Page 63 of Always Him

I move toward him and set out the cutting board as he quickly peels the carrots.

“So, you never gave me an answer,” I say softly, and Finn eyes me, setting some carrots on the cutting board in front of me.

“I’m not answering that here.”

I jut out my bottom lip and blink up at him.

“Stop with the doe eyes.”

I continue to blink at him, and he smacks me with a carrot.

A gasp escapes me, and I shove at him. Finn doesn’t even move, though, he just bumps me with his hip.

“Behave.”

“So boring and predictable,” I grumble and then lean in closer and add, “I’d do it. I’d so give it a try if you wanted me to.”

He shifts on his feet. “I’m good.”

I nudge him with my hip, my eyes focused on cutting the carrots into little cubes.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because,” he says.

“We both know this is not an acceptable answer in this house. I need a reason, Finn.”

He’s quiet for a moment and then leans down, his mouth a breath away from my ear. “Because the only one getting anything up their ass…will be you.”

The knife slips and I slice the pad of my finger.

Blood seeps from the wound and I glance at it. Then up at Finn.

“Look what you did.”

“Shit,” he mutters, reaching over and putting my finger under the water, then wrapping it tightly with a paper towel.

“Shit. I hope you don’t need stitches,” my dad says, peeking over my shoulder.

Finn gently pushes him out of the way, picks me up, and carries me toward the stairs.

“I’m fine,” I say, my finger throbbing as I press the paper towel against it. “Finn, I can walk. I literally had my leg chopped off. This is just a tiny cut…”

“Shut up,” he says, taking the stairs two at a time, not even winded from the exertion, and then sets me on the counter in the bathroom. He bends and pulls out the first-aid kit from under the sink and washes his hands.

“Finn,” I begin, but he shuts me up with a long-drawn-out kiss.

“Let me fix it. I did this,” he says when he finally pulls his lips away from mine.

I just stare at him, letting him peel the paper towel away, spread antibiotic ointment on, and seal it with a Band-Aid.

“There,” he says. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Okay,” I murmur and thread my good hand through his hair, pulling him closer to me, right between my spread thighs. “Now show me how sorry you are with that mouth of yours.”

He falters for just a second, but then his hands move to my hips, tugging me roughly to the edge of the counter. He leans down as I tilt my chin up and our lips brush.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. “I never want to hurt you.”

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