Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(78)

The voices of my brothers were muffled, like I was somehow being held underwater. It was Sofia’s voice that kept me from becoming fully submerged yet it was Sol’s presence that dragged me from the water. She lifted me out of that hell filled with hate and misery.

I hate Norman Kessler. I hate what he did to me and every kid he got his hands on, every little boy who was afraid to tell on him and who was too small and weak to fight back.

He tore me up. He broke me down. But no way will I let him keep me there. Not anymore.

Sol stays glued to my side as we make our way out of the arena. My family surrounds us, but they’re not alone. Fighters from varying weight classes―some who faced off―but more who just came to watch, gather around us, creating a wall and blocking reporters that dare to edge close.

I hear the questions, all of them. They don’t know much, but they know and saw enough. I ignore them and so does my family. The voices fade in and out as my mind struggles to put one foot in front of the other.

With how I’m feeling, it should take forever to reach Kill’s car. But before I know it, we’re suddenly there. As the door shuts tight behind me, I robotically reach for my seatbelt and snap it in place.

Sol settles against me, resting her head on my shoulder as my arm curls around her.

“Seamus has your car,” Sofia tells her from the front. “Where would you like him to drop it off?”

She’s asking Sol where she’s spending the night, asking her to make a choice. I keep my gaze ahead as I wait for her to answer, working to keep my hold around her loose. I don’t want to force her to stay with me. I mean, I want her with me, but only if she wants to be.

She lifts her head only long enough to answer. “At Finn’s,” she responds. “I’m staying with him tonight.”

Kill nods his head as if relieved. I almost expect Sofia to ask her if she’s sure, but like Kill, the tension along her shoulders seems to lessen at Sol’s reply.

And they’re not alone.

I keep quiet the whole way back to my place, even as me and Sol follow Wren into the house. All my brothers are there. I can feel them watching me, but I can’t look at them. The rage has lifted, but it left a shit ton of shame behind.

Tonight should have been one of the best of my life. I had the chance to earn my title bout and I got the job done. But from the moment I saw old man Kessler, the experience became something out of a nightmare, one that followed me long after I left the octagon.

Except now with Sol here, I want this night to be what it was supposed to be: A great one. And I want these steps we’re taking to be among the first that gets me to a better place.

My family mumbles their goodnights and goodbyes around me. I’m sure they’re speaking to me. But shame is that wicked thing that keeps me quiet. They keep their distance except for Wren. Once she locks the door behind us she hauls me to her, hugging me close the way big sisters do when they’re scared and they want you to know they love you.

I hug her back because I love her too, keeping my free arm around Sol. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” Wren says, hurrying away when it seems like she’s ready to lose it.

Sol leans heavily against me as we make our way to the rear of the house. I’m beat up, and pretty damn bloody. She knows as much so we keep straight, passing my bedroom and heading straight to the bathroom.

I kick the door shut and strip out of my clothes when she starts the water in the shower. Maybe it’s too much too soon―standing there naked in front of her―especially after all our time apart. But there’s nothing there she hasn’t seen, touched, or tasted. I drag my hand through my hair when that familiar twinge warns me I’m seconds from getting hard.

I pull back the clear curtain and step into the claw foot tub, letting the warm stream hit my face. Swirls of pink flow down the drain as the blood coating my body dissolves and washes away. But as I look up and turn so that the water can hit my back, I freeze.

Through the clear curtain, my eyes latch onto Sol’s almost naked body. Her jeans, top, boots, and socks are gone, and as I watch, her bra falls to the floor. I’m already stiff when she tugs off her panties, but when she parts the curtain and steps inside, my erection lifts parallel to my stomach.

She bites down on her bottom lip when she notices, her eyes returning to mine and pegging me with a gaze I’ve seriously missed and have only recently seen in my fantasies. “I’m going to wash your hair, okay?” she says.

I nod, guessing she wants to take care of me and edging closer when she pours shampoo into her palm. She shudders when my thick length pokes against her belly. But I don’t touch her, not yet. Instead I bend forward, allowing her to wash my hair.

As she rinses my hair, I lean in closer and tilt my chin. I don’t know if I kiss her first, or if she meets me somewhere in between. But her fingers leave my hair to thread around my shoulders, pulling me tighter.

Our kiss is slow at first, playful, like it’s our first time kissing. But as it deepens, I’m reminded that this isn’t our first time doing what we’re about to do. I don’t ask her if she’s still on the pill, or question if we should use something. I just lift her onto my hips, and ease my way inside. Her head falls back against the tile wall when I’m all the way in, exposing a throat I can’t wait to nibble.

My tongue flicks the drops of water speckling her skin as my hands adjust her legs against my waist. She releases a groan, encouraging me to withdraw slowly. I want to start thrusting, my body crazy with need. But I wait for her head to loll forward, for her eyes so heavy with lust to fix on mine before I start. Our foreheads meet, her heady stare intensifying with the steady pound of my hips and her ankles fastening securely around my back, driving me into her deeper and faster.