Out of Time (Out of Line #2) (Volume 2) (3 page)

He pushed off me and positioned me with my legs spread more widely, but I was still on all fours. I felt extremely exposed in this position, but it was Finn. And with Finn, I could do anything. I studied him from my weird position, watching as desire darkened his gaze. Watched his erection grow even harder and his breathing become even more erratic.

I watched hungrily as he rolled a condom on. He watched me as if I was his reward for good behavior—and I really hoped he never stopped looking at me like that.

He crossed the room, his eyes on my spread thighs. “You might want to hold on tight, Ginger.”

I fisted my hands tighter into the comforter when he positioned himself behind me. He slid the small scrap of my lace thong to the side and ran his tongue up my slit. I cried out and dug my knees into the mattress. The shock of pleasure his tongue brought me hit me hard and fast. “Oh my God, Finn.”

“You have no idea how fucking beautiful you look right now,” he said, his voice so low I barely heard him. I wanted to press my thighs together to ease the empty ache I was feeling without him inside of me, but I couldn’t. Not with him in between them. “I bet you want me to taste you again. Don’t you?”

“
Yes
.”

He didn’t tease me. Didn’t waste any time. He flicked his tongue over my clit, then sucked me in between his lips, rolling his tongue perfect circles. When he scraped his teeth against me gently, I cried out and pushed back, demanding more. He gripped my hips with his hands, kneeling behind me and going down on me from behind.

The erotic image this presented made me twitch with pleasure, building higher and higher until I couldn’t stand it for another second. Everything inside of me burst into fragments, shattering into even smaller pieces until I wasn’t even sure if I existed anymore. I cried out and froze, seeing and hearing nothing. Only
feeling
.

He pressed his tongue against my clit, prolonging the orgasm even more, and cupped my butt. “Fuck, Carrie,” he groaned.

Then he drove inside me—hard and fast. Having him inside me felt so fabulous I wondered for a second if I was dreaming. But then he thrust back into me, and I snapped back into reality. And Finn in real life was
so
much better than a fantasy.

I dropped my head to the mattress when he withdrew almost all the way, closing my eyes tight and holding my breath in anticipation. When he was almost all the way out, he thrust back inside of me, then repeated the motion until I was whimpering and moaning his name.

He picked up the tempo, and tears stung my eyes. The amount of pleasure he was bringing down on me was actually making me cry. Pleasure so strong I couldn’t even freaking handle it without whimpering into the mattress as he barreled into me again and again without restraint. He withdrew, flipped me over on to my back, and drove inside me again. When he changed his angle, going even deeper, I screamed.

Actually
screamed
.

My toes curled and I clenched down on him, my walls squeezing. He groaned and pumped faster, his face lost in the rapture of the moment. When he thrust inside me again, he went spiraling over the edge and collapsed over me, keeping his weight on his elbows.

Once we regained control of our breathing, he rolled to the side and dragged me with him. I clung to him and rested my head on his chest, right over the spot where there wasn’t a tattoo. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he had plans for that spot, but I realized I couldn’t form a coherent word.

So I smiled instead.

“That was a nice way to forget about the stress, huh?” he asked, his lips twitching. He played with a piece of my hair, gently tugging on it. It made me shiver. “And here I was going to suggest surfing as a good method of forgetting about shit.”

I took a deep breath, hoping when I opened my mouth that something besides an unintelligible grunt came out. “We can do that in the morning. I have a late class,” I said, my heart finally settling back into a normal rhythm. And, lo and behold, I could talk. “But as far as this particular method of distraction goes? I plan on doing it again and again and again until this weekend…”

“Uh-huh. I see, I see.” He nodded and pursed his lips seriously, as if we were discussing world politics. “But then what? We just stop?”

“No, then we find out what’s next.” I leaned up and kissed him softly. “And we deal with it.”

But I really wanted to know what
it
was.

Sooner rather than later.

“Let’s go do something fun,” I said, my hand on her lower back. She’d just finished studying, and we’d been sitting in silence ever since. I needed to make her stop thinking about what we’d be going through. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never did?”

“Skydive?”

I flinched. “I can’t pull that together on short notice.”

“Bungee jumping?”

I laughed uneasily. “Do you have a fucking death wish? Jesus.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nope. I just like the rush.”

“Yeah, well, tone it down a notch. How about roller-skating? Or ice-skating? Or what about—”

“Rock climbing.” She sat up straight, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve always wanted to rock climb.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She nodded enthusiastically. I hadn’t seen her this excited since the time I told her I’d teach her how to surf. “Do you know how?”

“I used to do it as a kid. Back when my dad still worked here.”

“Were you good?”

I tugged on my hair. “My mom had tons of videos of me doing it. I found them the last time I went through the boxes in our attic. I guess I was okay.”

“Your mom recorded you?” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “That’s so cute.”

I nodded. “She was that kind of mom. She came to everything with that damn camera in her hand.”

Without even realizing it, I grinned, remembering how much it used to embarrass me. Now, I’d give anything to have her on the sidelines, watching me through a lens and cheering me on. She’d died of cancer when I was sixteen. I hadn’t been the same since.

Carrie squeezed my hand again, then dropped a kiss on my jaw. “Let’s go do it. Your mom would like to see you back up on a wall, I bet.”

She probably would. She’d always said she loved seeing me out there, climbing higher and higher as if I already owned the world. I used to think I did back then. I stood up and helped her stand. “All right. But it’s been years, so I’m probably not going to be the best teacher.”

“I don’t care.” She laughed and headed for the door, her step already lighter. She picked up her helmet and grinned at me, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. “It’ll be fun. Just you and me and the memory of your mom. Maybe I’ll even take a video, love.”

I swallowed hard and picked up my phone. I shot a quick text to her dad, then shoved it into my pocket. He’d been a little quiet lately. Must be busy working.

But still. Weird.

“Yeah. Fun.” I grabbed my motorcycle keys and my helmet. “So, we’ll need to make sure the place supplies the helmets, elbow guards, and knee pads.”

“Or we could just climb.” She opened the door. “I’ll hardly be going that high. I think I’ll be all right without all the padding.”

I considered this, but shook my head. “I have a feeling they require safety equipment.”

“Finn.” She sighed. “Don’t be my dad. You know I have enough of that in my life. I’ve already surfed and rode a bike. What’s a little harmless rock climbing?”

She had a point, but it was my job to keep her safe. I sighed and followed her down the stairs. “Be that as it may, you will still need protection. They won’t let you climb up without it. You might want to be free and wild, but they’ll disagree.”

“If they do, I’ll listen to them.” She pulled her helmet down over her head. “Just not you.”

“Wow.” I frowned at her. “I love you, too,” I muttered.

She snorted. “Stop pouting
.
I’ll probably fall off as soon as I get off the ground, which is why they make you wear a harness thingy,” she said, motioning for me to get on the bike. “I wouldn’t worry about me going too high up.”

“Not helping my confidence here.” I revved the bike. “Climb on, Ginger.”

“Later, maybe,” she replied, climbing onto the bike and holding tight. She yelled over the engine of my Harley. “But first, we rock climb!”

I laughed, loving her enthusiasm. She always dived in to new things with wide-open arms, never showing a hint of fear. Hell, she’d even done that with me. Just kind of opened up and accepted me for what I was. That never ceased to amaze me.

The whole ride to the closest rock climbing gym—a quick Google search had showed me the one I used to go to still existed—she held on to me, leaning when I leaned, resting while I rested. She had the bike thing down more perfectly than some drivers did. Maybe some day I’d teach her how to drive this thing. I bet she’d like that.

I parked and we went inside. It took all of five minutes for us to pay, then we were strapped into the harnesses and standing in front of a wall that looked a lot higher than I remembered.

“Okay, you put one foot on and kind of push up like this.” I did what I described and climbed up a little unsteadily, almost catching myself off guard. Hell, it had been a long time for me. “But make sure to hold on tight with your hands while spreading them—but not too far. You don’t want to throw off the balance.”

She watched me, her brow furrowed, then did as I said. She set one foot up high, tested her weight, but then righted herself. She lifted her other foot, her brow furrowed with concentration. “Like this?”

“Yep.” I climbed up a little higher again. “Do it again.”

She did it, much more steadily this time. “It’s almost rope climbing, only you’re stepping instead of wrapping yourself around something.”

“Except the wall,” I said dryly.

“Well, duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.”

I stretched my arms and took another step higher. “Attitude, Ginger. Attitude.”

“Now you’re just showing off.” She followed me, going a lot faster this time. I wanted to grab her and steady her when she wobbled, but I clenched my fists and let her do it for herself. She needed this. “Look, that was pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah, it was.” I grinned at her. “Watch this.”

I climbed double the length that I’d been doing, stretching my muscles as far as they could go without falling off the damn wall. She laughed, her eyes shining. “I can do that, too.”

I side-eyed her. “You think?”

“Dude.” She pursed her lips and looked to the top of the wall. “What is the worst that can happen? I fall and the harness catches me? Somehow I think I’ll survive.”

I shook my head. “Fine. It’s your ass, not mine.”

Technically, it was mine, too. I was supposed to be protecting her, not taking her rock climbing, but whatever. The girl needed to live, for fuck’s sake.

She’d spent her whole life being watched by men like me not letting her step out of line for even a second. Now she was able to do so. I might be watching her, but I’d be damned if I suffocated her like her father.

We spent the next half hour climbing higher and higher, then we practiced climbing down. She slipped and fell more times than I could count—fine, it was seven—before we finally called it quits. I let her be the one to decide when she’d had enough.

She stood at the bottom of the wall after her last fall, snapping pictures and a few videos with her phone. Her laugh rang loud and clear as I descended to join her. She was so fucking bright and happy. She really was the sun to me.

The only thing that brought true brightness to my world.

I pushed back off the wall, landing nimbly on my feet, and she clapped, her phone held in her hand. “I got the perfect shot of that.” She walked over and held out her phone. “And now I have a wallpaper for my phone, too. Nice, huh?”

It was of me in midair, about to land. It was a pretty cool shot. “Good one.”

“Thanks. But I’m hungry now,” she said, tucking her phone away. “You ready for some burgers or something?”

“McDonald’s or Islands?” I asked, unclicking my harness and grabbing her hand. “You can pick tonight.”

After we cleaned up and squared off with the workers, we walked toward my bike, her under my arm. “I think I’m gonna have to go Islands.”

I grinned. “Did I convert you?”

“Maybe.” She pointed a finger at me and glared, but the effect was ruined by how damn happy she looked. “But I’ll forever be a McDonald’s girl, too.”

I shrugged. “Whatever you say, Ginger. Whatever you say.”

The next morning I woke up to Carrie climbing on top of me, kissing me until I forgot what the hell color the sky was. Her hands moved all over me, slowly waking me up, and by the time we were finished with each other, I was exhausted and naked and sweaty. I looked over at her and grinned at the smug smile on her face.

“More distraction, I see.” I tapped her nose. “You look awfully proud of yourself.”

“That’s probably because I’m feeling pretty darn proud of myself.”

She rolled over on her side, folded her hands under her cheek, and smiled at me. Something in her eyes pulled at me. Told me that beneath the smile and laughter was fear. Lots of fear.

But how could she manage to look so sad while still looking so damn happy?

“Get over here,” I said.

When I opened my arms, she rolled into them and closed her arms around me. I held her for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness, not needing to talk. It was nice having a person with you where you didn’t feel the need to blabber on and on just to fill the silence. As I was beginning to wonder if she fell asleep, she sighed and squirmed.

I played with her hair. I was beginning to think I had a hair fetish when it came to her. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it. “Hey, you want to go out on a date tonight? Are you all caught up on your homework and shit?”

She rested her chin on me. “A date? Like, dresses and suits and a fancy restaurant?”

I hadn’t been thinking of wearing a suit, no. I’d been thinking burgers or something along those lines. But I guess that’s what a girl like Carrie expected when the word
date
came up. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury after all. If she wanted to wear a dress and go to some French restaurant I couldn’t even pronounce, then so be it. I could certainly afford it.

I smiled at her. “Yeah. We can go to that French place on Pico. The one with the swans.”

She brightened up, her smile wide. “Oh my God, yes! I’ve been wanting to go there for a while.”

“Great,” I said, smiling, even though I didn’t feel like smiling.

“But I have to admit, I’m surprised to hear you suggest it. You’re more of a burger-and-shake kind of guy,” she said, her voice cheerful.

“And you’re not?”

Her mouth twitched. “I’m not a guy.”

“And thank fucking God for that.” I tapped her nose with my finger. “But you know what I mean.”

“I like them both,” she said, lifting a shoulder in a tiny shrug. “A little bit of variety never hurt anyone.”

Having her get all excited about a date in an expensive restaurant made me feel anxious and wound up. Shaking off the weird feeling creeping up my spine, I asked, “Do you still want to go surfing?”

“I do.” She rested her chin on my chest. “It looks cloudy out, so there might be some awesome waves.”

I tucked her red hair behind her ear and forced a smile. “All right. Want to eat before or after?”

“After.” She got out of bed and looked over her shoulder at me. “But make sure you get some coffee in your system. I don’t want to deal with cranky Finn.”

I laughed and rolled out of bed. “
Cranky
Finn?”

“Mmhm.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her red bikini. “He’s miserable without coffee in him. A real jerk.”

I came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. The feel of her skin on mine almost made me say the hell with surfing…but if she wanted to surf—then she’d get it. “Don’t worry. I’ll go make some now.” As I headed bare-assed naked into the kitchen, I called out, “I’m surprised you remembered your suit.”

“I thought we might end up going.” She peeked over her shoulder at me as she stepped into the bottoms. “But we’ll need to get my board from my dorm.”

“You can leave it here if you want,” I said, slipping a K-cup into the Keurig. “I don’t mind.”

“Really?” She stood up straight, wearing nothing but her tiny red bikini bottoms. Fuck, if she would let me, I’d snap a picture and make
that
my wallpaper. “Okay, sure.”

“You look surprised,” I said, raising a brow at her. “Why?”

She picked up the bikini top and turned almost as red as it was. “I always thought guys were weird with girls leaving their stuff at their places. They get all paranoid she’s trying to stake a claim or something.”

“Maybe some guys are, but I’m not one of those guys.” I pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and headed back into the bedroom portion of my apartment. The light blue comforter was halfway off the bed, thanks to our morning sex. I straightened it, then pulled it up over our pillows. “Besides, the guys who don’t want their girls’ stuff at their places are the ones with something to hide. I don’t have any more secrets.”

She nibbled on her lower lip as she did up her bikini top, tying it in front of her breasts before sliding it up over her neck. “I know that. But you had a pretty big secret before that.”

“You mean the fact that I was your father’s secret bodyguard sent to watch over you?” I snorted. “That’s nothing. What you really should know about me is this: I snore when I’m drunk.”

She smacked me playfully. “Don’t make me hurt you…and in that case? Maybe I’ll need to leave some earplugs here.”

“You can leave them right next to the bed.” I hauled her into my arms, liking the idea of her leaving her shit here more and more. “You can leave some shirts and stuff, too, if you want. In case you ever need a quick change. Maybe a few of those books with abs on it that you like to read when you’re not busy reading for school.”

She blinked up at me. “Okay.”

“Why are you looking at me like that
again
?” I flexed my fingers on her hips, not sure what the confused stare she wore meant. Did she not like the idea of leaving stuff here? Maybe I was moving too fast for her. Shit if I knew. “It’s just clothes, Ginger. It’s not a big deal. You have tons of them—just leave a few here instead of leaving them in a box that says ‘free: take one’ on the front.”

She laughed and pushed out of my arms. “I
know
. Now shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I tied my swim trunks and headed back toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Let me text your dad real quick. I’ve probably got like twenty texts from him already.”

She rolled her eyes. “Remind me to tell you about Italy.”

“Oh, that sounds…” I picked up my phone and swiped my finger across it. There wasn’t a single message from him. Not a single one. That
never
happened. “What the fuck?”

She came up behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders, peeking around me to check my phone. “What? What’s wrong?”

“He didn’t text me.” I opened his messages, scanning the time of the last text I’d gotten. “Shit. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday.”

“Is that different than usual?”

“Fuck yeah, it is.” I swiped my finger up, showing her how many times he usually texted me. “He texts me like ten times a day, Ginger. But I’ve got nothing.
Nothing
.”

She kissed my shoulder. “It’s probably nothing to worry about. He’s just busy, I bet. He called me yesterday at lunch and sounded fine. He wanted to let me know he might be a little bit quiet because of his schedule.”

I relaxed a little bit, but it didn’t feel right. Something was off, and I’d learned long ago to listen to my gut. If it said something was wrong, something was fucking wrong. “Yeah. Sure.”

She let go of me. “Now go get ready. I want to get out in the ocean.”

I headed for the bathroom, my phone still in my hand. As I brushed my teeth, I jotted off a quick text to Senator Wallington.
Carrie’s okay. All is well.

Within a minute I had a reply.
Thank you
.

That was it. A thank you. There was nothing wrong with the text, per se. But it wasn’t right, damn it. I shook off the feeling that was bugging the fuck out of me, and focused on the date I’d promised Carrie. She had enough to stress about, what with that weird phone call I’d gotten that neither of us could make any sense out of, so I didn’t need to go obsessing about the tone of a text message like some pansy-assed little girl.

I leaned against the door, my eyes on my reflection. The nagging sensation that something was wrong wouldn’t let go. On top of that, I figured out what was bugging me from when we’d talked about our date.

I stared at myself, all tattoos, dog tags, muscles, swim trunks and five-o-clock shadow—it hit me. The problem with her wanting a fancy date with flowers and dresses and jewelry and valet parking was
I
wasn’t fancy.

I could put on an expensive suit and pretend.

I could afford to be that guy, money-wise.

But underneath the suit and the charming smile, I was the tatted-up Marine that had no place dating the daughter of a prospective President of the United States of America. She was supposed to be with a trust fund baby. One who had money and wealth and recognition.

Me? I
so
wasn’t that guy.

I never would be.