Virgin Dot Com Novel

[Jasmine's POV] Something flickered in his expression. Vulnerability he usually kept buried under jokes and sexual innuendo. Then he started talking, and his voice was different. Flatter. More controlled. "My mother was perfect. At least that's what everyone says." He stared at the ceiling, not meeting my eyes. "Cheerleader. Straight A's. Beautiful. Everyone loved her." I stayed quiet, letting him set the pace. "She fell in love with the football captain. Classic high school story." His jaw tightened. "Then she got pregnant." I felt the shift in his body. The way his muscles went tense.

"His parents refused to acknowledge the baby. Said my mother was trying to trap their son. That she'd ruin his football career, his future." Bitterness bled into his voice. "He left her. Didn't even look back. She was seventeen. Pregnant. Alone." My chest ached for the girl she'd been. For the baby who'd never asked to be born into that situation. "The pregnancy was complicated. Something with her health." Finn's voice went quieter. "Doctors advised termination. She refused. She wanted me, even if no one else did." The pause that followed was heavy. "She died in childbirth.

I was a few hours old." The words were simple, but the weight was massive. This playful, charming man who made everything seem easy had been born into tragedy. Had killed his mother just by existing. "Her older brother adopted me," Finn continued. "Liam and Asher's father. He loved his sister so much. I think I was all he had left of her." Understanding clicked into place. Finn was technically their cousin, but he'd been raised as their brother. The son of a woman who'd died giving birth to him. "He raised me like his own son.

No difference between me and his biological kids." Finn's voice cracked slightly. "But their mother... she never wanted me there." I felt him flinch, and my hand moved instinctively to his chest. "Liam and Asher got big birthday parties. I got a cake on the kitchen counter, eaten fast so we could move on." The details came out clinical, but I heard the pain beneath. "They got new toys, designer clothes. I got hand-me-downs and practical gifts. She never called me by name. Always 'boy' or 'nephew.' Never 'my son.'" This woman had made a child feel unwanted in his own home.

Had punished him for being born, for being the reason her husband's sister died. "I fought with Liam constantly. For our father's attention." Finn's voice went rough. "Thought if I was good enough, strong enough, she'd love me. But she never did." I stroked his chest, not knowing what to say. "When I was fourteen, she died. Breast cancer." He paused. "Dad grieved, but he never showed it. Just got colder. Harder. Started sleeping around. A lot. I think it was his way of not dealing with it." The picture was coming together. A boy who'd lost his birth mother before knowing her.

Who'd been rejected by the only mother figure he'd had. Whose adoptive father dealt with grief through emotional distance and casual sex. "But then something strange happened." His voice softened. "Liam and Asher became mine. Really mine. Without her between us, we just became brothers. They never made me feel like the third wheel. Even when she did." I heard the love in his voice when he talked about them. Finn looked at me then, and his eyes were raw. "You know what the worst feeling in the world is?" I shook my head.

"Being the kid who killed his mother just by being born." His voice cracked. "Living in a house where one woman would give anything not to have you there. Wondering why you're not good enough to be loved." His pain shattered something in my chest. All this time, his easy charm and playful demeanor had been armor. Underneath was a boy who'd spent his whole life feeling unwanted. Rejected by his biological father before birth. Rejected by the only mother he'd known throughout childhood. I reached for his face with both hands, framing his jaw, forcing him to look at me.

"You're not a third wheel," I said fiercely. "You were never a third wheel." Finn tried to look away, but I held him. "Your mother died giving you life. That doesn't make you a killer." My voice was steady. "It makes you precious enough that she gave everything for you. And that woman who couldn't love you? That was her failure. Not yours." I stroked his face with my thumbs, tracing his cheekbones, wiping away tears he'd never let himself cry. I wanted to absorb all his pain. Make him feel wanted the way he'd never felt. Prove that he wasn't third, wasn't spare, wasn't unwanted. He was equal.

Necessary. Loved. "You don't have to-" he whispered. I leaned in, kissing him gently. Not with passion or lust, but with tenderness. A promise in that kiss: you matter. You're loved. You're enough. Finn responded carefully, like he was afraid I'd disappear if he held on too tight. I deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against his, hands moving into his hair. Finn made a broken sound. This wasn't lust. This was need, raw and desperate. I felt him trembling under my hands. This man who was always playful, always easy, was falling apart under my touch. I broke the kiss, looked at him.

His eyes were dark, vulnerable, full of need he couldn't voice. "Let me take care of you," I said quietly. I slid off the couch onto my knees in front of him. Finn froze. "Jas-" I looked up at him. "I want to. Let me." My hands moved to his belt. I felt the tension in his body. Each movement was deliberate, slow. His breathing changed, became uneven. He watched me like he couldn't believe this was happening. Like he expected me to stop. I met his eyes. Wanted him to see this was real. I was here. I wanted this. I was choosing him.

When I took him in my hand, he made a sound halfway between a groan and a prayer. When I leaned forward and took him in my mouth, he broke. This was more than physical. This was showing him he was worthy of care. Of being the center of someone's world. Of being enough. His hands found my hair, not pushing, just holding on. His hips jerked, trying to control himself, but his body betrayed how much he needed this. The sounds he made were raw, unguarded. Not performance. Real pleasure-real need. I lost myself in the act of giving. In the way his body responded. His breathing getting ragged.

His grip tightening. Every reaction telling me: you're making me feel good, you're enough, you're everything. "Jas, I'm... I'm close..." His voice was strained, desperate. Trying to give me an out because even now, he was thinking of me first. I didn't stop. Looked up at him. Our eyes met. The message was clear: I want all of you. Finn shattered: His body tense, head fell back. The sound that came out of him was stripped of all armor, my name like a prayer. I took everything he gave. This was more than physical; this was him trusting me with his most vulnerable self.

Him letting himself be weak and accepting that he was worthy of this care. Afterward, I released him gently, and he looked at me like I was a miracle. Eyes wet with emotion, not tears. He pulled me back onto the couch, into his arms, held me so tight it almost hurt. "Thank you," he whispered into my hair. We lay together, tangled up, and for the first time since Leo left, I felt like maybe I was doing something right. Maybe choosing them didn't make me selfish. Maybe it just made me human. Virgin Dot Com