumes me, until I’m nothing but an exhausted heap when he replaces his mouth with his fingers and climbs over me. I feel him reach to the side of the bed and hear the tear of a condom packet.

“Open your eyes, London.”

He’s leaning over me, resting on his elbow with one hand in my hair while he takes care of protecting us both with the other. His pelvis is cradled against mine, and his long, hard dick is slipping back and forth against me, reigniting the tingles and sexual energy from a few moments ago.

“I need to be inside you,” he says with a whisper. The head of his cock is poised at my very ready pussy. He kisses me gently and my hands roam down his back to his firm ass. “I can’t wait to feel you.”

“Now,” I murmur. “Inside me now.”

He needs no further invitation. He presses gently and slides effortlessly into my slick opening, pausing when he’s balls-deep, and tips his forehead against mine.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

“London,” I correct him, and bite his shoulder, which triggers his hips into motion, moving in a long, slow pattern of in and out, pressing against my clit with his pubis every time he’s sunk as deep as he can go.

We’re nothing but sweaty limbs and heavy breaths and pure lust as he picks up the pace, kissing me deeply as he tips me right over the edge into another orgasm so all-consuming, I don’t know where he ends and I begin.

And I don’t fucking care.

When I begin to feel my extremities again, Finn rolls off me, keeping me with him and tucking me against his side. We’re still panting. I’m pretty sure I’m glowing.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“So hungry,” I confirm, and pull away to start searching for my clothes, but he pulls me back to him and kisses me softly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“I think I’m the one who came two or three times, so I should be thanking you.” I kiss his cheek and roll away, reach for my shorts and pull them on, then simply laugh. “I guess I’ll just walk downstairs topless, because I think that’s where you left my tank.”

“It’s going to be a hardship to watch you walk around my house like that,” he says as he also pulls on his shorts, takes my hand, and leads me to the stairs. They don’t hurt my leg as badly as they did even a week ago, which makes me ridiculously happy. Once I’m back in my bra and tank, we go back to the kitchen and I devour three pieces of cheese, five olives, and a handful of cashews before Finn has the opportunity to take the steaks back out of the oven.

“You are hungry,” he says with a laugh.

“Worked up an appetite,” I reply with my mouth full.

“I’d better get these on the grill, then. You stay here.”

I happily boost myself onto a stool and continue munching on the appetizers he made. I can see him through the glass on his deck, standing over the grill in that confident way that men do, wielding a huge spatula while smoke billows around him.

How is it possible that just about everything Finn does is sexy? I mean, he’s a human being, so there has to be something that will annoy me. Maybe he puts the toilet paper on the thingie wrong. Or doesn’t order butter on his popcorn.

What kind of a monster does that?

I’ve consumed half of the mushrooms when he comes back inside and checks on something in the oven.

“How do you like your steak?” he asks.

“Medium. How do you like your popcorn?”

He turns and frowns in confusion. “Sorry?”

“If you were to go to the movies, how do you order your popcorn?”

He blinks. “Why do I think this is a trick question?”

I smirk and shrug.

“With butter?”

“Is that the real answer, or what you think I want to hear?”

“This is more pressure than taking the bar,” he says, and rubs his hand over his face. “I have them put butter in the middle and on top.”

“Cool.”

He laughs and leans in for a smacking kiss. “Why do I feel like I just passed some kind of test?”

“Because you did.” I eat another olive. To my surprise, Finn takes my hand and guides me off of the stool, then pulls me into his arms to slow-dance with me in his kitchen. “You’re a good dancer.”

“Mom insisted when I was a kid.” He’s holding my hand properly, his other hand is holding the small of my back firmly, and he’s smoothly guiding me around the room. “Is this okay?”

“It’s great.” And I’m thrilled to discover that it’s true. My leg isn’t bothering me at all. I haven’t danced in months, and this is the best gift Finn could have given me.

“You’re pretty good at this too,” he says. “It’s nice to dance with someone who doesn’t step on my feet.”