Deeper Than Desire

Libby

I am a genius. It's the first thing I think when I roll over, naked and satisfied, and look up at my bedroom ceiling. I am a genius. Telling Finn how I felt was the best idea I've ever had.

Although perhaps it's not one of the best thought out ideas I've ever had. Neither of us had any condoms. Finn satisfied me twice, but he's still rock-hard.

I shake myself and shift onto my side, running my palm down his abs and then lower. "Can I...?"

His hand closes over mine and he holds me tight against his abdomen. "No way. First time I come with you? I'll be buried inside you."

The fierceness makes me shiver. I know Finn inside and out, but this is a side of him I never expected. I swallow and my throat sticks.

"You want to leave already? I didn't do my job right." He's grinning up at my ceiling, still breathing hard.

"Oh, but you did do a good job." I flop down, snuggled up close to him. I should probably move, but I don't. It feels too good. My bones have gone heavy and I'm warm all over. "You did a great job. I don't think I've ever been this relaxed."

"I had no idea you were so..."

My sex bliss evaporates and I roll over, propping myself up on one elbow so I can glare at him. "So what?"

"So uninhibited." He shakes himself, probably hearing how that sounds to me. "So brave. You knew what you wanted and you took it."

I smirk. "I took you."

"You fucking did."

I run my fingertips along his chest, enjoying his smooth, heated skin. "You make me brave. Wanting this...made me brave."

Finn grins, grabbing my hand and lifting it to his mouth. He kisses my knuckles. "You make me brave too."

For two whole heartbeats, neither of us says anything. I think it's because we've come far too close to saying something else entirely. He clears his throat and looks away. "I mean, you always have, right? You kick my ass whenever I need it. Remember that college interview I wanted to blow off?"

"How could I forget? I thought I was going to have to drag you in there." And I would've too. You don't turn down a shot at early admissions to Harvard and he didn't—but that was only after freaking out for three days and nearly missing his interview. I'd had to roust him from his parents' townhouse in Savannah. He'd been medicating his panic attacks with alcohol and surprise surprise it wasn't helping.

"You can do this," I'd told him as we'd staggered to the bathroom. I had the multi-head shower running on the coldest setting I could get and shoved him underneath the stream while he was still clothed. Some this was desperation.

The rest of it was being unable to trust myself if he was naked.

"Don't let your brain get in the way of what your heart knows you want," I'd added as the water blasted him in the face. I didn't think he'd even heard me—the sound of rushing water echoed off the granite tiles—but he'd kind of smiled and pressed my palm against his now-soaked T-shirt. His heart was going a million miles a minute beneath his skin. It cracked me right in half.

"I'm scared shitless," he'd said, staring at the drain. "I hate feeling like this. I hate being this guy."

And that had cracked whatever was left. Tears had gathered at the corners of my eyes. "Finn. Look at me."

He did.

"You got this."

"I don't feel like I do."