Page 32 of The Reckless Rookie

“You were going to.”

“I was going to say you’re terrifyingly prepared.”

“You’re welcome.”

He takes it. There is no fumbling, no stupid joke, no ambiguity; he puts it on before he comes back over me. His mouth finds mine, and his body is shaking now.

“Slow,” I whisper.

His eyes close.

“Finn.”

“I know.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Despacio.”

That word in his mouth does something dangerous to me. I shift beneath him and bring him where I want him, and he waits. I move first.

He enters me slowly. The stretch steals my breath. Finn stops, every muscle in his body locking.

“Fuck, Catt.”

I wrap my legs around him. “Wait.”

His eyes squeeze shut. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

I laugh against his mouth. “I am.”

“I hate your dance.”

“No, you don’t.”

His eyes open. “No. I really don’t.”

I move beneath him, small, and his breath breaks. He starts to follow, catches himself. Half a second. When I move again, this time he comes with me.

There. Not graceful, not polished, just us trying to find the same rhythm while the mattress shifts beneath us and our breathing gets too loud.

His mouth misses mine and I laugh; he swears. Then we find it. I move, he follows, his hands settling at my hips, mine sliding over his back.

Slow lasts maybe thirty seconds before Finn begins turning it into a race.

“Finn.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re sprinting.”

“I am absolutely not sprinting.”

“You absolutely are.”

He slows. I kiss him. “That.”

His body moves into mine again. Better.

Somewhere after that, I stop keeping track of who is leading. That should scare me. Instead, I let it happen.

His rhythm deepens, and my body begins tightening again. He feels it.