Page 176 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

I should probably be worried about that.

Instead, I settle closer into him and steal another bite of pancake from his fork.

Finn laughs and starts telling me about the winter Max began feeding a stray cat behind the house and spent three months insisting it wasn’t his. Then Finn caught him in the garage building it a tiny insulated shelter with a heated pad, and Max apparently looked him dead in the eye and said, “This proves nothing.”

“Where is the cat now?” I ask, laughing.

“Turned out she belonged to one of the neighbors. She eventually wandered back home.” Finn grins. “Max pretended he was relieved.”

“He wasn’t?”

“He was devastated.”

I’m laughing with my mouth full, his hand warm on my bare thigh, the morning sun pouring through the windows, and it’s the most normal, happy moment of my week.

Then the maple syrup drips.

A golden drop falls from the fork and lands on the front of my dress, right above the swell of my breast. I look down. Finn looks down.

“Oh no, your dress,” he says.

“I guess I’ll have to take it off,” I say.

He stares at me for a second, his lips parting, like he’s not sure he heard me right. Then I reach for the hem and pull it up. He’s already helping me, his hands finding the fabric, lifting it over my head. The dress drops to the floor and I’m sitting on his lap in my bra and underwear. Finn’s eyes travel down my body and his hands grip my waist.

“Fuck, Sophie,” he breathes.

I settle back onto his lap and feel him hard beneath me, his cock straining against his sweatpants. I shift my hips and the friction makes both of us inhale.

“Let me help you clean up,” he whispers, his eyes on the drop of maple syrup sliding down the curve of my breast. He leans forward and licks it off slowly, his tongue tracing a warm, wet line from my collarbone to the top of my breast, and a loud moan slips out before I can stop it.

His fingers find the clasp of my bra and unhook it in one motion. He tosses it aside without looking.

He cups both my breasts in his hands and pushes them together, staring down at them with an expression so reverent it’s almost comical.

“God, I missed these,” he breathes.

I laugh. “You missed my breasts?”

“Soph, you have no idea.”

Then his mouth moves lower and he finds my nipple and takes it into his mouth and sucks gently, then harder, his tongue circling it, and I’m not laughing anymore. My back arches and my hand fists in his hair.

“You know what I kept thinking about this week?” he murmurs against my breast, his lips grazing my nipple with every word. “Lying in bed, hearing you and Ethan through the bathroom door.” He switches to the other breast, his tongue flicking the hardened peak. “Knowing how good he was making you feel.”

“Finn—” I gasp, my hips rocking against him.

His mouth moves back up to my throat. “I want you to know exactly how each of us feels, sweetheart.”

He reaches for the bottle of maple syrup on the table and tips it, letting a thin stream drizzle across both my breasts. The syrup is thick and trails down my skin in golden lines, pooling around my nipples and slipping into the valley between them.

“Finn—” My voice comes out strangled.

“Hold still, sweetheart.” He sets the bottle down and his mouth is on me—licking, sucking, tracing every line of syrup with his tongue, cleaning me with slow, thorough strokes that leave me squirming in his lap. His tongue circles one nipple, lapping the sweetness off my skin, then drags across to the other, his lips sealing around it and sucking until I’m moaning so loud the sound fills the room.

“You taste incredible,” he murmurs, his mouth sticky and warm against my breast. “Better than anything I’ve ever made.”

He pulls me harder onto him, his cock rigid against my ass. His mouth finds mine again, kissing me deep and sweet, tasting like maple syrup and Finn.