Jordyn's Army, page 25
Though they share a bloodline, Finley was raised as the daughter of an imprisoned mob boss. I didn’t know her growing up, but there is a wildness to her now, a take-no-prisoners tenacity that drew me in from the moment I first met her.
I’ve fought the attraction for months. But I’m sick of fantasizing about Finley every damn time I take a shower.
I’ve embraced my legacy and now I want to embrace her, too.
That’s not all I want … but Finley’s not ready to know the full extent of my plans. Yet.
“You’re right. What’s that expression—all work and no play …”
“Resorting to clichés now?”
“I express my creativity in other ways.”
An unmistakable flare of attraction brightens Finley’s gaze for the briefest of moments before she blinks it away. “Good for you.”
I cock my head to the side, silently appraising her. Finley’s sex appeal is not overt. It’s a subtle glaze that mists her poreless skin, an ethereal glow that originates from somewhere deep inside her. So damn intriguing.
“What if it could be good for you?”
She holds my gaze for a moment, the breath stilling in my lungs. And then she reaches for the vase sitting just to her left, sliding it in front of her. A bouquet of white flowers explode from the top of the glass in a verdant arrangement.
She plucks a single rose from the mix and pulls it out, sniffing it briefly before twirling it with her fingers. “Do you like flowers, Sebastián?”
“Objectively speaking, yes. Although it’s not really something I’ve ever thought about.”
“I’m not much of a flower person, myself. It seems like a lot of money and time are wasted on something that will wilt and die in just a few days. I do like roses though.” She extends the bloom toward me. “They are beautiful, don’t you think?”
I nod, wondering where she’s going with this.
Her fingertips run up and down the stem. “It’s not the flower that I find beautiful though. It’s the thorns.”
“There are no thorns on that rose,” I observe.
“No. They’ve been stripped off. The only protection this beauty has, and it’s been stolen.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bouquet of roses that still have their thorns.”
She plucks at the petals, creating a silken stack on the mahogany bar top. One by one. “My middle name is Rose. Finley Rose Byrne.”
“It’s a beautiful name.”
She doesn’t acknowledge the compliment. “My mother used to say it would have been more accurate to name me Thorne.”
“Because of your sharp instinct for self-preservation?”
“Hmm. I think I prefer your theory to hers, actually.” Finley’s hands momentarily still, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “My mother was a little more to the point. Anyone who gets close to you will have blood on their hands and regret in their heart.”
I grunt in surprise. “Not much of a confidence booster.”
She sets the last petal on the little pile she’s built. “Well, she has a unique way of imparting her opinions.”
“Are you trying to warn me off? Discourage me from getting too close?”
“I suppose I am.” She looks up at me. “Have I succeeded?”
A breath of time passes as we study each other. Two opponents taking stock of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Our respective thorns.
“No, the opposite. You’ve failed. Miserably.”
A tiny vein pulses, almost imperceptibly, at Finley’s temple as she holds my gaze. I wish I knew what was going on inside her complicated mind. I don’t. But I do know that the attraction I’m feeling isn’t one-sided. Finley’s haughty resistance is more habit than anything else.
If we were strangers, meeting tonight for the first time, we’d already be pressed up against the nearest wall.
But the fact is, I am business partners with Damon King. Our bond is short and shallow. Finley’s ties to the man are long and go back years, decades. Right now, our interests are aligned … mostly. But that could change at any time. Tomorrow or next month or next year.
If King crosses me, or I cross him—which is probably only a matter of time—it’s in my best interest if I can walk away clean.
I should resist the urge to touch Finley. Resist the desire to kiss her and fuck her until my mouth is swollen and aching and my cock is limp.
But Finley is the only woman whose ever made my blood run hot and my heart beat fast. And I’ve lost so fucking much because of my family, because of Los Muertos. I refuse to lose her, too.
Actually, not even lose. To give up before I’ve tried.
So I press forward. “Since no one is waiting for you, what will you do after you leave here? Will you go home, or back to work?” I lower my voice to a gritted whisper, leaning closer. “Or somewhere else, perhaps. Maybe a dark, seedy bar … looking for someone to soothe the ache between your thighs.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Finley’s denial is rendered moot by the way she shifts in her seat, uncrossing and then re-crossing her legs.
I set a hand over her knee, my fingers deftly caressing the delicate skin behind it. “What if I tell you I have every intention of fucking you until even your thorns become roses?”
She hesitates for a moment before answering. “I’d say, in my experience, men who make promises like that are incapable of delivering.”
Clarity sharpens my vision, allowing me to see beyond Finley’s beautiful face and bombshell body. I see the tangle of insecurity knotted beneath her skin, the reluctant hesitation that clings to each bated breath.
She is a woman who uses discipline and intelligence to segment her world from chaos into order. She compartmentalizes her sexuality so it doesn’t touch any other aspect of her life. The fact that I’m not someone she can simply fuck and forget is an obstacle she doesn’t know how to overcome.
And it only makes me want her more.
“There’s just one way to find out for sure.”
Finely pushes back her bar stool. “I’m good, thanks.”
4
Finley
I am not good. At all.
Beneath the aloof mask I somehow manage to keep on my face, desire rushes through my veins, vibrating inside my bones as I stride through the club, ignoring the small clusters of those who use Reign to conduct their business affairs.
Their business. And their affairs.
I stop only out of necessity at the bank of elevators.
But someone else beats me to the call button.
“What are you doing?” I drag my eyes away from the sight of Sebastián’s long, elegant fingers.
“Same as you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Leaving.”
“You didn’t seem in any rush a minute ago.”
“That’s because you hadn’t left yet.”
I step inside the elevator. “Goodnight, Sebastián.”
He follows. “You’re coming home with me.”
“Why would I do that?” I snap.
“Because, unlike you, I have no qualms about fucking in my own apartment.”
“I don’t fuck men I work with.”
“According to you, we don’t work together.”
Turning to Sebastián in frustration, I find that his eyes are already on me. Maybe they’ve been the entire time. “I was trying to be polite, but you’re making it impossible. I’m not interested. Is that enough of a reason for you?”
A smile plays with his lips. “It would be … if it were true.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Frankly, yes. Although the only person you’re lying to is yourself.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” The doors open, and Sebastián makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “After you.”
I step out of the elevator, my heels tapping sharply on the marble floor. I’m so distracted that I don’t realize we’re not in the lobby until the doors close behind me.
I spin on him. “You live here, in the building?”
Sebastián’s lips twist in a wolfish grin and I sense something untamed deep within him. A feral predator lurking just beneath the veneer of private school privilege and custom-tailored clothes. “Convenient, isn’t it?”
But if Sebastián is a predator, then I am his prey.
And that is not true. I am a hunter, the same as him.
Except that, for the first time in my life, temptation is turning my blood toxic.
A steady drumbeat of it thrums within my chest. I want to call Sebastián's bluff. I want to feel his long, tapered fingers slide across my skin, taste his kisses on my lips.
I want to feel the weight of his body on top of my own, the thickness of his cock filling the aching emptiness inside of me.
Just then, my phone vibrates with an incoming text and I automatically reach inside my purse to retrieve it.
Aislinn: Baby King is here! Too exhausted and happy to type. Come visit us tomorrow. xo
I look up at Sebastián with a grin stretched across my face. “I’m an aunt,” I say, my voice a breathy admission of wonder.
“Congratulations.” He inclines his head toward the elevator. “Still want to go home alone?”
The world has one more person in it tonight, and somehow that makes the thought of going home to my empty apartment feel lonely. I could go back to the office, but that holds little appeal either.
“I should,” I say, haltingly, wanting only the man standing in front of me.
“But you don’t.” Sebastián steps toward me quickly, as if the band holding him back has been suddenly severed by an invisible force.
I blink and the distance between us is gone, Sebastián standing so close to me that his warmth permeates my skin before we even touch.
And then we do.
His chin dips, his forefinger and thumb grabbing hold of my face and tilting my head to the perfect angle, our eyes meeting in an electrified clash. I take a breath just before my senses come alive with the flavor of tequila that tastes so much better on Sebastián’s tongue than in any shot glass. Fragrant and intoxicating.
I moan as his hand curves around my jaw, his fingers pushing into the hair at the back of my neck and then moving upward, loosening the tight knot and setting it free. He growls something unintelligible against my lips, grabbing mounds of my hair within his fists, yanking just hard enough to pull a surprised gasp from my lungs.
Sebastián pulls away, just far enough to meet my eyes, and whatever he sees in mine makes him smile. It pulls at only one corner of his mouth. A movement filled with warmth and need. And … something else. Something that makes me think Sebastián doesn’t want to want me. Or, more likely, it’s that he knows my loyalty lies with another man—Damon King—and always will.
The power struggle and secrets between us are real. But so is the lust heating our blood like a charged wire.
Before I can come to my senses, Sebastián pushes me up against the wall just behind me, the bulge in his trousers obvious as his mouth trails wet kisses along my neck. His teeth scrape my skin, biting down on the tender flesh and sending a flood of heat pulsing between my quivering thighs.
A low, needy moan leaves my lips, proof that the last vestige of my resistance has been demolished under Sebastián’s less than gentle onslaught.
“Uptight, always-in-control Finley likes it rough, huh?” His voice is a gritty rasp, his breath a caress against my collarbone.
He’s right. I like to lose myself in sex. To be nothing like the woman I am at work. Surrounded by computers and colleagues, I am poised and confident. I can threaten men without flinching, watch them tortured without blinking an eye. I am the ultimate hard ass.
Behind closed doors, however, I prefer to cede control to a man capable of controlling me.
But very few men have ever been able to do that. And all of those were one-off experiences. With a professional.
I’m not proud. But I’m not ashamed either.
I deserve great sex. But I’ve never gotten it from any of the casual hook-ups I’ve met at a bar.
Sebastián Cruz is pushing all of my buttons. It’s been a long time. Too long. And my willpower to resist him is …
Gone.
My hips buck upward of their own accord, my arms wrapping around Sebastián’s neck as he palms my breast, his fingers pinching my nipples through the thin lace of my bra.
Jesus. Why are we still wearing clothes?
As if reading my mind, Sebastián yanks at the hem of my shirt. It is tucked into the waistband of my skirt, but the silk slides up easily. His hands are impatient as he follows the neckline to the base of my spine, finding the button that marks the top of the keyhole back. There is a sharp sound as the small mother of pearl disc flies off, hitting the wall. Sebastián could shred my clothes for all I care.
Finally, my shirt is pulled over my head, the cool air of his apartment hitting my overheated skin like a slap. But it’s not enough. I need to be naked. I need Sebastián to be naked. I need us to be skin to skin.
I open my mouth to tell him to hurry, but before I can get a word out, I feel his hand clamp down over my neck, pressing hard just below my jaw.
Cutting off my air supply.
“No,” he growls. “You don’t get to set the rules or the pace. Tonight, you are mine.”
I have no breath to answer, but it doesn’t matter. Sebastián captures my mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue sweeping in and exploring every dark crevice.
I kiss him back as my head swims, lack of oxygen stealing my composure and leaving me dizzy. Panic sends a flood of adrenaline through my bloodstream. My pulse is racing, my heart threatening to break free of my ribcage.
Just as I’m about to struggle, he releases me.
The air I suck in is Sebastián’s air. The breath I gulp down, pulling it deep into my lungs, is Sebastián’s breath.
I feel like a newborn colt, all untrained muscles and uncoordinated limbs. Which is probably why Sebastián takes a step back, watching my struggle to remain upright beneath the intensity of his green, hooded gaze.
He wants me off balance. Wants me to leave the woman I am at work behind.
“Strip.” The word is a command. But with Sebastián at arm’s length, I am no longer held captive by his kisses or his touch. I could pick my shirt up off the floor and walk straight out his door.
I consider it. Strongly.
If the man in front of me was anyone other than Sebastián Cruz, I would already be naked.
Don’t shit where you eat.
Don’t fuck where you work.
They are rules for a reason.
And I very badly want to break one of them.
Slowly, my hands slide along my skirt, moving to the back of my waist. It takes several attempts to unclasp the hook and eye closure, but I manage it. Then the zipper. It makes a low, mournful sound, as if voicing its displeasure at my current circumstance.
But it finally drops to my feet and I kick it aside. Sebastián’s gaze rakes down my body, and I tremble self-consciously. I am wearing a La Perla bra and panty set made of the thinnest black lace. My breasts fill out the cups but they do not overflow them. The sides of the panties are cut high, but my hips don’t curve nearly as much as I wish they would.
Sebastián drinks me in as his long fingers work the button at his neck, his dark gaze gleaming with lust. “Keep going,” he says, his voice tight.
Good. At least I am not the one operating outside of my comfort zone. And although I am no playboy model, I am relieved by Sebastián’s obvious appreciation of my appearance.
As I take off my bra and shimmy out of my panties, Sebastián shrugs off his jacket and unclasps his cufflinks, folding the sleeves of his shirt back to reveal thick, tanned forearms.
My mouth goes dry. I am a sucker for arm porn.
And Sebastián has the best I’ve ever seen.
I am just about to slip out of my Manolo Blaniks when he says. “Leave the shoes on.” Another command.
Heat is building in my core, spiraling up from between my legs and wrapping around my ribcage, drawing tighter with every passing moment. My breaths are now just shallow pants that echo inside my ears.
Naked, I shift from one stiletto-clad foot to the other. I haven’t uttered a single word since I was silenced by Sebastián’s hand around my throat. Seconds tick by as I remain enslaved to his stare.
Finally, he walks back to me. Coming so close that we are toe to toe. And in my five-inch heels, we are nearly eye to eye. Without any warning, Sebastián’s hand glides along the inside of my thigh until his palm cups my heat. A low whimper builds up in my chest, leaking out in the quiet foyer of his apartment.
“Fuck, Finely. You’re burning up.” A finger swipes through my slit and Sebastián chuckles as my wetness leaks out. “I’ll bet very few people have seen the fire that burns beneath your all-business facade.”
I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to. But because I am utterly incapable of words. One finger has become two, and they are gliding over my clit in hard, determined strokes.
My legs begin to quiver, my eyes closing as my head rolls back against the wall.
And then, Sebastián stops. A desperate cry is wrenched from my mouth, only to be cut off by Sebastián’s fingers. The very same ones that were inside of me.
“Suck.”
I do. I taste myself. I taste the basest of all desires. Lust.
I am filled with it. Overcome by it.
Lust is surging inside my veins, swelling inside my lungs. Lust is clouding my thoughts, stealing my doubts.
And when Sebastián falls to his knees at my feet, throwing first one leg over his shoulder then the other, lust is joined by something else. Something entirely unfamiliar.
Bliss.
5
Sebastián
