Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(23)

“So what about you? Do you have siblings? Brothers, right?”

I nod, reaching for my glass to take a sip of beer. “Colton and Levi.”

“You guys work together?”

“Yeah, plus my dad. He had a heart attack and a stroke a few years back, so he’s not as hands-on as he used to be, but he’s still always around.”

“What about your mom?”

I shake my head. “Died when I was twelve. Breast cancer.”

Her face seems to literally fall and she lifts her iced tea to her lips, taking a sip with a shaking hand before she manages to say, “Finn. God, I am . . .” She shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and then closes her eyes. “That is heartbreaking.”

What else can I say but, “Yeah. Long time ago.”

She blinks away and for the first time it occurs to me that she looks exhausted. “So what has you looking so beat?” I ask. “A grueling Facebooking session during your day off work?”

I can tell she’s on the verge of saying something smart in response, but her expression softens and she says, “Just looking some stuff up.”

“Next season’s top shoe picks?”

“Something along those lines.” And wow. Harlow is a terrible liar.

But if she’s not sharing, then I suspect I shouldn’t push, anyway. Lord knows I don’t really want to lay my woes on this table, either.

“Come on.”

Looking up at me, she draws her brows together.

I stand, holding out my hand. “Let’s go.”

SO WE’RE DISCOVERING a pattern. We fall into the hallway at Oliver’s again, hands in hair and mouths everywhere. Her body is warm, her skin soft and smelling so f*cking good.

Harlow leads this time and steers us down the hall, stumbling blindly in the direction of my bedroom.

“Oliver?” she asks, breaking away just long enough to glance around, and listening to the empty house. Her lips look bitten and her cheeks pink. Her hair has come loose from the bun and some smooth strands fall around her face and shoulders.

“Not home yet,” I say, and pull her back to my mouth. Our feet shuffle along the wood floors and I wonder if I’d have time to f*ck her right here, bent over the couch or with her hands pressed to the wall, the sound of her screams ringing through the silent rooms. “Not sure when, though; think you can be quick?” I circle my thumb around her nipple and she groans.

“Mmm, I didn’t come all the way over here to be quick.”

I don’t want to, either. In fact, I’m beginning to wish we’d gone to her place. Someplace we can take our time like we did the other day.

We get to my room and I close the door, flipping the lock behind me.

“On the bed,” I say.

Harlow pulls away with a final kiss and—surprisingly—does what I tell her, making a show of kicking off her shoes and climbing up onto the mattress. I cross the room and stand over her, meeting her gaze as I unfasten my belt.

“Take your clothes off.”

Harlow nods and we each begin to undress: shirts first, her bra, my jeans. She takes hers off slowly, not like she’s putting on a show, but like she’s relishing the way my eyes move over every inch of newly exposed skin and is trying to make the feeling last. Her tits are f*cking fabulous, high and full —a generous handful, and I have big hands—with tight pink nipples that make my mouth water. She has to lie back to shimmy out of her skirt and I step over, reaching forward and pulling it down her legs.

“Wonder what you’d look like with these ankles tied up in the air,” I say, bringing her leg to my shoulder and pressing a kiss to her calf. I don’t mean it—not right now, anyway—Oliver could be home any minute, and for something like that I want to tease her, take my time until both of us are absolutely wild. But remembering last time, the suggestion is enough to do the trick, and Harlow’s eyes widen, her breath picking up.

With an arm braced near her head, I reach between our bodies, slipping my finger into her panties.

She gasps and I push in more, adding a second alongside it and moving my thumb in circles over her clit.

“Look how wet you are,” I say. “Just from taking off our clothes. I’ve barely touched you and you’re ready to come all over my hand.”

Harlow huffs out a breath, like she can’t decide if she wants to deny it or not, but still she rocks her hips, taking more of my fingers. I kiss along her ribs and up, taking a nipple between my lips, sucking until she’s wet and slippery. She gasps in a breath as I use my teeth, easy at first and then just a bit sharper.

“More,” she groans, and I move to the other, sucking, biting. I don’t want to hurt her—that’s never what this has been about—but I do want her to feel it later. Those small, lingering aches that catch her off guard. “Finn, more.”

“Roll over,” I say, and grip her hips, helping her to her stomach. Her lace panties are barely a scrap and I reach for them, slipping them down and off her body, leaving her completely, gloriously naked in front of me.

“Fuck. This ass,” I say, squeezing it, not even knowing where to look. I grip her tighter, a little rougher, rubbing my palm over her again and again to prepare her for what’s to come. “Seem to remember I had plans for it.”

Her entire body is tense, practically vibrating, every muscle poised and waiting. I move my hand over her hip and up to her lower back, dragging my short nails along the skin there. She lets out a little sound, and I can hear each of her breaths, how they’re almost even and controlled but still just the slightest bit shaky.