Page 25 of Savage Blooms (Unearthly Delights #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Finley

As far as Finley’s memory reached back in time, there was Eileen.

Eileen peering down at him through the bannisters as their fathers discussed lambing season while Finley, feeling much younger than ten, worried he might be turned out of the house at any moment for tracking mud on the rugs.

Eileen on his thirteenth birthday, throwing stones at his bedroom window to tempt him outdoors to play a cutthroat game of cribbage on a blanket spread out on the grass.

Eileen at fifteen, panting and ferocious beneath him after he chased her down and knocked her to the marshy ground for intentionally spilling coffee all over his only nice sweater.

She had been angry with him for something, Finley didn’t remember what.

All he remembered was the way her pulse pounded in her wrists as he pinned them over her head.

She had thrown her head back and laughed at the sky, euphoric despite the mud seeping into her dress.

She was wind-bitten and wild, more animal than girl, glaring at him with glittering eyes.

She had dared him to touch her, dared him to kiss her, and when Finley had sharply bitten her bottom lip instead, she had let out a moan that destroyed any resolve Finley had left.

They had made love quickly, devouring each other even as a light mist began to fall.

Finley had been equal parts intoxicated and terrified – of Eileen, of her cruelty, and most of all, of how his own cruelty came awake in response.

He had tried to be gentle, to slow down, but every time he drew away, Eileen dug her sharp half-moon nails into his back and begged him not to stop.

Afterwards, Eileen was left with blood on her thighs and tangles in her hair, and Finley was left feeling all at once emptied and full, excruciatingly aware that now they had begun this, there would be no end to it, not ever.

Now there was only Finley and Eileen, a two-headed hare, stretching on into eternity.

They had been born days apart, Finley in the run-down county hospital at a healthy eight pounds, and Eileen in her parents’ room in the big house, wailing and pale and prematurely sick even then.

It was as though they couldn’t bear to be parted for a single moment of their lives, as though even in the womb, they knew they were meant for each other.

It was as though every gulp of cold air in a world in which the other had not entered burned like poison, and Eileen, who had never been one for waiting, or for kindness, had nearly killed her mother by coming early to the birthing bed.

Jennifer Kirkfoyle had forgiven her daughter the moment Eileen was put into her arms, but Eileen had never forgiven the world.

Not for separating her by the circumstance of her birth from Finley, who she adored to the point of sacrilege, and not, Finley thought some days, for the injustice of being born at all.

“What’s the prognosis?” Eileen asked, holding still as a statue for her blood draw.

Dr Dasgupta looked a bit put out with her, but he had been put out with her since she was a teenager, and Eileen didn’t seem too worried about it.

She was draped across a chaise longue in the small, dim parlor, surrounded by her board games and decks of cards.

Finley had only turned on one lamp, hoping to spare her from another migraine spike.

“You aren’t dying, but you do need to be more careful,” the doctor said, in his posh London accent with a hint of Bangladesh.

Dr Dasgupta had known her since she was a skinned-kneed child who spent her days chasing Finley around the grounds, and he had never once called her “sir”.

“You need to give yourself more time to recoup from your bad days. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’re never going to fully recover. ”

“I’m never going to fully recover anyway,” Eileen said, wincing a bit as the doctor removed his needle from her arm. “So why handle myself with kid gloves?”

Dr Dasgupta’s frown deepened. He had grown a mustache after his marriage last year, and the facial hair made him look even more serious than usual.

“That’s no kind of attitude to take. There are people in your life that care about you and want to see you as well as you can be.”

The doctor’s eyes cut over to Finley, and Finley dropped his gaze.

There was no need to shrink from Dasgupta, and certainly no need to pretend that Finley and Eileen hadn’t been carrying on together for ages.

Dasgupta had known about their dalliance before anyone in Eileen’s own family: he had discreetly prescribed her birth control pills before realizing she had no need of them.

Still, Finley had never been entirely comfortable around the other man.

And it wasn’t because the doctor was unkind, or because he was judgmental.

It was because he saw Finley and Eileen exactly as they were, not two star-crossed lovers from a chivalric tale, but two troubled young people who could neither stop hurting each other nor walk away from each other.

Finley had only been to church a few times as a boy, before his Catholic mother ran off with her traveling guitarist, but looking at Dr Dasgupta made him feel the same way looking at the priest had: like he was too recognized, too known in all his shortcomings.

“Can you give me anything else for the migraines?” Eileen asked.

“Nothing more than what I’ve already given you,” he said, carefully slotting her vials of dark blood into his well-loved leather bag. “Your best medicine is sleep, and limiting your stress, especially during menstruation, and avoiding alcohol.”

“Well, none of that is likely,” Eileen muttered.

The doctor swept his hand over his hair, always perfectly slicked back with fragrant pomade, and took a careful breath.

“Listen to me, Eileen. I promised your father I would always look after you, as your doctor if not as your friend. I know you think I live to lecture you, but I’m only worried. Your immune system can’t withstand these long nights and rainy walks outdoors. You’re in delicate health and—”

“We’re done here,” Eileen said, hauling herself up out of her chaise. Her gaze was shuttered, and Finley knew that look well. There would be no reasoning with her on this, at least for a while. “Run your tests and send me your reports. Meanwhile, I will continue to live my life.”

Gregory Dasgupta and the late James Kirkfoyle had been university chums, and the doctor had been one of the only consistently present adults in Eileen’s life after her parents’ death.

After the accident, she had been shuttled between various tutors, therapists and specialists, but she was always delivered back to Dr Dasgupta when all was said and done.

Finley worried that sometimes, it was that very devotion that made her hostile towards the doctor. Eileen always had trouble trusting people who stuck around her for too long.

Dr Dasgupta shook his head, beginning to pack all his supplies back into his case.

“Either you can choose to rest or your body will make you,” he said. “That’s all I have to say.”

“Noted,” Eileen said, retrieving a fat cigar from her front vest pocket and clipping off the end with a tiny golden guillotine.

Finley could have killed her. She barely smoked, certainly not cigars, and he was positive she had produced this prop simply to drive her doctor insane.

She stuck the cigar in her mouth and dramatically rifled through her pockets. “Got a light?”

The doctor rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you next month,” he said, putting on his hat and moving towards the door. “In the meanwhile, try not to get yourself killed.”

He nodded at Finley as he passed, and Finley nodded back.

They didn’t speak much during the doctor’s home visits, but Finley had his number.

He had texted Dasgupta countless times when Eileen was up in the middle of the night throwing up from period pains, or laid up with a migraine so bad she could only tolerate total darkness.

Dasgupta always texted back promptly, and he always asked if Finley needed any help or anyone to listen.

Eileen waited until Dasgupta was back in his car and backing down the drive to abandon her cigar in a nearby box, along with five others that hadn’t even been unwrapped.

“Have you ever considered being cooperative with him?” Finley asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “It might help things.”

“Irritating dear old Gregory is one of my great pleasures in this life,” Eileen said, holding an arm out to Finley and beckoning him over to the settee. “Speaking of pleasures…”

“No,” Finley said: crisp, succinct, a little mean.

He liked to pretend that it was Eileen who got off on trading power and Finley who got off on trading pain, but there was an undeniable joy in telling her no and watching her fume about it.

He liked knowing he had that power over her, at least. “I’m not rewarding you for bad behavior. ”

“When have I ever been bad?”

“Every day of your life.”

“Come on, Finney. I’m trying to be sweet.”

Finley settled down onto the settee and nodded at the ground. Eileen, who knew protocol well enough even if she didn’t always abide by it, dropped to her knees beside him.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day,” she said, unable to keep a little of the petulance out of her voice.

This was not going to be a tender reunion, Finley decided. If Eileen wanted to touch him so badly it would be on his terms and for his pleasure only.

“Show me how much you missed me, then,” Finley said, leaning his temple against his fist as he watched her unbutton his fly. Eileen wrapped her fingers around his cock, stirring him to life.

“Mouth,” Finley ordered. “Slowly.”

Eileen did as she was told and wrapped her lips around the head, making Finley’s breath catch in his throat.

He suppressed a small gasp, not wanting to give Eileen the satisfaction of getting to him so soon.

It was better for both of them if he pretended he didn’t have a hair trigger when it came to Eileen.

She worked all the way down to the base, pushing herself until her eyes watered, and applied just the right amount of pressure with her tongue.

“Pace yourself,” Finley said, threading his fingers through her hair. “You’re liable to be down there a while.”

Eileen groaned despite her full mouth. Cockwarming was one of Finley’s favorite punishments, as it was something he enjoyed immensely that frustrated Eileen no end.

The ache in her jaw by the end and the spoiled satisfaction of keeping every stitch of her clothes on and being forbidden even from touching herself was usually enough to set her straight.

Eileen forced herself to slow down, breathing through her nose as she dragged her tongue up and down, swirling in circles around his cock.

Finley spread his legs further, slotting his fingers through Eileen’s hair and rubbing an encouraging circle at the nape of her neck with his thumb.

He took one shaky breath, then slid right back into the rhythm of silent togetherness that formed the foundation of his relationship with Eileen.

Sex was a threaded needle that stitched them together, bone to bone.

The instant it had become available to them, they had used it to make promises to each other, to tease each other, to unify after arguments, and of course, to torture each other in a hundred tiny ways.

When Finley was sure of nothing else, he was sure of Eileen.

He was sure she wanted him, and he was sure he wanted her.

“You’ve been spending plenty of your time with the Americans,” Finley said, smoothing her hair back from her brow as she bobbed her head up and down, agonizingly slow.

Any faster and he would yank, forcing her to soften her mouth, pause, and start from the beginning again.

“Maybe I don’t like watching you making doe eyes at Adam and falling all over yourself whenever Nicola smiles at you. ”

“Who can account for the whims of the flesh?” she said, coming up briefly for air.

“Whim of your flesh?” Finley asked, capturing her by the chin and pulling her away from her studious work. “Or whim or your heart?”

“Don’t get jealous on me, old man. You know I don’t go in for that. I thought you didn’t either.”

“Maybe I’m jealous,” Finley said, wiping away the slick from her plush lower lip with his thumb. “Or maybe I’m the only one exercising caution here. Have you thought of that?”

“I have everything in hand.”

“Everything? Even Adam? What makes you think you can possibly get him to agree to what you have in mind? He’s no idiot, Isla. He’ll riddle it out in time.”

Eileen rolled her eyes and wrapped her fingers around Finley’s length. Finley opened his mouth to snap out a warning, but then he let out a distinctly helpless groan as she squeezed.

“Take me to bed,” Eileen said, suddenly insistent. “I can’t stand it. Look, I’m begging.”

“You’re awful.”

“I’m liable to be worse if you don’t fuck me expeditiously.”

Finley looked into her eyes for a long moment, a muscle in his jaw tightening and untightening.

“Say please,” he said eventually, his voice quiet. Somehow, they always ended up here. Somehow, no matter how much Eileen gave of herself, no matter how much flesh she offered up to be bruised or how many acts of service she carried out, Finley always ended up sounding like the one begging.

For a scrap of humanity from his beloved, for a tiny concession of sweetness.

Finley often wondered who really held the reins in this relationship: Finley with his command words and leather toys and strict expectations, or Eileen, with all the money and status in the world dripping like silk through her fingers.

The boy with a sadistic streak, or the girl who refused to be denied anything.

“Please,” Eileen bit out. Nasty and short, like a child shaking hands with the schoolyard foe who had bested them at jacks.

Finley wordlessly wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and tugged her onto the settee like a kitten by the scruff. Then he covered her with his body and gave into her entirely.