Page 65 of Love Bound

I let out a gasp as he fills me up. We lie there on our sides, facing each other, and he begins to move his hips. Slowing, I grip him with my sex.

"You're so soft," he whispers in my ear.

"It’s because you oiled me up last night," I try to explain, but he covers my mouth with his, and then I feel him up high inside me, moving, and my nipples harden.

With my head buried in his neck, his arms around me, him inside me, we stay like this for a long, long time.

I have never, ever, in my life felt so loved. A tiny piece of my heart tears open, and it reflects back.

I have never felt love like this for someone.

And it scares the shit out of me.

***

I am proud of myself, though. I don’t actually run out of The Inn after a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. No. I act like an adult in a relationship and stay behind, do the dishes, kiss him several times, and then wander back to the clinic with the promise that I’ll come back over in the evening once my last appointment is over.

And this is how we spend the next several months.

I start to allow myself to ease into a real relationship, with a man who can turn me into a sloppy, happy mess at a touch, a glance, a gentle kiss, a grin.

I begin to learn to let go of control, to just let things happen. I begin to learn that control is an illusion. There is so much we can’t control, and despite the cliché that we can only control our reactions, I’ve learned in bed that that's not really true either.

I become used to letting go, of commanding a situation when I want to—not because I have to out of fear of not being in control. I know I can have him hard in seconds, every muscle tight, aching for release, and then leave him spent, sweaty, and exhausted in a pile of sheets.

But here's the thing: I learn to enjoy letting go in return. I learn the delicious excitement of not knowing what’s going to happen. The relief of just receiving. Of letting a man see me completely undone. And how that’s not just okay, but that it’s part of being a complete person.

Finn sees me. All of me. The dark and the light, the dirty and the sweet, the needy girl and the self-possessed woman.

I’ve never felt more alive or more loved.

I love Finn Colton.

And a beautiful thing begins to happen. The more deeply we fall in love, the more Allison becomes a part of our lives. Without her, he’d never be here at Echo Bay. Without her, he wouldn’t be the man that he is. And so, instead of pain sifting under the surface of maintaining some semblance of a life, Finn begins to really live.

His pain for her loss could completely transform to a sweet love again, like a melodic memory that wove its way in our lives and brought us even closer.

His letting go is different than mine, and his learning to be vulnerable takes a different shape, but we both learn from each other. The only thing he can’t bear to bring up is the week of their murders. He never mentions his unborn son.

I get to know Bryce and Nic a little better too when they come to help out on larger projects, mostly indoors now that the weather has edged into constant snow. From insulation to bookshelves to copper and brickwork, Finn would work on his own. The weekends, are for the three musketeers. I enjoy running sandwiches and beer to them and they’re always so grateful. On Saturdays, Finn fires up the grill and Bryce cooks tuna steaks or swordfish and Nic, somehow, always manages to pull out some fancy cheese tray with soft and hard cheeses, Asian salads, peanut noodles, and extravagant desserts. I begin to tease him about moving up here and becoming Finn's chef.

Everything he learned, he said he learned from Finn.

I love Saturdays. I love them because I get to see Finn with his friends. Over the ensuing month, I watch as his reserve around them becomes porous and his happiness shines through.

The first time Bryce catches us kissing on the back porch, Finn smiles, pulls me close, and kisses me again.

That night, Nic picks up a guitar, and with a fire popping in the fireplace in the parlor, he and Bryce sing a funny, raunchy limerick about a man who falls in love and wakes to find himself a three-legged man.

Bryce, it turns out, is pure Irish.

***

Finn becomes a fixture not only at my place, but also at Devon's and Laurel's apartment. As Christmas approaches, Finn is frustrated he can’t offer us The Inn, but the large front room is completely torn up with lathing and horsehair plaster everywhere.

And though I don’t want to tell him this, it would be weird for us to be back in that Inn over the holidays.

When Laurel and Devon decide to host, dinner proves sweet and short with one cheesecake and just us—Devon, Laurel, Cory, Travis, me, and Finn. I nudge him once about leaving to visit family, but he never speaks about family, so I drop it.