While We Waited (The Reed Brothers #8) (3 page)

“I want you to stay. I want you to stay long enough for Star to get to talk to you at least, once she gets over the hurt. But I understand if you can’t.” Her voice is quiet but strong. “No matter what, I want you to be taken care of. I want you to know you’re loved.”

My heart leaps into my throat. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to trick them into loving me. They weren’t supposed to just do it. I push the bank book back toward her. “No, I can’t take it,” I say.

“It’s not much. Just a nest egg.” She comes toward me and lays her hand on the top of my head. She gives my head a shove and kisses my forehead just like our mom used to do. It was more like getting assaulted with affection when Mom did it, and we all loved it so much. So having her do it brings tears to my eyes. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers to me. Then she goes into her room and closes the door softly behind her.

I drop my head to the tabletop and bite back a sob. I can’t cry. I can’t. I haven’t shed a tear since I went to live with
him
—at least not where anyone could see me. I open up the bank book and see a blank set of checks with my name on them. And there’s a total written at the top of the register.

She put fifty thousand dollars into an account for me.

For
me
. Holy shit. Fifty thousand dollars…

I lay my head on the cool tabletop and roll my forehead across the surface. If I were a better man, I wouldn’t take it. But I’m not. I’m desperate.

A key jangles on the other side of the door and I lift my head, swipe beneath my eyes, and try to pretend like my emotions aren’t slapping me in the face like lightning in a summer storm. I’m probably failing at it, but I do try.

The door opens and Fin comes in. She’s wearing a pair of black jeans that hug her ass and a black leather jacket. She’s bad-ass. And beautiful. And I’m a little bit drunk.

She trips over the doormat and grabs hold of the wall. She giggles. Oh, hell. She’s tipsy too.

“Hey,” she says as she tosses her keys onto the counter with a clatter.

“Hey,” I mutter back. I roll the bank book in my hand, trying to figure out if I can take it.

“Where is everybody?”

I nod toward Wren’s room. “Wren just went to bed. Lark’s not home yet. And Star is at Josh’s apartment, still.”

She nods and shrugs out of her leather jacket. She’s wearing a thin camisole and no bra. Her nipples press hard against the sheer fabric and I have to force myself not to look. She bends over and looks into the fridge. “What happened to all the beer?”

I pick up my can and drain the last of it. “Drank it,” I murmur.

She gets a bottle of water and sits down across from me. “Bad night?”

I shake my head. “Good night. You?” I arch an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs. “Good as any other. I’m a little bit drunk.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

I laugh. “Oh, good. Me too.”

She goes into her room and comes back with a guitar. I watch her as she goes to the couch and plops down on it. She settles the acoustic guitar in her lap so that it’s facing up and she starts to pluck at the strings. A melody jumps into the air and dances in front of me.

“That’s really good,” I say. I’m drawn to the music almost as much as I’m drawn to the girl. I get up and go into the living room. “Can I sit?”

She shrugs. I plop down on the other end of the couch and watch her. She plucks and hums and plucks some more and then she stops and writes something down.

“Are you writing music?” I ask.

“Something like that,” she murmurs.

“It’s really good. Does it have words?”

“Yeah,” she says, as she chews on the tip of her pen. A lock of dark hair falls into her face and she blows it to the side. I reach over and brush it back when it falls again. She startles, jerked out of her musical trance, and she stares at me. “You want to hear the words?” she asks, her voice quiet, almost fearful.

“Yes.” I can’t think of anything I’d like more.

She starts to sing. It’s tentative and wary and so fucking beautiful that she steals my breath. She sings about heartbreak and shame and lust and love and hurt, and under it all…there’s beauty. Just…sheer beauty.

When she stops playing, I realize that I haven’t even breathed, so I take in a breath and fill my aching lungs. “That was amazing.” I sigh.

“How drunk are you?”

I shake my head. “Not
very
.”

“You should drink another.” She nods her head toward the kitchen.

“Why?”

She stares hard at me. “Because I want to find out what makes you tick.”

I’m not even sure I
do
tick. I kind of just exist. Ever since I got the call from Julia that she didn’t want our baby, that she wanted out, I’ve felt like someone pushed the pause button on my life.

“What makes
you
tick, Finny?” I ask.

She snorts. But it’s an adorable sound and I find myself grinning. And it’s not just because I’m drunk. “Sex,” she says. “Sex makes me tick.”

I choke on my own spittle. “Beg your pardon?”

She laughs. “I like to have sex, Tag. Lots of sex.”

“Okay…” I say slowly.

“You’re going to go all gospel on me and tell me that good girls don’t have sex with random strangers, right?” She shakes her head and points her finger at me. “But I have news for you. I can do whatever I want with my body. I can fuck anybody I want.”

I cringe at her choice of words.

“Oh, you just gave me
the look
,” she says.

“What look?”

“The I’m-judging-you look.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. You think it’s wrong for a woman to like sex.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. Your body language said it.” She starts to pluck at the guitar again.

“Really, I don’t care who you have sex with.” I worry a loose thread on my jeans. I don’t like this conversation. “I think I’m going to bed.” I set my hands on my knees and start to push myself up.

“Want some company?” she asks.

I freeze. “What?”

“I have two rules,” she states. She starts to tick items off on her fingers. “One, I don’t sleep with anyone more than once. And two, you have to get out of my bed when we’re done.”

I frown. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Um, your dick…my vagina…lots of pounding. Fun.
There’s
the fun in that.”

I shake my head. I’ve only been with one woman in my life, and she dumped me months ago. But being with her forged a connection. And the connection wasn’t necessarily in the dick-to-vagina pounding sessions, as Finny so unromantically put it. It was in the quiet moments after the sex. It was when she laid her head on my chest and dragged her fingers back and forth through the sparse dusting of hair. It was when we woke up stuck together with sweat between us. It was the beat of her heart while she lay on top of me. It was the way she wrapped around me, encompassing my heart with the same kind of heat she wrapped around my dick when I was inside her.

“You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” Finny asks.

“Not really,” I admit. “I was thinking about intimacy.”

She snorts again. “Sex is so much better than intimacy.”

I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll prove it to you.” She sets the guitar to the side and gets up on her knees. She nibbles on her lower lip as she walks on her hands and knees across the few inches of sofa between us.

I fall back against the couch as she climbs into my lap. “What are you doing?”

“If you have to ask, I’m doing it wrong,” she says. She grins, and it makes me want to grin with her.

I take her shoulders and push her back. “What about my sisters?”

“What about them?” She nips my lower lip between her teeth. Then she sucks it into her mouth to ease the sting, and it shoots straight to my dick. “I don’t usually ask their permission when I want to fuck somebody.”

I point to my chest. “You want to fuck
me?
”

She laughs and grinds her pussy against me. “I think that part is obvious.”

“Why?” I ask. I hold her face so I can keep her from kissing me, and stare into her eyes.

She straddles me and presses her breasts against me. “Because you’re here,” she replies.

“Oh,” I say. That’s her only requirement?

She sits back. “I thought I was getting a vibe from you…” she says doubtfully, searching my face. “Was I wrong?”

“Hell no!” She’s right. She has already intrigued me. And she’s beautiful. So beautiful. But this can’t happen. It just can’t.

She grins. “So you
do
want to fuck me.”

Damn. The heat of her words shoots straight to my dick.

I kiss her. I can’t help it. Her pussy is hot and it’s just on the other side of my zipper and she smells so damn good. My head is a little swimmy, but my dick isn’t. He’s ready.

I jerk my head back when a thought comes into my head. “Is it weird that you’re my sisters’ sister?”

“Dude, we are so
not
related,” she says. “But if you feel weird about it…” She sits back, and I feel the loss of her immediately. She scoots back to her side of the couch.

“Don’t go,” I protest.

She smiles and runs her thumbs below the straps of her camisole, then suddenly pulls it down beneath her breasts. She looks toward Wren’s room and chews on her lower lip. But I can’t look at her face. All I see is tits. Beautiful, perfect round tits with perfect hard nipples. I lick my lips. I want to taste them.

“I’m going to bed,” she says. She gives me a look over her shoulder as she walks away from me. She goes into her room and leaves the door cracked.

I drag a hand through my hair. Holy shit. I adjust my junk because I’m so hard that I can barely stand it.

She comes back to her doorway and leans on the doorjamb. She’s naked. Completely stark fucking naked. “You coming?” she asks quietly.

I nod. I get up and go to her, because I feel like she’s a magnet and I’m metal and she’s pulling me toward her without even trying.

I step into the room, close the door behind me, and she sits on the edge of the bed. She hooks her fingers in the belt loops of my jeans and pulls me toward her.

“Wait,” I say.

She lays her forehead against my stomach and I can feel her breath against my dick, hot through the fabric. God, she’s turning me on.

I’ve never had casual sex, though.

“So, you don’t cuddle?” I ask. I shouldn’t even be in here, but she’s here and she’s all but kissing the button of my jeans.

“No. No cuddling.”

“What if I want to cuddle?”

“What if I want to just fuck you?” She lifts her face and stares up at me. “It doesn’t have to be more than that. Just one time.”

“Your rules,” I mutter.

“Yes. Are you in or are you out?”

“I’ve never…” I scrub a hand down my face.

“You’ve never…?” She waits for my answer as she pops the button of my jeans.

“I’ve never…had sex with someone I don’t love.” There. I said it. I’ve been with one woman. That’s it. And she is now with someone else.

“There’s a certain joy in sex with no strings,” she says quietly. She lifts the bottom edge of my T-shirt and touches her lips to my tender skin. My dick pulses. I lay my head back and groan. “Finny,” I growl.

“You can say no,” she says quietly. But her hands grab onto my ass and she pulls me toward her, her lips dancing across my skin.

“You’re making it damn hard.”

She probes my dick with her fingertips, outlining the ridge of me. “Yep,” she says on a giggle. “Remember? It’s easy with me. No repeat performances. I won’t ask you for flowers. Or for promises. I won’t even ask you to hold me after.”

“What if I want to?” It’s hard to think with her this close to me.

“Want to what?” she murmurs against me. She replaces her tiny kisses with the tip of her tongue, and she licks across my stomach. My dick jumps.

“What if I want to cuddle?” I ask.

She freezes. Her eyes meet mine. “Why?”

Because I seriously need to cuddle. I need for someone to act like they love me, even if it’s just for a minute. “I don’t know why,” I hedge. But I want it more than I want her to take my dick into her mouth. I want it more than I want to be inside her. My existence is a lonely one. And if she’s offering to take some of that away for a minute or two, I’ll take her up on it. But it can’t be just my dick slamming into her vagina. It has to be something I can feel. “I don’t know why…but I need it.”

She nods. “I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

“What?”

“After you fuck me, I’ll let you stay for twenty minutes. Take it or leave it.”