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There’s too much going on. Mac’s name slipped out before I could even think twice. “Yes. Finn… Please.” A tear rolls down my cheek, it all feels too good.
A deep growl draws my attention back toward Mac. His head tilted back as his jaw muscles tighten, a thin layer of sweat coats his tattooed chest. After two final strokes, Mac comes into his hand with such force I worry he might pass out. Finally, he picks his head up, “Come for us, Princess… come on his cock.”
It’s my undoing.
My orgasm crashes into me like a freight train. I shudder around Finn, my walls squeezing him tighter and tighter, my screams filling the apartment. “Finn!”
“Fuck!” he hisses as he fills me with his release.
I’m not entirely sure what just happened or why I feel so blissfully happy with it, but I know two things for sure.
One… I want that to happen over and over and over again.
Two… I’m so screwed.
17
Finn
It’s been a week since my morning with Harper and Mac, and I can’t get enough of her.
I let my guard slip that morning. It was a shit-ass night. Between the shipment getting stolen, not knowing who the hell took it, Ronan’s absolute fucking freak out at the docks, and Liam’s very obvious disappointment in us, I needed a drink. Or three.
I’m not a drinker. Sure, I sip on a glass of whiskey now and again, but I never get drunk. When you get drunk, inhibitions are lowered, lines are crossed, and mistakes get made. I don’t make mistakes.
I rarely sleep with women. Let me rephrase that; I don’t need to sleep with women. Actually, let me rephrase that; I have better things to do with my time than getting lost in pussy. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no virgin. I’ve had my fair share of experience with women. But I’m not like Ronan and Mac. I can’t just fuck someone to scratch that preverbal itch and move on. Whenever I try, whether I have her to myself or I’m sharing with Ronan and Mac, it never quite satisfies me. I need to connect with the woman I’m with to lower my inhibitions and be who I really am, and not many women can handle who that is. Trust me, I’ve tried.
As fucking annoying and cheesy as that is, it’s the truth. I’m sure if you psychoanalyzed me, it would stem from my parents being murdered when I was eight and having no real family left, me wanting to fill that void in my life with any emotional connection I can… blah blah fuckin blah.
Since I need that connection to enjoy sex, I don’t even take the risk. Because if I develop that bond with a woman, she becomes special, and I lose control. If she becomes special and I lose control, she can be taken from me. And if another person is taken away from me, I might not make it. But… Harper. After just three days with that woman, all I could think about was sinking into her, controlling her, wrapping my hand around her throat, and turning that pretty ass red. Seeing her walk out of her room wearing Mac’s shirt, knowing he had her, and knowing they slept together sent me over the edge. Not because I was jealous but because I wanted to feel her too. After what her family did to mine, I should fucking know better, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to have a part of her. Contrary to every one of my instincts, I wanted to connect with her.
I’m not sure whether it was seeing her ass peek out the bottom of Mac’s shirt when she reached for a glass, how she pried information out of me with ease, or the three glasses of whiskey I had. But I am sure that the woman in front of me is just what the three of us need… Ronan included.
“What are you reading over there?” I’m sitting on her bed, staring at her while she’s reading like some damn fool. Mac had the chaise delivered to our penthouse yesterday, so Harper would have somewhere to relax while she read. It’s a deep green velvet color reminiscent of the walls in the bookstore. We can tell she’s homesick even if she won’t admit it out loud.
After her jailbreak last week, she hasn’t even hinted at wanting to leave. I’m not sure if that’s in fear of who lies in the shadows or because of what Ronan might do if she asks to leave again.
He’s not known for his patience.
“One of my favorites,” she smiles back at me. She looks absolutely adorable, nestled on the chaise, the sun beaming in from the window beside her. Her curly hair is piled on top of her head, her black glasses are perched on her head, wearing one of Mac’s obnoxiously large shirts, and she has a blanket draped over her bare legs. I couldn’t paint a more perfect picture if I tried.
Fucking hell. I’m not entirely sure where the Finn of a week ago went, but he isn’t here anymore.
“What’s it about?”
“Oh, you know, just stuff.”
“Stuff? Could you be any less specific?”
“Actually, yes, I could… don’t tempt me.” I love when she sasses back. She needs to learn not to let the world walk all over her. It’s a cruel fucking world, after all.
“Angel,” I say, standing up from my spot on the bed, “I’m not asking for shits and giggles… I want to know. I want to know what puts that cute ass smile on your face.”
Cute-ass smile… Holy fuck Finn.
“It’s a romance book,” she pauses with flushed cheeks, “with some spicy scenes mixed in.”
“Spicy?”
