Page 69

Letting loose a ragged noise to rival his, I double my efforts, my free hand braced against his shoulder as I ride his hand, his thumb, his thigh, chasing my orgasm while jerking him to his own.

Finn breaks first. He fucking sobs my name as he makes a mess of my hand, and it’s the tortured reverence gleaming in dark eyes and the hard, desperate press of his lips against mine that shoves me over the edge too.

I come for what feels like forever, what feels like more than once, until my stomach muscles aching from endless spasms, until I’m sweating and writhing and sore and…

Awestruck. Disarmed. Confused.

Because I think, when I can think, when the pleasure starts to ebb and my brain finally kicks into gear again, that… “I think you might be the first guy to make me come.”

“Lottie.” He sighs, exasperated, exhausted, hard . “Take that back. Tell me you’re kidding.”

I swallow, that pesky self-doubt rearing its ugly head again only to be quickly chased away by a groan, by knuckles stroking my cheekbone and fingers tangling in my hair and a wet forehead knocking against mine.

“Take it back,” he demands again, he begs . “And tell me again when we don’t have work and I have time to make right what other men have obviously been getting so fucking wrong.”

Despite the hot water raining down on us, I shiver. “We can be a little late.”

“ Lottie .”

“Finn.” I link my hands behind his neck. Press my forehead harder against his. Clench around the fingers still so deep inside me. “Baby. You’re the only guy who can make me come.”

A blink.

Something akin to a growl.

And then, I’m on my feet.

He’s licking the tattoo under my hipbone, grumbling something incoherent about lucky and man and world before he drags his mouth down to my cunt. He licks some, he nips, he kisses until my lungs actually stop working for a second, my heart skips more than one beat.

Death by orgasm.

What a fucking way to go.

I return the favor—one of the many, many, many favors, I should say—later that week.

We end up parked near the creek after work. During work, technically. Finn kicked up a little good boy fuss when I suggested a detour after a long, monotonous morning of fixing fence posts, but I am extremely persuasive.

And he’s sure as shit not complaining now.

I’d be lying if I said I loved giving blowjobs. I tolerate it, at best. Make it good, but quick—that’s usually my motto.

But with Finn…

Well, I might just take my time a little. Might actually enjoy it a little more.

One hand clutching the steering wheel, Finn fists my braided ponytail with the other, doing nothing but holding it while I set the pace.

He’s utterly polite, and I wonder if that’s what spurs me on to suck his cock like it’s the very reason I was put on this earth.

If I’m so sloppily enthusiastic because I’m so goddamn eager to watch him break.

Because I really, really like when his grip tightens in my hair, when his hips buck to meet me, when he hits the back of my throat and I swallow and he makes a noise that goes straight between my thighs.

“Fuck.” A palm presses to the top of my throat, like he’s trying to feel himself there, feel the moans I make in symphony with his own. “Baby, I’m close.”

My hand fisting the base of his cock, I pull my mouth off of him. “Where do you wanna come, baby?”

His face scrunches like I’ve asked him an impossible question.

I pump him slowly while he decides, swirling my tongue around his swollen, sensitive tip. He must be more than just close because his stomach contracts, he bucks off the leather seat, he rushes out ‘mouth’ before oh-so-gently pushing me back down.

I’ve barely wrapped my lips around him again before he’s coming.

And he’s barely finished, I’ve barely swallowed, before he’s picking me up from my hunched, twisted position and dropping me on his lap.

He kisses me—one, two, three hard presses of his mouth against mine while hastily undoing my jeans so he can slip a hand inside them.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that? ”

“I’ve been told.” Never in quite that tone, though. Never with awe . Usually, it’s an insult.

But Finn doesn’t know that. He doesn’t take it like that—he thinks I mean it in the way he intended, and I guess that’s why there’s something punishing about the way he cups my pussy over the damp cotton covering it.

And does absolutely nothing else.

“Finn,” I hiss when I try to grind against his hand, and his other one stills my gyrating hips. “C’mon.”

He ignores me. My mouth, at least. The rest of my upper half, he pays a whole lot of attention to; nipping his way down my neck, tracing my collarbones with his tongue before dragging it down my sternum, sinking his teeth into the swells of my tits, lashing his tongue against my pierced nipples until they’re peaked and pushing against the material of my tank top.

“You know what’s better than road head?” I arch into his mouth, planting a palm against the roof for stability. “Road sex.”

Kissing his way back up my body, he nips my bottom lip. “We’re not on a road.”

“Semantics, baby.”

Finn groans, his fingers twitching and making me mimic the noise. “Call me that again.”

I do. I start to, anyway.

The crooned endearment ends in a shriek when the metallic sound of knuckles rapping against the roof scare the ever-loving crap out of me.

Hastily retreating from my jeans and tucking his semi-hard cock back within the confines of his own, Finn swears beneath his breath, and it’s not until I follow his line of sight that I realize what the deer-in-headlights look on his face is about.

And why the hand that wasn’t just almost inside me shakes a little as it rolls down the window at the urging of the man on the other side.

Two tan forearms stack on top of the frame, the gold band on a long ring finger glinting in the afternoon sunlight. A tall, lean body stoops until a familiar face comes into view, and even though I already knew who it was, I still have to restrain a wince.

“Hi, Oscar.” I smile innocently like I haven’t just been caught red-handed—and red-faced, and red-mouthed too—doing something no older brother should witness. “How was the honeymoon?”

The tick of Jackson’s jaw tells me he’s probably wishing he was still lounging on a beach with his new wife. “Lux told me you two were out mending fences. Thought I’d come help.”

I pat the silent man beneath me on the shoulder. “We finished.”

Finn chokes.

Jackson flushes, but his hard expression perseveres. “And now?”

“I really don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Both men groan, one raking a hand down his scrunched face while the other knuckles his eyeballs like he’s trying to erase the sight before him from his memory.

“Finn?” the latter grunts through gritted teeth.

The former winces. “Yeah, boss?”

“Get your hands off my sister, please.”

He does—a little too damn quick for my liking.

“Lottie?”

I sigh. “Yes, boss?”

“Get off my ranch hand, please.”

“But I’m so comfortable.”

“ Charlotte .”

I huff. And then I do as I’m told, awkwardly clambering back to the passenger seat, making a real show of zipping up my jeans and fixing my skewed top purely because I’m kind of really getting a kick out of the level of discomfort thickening the air.

“Careful.”

My first instinct is to glare at my brother, to snap that Finn’s a grown man who can handle himself, even against a wretched girl like me.

Except he isn’t talking to me. He’s talking to Finn about me, and though my second instinct is that he’s warning him, I quickly realize that’s not the case either. Not in the way I automatically assume.

Jackson curls his fingers around the window frame.

He pushes off the truck, still bent at the waist so he can eyeball the man who was a lot more than an employee even before he caught his little sister sitting on his lap.

“Got a lot of land, Akello,” he oh-so-casually states.

“Would hate for you to go missing on it.”

Finn swallows audibly. “Yes, sir.”

With a sharp nod, Jackson straightens and backs up. He rakes a hand through his hair, the serious edge to his expression giving way to a soft chuckle. Mumbling something I don’t quite catch, he knocks on the truck again. “Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” I parrot, saluting. And as he walks towards the saddled horse lingering a few feet away, I crawl across Finn’s lap so I can hang out the window. “ Hey .”

Hoisting himself onto the back of a dappled Appaloosa named Scooby, Jackson turns back to me.

“Threaten my boyfriend again and you’ll be the one who goes missing.”

With a smirk that proves our shared DNA more than any biological test ever could, Jackson brandishes his middle finger before galloping into the distance.

I grin as I reel back into the truck. When I look at Finn, he’s grinning too. “What?”

“Boyfriend, huh?”

My face drops. “I didn’t say that.”

“Pretty sure you did.”

I scoff—I panic, just a little. “I think you’re going senile.”

His hum is way too pleased. As smug as the curve of his mouth, a smirk that he presses to my downturned lips, murmuring against them, “Call me that again.”

“Senile?” Finn nips my bottom lip with a playful growl, but I don’t give in. “I believe our boss gave us an order, darling.”

Sighing, he pulls back and starts the truck. “Right. Last day of work before your brother fires me.”

“Oh, please. He’d get rid of me in a heartbeat over his little golden boy.”

“ Little? ”

I raise my hand, holding my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Teeny tiny.”

Rolling those pretty eyes, Finn grabs my hand, playfully biting the meaty part of my palm before kissing the center of it.

He holds it hostage as he drives, interlocking our fingers and resting them on his thigh, and I just…

stare. At our hands, at him, at the horizon, blinking rapidly as the reality of what just happened sinks in.

Wrenching my gaze away, I stare at the roof as I quietly admit, “You’re the first guy my brother’s ever met.”

A beat of silence. Then a soft, teasing, “The first guy? In the whole, wide world?”

I try to wrench my hand from his—to absolutely no avail.

“Go on.” He squeezes once, prompting. “Say it again. Properly .”

Fuck me. “You're the first boyfriend my brother’s ever met.”

“Who’s boyfriend?”

“Jesus Christ.” I huff before tilting my head in his direction. “You’re my first boyfriend that my brother’s ever met. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

I pause. Swallow. Shift and feel my face flush red as I mutter, “You’re my first boyfriend.”

Finn pauses. Swallows. Shifts, and I feel my face flush even redder as he lifts our joint hands again and mouths against the back of mine, “Even better.”