Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (15 page)

When you’re a city kid, you learn real fast who’s just talking to talk and who has the goods to back it up. Thank you baby Jesus in the manger playing with his toes, those kids knew enough to back away.

I shift into gear and drive around the building. “Where are you parked?” I ask, trying to keep my motions steady.

“Next building, rear lot. There wasn’t an open spot on this side when I arrived.” His body is relaxed, but I know he remains on edge and it’s not solely because of those dumb kids.

“You were saying you don’t feel numb around me,” I remind him, knowing I can’t let something so serious go and that we’re almost out of time. “Is that a good thing?”

“Very good,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh.

The movement is light, innocent, avoiding any intimate parts, yet so sexually charged, it hitches my breath. However, I’m Latina by heritage and Philly by nature. So despite his panty-dropping performance back there, and the way his light strokes make my girl parts zing, I lift his hand and fling it away.

“You don’t get to touch me this way,” I tell him. “Not after the way you treated me.”

“All right,” he says.

“All right?” I ask, my brakes squeaking to a stop in front of his truck. “Is that all you have to say?”

And there’s that dimple. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” The corner of his mouth tilts. “And maybe kiss you, too.”

I set my car in park and sigh. “Finn, what are you trying to do to me?”

“I’m just trying to tell you I like you, Sol.”

“Then why did you push me away when I―” I can’t even bring myself to say what I did. “I don’t like games,” I tell him, wanting to sound stronger than I feel.

“So you don’t want to hear it’s me, not you?” he offers.

If he means to make me smile and ease the tension, he failed. “Only if it really is you,” I say, the sadness in my voice so evident, I know I can’t mask it.

“It is, baby,” he says, leaning in. He lifts his hand to caress my face, but then pulls away as if remembering he’s not supposed to touch me. He slumps back in his seat, or at least he tries to, but the muscles along his shoulders remain rigid. “I liked what you were doing, it felt really damn good.”

I don’t typically talk about sex and foreplay with the men I’ve had sex and foreplay with. It’s something that simply happens, and then becomes this unspoken fact after all is said and done. But as young as we are, we are adults, so it’s time to step up and behave like one.

When I speak, I mean to keep my voice firm, but my insecurities from that night spill into it, reducing it to a whisper. “That’s not what it seemed like. You kept jumping, like I was hurting you. But when I tried to be less aggressive it didn’t seem to help.”

Finn threads his hand through his hair, as if in angry or frustrated or maybe both, but again he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t he realize what it’s taking me to discuss such a personal moment so openly and honestly?

“I need to go home,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“I liked what you were doing,” he repeats. “But I couldn’t enjoy it. Not with you.”

“What do you mean―” My words cut off and so does my breathing.
Not with me,
his voice repeats in my head. “You’re . . .
gay
?”

Of course he’s gay. Of course. All the effin’ good ones are always gay.

Finn turns his head slowly my way. “Is that what you think?” he asks, surprising me by grinning. “After how I played with you and made you come, you really think I’m gay?”

My face warms, the shimmer in his stare mimicking the one when his fingers disappeared inside me. “You’re not?” I ask, or should I say, more like beg him not to be. Because damn it all, as pissed as I am, I still want him.

“No, I’m not gay,” he murmurs, his blue irises smoking enough to fog my windows. “If I was, I wouldn’t want to go down on you as bad as I do.”

My heart stops beating. Stops. Just like that. Until the possibilities of what he says sends it speeding ahead. “Are you bi?” I squeak.

Oh, man, and there’s that heat surging between us again, tightening all my important parts. “Not even a little bit,” he answers, his voice heavy and low.

Okay. While I admit I now have hope, and am more than a little horny, that doesn’t mean I’m any less confused. “Then why did it seem like you needed to get away from me?”

“Because I did,” he admits. He rubs his face hard. “Look, this isn’t easy for me to talk about, especially with you.”

“All right,” I begin, only for him to cut me off again.

“But I want to. I want to make it right.”

That’s what he seems to insist, but he takes his time to explain. “When you had me in your mouth, I felt the heat from your body, your tongue, and how hard you were working me.”

Well, we’re just putting it all out there, aren’t we? My body warms as I remember, causing me to involuntarily shudder with desire. But it’s the sadness trailing along his form that clutches me hard and doesn’t let go. “That’s not a good thing. Is it?” I ask.

As his features tighten further, I realize it’s not, but to hear it is something entirely different. “I usually zone out when it happens, but I couldn’t zone out with you.” He shrugs. “That’s why I told Mason. Like I said, I wasn’t bragging. I’m just trying to figure this shit out, you feel me?”

Actually, I do. The frustrated almost-girlfriend in me eases away, allowing the grad student forward. It doesn’t seem fair that you can’t be your own patient, especially when it matters. But while I couldn’t be there for me, I can be here for Finn. “Is this a control thing?” I ask. “Something you need to feel when you’re intimate with someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Every time?” I question.

At his nod, I try not to think what this stems from, but I do. I try not let that awful feeling digging its way into my chest scrape against my heart, but it does. I try to beat back the nausea and fear. Regardless, it all comes. Someone who needs to feel in control all the time is someone who has suffered severe abuse, sometimes physical, but the majority of times―especially given the circumstances―it’s sexual.

Cold sweat pours down my spine. Someone hurt Finn. Someone . . .
raped
him.

“Hey,” he says, his hands cupping my face. “You okay? You don’t look good.”

I don’t need a mirror to know he’s right. But it’s my forming tears that clue him in that I know what happened. His hands fall away from me, a look of horror finding its way into his blanching features.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking.

His chest rises and falls quickly. He knows what I’m saying, it’s that obvious. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat.

He wrenches away from me, throwing the door open and placing a foot out. “Finn,” I say. “Please don’t go.”

He freezes in place, but he won’t look at me, his voice as rough as crumbling granite. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you fucking pity me.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’m only sorry about what happened.”

Now is not the time to ask him for specifics. But it is a time for forgiveness. “Can we start over? You and me, can we try again?”

For a long moment he doesn’t respond, but when he does his voice lowers in anger. “You still want me? Even now that you know what happened to me?” He huffs when I don’t answer. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. I saw the way you looked at me.”

“I’m upset, and angry, and disgusted,” I admit, not missing how rigid he becomes at my words. “But only because I hate what happened to you, and it breaks my heart that you hurt so much because of it.”

I unsnap my seatbelt, edging as close as I can to him. But when I smooth my hand along his back, I realize how much I’ve missed him.

He bows his head, his hands balling into fists so tight they shake. He’s losing control, I know he is. Without meaning to, I’ve wounded his pride. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

He raises his head slightly, the muscles along his spine feeling more like stone than flesh. “Don’t you feel sorry for me,” he rasps.

“I don’t,” I repeat, surprised by how husky my voice becomes as I tell him the truth. “I just really need you to kiss me right now.”

I’m not ready for his speed, or how quickly he lunges at me, gluing his body to mine. Those lips . . . those I’m ready for. Just as I’m ready for the way his arms pull me closer.

I didn’t fully believe he wanted me as much as he claimed. But as his mouth devours mine, all those insecurities that have kept me up at night disappear, leaving me and Finn, and reminding me how much our bodies crave each other.

His lips and tongue move fast. It should be an awkward kiss based on our position and how aggressively he charges. Yet it’s not, the glide of his hands through my hair making it sweet, steamy, romantic, stirring my moans and making him hard.

His erection jabs me in the belly as he yanks my shirt up. My head lolls to the side, sliding against the cool glass of my window as Finn nibbles my throat. I don’t want him to stop. But he does.

“We can’t stay here,” he says, wrenching away from me and falling back into his seat.

Like some reckless teen, I’m about to say no one can see us, point out that this office building emptied out hours ago and that my car and his are the only ones that remain. Instead my inner adult reminds me we’re in public―and wasn’t I just bitching about being embarrassed?

“All right,” I say.

Finn shakes his head as if I missed something he’s trying to tell me. “Those kids are too close. It’s not a bad area, but it’s dark.” He looks at me then. “Will you come back with me? To my place?”

I want to answer yes, but I can’t. “Not tonight. I have to stay with my mother. She’s not―I can’t leave her unattended,” I add quickly. I glance at the clock on my dash, groaning when I realize what time it is. “I have to get back,” I say, my voice growing quiet.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll follow you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I do,” he responds in a way that tells me there’s no point in arguing. “I need to make sure you stay safe.”

“All right.”

Finn doesn’t say anything more. He simply slips out of my car and shuts the door. I wait for him to crank the engine of his truck before pulling out of the lot. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Nor do I know if I’m making the right choice. What I do know is that as angry and hurt as I was, I can’t deny how much Finn means to me.

I pull into my neighborhood twenty minutes later, parking directly in front of my house. Finn parks on the opposite side a few houses down, but by the time I gather my things and reach my stoop, he’s already there.

He’s not smiling, but neither am I. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m opening and closing the gym tomorrow. I’m also training during and in between classes for my upcoming fight.” He sighs. “I should be done by ten-thirty. Will you stop by my house for a late dinner?”

“You’re making me dinner?”

He frowns. “Hell, no. I’m picking up take-out from that Italian place you like.”

I laugh a little, holding onto my smile when I see his. But my smile dwindles as I realize that he’s not just inviting for dinner, or to talk. Oh, no, not by the way he pulls me to him for another long kiss.

He lifts his hand, his thumb stroking my jaw as he loosens his hold. “I want to make things right between us. Will you let me?”

I want to say something poignant to assure him that I’m here for him in whatever way he needs me to be. But those words I so need fail to form in my mind, so instead I borrow them from my heart. “I’ll let you do anything,” I answer.

He leans back on his heels, realizing what I’m offering. “Good,” he tells me.

He bends to give me a quick kiss, watching me as I make my way inside. I hurry to the window to catch one last look at him, but as I spread the curtains and poke my head out, I realize he’s already gone.

CHAPTER 16

Finn

I took a quick shower the minute I arrived home the following night, throwing on a pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt in my rush to set the table. Had I known what Sol would wear, I’ll admit, I would have tried a little harder.

I give her a kiss before helping her out of her coat. But as she steps away from me, and I take a long hard look at that shapely dark purple sweater dress she’s wearing, I’m no longer hungry for food, and want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her.

She covers her mouth as she laughs, but then drops her hand away and straightens. “I wanted to look good for you,” she says.

Say something nice, before you rip that dress off her. “Nice,” I say.

Close enough.

I put her coat away and reach for her hand, leading her into the kitchen and to the table. She pauses to take in the glasses of wine, the cloth napkins, and flatware placed between the sealed containers of take-out. Based on how smokin’ she looks, thank Christ I didn’t set out the sporks and paper napkins they included with the food.

“Classy,” she says, motioning to the candle at the center.

“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 fucking 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.