Finn's Shot (Eden's Odyssey Book 1) (3 page)

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 forefingers.
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?

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.

****

It’s been four days, and I
thought I could stay away, but that just isn’t happening. She’s been a whirling
dervish in my mind since I left. I walked back to her apartment this morning to
get the address. Then I had the florist deliver a basket of high-end
chocolates, expensive watercolor paints, and a huge bouquet of red amaryllis
flowers to her address. The card read:

 
Darcy,

I’m not looking for forever,
but right now would be nice.

Call me sometime.
219-536-8355.

Finn Thompson

Several days go by, and she
still doesn’t call, so I assume she’s not calling. I wish I could say I brush
it off and keep going, but instead I’m unhappy to report that I’m surly and hot
tempered beyond what I should be. My teammates are starting to get tired of it,
and I have to find a way to let it go or Coach will be benching me. This is not
the kind of behavior you’d expect from the team captain. The question is, how
do I get her to go out with me again?

I’m not home from the store
longer than a few minutes when my doorbell rings. I look through the peephole
to see a guy holding a basket and flowers. I probably shouldn’t open the door,
but I can’t help it. The red in the flowers tempts me and wins, and I decide to
throw caution to the wind.   

“Are you Darcy? I was given
no last name, just an address.”

“Yeah, I’m Darcy.” 

He thrusts an amazing bouquet
in a crystal clear vase at me and a huge basket filled with I don’t know what
yet.

“Give me a second to put
these down and I’ll grab your tip.”

“No need, Miss. The person
who sent the flowers already took care of it. Have a good day.” 

I set both items down on my
small sunshine yellow kitchen table and dig around for the card. In the basket
is the most colorful array of watercolor paints I’ve seen outside of a hobby
shop and at closer inspection they’re the expensive ones. There’s also an
obscene amount of fancy chocolate in this basket. Removing the card from the
envelope, I read it, not once, but three times. Melt my heart. God, I’m dying
to call him, but guys like him are either looking for a one-night stand or a
wife. It’s never anything in the middle, and I’m not wife material. My kink
doesn’t match the suburban mom/housewife profile. In fact, I’m sure if he
learned all there is about me, he’d be running for the hills and not sending me
amazing goodies to get my attention.  

The one time I broke my rule
and fell for a guy, he ended up stomping all over my heart after he found out
who I really am inside and how I express it. Art is my hobby and I do exhibitions
a few times a year. My next one is in two weeks, but it’s not my livelihood and
I don’t think he’d care too much for my real profession. I put the card back in
the flowers and move them to my studio. Then I empty the new colors onto the
desk. I move the third painting of Finn I completed in as many days and put up
a blank canvas. The first thing to hit the canvas is a splash of red as I work
out my frustration.

Two weeks later, I’m still
channeling thoughts of Finn through my painting and even included some of those
in my gallery showing tonight. The pieces post-Finn are my most eye catching
and colorful to date. Something about him stirred up my creativity.

I step inside the gallery
converted from what was former law offices.  The walls are a muted grey,
the door handles and other hardware including light fixtures are all chrome
giving the space a sleek modern feel. My paintings are spread out through out
the room adding a ridiculous level of happy ambiance to the space. A smile
stretches across my face as I spy Enrique, the flamboyant gallery owner.

“Hello, Darcy! You look
lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, Enrique. You look
handsome too.” He’s sporting a grey tailored suit fitted perfectly to his lean
frame with a black button up shirt underneath sans tie. Hair artfully styled
with the latest male hair product and a perfectly manicured goatee he’s
definitely good looking just not very manly. Dazzling me with his ultra-white
smile, he presents me the crook of his arm, which I take. He guides me to the
gallery floor and passes me a glass of champagne. He holds his up and says, “To
a world of color and the sexy beast that inspired you.”

I feel my face heat up and
glance around the room as I take a sip of the bubbly drink. My latest paintings
are colorful, but then again nothing I ever do is in black and white. My dress
tonight is black, but I’m rocking a pair of sexy red sky-high heels and
dangling ruby earrings. If anyone got a look at the lingerie underneath they’d
see its royal blue. I only wore the black because my friend Audrey says that a
little black dress is a necessity at these things. I agree with her, but I always
pair it with colorful shoes and accessories. My hair is piled on top of my head
in an elegant yet sexy updo with a few tendrils hanging loose.

An hour into the show, and I
find myself backed into the far corner talking to a short, bald man who seems
more interested in my cleavage than in my work, and I can’t seem to get away
from him. I was trying to catch Enrique’s eye so he’d help me, but thus far it
hasn’t worked. As I attempt my latest escape technique, by claiming I’m being
waved down across the room, I spin away. Not paying attention to who is behind
me, I smack straight into a rock-hard chest. I take a deep breath, using his
arms in front of me to steady myself as I back up, ready to apologize. It’s then
that the scent registers. It’s a hint of a cologne I’ve only smelled once
before and clean, warm skin. Only one person smells exactly like this.

Finn.

My gaze travels up his incredibly
tall frame, and then locks on his striking blue eyes I thought I’d never see him
again except in pictures. I feel myself blush to my roots.

“Um… Hi,” I mutter
sheepishly.

Delectable smile in place,
but eyes tinged with irritation, he says, “Darcy, you look amazing.
Congratulations on a successful show.”

My focus is locked on his
handsome face. A sweep of unruly dark hair falls over his forehead but doesn’t
block the view of his sapphire eyes perfectly framed by long dark eyelashes.
His straight strong nose shouldn’t grace the face of a hockey player, but it
does. The sudden urge to run my fingers along his jaw is almost overwhelming as
I note that he shaved his face recently and is now letting the beard grow back.
The stubble along his jaw is so sexy.  This is the same face I’ve painted
at least fifty times since he was in my studio. Ten of those pictures are here
tonight.

Shit.

I turn my attention to the
ground, unable to see the tension in his face without guilt.

“I’m sorry. I should have
told you these would end up here. I hadn’t planned on them being here, but they
were so good I couldn’t leave them out. The one of you on my couch has gotten
the most compliments. I was offered a great deal of money for it, but I told
them it wasn’t for sale.”

“I’m not upset about that.”

“You aren’t?” Shocked, my gaze
jump to his. 

“No. It’s obvious I made a
bigger impression than I thought, since you never called. Why? I’ve been going
crazy wanting to see you again. I thought maybe you just weren’t interested at
all, but your work tells a different story. What’s the deal, Darcy?”

“If you thought I wasn’t
interested, why did you come here?”

He steps so close to me that
he’s now in my personal space, and his monstrous hand cups my jaw to hold it in
place.

He ignores my questions and
says, “I want the truth this time.”

“Can we talk about this later?
I don’t want to have this conversation here in the middle of my show.” 

“That’s fair, but I’m not
leaving here without you. Unless you’re married or dating someone else. Are
you?”

“No! Of course not!” I’m a
little offended he’d ask that.

He ignores my attitude and
replies, “Good. Then I’ll wait for you to finish. Go mingle. Be charming. I’ll
just look around.”

He surprises me by placing a
chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth and striding away.

Tanisha, my best friend,
scoots over as quickly as her four-inch-high heels will carry her and grabs my
arm.

“Oh my gosh! He’s the hockey
hottie from a few weeks ago? The one plastered all over the paintings. He’s
even better looking in person. Why wouldn’t you call him back? I think I felt
my panties ignite just by looking at him.”

I roll my eyes and move a
wild curl away from her mocha-colored cheek.

“Shhhh. We don’t need to
announce it,” I chastise.

“Just be cool, and I’ll tell
you everything tomorrow. He’s sticking around so I can explain why I painted
the shit out of him, but blew him off like I wasn’t interested. He has no clue
what my issues are. I need to figure out how much I’ll tell him, but for now I
need to be professional and mingle there are still people coming in the door
and at least thirty I haven’t talked with yet.”

“Good luck with that, girl. It’s
obvious he scrambled your brain. I’ve never seen you so harried or quietly
obsessed over one of your subjects. It’s kind of cute.” 

“Tanisha,” I growl through
gritted teeth.

She pats my arm and says,
“Well I’m going to go help Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome over there in the grey
suit and pick out a lovely painting for his office. I met him earlier. His name
is Jaylen, and he’s an attorney with one of the big firms downtown. How do I
look?” She pats her beautiful fluffy hair.

“You’re always gorgeous, and
that dress,” I gesture from top to bottom, “over that ass… is what perked his
interest I’m sure. Go get him.” My amazing best friend sashays away to stand by
the hunk who is admiring my Lake Michigan series.

I make my rounds over the
next two hours and as the last person leaves the room, I realize Enrique is
standing with Finn having a nice laugh. The sound of glasses clinking as the
staff cleans up doesn’t drown out the the schoolgirl like giggling he’s doing
at everything the giant hockey player is saying, and I groan as I mosey over to
save them.

As I approach, Enrique grasps
my hand and holds tight, flashing his super white grin.

“Where’ve you been hiding
this one? It should’ve been obvious after helping you hang the pieces this was
not an imaginary person.” His free hand flaps excitedly right before he points
at the picture closest to us.

I crush his hand in a
shut-up-or-I’ll-shut-you-up manner.

“Owe, Mami! What’s wrong with
you?!” His heavily accented Spanish sounds whiny.

I glare at him a little
longer than necessary and comment, “I see you’ve met Finn.”

Finn smiles and says, “Yes,
Mr. Ramos has been quite forthcoming with information.”

He switches his attention
back to Enrique and puts his hand out to shake with the gallery owner.

“It was very nice to meet
you.” 

“You too, Mr. Thompson. I’m
hopeful we’ll see more of you!”

He cackles after the last,
letting us all know he’s alluding to seeing more skin, not necessarily him more
often.

“Geez,” I grumble

“Come on, let me take you
home and we can talk. Unless you’d rather go to my place tonight?” 

“My place is fine. Let’s go.”

Finn drives us in his souped-up,
extended-cab, and fully-loaded black truck to my apartment. After we get inside
and I kick my shoes off, I offer him a drink that he declines and we head for
the couch. I sit first this time, picking the far corner. I reach down to rub
my sore feet as he sits in the middle instead of the other corner. His suit
coat and tie are laying across the back of my recliner. It’s strange that just
the sight of his things in my space affects me the way that it does. I notice the
top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, which trips my brain into
flashback mode and runs a reel of all the delicious things we did here the last
time.
Damn.

He doesn’t ask, he just pulls
my right foot from my own hand and grabs the other to join it. He lays them
across his lap and begins to rub with strong, capable fingers. Not meaning to,
but unable to help myself, my head falls against the corner cushion of the
couch, and I release a strangled groan. It’s instant paradise and possible I’ll
have an orgasm if he keeps going.  

His voice is quiet when he
says, “So you liked me enough to paint me… more than once, but not enough to
see me again. I don’t get it. Did my breath smell? Did I snore? Was I too rough
with you?”

My body stiffens defensively.
He’s right, I liked him enough to paint him, and think about him non-stop since
that night, but I’m not about to admit it.

“First of all, I painted you
while you were here. You knew that was happening. No, you don’t smell, snore
and you weren’t too rough. There are things about me you don’t know.” I cross
my arms over my chest protectively and continue, “Things you’d never accept
that I’m not willing to change. I have no interest in dating someone more than
once and running the risk of getting attached when I know in advance it won’t
work out. I’m surprised you even want to see me again. Single male athletes are
famous for one night stands so why are we even having this conversation?” I
swallow hard, my stomach revolting at the thought of him with other women.

His expression darkens, and I
realize too late I hit a sore spot with him. “Yeah, I’m famous for one night
stands, but not because I enjoy jumping from bed to bed though. I just hadn’t
found anyone up till now who made it worth the potential hurt if I tried for
more. I dated one girl over a year ago, for a short time and she could’ve been
something to me, but she was still caught up on an old flame. Turns out I was
right to dump and run from her; I heard she married the guy and is expecting
her first baby.

“I can’t imagine what would
keep me from wanting to try with you.” He releases my foot and ticks off on his
fingers, “You’re beautiful, interesting, talented, intelligent and fun,” then
wiggles his hand at me like he’s showing me the five things he listed and
continues tapping the same fingers a second time. Great chemistry, kooky,
silly, sexy and easy to talk to. “Who wouldn’t be interested in long term with
a woman like that? In everything you do, you bring color to what would normally
be boring black and white. I can’t stop thinking about this silly red couch or
the vivid paintings that litter your walls or the fact that your dining room
table is bright yellow. Even in the midst of all this amazing color you still
manage to shine bright enough to dim the rest.”