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What he feels for her makes him a little delirious.

As does the urge to feel her.

I try the whole sweet thing on for size again at the crack of dawn.

Yawning so hard my eyes water, I use my elbow to knock on a closed bedroom door.

A deeply unpleasant sense of familiarity washes over me when Finn doesn’t answer.

That same relief I experienced the other night flushes it away when I awkwardly twist the doorknob and find it unlocked. I don’t, however, find Finn.

His room is empty, but the door to what I quickly realize is an ensuite—no wonder I never run into the lucky bastard using the communal one down the hall—is open.

Setting down the mug of black coffee I watch him chug pretty much every morning, I’m deciding whether to scurry away like a sneak or linger like a creep when a noise from the bathroom makes me freeze.

A low moan, to be exact.

A low moan of my name, to be completely, shiver-inducingly precise.

I don’t remember actively making the decision to move, but I do. I must. Because the next thing I know, I’m standing in a steamy doorway, toes curling at the sight that greets me.

The. Fucking . Sight.

Coherent sentences escape me. Short, simple words are all my poor, overwhelmed brain can handle.

Like… Finn.

Naked.

Wet.

Hard.

Very, very hard.

And that hardness, every last, long inch, he’s got a hand around it. A tight grip that moves in quick, firm tugs.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Finn looks up sharply. He jolts in surprise. His breath catches. His strokes slow.

But they don’t stop.

Lazy .

With his free hand braced against the tiled shower wall, he peers at me over a taut bicep. “What’re you doing, baby?”

Having a visual orgasm.

Yearning for a real one.

Taking another step into the bathroom so I can close the door behind me.

Praying .

“Heard my name.” I finger the button on my Levis, slowly teasing it free. “Figured I was invited.”

Finn’s movements stutter.

Dragging my zipper down, I loop my fingers around my waistband, starting to tug that down too before pausing. Cocking my head. Asking, “Am I?”

He’s going to reject me, I’m half-sure. That’s why I don’t just strip off and dive in there.

He strikes me as a man who takes sex seriously, who likes to wait, who wants the moment to be right or whatever.

Candles, rose petals, the whole obnoxious lot, that’s what I bet he has in mind, and there’s none of that here.

But…

But .

I see him think it, that one glorious little word.

My gaze drops to his cock and his grip tightens, hips giving an instinctive half-thrust. I quite literally watch his resolve crumble, and I don’t completely succeed at restraining a triumphant holler as it hits the shower floor and washes down the drain.

Finn turns to face me. Honestly, I didn’t think the view could get better, but there he is.

Full-frontal. Water droplets tracking down a defined torso, tracing obliques and deltoids and other muscles I don’t know the name of, but get the sudden urge to bite .

Still jerking off a fucking forearm-sized cock—I’m not entirely sure I’m exaggerating even a little bit about that.

Not quite smiling, but not not smiling either as he roughly demands, “Get your ass in here, princess.”

In approximately no seconds, I’m naked and fucking tearing across the bathroom, throwing myself in the shower, at the man already in there.

We groan in unison when our lips meet, when our bodies crash together, and I’m airborne before I even register the hands on my ass. They knead greedily as my back hits the tiles, a thick, hard cock pressing against my stomach.

I kiss him like I’m mad at him, and I am a little. Hiding that from me for months?

Incredibly inconsiderate.

I tell him as much, mumbling it against his mouth and he laughs against mine, flexes his hips against mine, makes me choke on a moan as the rigid length of him glides through my cunt.

“So wet already,” he moans in my ear, his wicked smile burning the curve of my neck. “Fuck, baby. Desperate girl.”

“ Desperate .” I bite his lip hard enough to make him grunt. “Remind me what you were just doing, moaning my name, cowboy.”

He sets me down suddenly, ignoring my indignant protests. “Right. Good point.”

“What—”

I shut right the fuck up when he does exactly what I asked.

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he slumps against the wall opposite me. He wraps a hand around his cock again, and I get the chance to appreciate up close how fucking thick he is, how huge he has to be to make those big-ass hands look normal.

“This is a lot better than imagining you in my head.” A downright evil smirk curls his mouth. “Although I’ve gotten pretty fucking good at that.”

My knees wobble a little.

They turn to fucking jelly when Finn looks me right in the eye and moans my name again.

“You just want to… stare at me?”

His gaze drops, and he stares all right. “Uh-huh.”

“What, exactly, do I get out of this?”

He grins. “You get to stare at me.”

You know what? Fair deal. I’m okay with that. More than okay, actually. “Sit down.”

He drops. Legs spread, knees a little bent, chin tilted up as he rests his head back against the wall, and I decide, as I peer down at him from above, that I might like this view the best.

As he discovers what specific part of me is in his direct eye-line, I think he might agree. But I think he agrees a little more when I lower myself to the wet floor too.

I copy his stance, my skin tingling where our spread legs inevitably touch because the shower isn’t exactly built for two. Finn makes a noise like a grunt and a groan and a hiss all at once as his gaze zeroes in on my cunt.

I planned on teasing him a little, I really wanted to, but evidently, I’m a weak little bitch. Too horny to resist going straight for gold, delving between my thighs and finding my throbbing clit before it files for fucking neglect.

One brush makes me shiver. A second, firmer touch makes me moan, my ass slipping on the tiles as I squirm.

I’m not normally so keyed up, so sensitive, but then I guess I don’t usually have quite as arousing a visual aid.

I literally feel like prolonged eye contact would set me off, and in a way, it does.

A few hard circles, another grunt of my name, and obsidian eyes burning a hole through my goddamn soul, and I’m a goner.

It’s unsatisfying. Too quick. I didn’t let it build enough, I was too impatient. The frustration must be all over my face because a hand wraps around my calf. It yanks me forward, moving to my inner thigh as I steady myself on a shaky arm and try not to disintegrate at the wild look in Finn’s eyes.

At the desperation in his voice as he asks, begs , “Can I touch you?”

Even though multiple orgasms are a wonder that have so far escaped me, I nod. I want him to touch me. Of course I do. I’m not completely insane.

Although, I do lose my mind a little when he parts me with his thumb, touching me so reverently with one hand while he pumps away at himself with the other.

“I wanna touch you too.”

“No.”

I whine. “Why not?”

“My control’s already hanging on by a thread here,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his strokes quickening. “Have some fucking mercy.”

Control? Like… if I touch him, he’ll snap and fuck me? I’m supposed to be opposed to that? Seriously ? The thought of that not happening makes me want to cry.

His thumb strays downward, slipping just inside me and making me gasp. “What if I say please?”

Finn pauses. Only for a split second, but I notice.

I smile. Gotcha.

“Please, Finn, baby. Let me touch your cock.”

His groan rattles my fucking bones. That precious control of his snaps, and I rejoice. The fingers not teasing between my thighs guide one set of mine between his, and I pant. Hard, hot flesh grazes my palm, and I moan like I’m the one who gets pleasure out of the touch.

“You wanna touch me, baby,” he grinds out, he practically fucking growls, as his hand closes around mine, forcing it to form a fist. “Then fucking touch me.”

Jesus. He does not have to tell me twice.

One long stroke has his breath whistling through his nostrils. Another, and the back of his head slams against the tile wall. He whines in protest when I pull away only to rumble a noise I can’t even describe when I spit on my palm and grip him again, stroke fast and tight and determined.

“God.” His head thumps the wall again, his eyes screwing shut for a millisecond before flying wide open, wild and dilated as they dart between my cunt, my hand, my face, never settling in one place for too long, like he can’t decide where the fuck to look.

“Good?” I hate that I ask, hate the note of uncertainty I hear, hate that I know what I’m doing yet I don’t know what I’m doing at all because it’s never been like this .

Finn looks amazed by the question. Like he cannot fathom that I’ve asked. He scoffs like the single word has deeply offended him, like he’s taken my doubt personally, and he grips me by the ankle and drags until I’m straddling one of those thick, powerful thighs.

“ Good ,” he parrots, scoffing again. “Jesus, Lottie, you look at me and I get hard, and you think having your hand on my cock is just good? It’s been five seconds and I’m about one more away from embarrassing myself, and you think it’s good ?”

Confidence licks up my spine like a live wire. “Think you can make it to a whole minute?”

Finn grunts and shifts a little, and I tremble as two fingers plunge deep inside me, crook perfectly, brush just the right spot. “Can you?”

With anyone else, I’d cackle at the audacity.

With Finn…

His thumb brushes my clit and I buckle. He thrusts those thick fingers in a maddening rhythm, matching the pace I set, competing with it.

Hips rising to meet my every stroke, his cheek brushes mine, stubble tickling skin, whimpered words reverberating through my body. “ Charlotte . God. That’s my girl. Get us off, baby. Make us come.”