Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
He bends his head and gives me a soft kiss. “I like my plan better. But keep calling me your man. It soothes my weary soul.”
I roll my eyes and put my arm around his waist. “Come on, hot shot, we can negotiate terms in bed.”
Finn slings his arm over my shoulders and gives me a light squeeze as we slowly move to his bedroom—our bedroom now.
“I love coming home to you,” he says with a content sigh. “I have from day one. But now . . .” He glances down at me. “It makes it all worth it.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I press my lips to the side of his chest, just breathe him in for a moment. He smells of soap, the clean cotton of his shirt, and the warmth of his body. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Once inside the bedroom, I grab a remote and turn on the gas fireplace. It flares to life, soon to send warmth radiating into the cool room. The bedside lamps give the bedroom a soft golden glow. I realize why his decorator did his room in warm tones and luscious fabrics. This place is a haven for his tough days.
“Want some dinner?” I ask him.
“Downed a cheeseburger and some fries on the way home.” He heads straight toward the bed.
“No soaking bath?”
“Had an ice bath after the game, then a hot shower.” Finn toes off his sneakers. “I have no interest sitting around in more water.”
Gingerly, he moves to pull off his shirt, and I help him. My breath catches as we lift the shirt past his ribs. “Jesus, Finn.”
His sides and back are red and covered with a patchwork of nasty bruises. “Ugly game,” he says flatly. “Got sacked a few times.”
I rest my hand on his lower back, barely touching him, and he shivers. But when I try to snatch my hand away, he stops me by putting his hand over mine. “No,” he says. “It feels good when you touch me.”
“Finn . . .” My heart aches as I brush my lips over his shoulder blade, my other hand slipping around to his front to stroke his stomach. We stand in silence, Finn breathing slow and deep, leaning into me as I pepper soft kisses across the back of his shoulders.
I hold him as if he’s fragile.
In this moment, he is. And I resent every hit that he’s taken.
Another tremor goes through him and slowly, slowly, he disengages from me, turning to sit on the side of the bed. “Come here,” he whispers, taking my hand.
“Don’t you want to lie down?” I ask as he settles me on his lap.
“Gotta do this in stages,” he says with a grunt, then arranges me to his liking.
“Baby . . .” I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead against his. “You are killing me.”
He touches my cheek, his blue eyes searching mine. “You worry for me, Chester?”
I run a finger over his jaw. “I ache for you, Finnegan.”
His hand slides into my hair, and he pulls me close. Our kiss is slow, easy, deep. There are words in the kiss: mine, yours, always. His lips cling to my lower one in a soft suckle before he pulls away to meet my gaze. “I don’t like the idea of you hurting. Especially if it’s for me.”
“Not something you get a say over,” I tell him, kissing his temple.
He makes a noise, half a laugh, half an objection, and his hand trails down my cheek to my collarbone.
We’re quiet then. I play with the short ends of his hair, kiss his cheek, his jaw, anywhere I can get. Finn strokes my neck, watching his fingers move along my skin as if the sight soothes him. I’m accustomed now to seeing him hobble home from a game. But this is different. He seems soul weary.
Cold fear and hot regret surge through me at the thought that I might be responsible for his mood.
“What happened?” I ask him as he finds the top button of the soft cotton work shirt I’m wearing.
He flicks open a button. “Dex totally lost it today. He’s been on-and-off all season, but some dumbass lineman tried to fire him up, and he fell for it.” Finn ducks his head and kisses the side of my neck. His breath is hot against my skin. “Don’t blame him, but everything went to shit after that.”
I rest my hand on the top of his head. “Why did he lose it?”
Another button slips free. Finn’s fingers trace his progress. “Press got compromising pictures of his girl. Dude started making comments about her tits—breasts.”
“That would do it.”
Finn grimaces. “My control of the game is falling apart.”
“I’m sorry.” I smooth my hand over his hair in an absentminded stroke.
“It’s all on me, Chess. Doesn’t matter who’s at fault. If we can’t get the job done, I look bad.”