Page 3 of Forever Finn

But I can’t tear my mouth off him, and we hump and grind against each other. We pull back for a second, panting. God, I’m more drunk than I thought. I think going out in the cold air on the way to the hotel made the alcohol catch up with me quicker. Fuck, I hate it when that shit happens.

Suddenly, I feel him go lax beneath me and for a second, I almost panic, but I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the steady even puffs of his breath against my mouth laced with the sharp scent of alcohol. Dragging my fingers over his hot skin, I feel his pulse kicking strongly. He’s just passed out.

Damn, it’s a shame. I would’ve loved to get my mouth around what I’m sure would be a gorgeous dick. Sighing regretfully, I push myself up off him unsteadily and reach for the lamp on a small side table. Flipping it on, I get my first good look at his face. It was really dark in the club. His beautiful face cast deeply in shadows. I lift my hand and push an errant lock of dark, silky hair from his forehead.

I stop and blink slowly, my mouth falling open. I’m pretty sure I must be hallucinating right now because now that soft light floods the room I can clearly see that the half-naked man who’s currently passed out on the couch, the same man I just made out hot and heavy with, is in fact, Finn fucking Gallagher… as in Hollywood star and action hero Finn Gallagher... as in very straight, has a Hollywood starlet for a girlfriend Finn fucking Gallagher.

Gripping my hair tightly, I tug at the roots as if to yank some sense into my brain. I’m trying not to look at his glorious golden skin, the ripped six pack, the firmly packed biceps, and beautifully chiselled shoulders. I’m definitely not thinking about the press of his body against mine nor am I thinking about all that dark hair tangled in my fingers or the rough scrape of his stubble as I explored the shape of his lips, and I am one hundred percent not thinking about the sighs and moans that had escaped his lips. In that one moment, as we were consumed by madness and desperate desire, he’d been mine. I don’t care how good an actor he is; I felt him give beneath my hands, my mouth. He’d simply melted beneath me as if it had been a relief to surrender.

I gaze down at his beautiful face, hidden beneath the layers of stubble and shaggy hair that are well overdue for a trim and something inside me shifts. I swear under my breath. This is not a good idea. I should not be sitting here like a creepy stalker waxing poetic about my unconscious hook-up, no matter who the hell he is.

Sighing to myself, I pull the throw off the bed and tuck it around him gently before settling the trash can beside him, just in case. The room is spinning, and I know I’m way too drunk to deal with this right now.

Crawling onto the bed, I flop onto my stomach, my feet dangling off the end. They did not design hotel beds for a man of my height, I think to myself as I sink deeply into sleep.

I’m startledout of sleep abruptly by the persistent blare of the excruciatingly annoying song, Puppy Love by Donny god damned Osmond… and I instantly know who the culprit is. There’s only one person who keeps changing my ring tone to the most irritating songs he can think of.

Fucking Jesse.

I fumble for the phone, wincing against the painful ringing in my ears. I roll over with the offending phone in my hand, desperately stabbing my finger at the screen to make the torture stop.

“What?” I snap as I look up blearily, frowning when I realise the room is empty.

“Good morning to you, Mr Sunshine.” A familiar voice sings from the other end of the line.

I blink rapidly as I try to cast my mind back to the night before. I’m sure I hooked up with someone before I passed out. Then I had an incredibly intense dream about Finn Gallagher, my number one celebrity spank bank material. But now waking up alone, I’m trying to make sense of last night.

I’m sure I brought someone back here. I remember he was gorgeous, with dark hair and sexy stubble, built like a Greek god. He passed out on the couch before we could get fully naked. Damn, he must’ve snuck out first thing. Fuck, I didn’t even get his name or number, I think as I release a breath regretfully.

I’m trying to recall his face, but it’s all tangled up with the dream I had about Finn Gallagher, and my stupid hungover brain just keeps substituting his face for the beautiful man I brought back here.

“Hello? Earth to Wyatt?” Jesse yells down the phone. “Have you passed out again?”

“No,” I croak. “I’m just laying here meditating upon the complexities of existentialism and the meaning of the universe brought on by the societal habit of excessive alcohol consumption.”

“In other words, you’re still pissed, and your mind wandered,” Jesse replies dryly.

“It was a delicate euphemism.” I sigh.

“I hate to break it to you, Wy, but there’s nothing delicate about your euphemism.”

“Ryan been telling stories about me again?” I smirk.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, please tell me you didn’t actually sleep with Ryan?” Jesse whines.

“Er no,” I reply. “He’s one of your best friends and you’re technically my boss. I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Lovely,” he mutters.

“Ryan and I got drunk and ended up playing strip poker,” I admit. “Except I don’t really know how to play poker, so it was really more like strip Go Fish.”

“Let me guess, you were drinking his Bad Decision beer, weren’t you?” Jesse replies in exasperation. “I swear the day Ryan opened his own craft beer company was the day good sense left every resident in the bay.”

“You can’t really talk, Jesse,” I remind him.

“I suppose that’s true,” he concedes. “Last time I drank Ryan’s beer, I ended up waking up in Las Vegas married.”

“No, you ended up in Vegas married because you were hopelessly in love with your childhood best friend. I’m still crushed you didn’t invite me.”