Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(41)

“I think it’s apple pumpkin,” I tell her, grinning when she laughs.

I pull out her chair, taking the seat near her. For all there should be this tension between us, there’s not. Once more, it’s just me and Sol.

My hand finds her thigh as she pulls off the paper lid from her container of food. “I’m glad you’re here, sunshine,” I tell her.

“Sunshine?” she asks.

“You’re name means ‘sun’. If you can think of a better nickname I’m all ears.” I shrug. “In addition to lean mean muscles.”

I’m thinking I’m coming on too strong. But after that kiss in her car and our talk―I don’t know, all this wasn’t exactly what I expected. That’s not true, it’s more like Sol wasn’t exactly who I expected.

Last night―when she figured out what happened to me, I swear what was left of my pride was kicked out from under me. All I felt was shame and anger. Anger at myself for letting what happened happen―for being such a stupid and trusting kid―but most of all for being so f*cking obvious and letting Sol figure me out. I should have felt like less of a man and more like a coward. I should have felt fear―fear that she knew―fear of who she’d tell, fear that I wasn’t everything I wanted her to believe that I am, and initially I did.

Then something changed.

She asked me to kiss her, not because she pitied me. No way. Not the way she kissed me back. She was proving she still wanted me, like nothing had changed . . . even though everything had.

So instead of feeling everything I thought I should have felt: humiliation, fury, and even fear, I drove home like this weight I’ve been carrying for forever had been lifted, and the chains binding me had loosened. Am I still damaged by what happened? Yeah. That shit doesn’t just go away with one kiss. But I can’t deny that all too real calm that followed.

Since I started liking girls, and they started liking me back, what happened to me always found a way to ruin even the good moments―as if at any given second they would learn what I’ve always fought to hide.

The good moments with Sol have been just that, good. Yet with her, it’s like I’ve had to hold onto my secret even tighter―pretending to be that someone else―the kind of man women think they like or want to be with. That changed with Sol. She knew. She knew. There was no denying it―not by the way she seemed to shove the persona I’ve held up like a shield aside and see down to that wound that’s never quite healed, tearing it open and making it bleed.

It should have freaked me out, and maybe pissed me off that she guessed―and in a way it did, given the raw pain that scorched me like f*cking fire. But even though my strength and power had been stripped away, she gave it right back to me when she begged me to kiss her.

So is it easy to be with her now, to pass my hand along her thigh like I am? Yeah. It is.

“I’m sorry about how I made you feel the other night,” I tell her. For all that I think things are cool between us, this apology is something I still owe her.

She reaches for my hand, covering it with her own. “Don’t be. I don’t ever want you to regret what happens when we’re in bed.”

“In bed?” I ask, lifting her hand and kissing it. “As in not sleeping?”

“Definitely not sleeping,” she says, her voice gathering a roughness that turns me on. “But definitely touching.”

“Touching me where?” I murmur against her knuckles, my stare welding onto hers.

She tilts her head back, laughing and exposing the swells of her breasts. Jesus, she’s beautiful. It takes all the restrain I have not to pull her onto my lap and into a straddle. “Finn, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing you say it.”

Her breath catches when I hook my arm around her shoulders and pull her to me for one damn fine kiss.

“Enjoy your dinner,” I tell her, pegging her with a look that widens her large eyes. “Have your wine, and I’ll show you exactly where to touch me. . . .”




We’re all over each other the minute I slam my bedroom door shut behind us, peeling off our clothes and letting them land in messy piles on the floor. But the moment I’m down to my boxer briefs and she’s only in a tiny pair of panties and her bra, we stop.

I’m already hard, and breathing as fast as she is. We’re holding hands, but not much else. But the way her large brown nipples poke against the lace of her teal bra, I know she’s ready for more.

I lead her back to my bed and sit on the edge, positioning her to stand between my legs. My hands release her, skimming her nipples with my knuckles so the hard tips brush over my skin. “My blood tests came back today,” I tell her. “It’s a procedure thing I have to do before each fight. Just so you know, I’m completely clean.”

She shudders, watching me play. “I am, too. I’ve never had . . .” She groans when I pinch through the lace. “I’ve never had anything,” she bites out.

I curl my arm around her waist, pulling her close and yanking down the cups of her bra so I can circle the points with my tongue. “You on the pill?” I ask between flicks.

She clutches my head, speaking like it’s taking everything she has to stay calm. “Yes. I don’t want . . .”