Spin Page 3

  Three

  ~ Finn ~

  SCREW IT.

  I glanced in my rearview as I put on my turn signal. She was still there, a ways behind me, long, dark hair, high cheekbones, dirty sexy smile, great laugh. Bringing her here was probably a mistake, but screw it. I’d made a lot of mistakes in my life. Let Janey Mac be one of them.

  Janey Mac, with her socialite mother—or as much -ite as Dodge Run got—and her drunkard but politically powerful father had been the leader of everything in Dodge Run, from cheers to civic causes to coat drives. She’d been a human motor of getting shit done, always smiling, always bright. Perky.

  Annoying.

  Except for that night down by the river.

  I’d graduated the year before her and was only at the town’s annual celebration to escort a graduating niece who was known to cut a little too loose. I’d ambled down to the dark river and the dynamo of Janey MacInnee burst out on me, bitching about school and the town, sick of being perfect and going nowhere with it.

  She blinked when I called her on it. Then she’d smiled. Then she pushed up on her red-painted toes and kissed me, and I thought my body would explode.

  For the second time.

  Eleven years later, I could still feel the reverberations.

  If all she needed to light her fire was a reminder that people would drag you down if you let them, I could educate her all day long.

  I swung onto the long, dusty lane that led to my house and very few others. Destiny Falls was a small town that bordered several very rich ones, and my place was on the outskirts. Only a few folks lived here, on twenty- to fifty-acre properties that sloped down to the creek-that-turned-into-a-crystal-clean river. At least when there was rain.

  I forced myself to go slow on the dusty, bumpy road. Which was probably a good metaphor for the evening ahead. Slow down.

  I pulled up in front of the house. It was a half-done masterpiece. Built a hundred years ago in an old-style barn raising. In recent years, I’d started renovations from the ground up, expanding the footprint and framing out an additional three thousand feet of house with high, arching ceilings. One day it would be a timber cathedral. Truly awesome. After I poured in a million dollars cash and a shitload of hard work. But it was mine, and it was worth it.

  And it would take a while.

  Probably another good metaphor for the night.

  I killed the motor and climbed out just as she pulled up.

  Today, I was her fling. Just like that night by the river.

  I’d take it. Because I remembered her hard.

  I got out of my truck and waited. I’d been waiting a long time.

  A small cloud of dust rose up around her low-slung car like a cartoon as she killed the engine and climbed out. She shaded her eyes against the six o’clock sun staring her in the face and said, “Hi,” real soft.

  My cock got hard. “Hi.”

  She looked over my shoulder at the hills marching up the north side, lush and silent and blindingly green. Then she looked down at the open space of the valley fragrant with tall, dry, rustling grasses. Long white fences framed my meadows and sloped down to the creek-that-turned-into-a-river beyond.

  “This is beautiful,” she said in church-voice.

  “Thanks.”

  She turned to the framed-out length of my home, beams glowing in the sun. “Wow.” She was quiet a moment. “Yours?”

  “Mine.” I felt a fierce satisfaction in it. In the way she’d said wow.

  “Are you doing it yourself?”

  “With some friends, mostly me. The original house is on the side, and that’s where I live. It can be sectioned off while I work on the rest.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean really beautiful.”

  “Really, thanks.”

  She brought her gaze back. “And a little crazy. I mean this”—she waved her hand between our bodies—“is a little crazy.”

  “Okay.”

  She squinted at me. Or maybe at the sun. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  She stare-squinted a little longer. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  I shrugged. “Beautiful and a little crazy. I can do that.”

  Her cheeks rounded into a smile. “Yeah,” she said softly. “You never had a problem with crazy.”

  “You’re the one who kissed me.”

  She laughed. “I lost my mind.”

  “Twice?”

  The smile got pretty huge. She tipped her head down, and for a second, I thought maybe I’d pushed too far; then she looked back up, smile in place. Nope. Nothing was too much for Janey. She might not know it, but I did. She made a move toward the door of the new construction. “May I?”

  “Yes, I think I will let you in,” I said quietly.

  She smiled over her shoulder and pushed the door open. She leaned forward and tipped her shoulders to peer inside, which pushed her bottom out slightly. The skirt hugged the roundness of her, and her long, shapely legs ended in high heels. I decided that beds were overrated, and if she grew wary of a little bit crazy and didn’t want to go inside, having sex right here on the dirt would be just fine.

  “You live alone?” she asked, still peering inside.

  “Yep.”

  “Mmm.” I liked the sound of it rolling over her lips. I also liked the view of her hips turning as she peered down the long stretch of my framed-out cathedral.

  “Holy wow,” I heard her whisper.

  I smiled at her ass.

  “It’s huger than I thought. And gorgeous-er.” She glanced over her shoulder. I yanked my gaze up. “It’s incredible.”

  I took a step forward.

  She stepped out of the doorway. “I hate to point this out, but you’re going to be very cold in a few months. All those rafters, so few walls.” The sun made her cheeks glow.

  “I live in the side rooms for now,” I explained, pointing to the east side of the house, the original portion. It was functional, my very small home, heated, insulated, equipped with ceiling fans and furnished in a unique combination of rustic luxury and tool shed.

  “Good planning,” she said.

  I swept my gaze down her body, then smiled into her squinting eyes. “Oh, I’m a planner all right, Jane.”

  The entire front of her body was illuminated, pink shirt, tight black skirt, white, faintly shiny skin, and a smile.

  She stood indecisively, and despite the bone-deep pressure to get this thing going, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and leaned back against my truck. I could wait. I’d been waiting a long time. Ever since that stupid, fateful birthday party when she’d bent over my blindfolded eyes, breathing fast and pretty much rocking my world.

  It wasn’t that I hadn’t kissed a girl before. At fourteen, I’d done a lot more than that. The Dante boys were usually at the head of that pack. It was that for whatever reason, when Janey Mac’s body had come close to mine, she smelled of lemons and it made me feel like I was in a yellow glow. And when her frightened, excited breath brushed my lips, my fourteen-year-old body had gone hard.

  And just before her hot mouth touched mine, I’d heard her whispering to herself, “Do it, do it, do it,” and I knew then how scared she was.

  The people in my life did not do courage. And definitely not at thirteen.

  You didn’t forget that kind of thing. At least, I didn’t.

  I had all night to convince her this wasn’t a mistake. I’d been waiting a long time.

  I could wait a little more.

  ~ Jane ~

  WE BACKED UP to his truck, then Finn and I stood there, looking at his masterpiece, admiring beams and vaults and such. I admit, it was lost on me, because all I was aware of was Finn. His hard body leaning back against the truck, his short hair tousled by a breeze, his palms shoved down into his pockets, his forearms roped with lean muscle.

  He seemed completely comfortable with the silence spreading out between us.


  I was not.

  I remembered this about him. He’d stand in the middle of the chaos of a town event like the heart of a cyclone. All around, men and boys would be whooping and hollering, shooting off their mouths and sometimes their guns. The women would be talking, children would be screaming, music would be playing, and Finn would stand in the center of it all, of it and yet somehow beyond it all.

  Me, I plunged right into the thick of all that noise and energy. I thrived on it. I aimed for noise and energy and movement and endless distraction.

  Silence might be a problem.

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” I said, looking at the house.

  He kept looking at the house too. “Really?”

  My face flushed. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to detect it from the general summer swelter making everything else sweaty and flushed.

  “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low.

  We turned our heads and looked at each other.

  “Looking for trouble?” I suggested my own motives somewhat weakly.

  He smiled.

  “I don’t do that very much,” I told him.

  He rolled his hip against the truck, turning to me. “Janey, you’ve been looking for trouble since the day you were born.”

  I opened my mouth to say that was not quite what I meant, and anyhow, it was ridiculous, then I shut it again. He’d taken his sunglasses off, and I could see his eyes. A definite point of vulnerability for me, Finn’s blue eyes. Hard to lie when I was peering into them.

  So instead, I snorted. “Me? What about you?”

  He searched mine a moment, then he told me, “It’s not hard to find trouble if you’re looking, Janey.”

  “No, I guess not.” We were quiet for a minute. “Are you looking, Finn?”

  He rested his elbow on the roof of the truck. “Yeah. I like your trouble.”

  “Oh.” Heat spread down my body like a river starting up.

  “And you like mine.”

  “I don’t know what makes you say that,” I said primly.

  He laughed. “You kissed me, Janey.”

  “I lost my mind.”

  “Twice.”

  “So I lost it twice,” I said weakly.

  He dropped his arm and tugged a loose strand of my hair between two fingers and lit me up. “Lose it again,” he said, low and rough.

  I was helpless against that voice.

  So I went up on my toes and touched my lips to his, just like always. And just like always, he hit me like lightning—electric, straight through the center of me.

  “All gone,” I whispered.

  His arm clamped around my back. “My turn,” he said, and put his hot mouth on mine.

  Finally. I felt like cheering. Eleven years. How long could someone wait?

  Wait, what? I’d been waiting?

  I didn’t have time to focus on that, because his kiss was taking all my attention. It was nothing like what I’d expected. I thought he’d devour me, eat me alive. I wanted him to devour me. But he was…tasting me.

  Soft, tiny fire kisses, lighting me up like there were embers deep in my belly. Touch, brush, touch, brush, he kissed from one side of my mouth to the other, a tiny stroke of his tongue here and there, like he was painting my lips.

  “Oh,” I whispered, shocked and trembling at the gentleness, and he slipped his tongue inside my mouth.

  Hot and slippery and slow and deep, he explored me with licks and strokes, teeth and tongue. Chills shot across my breasts, making my nipples almost painfully hard. I was fired up, dangerous, and wanting more.

  I wrapped my hands around his neck and might have sort of tried to climb up his body. He seemed to get the hint, because he pushed me back hard against the side of the truck, then stepped between my legs. His erection was hard between us and he rocked his hips into me, looking down at me, and grinned.

  I grinned back. I felt like a storm brewing. “I feel like I could do anything,” I whispered, my wrist slung around his neck.

  “Go for it.”

  “Last time you said that, you meant for me to stick my hand down your pants.”

  “That’s what I mean now.”

  I laughed, feeling reckless and dizzy, and slid my hand down to the bulge in his jeans. “Like this?” I asked, trembling inside.

  “Close.” He splayed the hand around my back and started tipping me backward.

  I flattened my palm against his chest. “Don’t you have neighbors?”

  He paused, mid-lean. “One, not many. Two, they’re pretty far away. Three, I don’t care.”

  I nodded and slid my hand down his stomach. It was hard under the thin cotton. I pulled his shirt up and slid my fingers down him, to the button of his jeans.

  “Well, if there’s not many and they’re far away and we don’t care….”

  “We don’t care at all,” he said in a hoarse voice as I went down on my knees in front of him.

  I have a confession to make. Ever since Finn had invited me to stick my hand down his pants eleven years ago, I’d thought about it once or twice, about what I might have found down there.

  Okay, I dreamed about it. Obsessed. Had one or two or a thousand orgasms just thinking about it. It was my go-to fantasy, Finn’s cock. And now it was in my hands, about to be in my mouth.

  I ran the flat of my hand against the long, hard length of him under his boxers, and he made a deep, rumbly sound. I pulled down the waistband, and my knees got weak at the sight of his erection. Perfect. I bent my head and tasted the hot saltiness glistening at the rounded head of him, and just like in my fantasies, I came, right there, real small, real hard, real fast.

  “Jesus, Janey,” he muttered from above. “Did you just come?”

  “Hush,” I murmured, tugging his jeans down to mid-thigh, exposing the pale, smooth muscles at the very top of his upper legs. “Don’t interrupt.”

  He gave a ragged laugh as I slid my fingers up the hard, swollen length of him, traced the thick, pulsing vein that ran up the underside of his upright cock. I felt dizzy with possibilities. I opened my mouth and took him in.

  He hissed and pushed his fingers into my hair and held my head. I slid my wide-open mouth down him, my eyes closed, my whole world contracted to nothing but Finn. His broken breath, his silken hard flesh, the sweaty, masculine scent of him. I closed one hand around the base of his cock and gave a couple of light, rhythmic tugs.

  “Harder,” he ordered in a rasp.

  I did, shifting on my knees, coming in real close, to lean over him and take him deep in my mouth, as far as I could, slow and deep, my head bobbing up and down.

  “Yeah,” he growled, his hand gentle on the back of my head.

  I slid my other hand up his hard stomach, to his chest. He covered it with his and pressed our clasped hands to his chest while his hips pumped forward into my mouth.

  I had no real idea what I was doing, so I went on instinct, followed his body and did whatever he seemed to like. I licked the head of him, hard, fast licks. I cupped his balls and I think his eyes rolled back in his head. I felt…triumphant. Powerful. I loved the hard length of his body standing over me. I loved knowing he was watching me, his dark male voice rough with instruction, his breathing hard, getting off on me getting him off. I could do this all day, I decided.

  I totally ignored the part of me that was standing back, staring in shock and horror at the sight of Janey MacInnee, down on her knees in the dirt, sucking Finn Dante’s cock down her throat.

  My body started to hum.

  “Jesus, Jane,” he muttered roughly, then pulled back, out of my mouth.

  I grabbed for him and looked up, my hair flying all around my face. He’d undone every pin. “But—”

  “Nope,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “Not so fast.”

  “But I wanted it fast,” I complained breathlessly. “I wanted you to…do it in my mouth,” I said, lowering my voice to inform him of this.

  His jaw flexed, an
d he closed his eyes, then opened them. “I swear to you, you will do that later, as much as you want,” he promised in a rough voice. “Just not our first time.”

  And then he went down in front of me. He pushed my skirt up with the heel of his hand in the gritty, hot setting sun and let out a low hiss.

  I smiled. Because I was wearing my Wonder Woman underwear today. The silk ones, with the garters.

  His dark gaze slid up to my eyes.

  “You like them?” I whispered, grinning.

  “They’re fucking perfect.”

  Happiness burned through me.

  “Sorry,” he said, hooking his fingers in them. “They gotta go.”

  I felt wild and wicked and wonderful. The cool breeze kicking up under the hot sunset light, night coming on, Finn kneeling at my feet, calling my Wonder Woman underwear “fucking perfect,” his hard heat all around me. I was absolutely, 100 percent, no-holds-barred ready.

  He turned his head to the side to kiss my inner thigh. The rough growth of the day’s facial hair scraped against my skin as he breathed on me. Yes, I thought. He wrapped his hands around my thighs, his thumbs on the inner sides, and made me spread them apart for him.

  “You’re wet,” he growled, licking my inner thigh. He slid his hand up and lightly brushed the tip of one finger against my wet heat, through my Wonder Woman underwear.

  I let out a hot, ragged breath. He did it again, the lightest brush of his thick finger against the silk. Then I felt my panties tighten slightly as he pinched them with two calloused fingers and tugged them to the side, exposing my slippery, hot self.

  I threw my head back. It bumped the side of the truck, and I kept it there, a perfect resting spot to close my eyes and focus on nothing but what Finn was doing to me. And somehow keep my knees from buckling. I gave up every other goal in life and just tried to stay on my feet and let him do me.

  His face was level with everything pounding hot inside me. He took his time, sliding his thumb up the front of my leg, then brushing up through the heated, pulsing flesh to just below my clitoris. I held my breath, waiting, but he only did the same thing again, a little harder this time, a little faster, his thumb pushing in a little farther. Then he moved up, nudging the swirling tightness of my clit from below, a pressured push of perfection, almost touching it but not quite.