A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

GRIFFIN

F un stuff is subjective. The doctor has Finley’s blood drawn. A bunch of stats are thrown her way. And the whole time, she’s lost in her own head. I can see it. Feel it. The glazed eyes. The “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” over and over. The way she can’t stop chewing on the inside of her lip or making sarcastic remarks.

She isn’t the only one, though. As soon as she didn’t correct Dr. Reed when he called me the dad, I was lost. Lost in what ifs. Lost in a different world. One where I was the father. Where I was going to be a dad. One where I didn’t have to wonder if I was crossing lines or obliterating boundaries when I have no idea where they are in the first place. Part of me wants to ask her. What she wants. The other part is too afraid of her answer.

Finley’s stubborn.

So damn stubborn.

And I know if push comes to shove, she’ll carry the world on her back if only to prove she can. Even when she shouldn’t. Even when it can hurt her or the baby .

High-risk.

Like a neon sign, the two words flash through my mind as I drive us back to her place.

She might not be okay. The baby might not be okay. And I don’t care how fucking strong Finley is. There's no way a word of caution like that can’t affect her or mess with her psyche.

Glancing at her in the passenger seat, I find Finley chewing on the edge of her lip, her eyes as glazed as they were during her appointment while she stares out the windshield. It’s snowing. Hell, it’s a blizzard. As if the dark clouds and thick blanket of white falling from the sky are an accurate depiction of the situation and the mood we’re both drowning in.

Without bothering to look at me, she asks, “Do you know what sucks?”

“What?”

“Your first game,” she murmurs. “My brother’s first game.”

“What about them?”

“Unless they’re against the Lions, I’m going to have to miss them.” A divot forms between her brows. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to travel with a newborn. And the playoffs this year? I might as well kiss attending them goodbye right now, if the whole high-risk label sticks.”

My chest caves, and I squeeze the steering wheel, caught between confusion and flattery that hockey is where her head’s at as her comment washes over me.

“We’ll figure it out,” I promise.

“Yeah.” She nods absently and sighs. “Do you think I’ll have to move in with my parents once they find a place?” Her frown deepens before a pathetic laugh slips out of her. “Talk about backsliding, am I right? ”

Reaching toward her, I squeeze her knee. “We’ll figure it out.”

“There’s that we again.” She gives me the side eye.

“Is that a problem?”

With another sigh, she places her elbow on the passenger window and rests her head against her hand. “I haven’t decided yet.”

I want to ask what she means, but I stop myself. Now isn’t the time. She needs my reassurance, not the other way around. “We’ll figure it out, Fin.”

Her lips press together. “Yeah. Of course we will.”

She doesn’t believe me, and honestly, a small part of me doesn’t believe it, either. Not entirely. Things are precarious at best, and with so many unknowns, it’s hard to predict the future, let alone affect it or control it the way I’m itching to.

“You ready to tell your parents?” I prod.

“And upturn their life more than I already have by being their daughter?” A pathetic laugh escapes her. “And that’s if it’s even necessary, right?” She wipes beneath her eyes, her armor finally cracking. “The baby might not even make it in the first place, so?—”

“Don’t talk like that, Fin.”

“How can I not, Griff?” Her lower lip wobbles. “The doctor said so himself. I’m high-risk.”

Snow crunches beneath the tires as I find a secluded spot, pull over, and grab her face, forcing her to look at me. “High-risk doesn’t mean shit.”

A ghost of a smile teases her lips. “It actually kind of does. Literally. It means…shit. This is a shit pregnancy, and?—”

“Stop spiraling,” I order. “This isn’t you.”

She shakes her head. “Maybe it is, Griff. Maybe this is who I really am when I can’t pretend to be strong anymore.”

“Stop.”

“I can’t.” Her voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop blaming my stupid brain?—”

Slamming my mouth to hers, I kiss her. To shut her up. To force her to stop belittling herself and voicing aloud her ugly thoughts when they couldn’t be further from the truth. Her muscles freeze for a moment, then her teeth clash with mine, and she bites my bottom lip, kissing me back. Fighting me. Forcing all her pent-up frustration and anxiety into the kiss until I can fucking taste it.

Ripping my mouth from hers, I growl, “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“Then, distract me,” she demands. “Because I am so caught up in my own head and all the what-ifs that could absolutely destroy me, I’m not sure what else to do. Griffin, I’m begging?—”

I swallow her plea and reach around her, unlatching her seatbelt as the windshield wipers slash left and right. She needs a distraction. A distraction and a fucking release. The girl’s wound so tight after the appointment, she just snapped, and not in a good way. But I can fix this.

I can fix this.

Lifting her oversized sweater, my fingers fumble with the top button on her jeans. Once they’re undone, she shimmies them down her thighs while I massage the outside of her bare thighs with my left hand. I lick at her lips, forcing our mouths together and prying hers open.

Tearing away from me, she pants, “Fuck, Griff, just—” She dives in for another kiss and spreads her legs wide as I drag my knuckle along the damp underwear covering her. The girl’s soaked .

Cupping her center with my left hand, I drag the heel of my hand against her clit, then grab her cheek with my right, angling her head and thrusting my tongue into her mouth. She sucks on it, mewing quietly as I push the scrap of cloth aside and drag the tip of my finger along her entrance.

She wants it. Fuck, I know she does by the way her hips buck, but I don’t slip into her. Not yet.

“Griff,” she warns.

I dip my finger to my first knuckle, then retreat, adding pressure to her clit.

“I need this,” she begs. “I need you. Please.”

My cock aches from her words, and I shift closer to her, swallowing her pleas as I slowly dip my forefinger inside of her again, this time to the second knuckle. The girl whimpers, grabbing my wrist tucked between her thighs as she rides my hand. Hips rocking, she urges me deeper, and I add a second finger, crooking them inside of her and rubbing my thumb along her clit. If I didn’t think she needed this right now, I’d toss her into the back and eat her out like she’s my last meal.

My mouth waters from the thought alone while Fin continues sucking on my tongue as if it’s my cock. I’ve never seen her like this. This desperate. Not only for me but also for a release. For a moment of respite. A moment of quiet.

Pressing my forehead to hers, I watch her lips swallow my fingers. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” I rasp. “How fucking perfect?” I tear my focus from her bare pussy to her face. “You’re perfect, Fin.”

“Just keep…keep doing that,” she begs, leaning in for another kiss.

I suck on her bottom lip as I crook my finger inside of her, searching for the little bundle of nerves inside her channel I know drives her wild. When I find it, her hips buck even more, and her jaw drops open on a moan.

“Fuck, Griff. Fuck, you have no idea how good this feels.”

“You can do no wrong,” I murmur, convinced I might actually come in my fucking jeans as I swirl my fingers inside of her, adding more pressure to her clit. “This body can do no wrong, Finley Taylor. And I know you can’t control everything. Neither of us can. But look what your body can do. Look how pretty it is when it swallows my fingers.”

Her core clenches around me, her fingernails digging tiny crescent shapes into my wrist as she throws her head back. She’s gonna come. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are parted. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to shove my cock between those pretty lips and watch her suck me dry. What I wouldn’t give to push inside of her right now, see her take every inch. My breathing turns ragged, matching hers as she writhes in the passenger seat, her thighs quivering.

“There is not a single thing wrong with this body, Finley. It’s perfect. And so are you. Trust it. Trust yourself. Trust me. We’re gonna get through this.”

I keep the same pace, pushing in and out, drawing tiny circles, spreading her juices from her center to her clit before pressing back into her and crooking my finger.

Her body tenses, her core squeezing my two fingers as she falls apart, moaning my name, and fuck if it isn’t the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Slowly, I pull out of her and suck on my fingers, closing my eyes as I savor the taste of her.

“I’d do anything for you,” I murmur.

And fuck if I don’t mean it.