Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(32)

She whimpers yet doesn’t answer. Not with words. But the way her skin flushes and her hips swirl tell me everything I need to know.

My fingers move faster while my opposite hand sweeps along her belly and around her curves. Her breasts are heavy against my palms. I massage each one, feeling the soft skin bounce as she writhes, her jaw tightening when I tug and nip the centers.

Her legs fall open, giving me room and inviting me to explore. I take my time, learning what she likes. But it doesn’t take long for her to succumb.

She cranes her neck. “I’m going to come,” she rasps, her fingernails digging into my comforter.

Those are the words I’ve been waiting to hear. I slide two fingers in deep and circle, my skin burning as I watch her lose control.

I’m breathing like I’ve been running for miles, so turned on by how hot I’m making her―how her body trembles beneath my touch, my control, it’s all I can do not to pound into her. But for now, this is all about her, and I’m going to make sure she damn well never forgets me.

“Finn,” she says, barely getting my name out before her legs kick out, her body bouncing hard against the bed.

I’ve given plenty of women orgasms, but to see someone like Sol, who’s so sweet, so angelic lose it like this―f*ck―that’s all I want to do to her. I want her so bad my erection is killing me right now. But instead I keep going, prolonging the first and inciting another.

I slow my movements, easing her down as the next orgasm fades. Her small body relaxes gradually, her back lowering to the mattress from its high arc. But her breath . . . those are way out of control.

Her hair fans out along my bed, her nipples are taut, and her eyes are heavy with lust as she takes me in. I crawl on top of her, tucking my hand behind her back and lifting her to me to kiss.

For all I want to spread her legs open and wrap them around me, my kissing is slow and lazy, like I’m not in a rush, ignoring the dense bulge ready to tear through my jeans, and once more making it all about her. She has regrets, I know she does. I’m not about to be one of them.

Her hands travel across the hard planes of my body as her tongue swirls mine. But when her fingers make quick work of unsnapping my jeans and wrenching them down, I know our time has come.

I pull away, throwing open the drawer to my nightstand and reaching for a condom. I tear the wrapper open with my teeth while I shove out of my boxers. I want to keep touching her, hell, I never want to stop.

Before I can slide the condom in place, Sol’s thin arms wrap around my shoulders. I freeze, thinking she’s going to tell me she’s not ready―that she changed her mind . . . until she falls to her knees and takes me deep into her mouth. I jerk at her first pull, and her second, her lips forming a seal and creating an intense suction. Each pass takes me further in, making me harder and tightening the muscles along my groin.

I only wish I could relax and enjoy it. But I can’t.

I never could.

She’s not the first girl to do this. I’ve lost count of how many women have gone down on me. Most of the time, I clamp down and bear it―wait till they get tired or bored so we can get down to business and do what I really want. But with Sol, I can’t zone out―not with the passion behind her motions, and not with how her delicate hands pass along the bulging muscles of my thighs to join her mouth to tease and play.

I tear my stare away from where her head moves up and down on my lap. She’s going deeper, her hands working me as hard as those lips. I focus on the ceiling, trying to force myself to get through this. I’m a man―God damn it. I’m supposed to want and crave this shit.

The cords of my neck strain as I struggle to put my mind elsewhere. Instead I jerk again, and again. My body shudders as she releases me and scrambles to her feet. “Hey,” she says, her hands gliding across my shoulders.

It takes me a moment to meet her face, but when I do, I f*cking hate what I see. All the lust I riled is gone from her features, leaving only worry, confusion, and what resembles fear. She’s at a loss. But so am I.

“Am I hurting you?” she asks.

I should say yes, to stop her questions and to keep her from doing it again. But I don’t want to put my baggage on her.

“No,” I gasp, barely able to speak.

“Then what’s wrong?” she asks, stroking the side of my face.

I angle my chin away, wondering what’s happening. It felt good, damn it. No, she felt good. “I forgot I have to get up early tomorrow,” I tell her. “I should take you home.”

Her eyes widen as her attention falls back on my lap. I can’t blame her. I’m as hard as a chimney―and I should be seeing how hot she made me. But right now, I can’t come. No matter what we do, I won’t be able to. Not with her knowing there’s something wrong with me.

“I . . . I don’t understand,” she says, pulling her hands away from me. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I bite out, unable to look her. I try to put some space between us, swearing when I lift my hips and agony rips through my groin. Son of a bitch, no way can I drive her home like this. “Take my truck.”

“What?”

The pain I’m feeling sharpens my tone. “The keys are on the kitchen counter. Take my keys, take my truck. I’ll come by for it in the morning.”

“I don’t understand,” she says again.