Penance Page 13

  “I still need to grab the produce and your bag out of my truck. And before I go to bed, I usually do…stuff.”

  “A bedtime routine.” Likely born of habits learned in prison as well as from his need to control the chaos of addiction. “So do it.”

  “I’ll have to put you down.”

  Calm. Find your calm. He needs this. It was as if he could sense the tension inside of me, the fear and need and want building and burning bright. As if he knew the very thought of him taking his hands away from my body caused that burn to spike, to flare. To hurt.

  But I had to deal because Finn needed something. “That’s okay. You can put me down.”

  Such a lie.

  Finn must have heard the tremor in my voice, the uncertainty, because he shook his head. “It’s okay. I can skip it all for one night.”

  I couldn’t let him do that. “Finn.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You bought all that green stuff, and I fully intend to eat it. Plus, I know you have your rituals. I’ve seen you do enough of them to recognize your need for control and your focus on tasks to fulfill it. Don’t worry about me—just take care of you.”

  He dropped his hands a little lower, squeezing my thighs. Bringing his lips to my neck in a soft, quiet kiss as he whispered, “I want to take care of you, though.”

  My sweet, sweet Finn. “You will. Once you’re done. Go on.” I pulled myself away from him, letting my feet drop to the floor. Letting my body release his. I hated it, hated the cold that overtook me as I stepped back from him, the beast that roared inside of me at the very idea of being separated from him. But this was necessary. This was what Finn needed. And it wouldn’t take long… I hoped. “Please, Finn. Do whatever it is you usually do. I don’t want to upset your routine.”

  His smile was both sad and sweet at the same time. “You already have.”

  Ash. That flame inside had left me nothing but ash. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I sort of like it.”

  Sort of. I’d take that over not at all any day. I could come back from the ashes with a sort of. “Why don’t you do whatever it is you need to do before you go to bed? I’ll just…” I twisted my lips into a pucker, hating every word or phrase that came to mind. Despising the very idea of being apart from this man for even a few moments. I was weak, but I wouldn’t tell him that. “Hang out. I’ll hang out here and wait for you.”

  He held out his hand, a question in his eyes as he said, “Come with me.”

  Not a question and yet the option to say no was right there, plain as day. Obvious, Finn didn’t boss me around or make demands of me—he gave me options. Choices. He let me decide what I wanted to do. And what I wanted was to go with him—anywhere.

  I grabbed Finn’s hand and followed along as he moved through the house. He left me in the hallway when he hurried outside to grab my small bag of clothes and the box of produce. Once back inside, he dropped the produce in the kitchen, then set the bag in the doorway to his bedroom. His steps quick and his movements efficient, he started what I had to assume was his regular routine. Locking doors, checking windows, emptying the trash into a bin in the garage, and wiping down his sink. So precise. So ritualized. So calming in a weird sort of way. And I’d been right about the house—neutral and calm, with gorgeous smoky gray and tan hardwood floors throughout. Perfectly Finn.

  I couldn’t get over the floors, though. I slipped and slid over them, following the swirling gray patterns in the boards as Finn put away the produce he’d bought me. Traced patterns with my socked feet until I ended up back in the kitchen. “This wood is so pretty. Why is it gray?”

  “That’s beetle kill pine. It’s what my family harvests and processes. We own the mill in town.”

  “Your family owns a mill, but you work in a bar?”

  He shrugged one shoulder as he cut an apple, handing me a slice before saying, “I help out when I need to, but I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.”

  Sweet and tart, the apple flavor exploded over my tongue and made the back of my jaw tingle. Perfect. But that couldn’t distract me from Finn’s words. Take advantage? That threw me a bit. “What situation?”

  He glanced my way, frowning as he finished chewing his own slice of apple. “Ex-cons don’t always find work easily. Coming home, relying on my family to help me, putting them in danger should I relapse—I didn’t want that.”

  “So you went to work in a bar.”

  “I like a challenge.” He shot me a wink and handed me more apple slices, making my heart flutter just a bit. Charmer. I stepped away from the counter, checking out the rest of the room. A little scene sat on a table in the sitting area, a light shining on it. Shadows stretched along the walls, tall and thick. Almost…human-sized.

  “What’s this?” I sat down next to the lit display, inspecting it without touching. People. They looked like people carved from the same wood of the floor. “Did you make this?”

  Finn came up behind me, quiet and slow. “Yeah. I did. It’s what I think my mom’s funeral was like.”

  Oh. Oh. My gut clenched, and my eyes burned. “What you think it was like?”

  He reached out, running a finger down one figure. A larger, masculine shape close to the center. “Alder told me what it was like. I wasn’t allowed to leave the prison to attend.”

  “Oh, Finn.”

  “They let me come home for my dad’s. With a full police escort, of course. But at least I got to see it. This one…” He sighed, adjusting a couple of the figures. “I had to miss it.”

  Because he was in prison. For dealing drugs. Which he hadn’t done. “I’m surprised you didn’t kill that sheriff who set you up.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. Because I would have.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t want to.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’m a better wood-carver than killer.”

  No doubt. “I would hope so. These are gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stood, following him back toward the kitchen. “Have you always carved?”

  “Yeah. My dad taught me when I was a kid. It relaxes me.”

  I reached for a slice of apple, crunching loudly as I looked around at all the little wood touches. Trying to determine which had been carved by the man himself and which had been purchased. My guess was that Finn had made them all. Impressive. The man had talent.

  Once we’d finished the apple and the main areas of the house were cleaned and secured, Finn led me back through to his bedroom and into his attached bath. There was no shyness, no delay, as he grabbed a toothbrush—from a carved wooden holder, no less—and started brushing. At least not until he caught me watching him in the mirror. He froze for a moment then reached into a drawer and pulled out a second toothbrush. One just like his but unopened. He didn’t say a word, just handed it to me and went back to brushing.

  “Thanks,” I said. He nodded once, his fingers trailing over the razor sitting in a wooden block to his right as he brushed. So much personality in this house, so many little handmade touches. It was pure Finn, and I loved it.

  Teeth clean, face washed, and everything put back the way it had been when we’d walked in—plus the addition of my toothbrush in the holder against the mirror—Finn ushered me into his bedroom and stopped. Frozen in place as he looked around the room.

  “What?”

  He ran a hand over his head, mussing up his hair a little. “You can sleep in here.”

  “We. We can sleep in here.” I leaned into his side, hating the very thought of being separated from him. “I don’t want to be alone after tonight.”

  “Me neither, but I didn’t bring you here to put you in a position where you felt as if you had to…”

  He didn’t need to finish that sentence. “There is no had to with you, Finn. Only want to.”

  A nod was my response, and then he was moving again. He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a black shirt, looking
so darn serious as he handed it to me. “It’s not pajamas, but it should be big enough on you to make you feel comfortable and covered. And it’s soft enough to sleep in.”

  “I brought some clothes.”

  A pause, a blink, a simple moment of something going on behind those stormy eyes. “I like the idea of you in mine.”

  Okay then. I took the shirt, bringing it to my face. It smelled like him. Perfect. I headed into the bathroom once more to change and give the man a little privacy. Give myself some too. I wasn’t ready to be naked in front of Finn just yet. Privacy was still a good thing.

  I pulled on Finn’s shirt, snuggling into the soft cotton. The shirt hung all the way to my knees and swallowed my frame, but I loved it. Loved having Finn wrapped around me even when he wasn’t in the same room. But he could be, so I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Finn sat on the edge of his bed with his head down and his hands clasped together. Obviously nervous.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His shrug was more endearing than anything else could have been. “Nervous, I guess.”

  Bingo. “About me being here?”

  His fingers moved against each other, the anxious fidget showing up. “About you likely wanting to leave.”

  “Why would I want to leave?”

  “I’ve never…not that I’m implying we have to do anything, but I’ve never…” He took a deep breath. Frustration evident in his face. “This is so awkward.”

  But it didn’t need to be because I already knew. Or at least could guess. The tension radiating off him, the edginess. The fear. “You’ve never had sex before.”

  “No. I have. Just…” He paused, then shook his head. “Not like this.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that answer to me.”

  He looked massively uncomfortable. “I’ve been with women in the past, but…”

  Realization might as well have been a slap to my face. “But you were high.”

  More fidgeting, those hands of his unable to hold still. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t…remember?”

  “I remember some, but I wasn’t sober. Everything is sort of as if it happened to someone else.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I know how to be intimate while also being sober.”

  I couldn’t stay away a second longer. I crept closer, my bare feet making no noise on the soft, plush rug covering the wood floor. My hand rising of its own volition to trace the edge of his ear once I reached him.

  “You’ve been out of prison and sober for a long time.”

  He leaned into my touch, still pinched and obviously uncomfortable. “I haven’t dated.”

  “Why not?” But I didn’t need to ask. “Because it’s too chaotic.”

  “Yeah.”

  I could understand that. In Finn’s world, chaos was the enemy. He needed structure, routine, a firm handle on everything in his life just to feel anchored and secure. I could understand it, and I appreciated the admission.

  Quid pro quo. “I’ve never not been coerced…into sex. It’s never really been my choice to have it.”

  His head jerked back, his eyes wide. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “I know.” I did. I truly did. Finn always asked permission, always made sure I was not just accepting of his advances but enthusiastic for them. He was a good man, and I was totally going to deflower his sober self. I straddled his lap, placing my hands on his shoulders and leaning in close. “So maybe this is a sort of first time for both of us.”

  “Oh fuck, Jinx.” His harsh whisper was practically an aphrodisiac all on its own. “Are you sure? I don’t want to touch you if you’re not sure.”

  “I’m sure. Are you? Because I’m chaotic, Finn. I’ll bring that into your life.”

  “I know. But I like your brand of chaos.” His hands landed on my ass, gripping tightly. Pulling me so our bodies were pressed together. So I could feel his heat and his hardness through the cotton shirt I wore. “Anything you don’t like or feel uncomfortable about, tell me. Okay? We can stop. I’ll always stop for you.”

  I had a feeling I’d never want him to stop. “Kiss me, Finn.”

  But he didn’t. Instead, he brought a hand up to push my hair behind my ear, staring into my eyes as he whispered, “I’d never make you do anything, Jinx. Not one damn thing.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. Because I’m going to kiss you now. And that kiss may lead to more. Are you okay with that?”

  If I were any more okay, I’d be soaking through the thin cotton between us. “I’m totally okay with that.”

  He pressed his lips to mine, sweet and slow and soft. A brush of his tongue along my lips to ask for entry, a slip of his fingers under the shirt I wore to find my bare flesh. Nothing rushed or forced, nothing scary. Just Finn and me and first times of need and desire and sweetness.

  Starting over…together.

  Chapter Thirteen

  FINN

  Soft. Everything about Jinx was soft with an almost hidden strength beneath the surface. Every scar on her body, every sarcastic retort and harsh word. All of it was an act—a veil to disguise her inner self. A wall keeping all that softness hidden. But she showed it to me in her kisses and the way her body melted into mine. Made me feel it in the way her hands ran over my flesh, grounding us together. This was the true Jinx, alone with me in that intimate, vulnerable moment. And I never wanted it to end.

  “Can I take this off?” She tugged at the shirt I wore, her breaths heavy and fast, matching mine perfectly. She wanted my shirt off? That was easy. I didn’t answer her with words because there was no need to delay; I simply reached behind my neck and yanked the garment over my head. Baring myself.

  I had no secrets from her. “Anything else?”

  Those lips—so pink and plump and kiss-swollen—tipped up. “Quid pro quo. You take it off, I do as well.”

  I fingered the edge of the shirt she wore. My shirt. I liked her in my clothes far more than I was willing to admit. “Do you have anything on under this?” I nearly groaned when she shook her head all slow and teasing.

  “Not a thing.”

  Death by Jinx. I could see that coming for me. “Then we’ll leave this on along with my pants. For now.”

  I went back to kissing her, stroking up and down her back and over her hips. Keeping my pressure light. I’d seen her flinch when she moved certain ways, had felt her recoil when something touched her back. She had pain there—something I didn’t want to exacerbate. So I held back, tried to stay gentle, tried not to hurt her even though every roll of her hips nearly killed me.

  Seriously. Death. By Jinx. It was going to be a thing.

  “Finn?”

  I needed to hear her say my name about six thousand more times. “Yeah, baby?”

  “I want you to take your pants off.”

  I almost came at her words, almost spilled right there with her in my lap. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”

  She leaned back, taking her weight away, stealing her warmth and closeness from me. “Off, Finn. Take them off.”

  Done. I pushed my sweats down, pulling them off and tossing them into the laundry basket across the room. Leaving me naked in front of her. Naked and hard and so ready for whatever was about to come next. Jinx’s smile grew, and she took the time to look me over before rejoining me on the bed. Before straddling my naked body once more. She even leaned back and ran her hands over my chest and stomach, teasing me. Riling me up.

  My turn.

  “Is this okay?” I ran my hands up her thighs and under the shirt she still wore, keeping them low on her hips. Not pushing her decision but letting her know what I wanted. “Can I take this off?”

  She froze for a moment, her hands stilling on my chest. “Yeah, it’s just… I’m not as whole as you are.”

  “Whole?”

  “I have…” She turned her arms over, showing me her battered wrists. She didn’t need to say the word for me to know what she meant.
Scars. She had scars. I’d seen the ones on her arms a hundred times, knew they were there. I’d assumed she had more. But if she was reluctant to show me, they must have been bad.

  Not that it mattered. “You can trust me.”

  She sat still as a statue for a handful of long seconds, then slowly—glacially slow—rose to her feet and took one step back. Just one. With a deep, measured breath, she crossed her arms over her body, grabbed the bottom of my shirt, and pulled the fabric over her head in one smooth movement before letting it drop to the floor. The move itself didn’t catch my attention, though—the marks all over her body did. Round, long, deep, thin…they nearly covered her flesh. From her breasts down to her hips and side to side, there wasn’t a patch of skin unmarked. Not a piece of her left intact. Some were obviously marks from cuts—long or short, deep or shallow, straight lines formed patterns across her skin. The ones that killed me were not straight or thin. Not scars from blades at all. They were round. Circles of mottled flesh standing out against the paleness. Perfect fucking circles smaller than a dime.

  I rose to my feet, wrapped my fingers around her elbow as gently as I could, and stepped closer, dropping a kiss onto one such mark. “Cigarette burns?”

  “Yeah.” Nothing more than that. No story, no history. No true Jinx. You got what you saw with her—nothing more. And at that moment, that simple answer had to be enough because she didn’t need me pushing her. What she needed was to know that the scars didn’t change my opinion of her. I hated them—hated what they stood for and what they meant she’d apparently endured—but they changed nothing. I still felt a need to show her kindness. To take care of her.

  Naked and alone, the two of us locked up together for the night, I could show her how much her past didn’t bother me. I could give her something good after what was obviously a lot of bad. I could remind her that not all people would hurt her.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said, tugging her close again, nearly shivering as our warm skin came together. “So damn beautiful and perfect.”