Page 17

Chapter seventeen

Finn

When the class ends, I’m still sitting in my seat, gripping my pen so tightly it might snap.

I don’t know why I expected him to be here. Maybe I thought he’d show up to his own class. Maybe I thought I’d get a chance to talk to him after, pull him aside, make him hear me out. Maybe I’m trying not to be that desperate guy, but here we are.

The substitute, some older professor, who clearly didn’t want to be here, gave a half-assed lecture before making us sit through the most mind-numbing presentation slides.

Normally, I’d be happy about a class that doesn’t need as much attention.

But today, all it does is give me more time to stew.

Because Foxx wasn’t here, and that’s a choice, a message that says he doesn’t want to hear me out.

I grab my notebook and shove it into my bag, my movements uncoordinated as irritation claws at the edges of my patience.

I don’t need another thing unresolved. Another thing lingering in my chest, twisting, making me feel like I should have done something different.

I live with regret every day, and I’m damn sure not going to let this add to that.

Gripping the strap of my bag, I try to shake off the frustration, but it’s already set in. It’s in my shoulders, in my jaw, in my fucking ribs, making my whole body feel too tight, too small for everything I’m holding in.

I know he won’t respond to any of my messages, but he can’t pretend I don’t exist. And now, I’m done. I need to set things straight so I can stop feeling so damn guilty for the look on his face.

We’re strangers. That’s what makes this so fucking stupid. I’m bent out of shape for who? A guy who gave me an orgasm. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. We had one night and maybe it wasn’t meant to be, us regularly hooking up.

I should be used to things not working out.

I should be used to things ending without resolution, without closure.

When I left surfing, I let people make their assumptions about me, said I got the yips and couldn’t cope with the pressure, and I didn’t correct them, or at least no one wanted to listen to my side, so I gave up. My whole damn life fell apart, and I just let it happen.

I roll the tension from my shoulders. I tell myself to calm down, but my body isn’t listening. My legs are already moving before I make the conscious decision to go.

I shove my phone back in my pocket, and while I could so easily go to his place, I don’t want to confront him there. I need to make a statement, so Daphne is going to show me where his CLU campus office is instead.

If he won’t come to class, if he won’t check his damn messages, then he doesn’t get to ignore me.

He’s going to listen. Whether he wants to or not.

***

I’ve thought about this. I’ve planned for it.

I even got the directions from Daphne, who, after rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out of her head, confirmed that Foxx stays late every Monday to do student catch-ups.

And, lucky for me, my twin sister is the best wingwoman in existence because she booked the last slot of the evening for me.

He’s expecting her. He’s getting me. Is it ethical? No, but that’s not stopping me.

By the time I reach his office door, my pulse is surprisingly steady, my hands loose at my sides. I knock once before pushing it open, because I’m not here to be polite; I’m here to tell him the truth.

Foxx is behind his desk, broad shoulders filling out his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, veins subtly visible beneath tan skin.

His dark hair is slightly tousled, just messy enough to make me wonder what it would look like if I ran my fingers through it, pulling, making him groan.

His glasses sit low on his nose, catching the dim office light as he flips through a thick textbook, completely unaware that he looks like every sinful thought I’ve ever had. I briefly wonder how often he uses them. He didn’t have them on our date, but I love how he looks in them.

His jaw is sharp, dusted with scruff, the kind that I know feels so good dragging over my skin, my thighs, my stomach, my fucking mouth.

For a second, I wonder if he’s pissed at Daphne too. How he feels about whatever fake scenario he’s conjured up in his head about us, and now he’s about to face her? But he doesn’t let anything past his gruff exterior. He doesn’t even look up. “Take a seat, Miss James.”

I step fully inside and close the door behind me. “She sends her apologies.”

His head snaps up so fast, I can’t help but grin widely and for extra measure throw him a wink.

And fuck… his reaction is everything I wanted.

It stokes the already raging fire in my belly.

His entire body goes tense. His thick fingers grip the pen in his hand.

His jaw locks so tightly, I almost expect to hear it crack.

“Finn.” His voice is clipped, but there’s something searing just beneath it. “What are you doing here?”

I take my time walking forward, dropping into the chair across from him, stretching my arms over the back, casual as hell, despite the adrenaline rushing through me.

“Daphne booked the slot, since I’m not a student here,” I say, watching the way his eyebrows twitch. “Figured she wouldn’t mind if I took it.”

He exhales slowly, setting his pen down precisely. “This is inappropriate.”

I sigh. “Your favorite fucking word.”

He glares. “Because it is. You’re my student and—”

“I’m in an adult night class at a community college, Foxx,” I cut in, leaning forward on my elbows. “And I’m not some undergrad looking for extra credit. I don’t need you to hold my hand through a fucking lecture—”

“Then what do you need?” he basically demands.

I smirk and lick my lips. Where do I start?

He leans back, putting space between us, and I fight the desire to scoff.

Distance can’t help him, not when I’m sitting in front of the prey I want to devour.

My pulse thunders in my ears at the thrill of chasing this stoic man who has it in his head that we’re bad for each other.

That I’ve put him in a situation where he thinks he’s a cheater or that I lied to him, which is so incredibly wrong it pisses me off.

And while I’m internally ranting, there was nothing wrong with the night we spent together, and there’s nothing wrong with doing it again, which is exactly what I’m going to convince him of tonight.

I stand, slowly crossing the room until I’m at the edge of his desk.

His throat works around a hard swallow. His fingers clench together in front of him. So tense.

I drag my fingers across the smooth wood of his desk, letting them tap lightly, watching the way his dark-as-night eyes follow the movement. “You’ve been avoiding me,” I say, managing to keep my tone even, despite the mixture of irritation and lust simmering inside me.

“I haven’t—”

“Bullshit. Leaving me on read is avoiding me. I need to explain.”

His lips part, but I don’t give him a chance to lie again.

“Rosie isn’t mine. The baby you saw with me, she’s not mine.”

His eyebrows dip, gaze narrowing as he studies my face. “What?”

“You thought I had a family. Thought I was off-limits, because when you saw us in the coffee shop, you ran. Don’t act like that’s not what happened.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, his mouth forms a thin line, so I barrel on.

“She’s my niece,” I say, voice steady. “Daphne is my twin, not my girlfriend. I’m her temporary nanny and brother, not her baby daddy.”

Foxx doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe.

I see everything in the way his expression cracks for half a second. The relief, the realization, but there’s still something else beyond that. I can almost see past the wall he’s got up, but it’s just out of reach.

“It wasn’t just that I thought you had a family, Finn,” he whispers.

My head inclines toward him as I watch and wait. He takes one measured breath and then, “I thought I broke your family. That what we did was a secret, and I hated that I was on that side of it. I couldn’t stand the fact that I was the other person.”

All the angst leaves my body at his admission, the last few days of frustration dissolving.

“You were never the other person.” And it’s his reaction, and me saying that out loud, that has me realizing maybe he relates to something there.

Maybe there’s something I want to unpack that he’s not saying, but showing me, a weak thread that every instinct in me wants to pull at.

And that makes me pause. I’ve never wanted to get under someone’s skin like this before.

Not just to touch, not just to fuck, but to know.

And dammit, I am gonna get to know this man.

“You were just you, and I was just me. No lies.”

He doesn’t speak, but I know he takes something from what I said because his hands finally relax.

I take a few more sure steps toward him, until I’m close enough to smell his cologne.

His woodsy, deep scent sneaks up on me as I inhale.

I love it because it’s nothing like the stiff, buttoned-up persona he tries to wear; it’s the raw version of him that I saw that night.

“Is there anything else you want to say?”

He pushes back in his chair, but he’s got nowhere to go. I’m blocking his way out with the wall behind him.

“I told you,” he says, but it’s weaker this time. “This is…”

“Inappropriate?” I finish for him, voice like silk, my lips already curling. Foxx starts to say something else, but I lift my foot and hook it under the leg of his chair, twisting it hard and fast, spinning him to face me fully before he can react.

He barely has time to register what’s happening before I step forward, planting my hands on the arms of his chair, leaning in, caging him in on both sides. As his wide-eyed gaze flickers to my mouth, then back up, his breathing shallows.

“That’s not a real reason, Foxx,” I drawl. “That’s the one you’re telling yourself when you get in your head about me.”

Heat rolls off him in waves, and it’s toying with my energy, teasing me, and soon, it’ll be to a point where it’s provoking me, because even the way his glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose is turning me the fuck on.

Reaching out to him, he tracks my every move as I carefully pull them off his face, revealing those intense eyes that burn brighter the closer I get.

“Deny it, I dare you,” I murmur, placing his glasses down.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t turn away from me. If anything, I swear I see his chin jut forward slightly.

“Go on,” I taunt, voice barely above a whisper. “Give me one reason to stop.”

Strong hands shoot up to grab my waist, his fingers digging in like he’s seconds from breaking.

He doesn’t drag me down onto him like I want, but it feels euphoric having his hands on me anyway.

The glisten of anticipation coating his skin makes me want to taste every inch of him again.

My breath hitches on a whimper, my cock throbbing with need, the tension so fucking thick it could crush me whole.

I lean to the side, lips grazing along his jaw.

“Tell me I don’t make you hard, Foxx.”

His breath shudders, the whisper of a moan echoing between us.

I drag my mouth down the sharp edge of his scruff-covered jawline, skimming the heat of his throat, just hinting at what he wants. What we both want.

His grip tightens, and I purr into his neck before returning to hover over his mouth, my breath mixing with his, my hands sliding down the tension in his arms, feeling the way he’s quivering with restraint.

“Tell me you don’t think about me every time you touch that beautiful thick cock of yours, wishing it was my mouth, my hand…my ass making you come.”

He inhales sharply, and I wait. Wait for him to do it. Wait for him to snap. The next move is his, and I’ve laid out the red carpet. Those pitch-black eyes almost swallow me whole. With a low, guttural sound, he grabs me by the front of my shirt and crushes his mouth against mine.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s eager and messy, and I’m obsessed.

His lips are hot, demanding, punishing, as his fingers move back to digging into my hips like he’s trying to anchor himself as he pulls me down on top of him.

I groan into his mouth, gripping his shoulders, dragging my hands through his hair, fisting the strands because I want him closer, rougher, harder. I want more.

Biting my lip, he yanks me forward, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands, turning us and backing me up against the desk now, pinning me there.

I feel everything. The heat, the tension, the goddamn relief of him.

He rips his mouth away, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to mine, and fucks me over with just once sentence

“On your fucking knees.”

I whimper, actually fucking whimper, because—holy shit—his voice is nothing but gravel and sin.

And then, just when I think I might be dizzy from how much I want him, Foxx grips my jaw, tilts my head back, and kisses me so fiercely it feels like I’m going to burn alive. When he’s taken what he wants, his eyes lock onto mine.

“Now.”