Badlands: The Lion’s Den(25)

He drew his tongue along her slit, lapping at the nectar gathering there, then he let the tip dance against her clit, tickling and teasing the bundle of nerves until she was driven to a gasping, quivering crest of need. Just as she thought she would tumble over the edge into a soul-shattering orgasm, he changed the pace, playing his tongue slowly over and between her folds in a sweet, lazy, meandering pattern that was at the same time unspeakably erotic and the most frustrating experience she’d ever had.

Then he sucked the tiny, erect peak of her clit firmly between his lips, teasing it rapidly with the very tip of his tongue, and she cried out as waves of bliss washed over her, emptying her mind of all thought and galvanizing her muscles. She yanked against the bindings that held her wrists to the headboard and clamped her thighs to the sides of his head, barely hearing his grunt of satisfaction over the thundering of her heart as she spasmed uncontrollably against his mouth.

She lay limply as he wriggled up her body, his muscles flexing with the smooth, oiled movements of precision machinery as he placed his lips, sticky with her juices, to the curls between her thighs and the plump curve of her belly. He dipped his tongue into her navel, and as he moved up her body he bunched the hem of her pajama top in one big fist and drew it up, exposing her breasts to the air. He suckled one deliciously tender nipple, making her groan all over again, before settling himself between her thighs.

As she felt the blunt head of his cock, magnificently thick and erect, probing her slick, needy pussy, a tiny spark of sanity intruded.

“Finn…” she murmured. “Go…go slowly. I’m new at this.”

He withdrew so quickly it felt like slap.

“You’re a virgin?” he demanded. From the tone of his voice, you’d have thought she’d admitted to being a mass-murderer or a three-headed alien.

“Yes,” she confessed. “But that doesn’t mean…”

She trailed off. He was shaking his head rapidly, his expression hard and set. He yanked at the silk scarves binding her to the bed, freeing one wrist and then the other.

“I can’t do this, Flora. I can’t be your first.”

Flora sat bolt upright, furious and hurt, as he slid off the bed and backed away. A look of deep regret burned in his eyes.

“You are a jerk!” she yelled at Finn as he swiftly headed for the door. “You are...an asshole!” Terrible language, but he deserved it.

He turned to face her. “I know I am,” he said. “That’s why I can’t be your first.” She picked up her shoe and threw it at him. It bounced off the back of his head. He didn’t even pause or acknowledge it, just walked out and shut the door behind him.





Chapter Twelve




The sun beamed down on Darwin, warming the spring air and burning away the early morning mists. In the daylight, the city held a certain grimy fascination, like something from a film noir movie.

Flora didn’t care. She was in a foul mood. She’d barely slept all night, and Finn had woken up first thing in the morning and left before she got out of bed. He’d left a note for her on the kitchen table.

“I’ll be back late tonight. Remember, be careful and don’t leave the territory.” That was it.

Well, screw him.

In fact, maybe she’d leave Darwin altogether. Head on over to Cottonwood with Madison and her friends, as soon as she’d had a chance to talk to Krystle and warn her about what might be coming.

She’d been asking around and still didn’t know exactly where Krystle was or what she was doing; people around here apparently didn’t get involved in other people’s business. It was refreshing, but hard to get used to after living on the Wilkinsons’ farm for so long.

From the day she’d arrived there at age fourteen, she had never been alone. She’d slept in a room with two teenagers from the Wilkinson family, she’d been homeschooled on their property, and on the rare occasions when she’d been allowed to go into town, there had always been people with her.

There had only been one person they’d leave her alone with – Loren Haig. If anything, they’d deliberately come up with reasons for her to be alone with him. They’d come up with work that needed to be done on the farm, and send him along. They’d let her go on dates with him starting when she was sixteen – he’d show up out of the blue to take her out to dinner or a movie, and it had just been assumed she’d drop everything and go with him, and be delighted to do so.

When she’d turned eighteen and started chafing at the Wilkinsons’ rules, first they’d tried threatening her – they’d throw her out with nothing. When she’d said that would be fine and started walking towards the door, they’d switched to guilt. After all they’d done for her! Taken her in when nobody else would have her! Fed and clothed her! And Loren was so incredibly devoted!