Finn's Shot (Eden's Odyssey Book 1) Page 2

  Aha! His tattoos trigger my memory. He’s on banners and billboards all over the city, but he’s in hockey gear, his expression menacing in all of those shots. He’s a professional hockey player for the Chicago Blizzard. Not that it matters much to me since I’m not into hockey, but the body created by his sport sure gives me a great piece of canvas to paint with my lips and tongue tonight. His body is ridiculous, long and lean with defined muscle everywhere I can see. His thick muscled thighs contract under me as he works to get my attention again by pulling my nipple into his mouth with his skilled lips and tweaking the other with his calloused fingers. I’m busy absorbing the sensual sensation as I keep tracing with my finger tips, moving over to the indentations of his muscular stomach until he gets too impatient and flips me to my back on the couch, hiking my skirt up higher.

  His voice husky with lust, he asks, “What do you want, Darcy? How far do you want this to go? I’m close to my breaking point, and I need to know.” He studies my expression, waiting for my response.

  “All the way, Finn. All the way,” I breathe out, so turned on at this point, I could spontaneously combust. On the last word, I press my chest to his, my cool skin enjoying the heat from his.

  Without warning, this slow building fire bursts into an inferno and I can sense the change as his switch flips. He slides down off the couch and pulls my skirt and panties off, spreading my thighs wide open for him.

  “Bare. So fucking sexy. Holy shit.” He growls out the words like a feral beast.

  His roughened fingertips part my soft flesh, and I feel the moisture that’s been building inside me slide down past the crack of my ass. Then his tongue takes a soft swipe at me, and I arch up begging for more contact, more pressure, more of everything. He wraps his arms around my thighs and pins them down while he plants his close cut bearded face against my folds and strokes me with firm tempered strokes. Just as I’m about to release the coiled tension in my muscles, he changes his rhythm enough that I can’t quite get off, so I whimper in frustration.

  My hips undulate against the assault and I beg, “Please, Finn. Don’t make me wait anymore. Please.”

  “I love a lady that begs.” Is his muffled response.

  I’d probably be mad if my mind wasn’t consumed with raw lust as my body quivers with unused orgasm.

  “Oh God, Finn. Please. Please. Please!” I cry out.

  He slides two of his fingers inside my soaked channel and bends them just right, hitting the magic spot inside, and then concentrates his talented tongue on my pleasure bud, working it with the perfect amount of pressure. When I reach my peak, I gasp and scream out, thanking God and the saints for such an amazing release.

  Smiling that smug male I-just-worked-you-over-good kind of smile, he gives my nipple a playful tweak as I squeak out a protest. I grab him by his hair again and pull him up to me.

  “Pants off now,” I pant. I may have just had the most explosive orgasm that ever was but I’m still so turned on by him I can’t see straight.

  He complies, dropping his pants to the floor, and he’s left standing in his boxer briefs with a bulge the size of Texas pushing against the fabric as the swollen crown juts out above the waistline. I say a silent thank you for the creator of this man. Physical perfection.

  I graze my pointer finger across the weeping hole of his cock and slide my finger into my mouth, sucking the salty drops off. His chest expands with a deep breath, and he tucks his fingers in the waistband of his briefs and shoves them to the floor. His enormous shaft bounces proudly in front of him, giving me a glimpse of paradise I’m about to experience. I lower to the floor and shuffle forward on my knees across the coarse carpet to where I’m close enough to grip the rock hard heat in my hand and give it a few hard strokes. His head drops forward, and his eyes close as he stands like a statue, with his legs apart, the rest of his body motionless.

  I swirl my tongue around the blunt head and apply more pressure as I reach the more sensitive underside. My eyes never leave his face as I catalog his every reaction. My mouth closes over the bulbous head, and I bob up and down until he’s as deep as my throat will allow. My hand grips the root of his cock, and I work it in tandem with my head bobs, sucking hard as I pull back. My other hand runs light fingernails up his muscled thigh until it reaches his heavy sack, which I palm and massage as I suck his cock. His groans echo through the room, and I can feel the tender flesh draw tight to his body, alerting me he’s about to come. Instead of pulling away, I suck him until his hot seed coats the back of my throat. I release his testicles and massage his thighs as I drain him of every drop. When I’m finished, he lifts me under my arms and sinks back on the couch, and we’re back the way we started.

  He pushes the hair behind my ears and kisses my forehead before I rest it against the sweaty plains of his chest.

  “Never had any better. Holy shit, Darcy.”

  My body warms at the compliment; especially since I now know he’s a professional hockey player. Woman seem to love professional athletes so I’m sure he’s had his share of them, but I don’t respond. I listen to his still racing heartbeat and trace his tribal tattoo with gentle fingers.

  His hands glide over my back as easily as my sweat slickened skin will allow, and he places soft kisses on the top of my head. The intimate gesture surprises and melts me a little, so I snuggle closer. I want to ask a hundred questions, but I don’t want to ruin the best night I’ve had in a long time, so I stay quiet. Although profession would make you think differently, I don’t sleep around. There was just something about him from the first time our eyes met that snagged my attention. Spending time with him at the bar, being the focus of his charming flirtatious personality pulled me in further. His manners are impeccable and the hint of Canadian accent really does it for me. It helps that even with a suit on, the athletic muscular stature of his physique is still blaringly obvious. Who wouldn’t want to be here in this moment with him?

  His hands move down over the cheeks of my ass, and he squeezes, separating them a little to knead the flesh with more force. I can feel him grow between us again and am surprised he’s recovered this fast. I was eighteen the last time I was with someone who was ready to go again so soon. Inspired by his renewed interest, I rock my hips forward, proving to him I too am ready.

  His hands move up into my hair and along my jaw line, positioning my face so he can kiss me with a fervor I haven’t felt in forever. Our tongues dance the dance of passion and lust as they intertwine, lick and stroke one another.

  My orgasm turns my skin ultra sensitive to where the rough texture of the fine dark hair on his thighs, the slick moisture on his chest and the calloused fingers stroking my nape are amplified.

  The smell of warm flesh and aftershave fills my nostrils, pulling me in like the potent aphrodisiac nature intended. If the snake in the Garden of Eden smelled anything like Finn, I see why Eve had taken the apple. I’ll take anything he’s willing to give right about now.

  “Condom,” I whisper in his ear as I trace the shell with my tongue, stopping to suck on the lobe. His body shudders, and his hips flex against me.

  “My wallet,” his gruff voice informs me.

  I bend sideways digging in his pocket for his wallet and hand it to him. He removes the condom and tosses the wallet to the coffee table. Then he grips my hips and sets me further back on his legs. I stare, fascinated, as he rolls the latex cover over the largest cock I’ve ever touched. Without a word, I take him in hand and sink my body over him.

  My pussy stretches to allow him in, his thickness requiring patience as I slide up and down. I never take my eyes off of his. Once he’s seated inside me, I sit still. I enjoy the fullness of him, of the moment, and I paint it into my memory using reds and oranges for passion and blues for the stormy turbulence building inside of me.

  “Darcy,” my name is a quiet plea from his full lips.

  I rise and fall, my rhythm is slow as I cup my own breasts and roll my nipples between thumb and forefin
gers. His sapphire eyes flash with heat as they watch my hands work. He grips my ass and increases the pace for me. The muscles in his thighs flex as he thrusts up into me. The power and control he has of our bodies is intoxicating as it invokes a tingling sensation all over my skin. My mind reels trying to place each second of this into the memory vault, so I’ll have an archive of thoughts to draw upon when my nights are quiet once again. When daylight comes, how will I be able to let him go?

  Chapter Three: Finn

  The woman is a golden-haired goddess. Curls wild and free, lips parted allowing whimpers of pleasure to escape her throat as I thrust harder inside of her. When her hands release her breasts so she can steady herself on my shoulders I brace my feet farther apart and hammer into her as hard as I can without bucking her off. Screams echo around the room, and her pussy pulls me in deeper with ripples of her pleasure. Slipping my hand between us, I swirl a finger over her clit and watch as she loses her mind. It’s so damn erotic it steals my control. The burning at the bottom of my spine spreads up into my balls, and I explode with the force of a shuttle heading for orbit. She collapses against me and squeezes her inner walls, causing me to flinch as she milks me dry. She giggles a little and climbs off my lap, and then points me in the direction of the bathroom where I dispose of the condom.

  This is the part of the night where I usually leave. Once I’m sexually sated I never stay past this point, because I don’t want to give women the idea it’s more than one night. With her though I’m not ready to leave. Maybe it’s because I want to see what she’ll say next or maybe I just want to discover more about this wild, sexy woman and her alluring smile. Our brief but lively conversation back at the bar left me intrigued.

  She appears confident and happy and I’m drawn to her like a magnet. I’m constantly surrounded by insecure woman who put on a front of being happy, but the sadness lurks behind their eyes more often than not. With her, the smile is genuine, the laughter pure, the light in her eyes almost magical.

  As I slip my boxer briefs back on and return to the living room where I find her now wearing a long black t-shirt with a Foo Fighters logo on it. Her smile is bright as she offers me a drink.

  “Yes, some water would be great.”

  “I realize this is a strange question, and I understand if you need to go, but I was wondering if you’d let me paint you?”

  What? Not what I expected her to ask. She has a habit of surprising me with her questions.

  “Like body paint me?”

  Her giggle is sweet as she answers, “No, I mean you sprawl out on the futon in my studio, and I paint a picture of you laying there. I have a television I could turn on for you so you wouldn’t be bored. If not, it’s okay. I realize it’s a strange request for a one-night stand.”

  I think about it for a minute as she stares at me. I’m not crazy about laying there as a subject for a painting, but if it means I’ll get more time with her I should probably say yes.

  “How long are we talking?”

  She shrugs. “As long as it takes,” she answers sarcastically. The left corner of her lips lift in a smirk, and I laugh out loud.

  I run a hand over my short beard, smoothing it down as I answer, “Yeah, why the hell not.” Never encountered a woman like her, and I can’t wait to see what she’ll do or say next.

  “Follow me.”

  I obey, and she leads me down a short hallway into a small room. In one corner is a table covered in brushes and paints, pencils, chalk, and half-done sketches on paper haphazardly strewn across the surface. There’s an easel next to it. Along one wall sits a futon and directly across from it on the wall is a flat screen television. The only other piece of furniture is a small stand in the adjacent corner with an iPod dock on top of it.

  “Can you watch TV on mute or do you need sound?” she asks, pulling me from my observations.

  “We can put on a sports channel and mute it. I can watch the bottom line if I need something to do.”

  “Good, because I love to paint to music.”

  “Whatever floats your boat. How do you want me?”

  “Boxers only.”

  She spends a few minutes arranging me, and when she’s done, I’m laying with one leg crooked up against the back of the futon while the other is bent at the knee hanging off the side, foot on the floor. One arm is up behind my head, and I have the other positioned to where my fingers are in the waistband of my boxers near my left hip. My face is turned toward the television so I can glance at it if I want to.

  She leaves the room and comes back with a cup full of water and a goofy smile on her face. She smiles more than any woman I’ve ever met. It’s refreshing and contagious, so I smile back at her, unable to help myself.

  For the longest time, I lay there as she sings along to all the words. Her voice and the music, coupled with my physical exhaustion lull me into sleep. At some point I wake with a blanket over me. A different band is playing on the iPod, but she’s still concentrating on her work as the brush flies across the canvas. I stretch my cramped muscles and sit up. The futon creaks and alerts her to my presence so she glances over at me.

  “I should have let you go home. I’m sorry. I just had to have you on canvas.”

  “It’s okay. What time is it?” I yawn and stretch my arms above head realizing how stiff my body is.

  “About five a.m.”

  I groan. “Damn. I have to be back at the rink at ten for morning skate.”

  “You can go climb into my bed and sleep. I can wake you up when it’s time for you to go. I doubt I’ll try to get any sleep, since I found my muse.” A slight grin crosses her lips.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” I tell her half-heartedly.

  “It’s no big deal. I’m sure you need the sleep. I didn’t realize you were a hockey player until I got a look at your tats. Get some sleep. What time do you want me to wake you up?”

  I should leave and head home, but the idea of losing an hour of sleep just to get to my bed doesn’t appeal.

  “If you wake me up at nine fifteen, I can grab a shower if you don’t mind and make it to the rink on time.”

  “Okay, I’ll set the alarm and get you up. Don’t worry.” Her smile is sweet and understanding.

  She drops her brush into a cup, wipes her hands on her apron and struts past me asking, “Any chance you’d be willing to sign a waver in case I decide to use the pictures I painted tonight in a show?”

  I follow her to a large bedroom with a king-size bed. She yanks the covers back and fluffs a pillow.

  “What kind of show?”

  “Sometimes I have gallery showings of my work.”

  I don’t even think about it I just answer, “Oh, sure. Just have it ready when you wake me up and I’ll sign.”

  “Make yourself at home,” she instructs as she gestures to the teal-colored sheets and silver comforter.

  I kiss the top of her head and slip between the sheets. She leaves the room, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her. Her scent is all over the sheets, and if I wasn’t so damn tired, I’d call her back in here, but the long day and active evening have taken their toll on me. In three seconds I fall asleep.

  ****

  I’m awakened later by a warm wet sensation on my dick. Disoriented, my eyes fly open, and I prepare to scramble away until Darcy’s raspy voice says, “I just thought this would work better than a regular alarm. I can stop if you want me too.”

  My upper body drops back to the mattress, and I release a relieved breath.

  “Please proceed, you are correct in your assumption.”

  A low chuckle vibrates and disappears around my cock while the vibrations shake my balls. Fifteen minutes later, I’m in her shower scrubbing down with some vanilla-scented stuff I’m sure the guys will fuck with me about if they get a whiff of it.

  I jump out and throw on last night’s clothes. While I’m putting on my shoes, a huge blueberry muffin appears in front of me on a napkin.

  “It
’s not fresh. I made them earlier this week and froze them so they’d keep, but I figure you’ll need it this morning for fuel.”

  “Thank you, that was thoughtful.”

  I stand to my full height of 6’6”’ and look down at her tiny form.

  “I had a really good time last night. Thanks for letting me crash in your bed and feeding me breakfast.”

  Her morning smile is more beautiful than the ones she gifted me with last night. “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I see you again?” I ask, hopeful.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m your kind of girl. I had a great time last night, but I’m not a long term kind of girl. One night is good enough.” She shrugs and for the first time in a long time I wish the woman I spent the night with last night was looking for more.

  “Are you sure? I would really like to take you out.”

  “I’ve got too many things going on in my life that aren’t conducive to a relationship for me to see someone more than once. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a bitch. I know it won’t work. We had a great time last night. Let’s just leave it at that, please.”

  “Okay. I get it,” I tell her even though I really don’t get it. I do realize pushing won’t get me what I want in this instance. I can tell by the firm set to her jaw and the protective cross of her arms over her chest I won’t get my way.

  So I finish, “Thanks again,” and brush my lips across hers and leave the apartment. As the elevator descends my gut clenches with regret. I want to see her again. I don’t want to leave, but morning skate is non-negotiable and she said no. At least I’m out of town the next few nights so I won’t be tempted to come back.