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“Yes.” He laughed. But it was more than that—he could see her soul in those paintings; they had a heart.
His own heart hammered against his rib cage, as if it raced to understand what she was doing to it. He had read about the impressionist style earlier that day—visceral brush strokes, incredibly tactile—he could see these qualities underlying in Jane herself. He had felt that rawness in her kiss.
“I still can’t drive. I need to clear my head a little more,” he said when they left the diner.
“Me neither,” she said, going in the opposite direction to where they’d left the car. “Let’s go down to the beach.” In Wayford, the beach was at level with the main street and easily accessible.
It was early November, and the moon was waxing. It wasn’t too cold, and there were other people on the beach; jogging alone or in pairs, some with dogs, couples strolling. They did, too. Silently.
The crash of the waves rolled like drums in Finn’s heart. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a pool, yearning to dive but, for the first time, hesitating to leap because he couldn’t see the bottom.
They stopped just outside the reach of the water. Every wave that broke ceased its roll before it wet their feet. Jane slightly bent to grab the hem of her dress in case the next wave hit them. When she straightened up, she was half pivoted toward him. Their arms brushed, and their gazes locked. Her eyes, which the moonlight reflected on, were ocean-deep.
At that moment, he knew—if he dove into this unknown vastness, he’d never find his way out. And worse, he didn’t want to.
He gripped her forearm and pulled her to him. She let go of the dress. His lips were on hers before he even had his arms around her. He then wrapped her in his arms and crushed her to him, bringing her as close to him as possible with their clothes on. She gripped his shoulders, and every bit of that kiss from four years ago was there again—forceful, hungry, fiery, bruising his lips and his heart. She kissed him as if the world would end tomorrow and she’d never kiss or be kissed again.
They didn’t speak with words until they reached her house in Riviera View, and it was plain that he would be coming in. When the door closed behind them, she spoke first.
“Finish me off, Finn,” she whispered.
And he did, right there by her front door.
Her back slammed against it when he pinned her to it and kissed her like he’d later fuck her—hard, deep, rough. He trailed his lips over her neck and his hands down her body. Then, kneeling in front of her, he dragged the dress up her long thighs, revealing the milky skin. He kissed and licked it, chafing his hands down her legs, sliding her lace panties until they pooled at her feet. He placed one of her knees on his shoulder and got full access to lick and suck at her core.
Her fingers clutched his hair, and she had no capacity for anything except moaning and gasping until she throbbed and shattered against his mouth, the muscles of her legs almost giving in.
He let her ride it to the end before he brought himself up to be at level with her. She looked like she’d fall if he didn’t hold her. Her eyes were wide, her gaze almost wild. Though he was rock hard already, this made him harder.
He kissed her again, trekking his hands over her bare shoulders and the front of the dress, knowing he was seconds from tearing it all off of her.
“Fuck me, Finn” she breathed against his mouth.
“I intend to,” he rasped. With his hands under her thighs, he picked her up and walked to the bedroom. In that small house, it wasn’t hard to guess where it was.
He threw them both on the bed. A string of fairy lights around the vanity mirror lit the room. He rose to his knees and let her watch as he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off then unbuckled his jeans.
She reached to touch his abs and chest.
“Not yet.” He caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand while, with his other, he untied the dress from around her neck and tugged it down to her waist with one strong pull. She had a strapless bra under it. He caressed it with his free hand for a second before he yanked it down and exposed her breasts. He leaned in and kissed her mouth, brushing his tongue along her jawline to her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Jane,” he whispered in her ear.
She writhed under him, looking for more contact, her wrists still gripped by him as he kissed his way down to her breasts. The wine color of her nipples peaking on the pale skin was almost his undoing. She gasped when he moved his mouth between her breasts, sucking on one, then the other, while kneading her flesh with his hand.
He pulled himself up a bit so he could pull the dress farther down when something caught his eyes. He sent his free hand to caress her left hipbone. A small replica of a Van Gogh sunflower was tattooed there. He moved his gaze to her face. A sunflower for a tall girl who wasn’t friends with the sun. It was her sense of humor; he knew it was.
“It’s the less famous version he painted,” she said, panting, her voice hoarse, her hands still above her head. “I love the ones few notice.”
“Me, too,” he rasped, his eyes never leaving hers. He loosened his grip, took one of her hands, and placed it on his bare chest. His heart inside it was already hers, though she didn’t know it yet.
He bent and kissed the sunflower tattoo, then licked his way up to her breasts, pushing his weight into her, his body fitting perfectly against hers.
She caressed him, chafed her hands all over his chest, arms, and back, kissed his neck, bit his shoulder, until they scorched each other in a kiss.
“Hard,” she said when he thrust into her. And she didn’t have to say more; he knew what and how she wanted it. Raw.
“It’s always the quiet ones,” his friend had commented after witnessing them kiss at the club and how dazed Finn had been after.
The living, writhing, moaning proof was under him now. Unlike her exterior implied, she wasn’t delicate, or fragile, or shy, or quiet. She demanded and pleaded him to fuck her harder, deeper. She gripped his hair as he did, kissed him like she’d die if she didn’t, called his name loudly when she came. She made him come so hard that it took him several minutes to gain the capacity to speak again.
But more than anything, he couldn’t speak because the words he had blurted unknowingly at the gallery had become unfalteringly true from the moment he had sunk himself deep inside her for the first time.
“What are you doing for the rest of your life?” he asked, wrapping her in his arms, pressing her hard against him because he couldn’t imagine being without her from that day on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Parking across the street from Eddie Melton’s gallery, Finn looked over at the lit windows. It was late, but there were still people inside.
The place looked fancier than he remembered. Not surprising. Wayford had become more lucrative and expensive over the years, leaving Riviera View behind.
Finn turned the engine off, stepped out of his car, locked it behind him, and crossed Wayford’s stylish main street toward the place where he had first said the words I love you to the only woman he had ever meant it with.
