Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(52)

CHAPTER 20


Sol



We were supposed to check out by eleven and head back to Philly by noon. But given how hard his hips slaps against mine, and how I’m gripping the edge of the mattress to keep from falling over the side, I’m reminded why we extended our stay, and why I had to call my father to tell him I wasn’t coming home again.

Finn’s arm hooks under my mine as we lay on our sides, his hand arching my neck so he can kiss me as he pumps. I want to kiss him. I do. But the position makes it hard and so does the force of my next orgasm.

His fingers tug on my nipples, only to slip down further to tease my throbbing center. I fall onto my stomach with my next release. As he finishes and he slumps on top of me, I know that at least for the moment we’re both sated.

I shimmy beneath him, trying to lift my head. “Sorry,” he says, rolling off me and collapsing onto his back.

With a whole lot of sleep-deprived effort, I scoot across the bed and closer to him, bending to kiss his lips. “Are you tired?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answers.

I trace an invisible line between his pecs. “Are you hungry?”

“That, too,” he confesses.

It’s what he claims, but he seems so alert. Impressive considering we’ve barely slept. I edge a little closer, causing him to lift his arm and tuck me against him.

As I gather the sheets around us, I debate whether I should order us a late lunch or an early dinner, seeing how we missed breakfast entirely. Mostly though, I’m just ready to sleep.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he says.

His tone is serious. Yet I find him grinning when I glance up. “What is it?” I ask.

“Move in with me.”

I blink a few times, wondering if I misheard. “Did you say―”

“Yeah. I want you to move in with me.”

I lift my head, but my expression must be classic because he laughs. “I’m serious,” he insists. “I already discussed it with Wren. She’s fine with it since she’ll still have the entire second floor to herself.”

When I don’t answer right away, his expression softens. “You weren’t expecting this, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t,” I answer him, quietly.

He strokes my cheek. “You don’t seem happy,” he points out.

“It’s not that I’m not happy you asked,” I answer. “I mean, it tells me you’re serious about us.”

He frowns. “Of course I am. Don’t you know what you mean to me?”

If I’m being honest, I don’t. At least not completely.

“If it’s Wren, we can find someplace else to live. I’ve banked and made enough fighting to buy another house outright.” He scans my face when I don’t respond. “I know you love the house, but I can’t ask my sister to move out just because I want someone to move in.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” I add quickly.

He shifts us so we’re facing each other directly. “Then what is it?”

It’s a lot a things. I gather the blankets against my breasts, thinking matters through. “Finn, I love you. I’ve told you enough times so you know that it’s true.”

“But I haven’t said it back,” he says, finishing my thoughts, but not exactly my words. “It’s not really in me. Not something I go around saying.”

My stare falls to his chest. His muscles are so pronounced by the way he’s tensing his body. But I’m not exactly sure if I’m the sole cause of the tension or if there’s more to what he’s claiming. “You’ve never told anyone?”

“Never,” he admits.

It makes me feel better to hear he’s never said it to anyone, that doesn’t mean I still don’t wish he’d say it to me. But I won’t force him, or back him into a corner to hear him say something he may never be ready to share. “Okay,” I say, trying to respect his honesty and where he’s coming from.

“Hey,” he says. Kissing the tip of my nose. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

My breath hitches, yet I’ll admit my surprise is brief. Maybe I’m too much of a girl, but if he can’t say it, it’s hard to believe he can mean it.

“It’s not about the sex,” he says. “That’s not why I’m asking you to move in, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t like being without you. Every time you go home to your folks . . .” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just hate it when you’re gone.”

“I know,” I tell him.

“Do you?” he asks, cocking his head. “Cause it’s the truth.”

I nod, but the motion is so subtle, I’m not sure he notices. “I can tell by the way you hold me, and how you’re always careful not to hurt me.”

“So then what’s bothering you?” He makes a face. “Besides your dad hunting me down and burying me beneath a plantain tree like he told me he would.”

“It was a mango tree,” I clarify. We’re both trying to make light of it, but he’s not coaxing that smile he wants from me, and I can’t seem to rile it either.

“Babe,” he says, rubbing his forehead with mine.