Page 51 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

Song- Die With A Smile, Lady Gaga, Bruno Mars.

B y the time we reach my apartment, my pulse is a slow, heavy thud in my ears.

It isn’t nerves.

It’s something worse.

Because I’m expecting the same thing I’ve already experienced with Finn. Fast, rough, no room to breathe, or being left on the edge of frustration. The kind of sex that feels like a fight we both lose and win at the same time.

But when I unlock the door and step aside, he doesn’t touch me.

He looks.

His gaze moves across every inch of my living space, lingering on the things I never thought twice about. My mismatched coffee mugs left on the table, the pile of medical journals on the counter, and the old blanket draped over the couch.

“This is… you,” he says finally.

I can’t read his tone.

“Nothing special.” I shrug.

It’s not that I don’t have the money, because I do. I just don’t want a lavish lifestyle. I work long enough hours to kill me.

This is simply a place to sleep. It’s not a home.

I’ve never truly had one of those.

He tips my chin up to him.

“You simply have no idea, do you?” he whispers.

My body tingles against his touch.

“About what?” I ask, my voice breaking as I suck in a breath.

“There isn’t a single soul more special than yours, temptress.”

I try to look away, but he keeps me in place. This is too raw, too vulnerable. What if he leaves? Who will be there to pick up the fractured pieces of my heart then?

“Want a drink?” I ask, taking a step toward the kitchen.

He catches my hand before I get two steps in.

“Later.”

That one word, it’s quiet but loaded, and it roots me to the spot.

He walks me backward, slow enough that my heart has time to speed up with every step, until the backs of my knees hit the couch. His hand comes up, not to grab my jaw or wrap around my throat like I expected, but to tip my chin up with the gentlest pressure.

“You’ve never done this before,” he says, almost to confirm it as a fact.

“And you have?” I challenge.

The corner of his mouth curves. “No. I haven’t.”

“I’ve never had sex where the woman hasn’t been restrained.

I’ve never had them facing me, looking into my soul.

I’ve never trusted anyone to give even the smallest piece of me to them.

There is no other word for my past encounters than simply “a fuck”.

But you’re different. I want to change that, for you. ”

I bite down on my lip. I want to kill whoever hurt him enough to make him this closed off. I thought I was bad, but he is really, deeply in pain.

“You can trust me, Finn. I won’t hurt you. I’m yours.”

He blinks at me and grins.

“All mine?”

I nod as we just stand there, watching each other, like whoever moves first will lose. I break, curling my fingers in his tie and pulling him down. The kiss starts soft; it’s strange for us. My lips brushing his, testing, tasting.

Then it deepens. His mouth claims mine, slowly at first, his tongue sweeping deliberately like he’s cataloguing me.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. His breathing is unsteady. Mine’s worse. We’re a hot mess. But it’s beautiful.

His hands move to my arms, sliding down over my ribs, like he’s memorizing me by touch alone. The slow drag of his fingers makes me shiver. I expect him to pin me. He doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “I want you to touch me.”

My brows knit. That’s new. It feels so powerful. A moment where he breaks for me. Not in a harsh way, in the most perfect way. Chipping off another layer of his armor.

I place my hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath the shirt. No flinch. No tightening in his shoulders.

I slowly work on removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Sliding the fabric over his shoulders, I see them—the faint scars beneath the ink. My fingers hesitate over one near his ribs.

He wants to hide them. Yet, not from me. He is allowing me to get under his skin, his scars, and into his heart.

He catches my wrist, his grip warm. “Go on.”

So I do.

I trace every inch over the planes of his chest, across the dips and rises of his abdomen, and around the swell of his shoulders. His breathing changes. Not rough, but heavier.

Like he’s on the edge of falling, and I am the anchor he needs. Dr. Finn Quinn is vulnerable to my touch.

“You’re dangerous like this,” I whisper.

He smirks faintly. “Not half as dangerous as you.”

I unbuckle his belt and push the waistband of his pants down just enough to slide my fingers along the hard line of muscle there. His eyes go darker, pupils blown wide.

When I slip my hand under his boxers and wrap my fingers around him, his breath leaves him in a slow, shaky exhale.

“Is this okay for you?” I whisper, searching his face.

He nods once. Not rushed. Not barking orders. Just… letting me.

I keep stroking him, feeling every twitch and pulse under my fingers, until I slide his pants and boxers down fully. He helps me, kicking them off without looking away from me.

With my free hand, I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him down until his lips are on mine.

“I want you in my mouth, Finn,” I murmur against his lips, tasting whiskey and heat.

His voice drops. “Get on your knees then, wife.”

I lick my lips as I sink to the floor in front of him. The carpet brushes my knees.

A thought flickers. Has he done this before? This breaks his rules. No touching. No eye contact. Those boundaries he’s kept like a wall between him and the world.

Does that mean I’m the first one to suck his dick?

But then he smiles; it’s soft, almost shy, and he strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. Like he’s reading my damn mind.

“Just you.”

Those two words settle deep inside me.

I hold his gaze as I take him into my mouth. His hand slips into my hair, not to force me, but to anchor himself.

And I don’t look away. Not once.

Because for the first time, I think we both understand exactly what’s breaking between us.

I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, letting my tongue trace every ridge and vein. His breath catches, like it surprised him.

I drag my mouth back slowly, my lips slick around him, then swirl my tongue over the sensitive tip before sinking down again. His jaw flexes, eyes locked on mine, his control starting to fray.

“Fuck, you’re… perfect,” he breathes.

I hum around him, loving the way his hips twitch at the vibration. My hands wrap around the base, stroking in rhythm with my mouth, each movement deliberate.

He’s watching me like he’s memorizing the sight. Me on my knees, mouth full of him, staring up like I can see straight through him. Like I’m meant to be here for him.

“You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” His voice is strained.

I nod without breaking my pace, my lips stretching around him as I take him deeper still. His hand slides to my jaw, tilting my face up even more so he can see every flicker of expression.

It’s not just about the pleasure. It’s about him letting me in.

I speed up, alternating pressure and angle, until I feel the tension coil hard in his thighs. His breathing is ragged now, every muscle drawn tight.

“Stephanie…” It’s half a warning, half a plea.

I grip him tighter, work him faster, sucking him deep until his control shatters. His hips jerk once, hard, and he comes with a low, guttural sound that sends heat flooding through me.

I swallow, never looking away.

When I finally release him, I swipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, and he’s still staring, like I’ve just done something far more dangerous than make him come.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “If I’d known it would feel like that with you, I’d have broken my rules years ago for you.”