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Thisis shoving Finlay against the wall. It’s crushing our mouths together and kissing the life out of each other, burning with intensity and a desire for more. It’s counting every moan that spills from his bitten lips and returning them to him in an echo. His large hands trace the sides of my body, until suddenly he’s lifting me up, holding me, and my legs are wrapped around his waist. Instead of leaning up to kiss Finlay, I’m now kissing him from above.
My back slams against the wall. I grip the ends of Finlay’s long tousled hair, tugging his head upward to take full advantage of his parted mouth. His green eyes are glazed with lust, and his fingers dig in tight against the backs of my thighs. I tighten the circle of my legs around his waist, clutching his inky hair between vise-like fists.
“God, sassenach,” Finlay breathes, and I feel him hardening between my legs. “If ye keep hurtin’ me like that, I’m gonna come.”
I give his lower lip an experimental nip. “You get off on pain?”
“Apparently so,” he mutters, a groan ripping from his throat.
The more we kiss, the more blood and heat rush to my face. My ears buzz with the intensity. The world feels as though it’s shrunk to us two, but in the distance I’m still able to pick out the incessant chanting.Fuck the Royals. Finlay and me, we can pretend — we can pretend all is okay, we can make-believe that this is normal, that we aren’t two sinners in search of salvation. We’re the epicenter of whirling anarchy, the stillness in the eye of a storm.
Finlay steers me away from the supporting wall, as though to get away from the chanting. Eventually, we collide onto an armchair, a chaotic tangle of limbs and angles and bodies curving over armrests. As we realign ourselves, we don’t break the kiss. It feels important — something to cherish, something so good it shouldn’t be stopped, something that the two of us can’t fuck up together like we’ve fucked up everything else.
Finlay holds me steady on his lap. He gazes up at me as though I’m some kind of goddess, and him a mere peon, when surely it should be the other way round. I don’t have half the bravery, or even a teaspoon of the passion, Finlay possesses. When I look upon Finlay, I see fire. I see someone who wants to do his very best, who’ll plant his footprint on the world by doing his utmost to improve it.
And still he looks at me like that.
His hands naturally drop to my hips. He strokes me in fascination, each tender movement slowly hiking up the cotton of my dress. He glances away from my eyes and down to my bare thighs, taking in the expanse of skin gradually being revealed.
“The things I want tae dae tae ye,” he mutters, and to give me an idea, his hand slides from my hip to the curve of my inner thigh. I clamp his fingers between my bare thighs, keeping him locked in place.
“I cannae,” Finlay says, giving me a pained look. “I’m no’ gonnae dae anythin’ tae ye withoot Rory’s say-so. No’ together.”
I tilt my head to the side. “You’re obeying Rorynow?”
“I obey him over this,” he tells me, sounding serious. “I’m no’ makin’ a move on his girl.”
“His girlwants to make a move onyou, and she can think for herself. In fact, she can do a lot of things for herself.”
And with control, with courage I didn’t know I possessed, I lean down and slowly unfasten the placket of Finlay’s trousers.
At first he brushes my hand away. I frown, wondering if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. “I mean, I’m not going to do anything without your consent,” I say, feeling awkward.
Finlay’s eyes flash up to my face. He looks extraordinarily good pinned in place beneath me, adjusting his body by wriggling under my clenching legs. “Trust me,” he mutters, his pale throat straining toward the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “the consent is extremely enthusiastic inside my heid. I just cannae betray Rory like this.”
I bite my lip. His loyalty to Rory is so steadfast, so unswayable, that it makes me wonder if he’d have had second thoughts about blowing the whistle if, in another universe, Rory had somehow turned out to be the fake prince.
“Then you don’t have to betray anyone,” I say, and I tug down the zipper of his jeans. “I’ll do it all for you.” Finlay’s eyes briefly flutter closed as he presses against the head of the armchair, and I realize I have a smile on my face. I’m enjoying this. I like seeing a boy squirming in front of me, for some reason so into me that he can barely resist his own desires.
If I hadn’t known already that his family was rich, his silky black designer boxer-briefs would have been a giveaway. They look so obscene against Finlay’s straining erection that I have to stare. From the way he lounges in the armchair, it’s like he’s some kind of sought-after lingerie model, at once both elegant and rumpled. Sex-mussed.
“Like whit ye see?” Finlay murmurs, a lazy smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. When I stretch forward to caress his bulge, he tips his head back with a groan, and the smile slides off his face.
“Yes.”
“Whit are ye gonnae dae?” Finlay asks with a touch of curiosity, and then his gaze rakes my body. “And aren’t ye gonnae undress?”
“Maybe I like it this way,” I say, deliberately smoothing out the fabric of my cotton sundress, flattening the puckered material around my breasts. Finlay’s sharp green eyes follow my hands obsessively. “Maybe I like having you naked in front of me and you getting none of me in return.”
Finlay’s head rolls back with a soft moan, though his eyes don’t leave my breasts. “Oh, sassenach. I didnae know ye were a sadist, tae.”
I clamp my mouth shut to hold back my laughter. And then I lean forward to press another hot kiss against his soft lips. Finlay accepts my mouth eagerly, tangling his fingers in my hair, but then he pauses and pulls away, a look of unease on his face.
“Ye do know he could come down here any moment, aye?” Finlay asks, and there’s a note of worry in his voice. “He could come doonstairs, switch on the light, see us—”
“And then what?” I ask, intrigued, caressing Finlay’s fabric-clad cock. I see the exact moment when Finlay’s train of thought derails, when it vanishes completely and is replaced by bliss from the touch of my fingers alone. “What would Rory do?”
He glances at me curiously. “Are you gettin’ aff on this?”
