same.
“That little girl would have wanted to be like you if she’d grown up.”
I drop my fork. “What?”
“Christiana. The wee tyke you lost. She’d have looked up to you if she’d lived.”
Tears form, his words springing a withered cork free from a dam. “You remember her name.”
He taps a finger to his temple. “Big head. Big brain.”
I pick up a napkin and dab my eyes.
“I’ve no doubt you’d find a way to make change even without this story.” He pauses, watching me carefully. Probably waiting for the sprig of tears to turn into a geyser.
I shake my head. “This story is the one. It has villains, twist and turns that read like a melodrama, and a hero.”
Finn looks away and readjusts his big body in his chair. Modest for such a bold man. Uncomfortable with me calling him a hero.
“Anyway,” I say, drawing his focus back to what I’m saying, “The networks will want more investigative pieces if this story strikes a chord with viewers. I have another one locked and loaded to go. Christiana’s story will be told.”
I am going to honor that little girl’s memory. I’ve been waiting a long time to do so.
Finn sets his coffee cup down a bit too hard, splashing coffee everywhere.
I laugh at his unusual clumsiness and toss him a napkin. “Here.”
He busies himself cleaning up, unaware of how his comment keeps playing through my mind. Does he know how kind his words are? Does he understand how deeply affected I am when considering Christiana would have wanted to take after me?
“Let’s go.”
He stops mid-dab with the napkin and gives me a curious look.
“I feel like celebrating. And I know just how I’d like to do it.”
That has him snapping to attention.
“Is that right?”
I shrug.
He tosses the napkin on the table then leans back to stare at me. “You want another ride, do you?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. Why does he have to make such a big deal about this? He should be thrilled I’ve even forgiven him for the crap he’s pulled.
He abruptly stands and tosses euros onto the table.
I blink. “Right now?”
“Never make a lady wait.” He grabs my hand and leads me out of the pub, walking briskly then turning down a narrow cobblestone street away from Main Street. I have to lengthen my stride to keep up. He stops at the backside of a centuries-old church that is tucked in from the street.
“Isn’t our B and B that . . .uh —” I’m lifted and carried several steps then placed on my feet. It happens fast. My jogging shorts along with underwear tugged down my legs. My being hoisted once more into the air. My back connecting with the church exterior, the cool, damp stone in sharp contrast to the sudden rise in my body temperature.
“Can I feck you bare?”
He’s pushing inside me as I say yes.
“Ah,” I cry out. He’s so fucking big. And him like this, the aggressor . . .
“All mornin’ long I couldn’t wait to get inside yer gorgeous pussy. Feel how we fit together? Like a puzzle sliding into place. Like we were born for each other.”
What?
“You’re a poet, too.” I gasp, as he thrusts hard.
He snorts. “Been said I’ve a way with words.”
I laugh.
“Ride me, you minx.”
I place my hands on his shoulders and flex my hips, drawing in a sharp breath as I stretch to accommodate him.
“Yeah. Like that.”
I do it again then find my rhythm. Marveling at the feel of him, the strength of him.
We don’t last long. A quickie, if you will. Like we’ve done this a million times before and understand exactly how to move to set the other off.
He arches his hips forward, forcing my clit to drag against his warm body.
I roll a wet tongue into his ear, then in a whispered breath describe in vivid detail how his big, delicious cock is splitting me into two.
The church bell begins to ring as I fall apart in his arms. God, I can’t get enough of him.
God help me, but I think I can’t live without more of this.
Finn stills, lowers me to my feet, and withdraws. He tucks himself away but I’m slower to recover, my legs weak, my thoughts garbled. The sensation of his come dripping down my thigh the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt.
He removes his shirt then cleans me off, helps me redress, and even readjusts my shirt.
“Good as new,” he offers with a wink.
26
Finn
I was always a proud bloke. If Antonio didn’t