Finn is my happy. But he can’t be the only source. I’ll drown that way.

* * *

Finn

* * *

Chess has cast me out of the bathroom—out of the bedroom, really. It has been declared “woman’s domain” as she gets ready for tonight. I like that she’s claimed her space and ordered me out of it, because it means she feels at home.

And even though I’m stuck in a tux, my neck held too close by a stiff, white collar, I’m happy to wait on the couch and flip through TV channels. Every so often, I hear sounds, the hum of the shower, the high-pitched whine of her hairdryer, and part of me really wants to peek.

I won’t. Anticipation is better.

Tonight, we’re attending a gala hosted by the Whett Foundation, the charity behind our calendar. Despite the fact that a bunch of football players are attending, the invite had been clear: it is a black tie event.

There had been much grumbling among my teammates. Personally, putting on a tux isn’t any different then donning a suit for game day, so I’m not going to complain.

Down the hall, the bedroom door opens with a definitive snick, followed by the click of high heels. I get to my feet and make my way toward Chess.

I’m quicker than she is, and we find each other at the end of the hall.

The first sight of her makes me light-headed, the floor beneath me unsteady. “Wow,” I say with a breath. “You look… You’re fucking stunning, Chester.”

Her cheeks pink, as she looks down as if to inspect herself for flaws. “I’ve never been to a black tie gala. I hope this is all right.”

“It’s perfect.” I take a step closer, her perfume and warmth hitting my system like a drug. She staggers me. “You’re perfect.”

Her dress is floor length with thin straps holding it up. It skims over her like milk, the fabric white and black pattern lace that, when she moves, reveals tantalizing glimpses of skin beneath.

“Please tell me you’re wearing something under that,” I beg her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to function if I catch a flash of nipple.”

She laughs. “It’s lined. No nipple peeks for you.”

“I’m almost sorry about that.” Reaching for her, I slip my hand around her waist, but halt when I find smooth, bare skin. “Oh, now what do we have here?”

“That would be my back,” she says with a straight face.

I haul her closer, my hand gliding up and down. “Your entire back.” Glancing over her shoulder, I confirm it with a groan. The devious dress rests just above the rise of her peachy ass. “Jesus, Chester. You’re going to kill me.”

A small smile plays on her pink lips as she fiddles with the lapels of my jacket. “I’m pretty sure you’ll want to live, if only to take this off me later.” She straightens my bowtie, and her green eyes meet mine. “God, you’re gorgeous. It’s like I forget the impact of you, and then ‘wham’ weak knees and fluttering heart.”

The way she just out and says it, her gaze sliding over me as if I’m hot fudge on a cold day, I get weak-kneed myself. My free hand cups her cheek, the silk of her hair sliding over my fingers. Without a word, I seek her mouth.

Her lips are a study of contradictions: soft yet firm, yielding then greedy. She sighs inside a kiss, small sounds of pleasure and want. It sends a fierce surge of lust through me. I take her mouth, own it, plunge in deep, feeding her my tongue with urgent strokes as if she’s starving for it. And yet she’s the one who owns me. I’m the one starving.

“I love kissing you,” I say against her lips, never stopping, but taking more and more. Begging for it in return. Chess grips my lapels, holding on, bringing me closer.

My hand slides further along the curve of her back, down under the edge of her dress. A pained groan rips from me. More satin skin. “Fuck no,” I plead, sucking her lower lip. “You’re bare?”

I feel her smile. “No panty lines,” she murmurs, breath hot and damp.

I grip her ass, kneading the firm flesh. “Fuck, baby. We’re not going make it out.”

Her teeth pull at my upper lip, as she reaches down to cup my dick, where he is hard and insistent against my seam of my pants.

Chess makes a sound of approval, stroking and giving me an impatient squeeze. “I want him.”

“You have him.” We tumble against the wall, me leaning into her. I don’t know who is holding up who at this point. Chess fumbles with my zipper, slipping her hand in to clasp my dick and free him. She gives him a hello stroke.

Things get hazy. My hands go to the skirt of her dress, gathering the fabric, wrenching it up and up until I find the smooth length of her thighs.

“Hold on,” I say, kissing her deeper, a little frantic now.

Her long legs wrap around my waist, gripping tight, pulling me in.

I find the wet heat of her, stroke the soft slickness with the tips of my fingers.

Chess shudders, her breath gusting out in a pant. “Finn. Now.”

My forehead rests against hers. “Always.”

It almost hurts, that first thrust. She so fucking tight and I’m so fucking swollen with need. I groan like I’m dying. Maybe I am. I’m so hot, I can’t find a breath.

And she’s arching her neck, whimpering and clawing at my shoulders. Her thighs spread wider, opening for me with a demand for more.

I know she expects a fast, hard fuck. I go slow, rocking into her, loving the way her body lifts a little when I’m balls deep, then sinks back as I draw out. With every push into the snug, slick well of her body, she makes a raspy noise in her throat, a bit helpless, a bit needy, like she’s begging for it but doesn’t want to. It gets me hotter, sweat rolling down my spine, heat flickering up my thighs, over my ass.

Her hand cups the back of my neck, and she kisses me. It’s disjointed, sloppy. We’re both breathing too fast, shaking too much for finesse. Somehow, it makes it better, earthier, everything boiled down to primitive fucking and base lust. I take her air then give her mine. The press of her fingers against my skin makes me shiver.

I’m claiming her against a wall, but if feels as though she’s claiming me. I’m losing my damn mind. I’m scared I might cry. Cry and fuck her and beg for something I don’t fully understand. Every time I push into her, I’m begging for it. Every pull though her heat, I’m anticipating the next thrust.