Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I just know that, for the first time in my life, I feel whole.
Like I’ve found somewhere I truly belong.
I’ve found… someone… who makes me want to belong.
“Shit.” Finn’s breathy exhale dances across my neck as he releases my throat to tenderly cup my cheek. “Are you okay? I didn’t—fuck, you’re crying. Did I hurt you?” He turns my face towards his, still buried inside me.
I shake my head. I can’t speak, but he didn’t. Not at all. I wish I could tell him that, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t get my mouth to form the word ‘no.’
Instead, I kiss him. He’s close enough that I can reach without straining or contorting my body uncomfortably, so that’s all I do. Just kiss him. Just press my lips against his. Just tell him the only way I can.
“Shit,” he murmurs again. He presses back and pulls out of me. A chill cascades over my body, but there’s barely time for it to take hold before he sits down and pulls me over onto his lap.
He wraps his arms around me, cradling my head. I curl my face into his neck and take a deep breath, breathing in the cedarwood scent I’ve come to associate with his shampoo over the past couple of weeks. It’s mixed with our sweat and the thick scent of sex that permeates the air, but in a weird way, I like it.
It’s like our own bubble.
One nobody else can penetrate.
A place that’s just ours.
A place that’s… safe.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He nuzzles the top of my head, holding me a little tighter. “Wait—it’s okay. You need a minute. Don’t speak. As long as I didn’t hurt you.”
I shake my head, and he relaxes a little beneath me. His chest rises and falls as he sighs, pressing a kiss into my hair.
For a moment, we stay like this. The only parts of us moving are the rise and fall of each of our chests as our breathing regulates. A shiver dances across my skin, and he reaches to the side, pulling the blanket that hangs off the arm of the sofa towards us. He wraps it around us, making sure every inch of me is covered, before cuddling me close again.
“You know,” I finally manage to mutter. “That wasn’t much of a punishment.”
He freezes.
Then—laughter.
That rich, deep sound that makes my stomach flip and my heart sing in a way I don’t understand.
Didn’t, rather.
I get it now.
I have feelings for Finn.
Real, tangible, touchable feelings that, for the first time, are strong enough for me to recognise. Strong enough for me to grasp onto, to breathe life into.
And I… am scared.
I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never felt anything even remotely close to these ticklish, fluttery little sensations that are breathing life into my tired body. Never felt anything like this intense thumping of my heart that only seems to make my pulse thunder as the realisation of my emotions hit home.
Is this what falling in love feels like?
I don’t know. I’ve never known. I don’t know how to find out.
Before this, I can’t remember the last time I felt safe or cared for or wanted. I spent eleven years just trying to survive, then six or seven more trying to make something of my life. A further two here, fighting for recognition, desperate for something other than the bitter taste of abandonment.
And it never came.
Until him.
Until he humoured me.
Until he offered me a way out.
Until he listened to my off-the-cuff proposal.
Until he accepted that same stupid proposal and promised me the world.
I’ve never believed it. Never thought he’d actually give me anything other than the bare minimum. I never thought he’d care, never thought he’d do much beyond what he absolutely had to.
Yet he’s given me so much more.
He keeps giving me so much more.
“Finn?” His name leaves my lips in little more than a whisper.
“Mm? Yeah, baby?”
I swallow. “What’s your favourite colour?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – FINN
Did she really just ask me that?
“My favourite colour?” A tinge of amusement creeps into my tone, and I desperately try to fight back my smile.
“Yeah.” Her voice is tiny, almost uncertain.
I want to ask her why.
Why does she want to know? Why now? Why is she asking after that rough, almost aggressive sex?
It’s red, but what comes out of my mouth instead of that question is, “Green.”
Like her eyes.
The same eyes that haunt me every waking moment and consume me in my dreams.
“Green?” she repeats back, her voice still small and almost wobbly. “I had you for a red guy.”
“Mm. Only when it’s on you. I find myself very fond of green these days, though.” I rest my chin on top of her head. “What about yours?”
“Red.” She pauses. “Actually, no. Lavender. The exact colour of the flowers.”