I’d forgotten how relieving it was to just lose myself in a woman. I was always so on edge, always waiting for the next disaster to hit.
Moments later, my hands were under her top, pulling down her bra and palming her breasts. Her hands lifted my shirt up and over my head, throwing it onto the other seat. I wanted this to happen. In fact, I needed it to happen. However, I didn’t want to make love to her for the first time on the side of the road in the front seat of a van.
I wanted her in a bed. More importantly, I want her in my bed.
I groaned, knowing I was going to have to stop this now. The problem was, she felt way too good to stop. She started fumbling with my belt buckle, and before I knew it, she’d slipped her fingers inside my pants, palming my erection.
The feel of her slender fingers wrapping around my thick length almost undid me.
“Baby,” I murmured, but she didn’t stop. She kept on moving her hand up and down, and I closed my eyes from the pleasure. Jerking off never really did it for me anymore, but having Alora touch me was like starting anew. I felt like a randy teenager who was going to come within seconds.
I pinched at her nipple and fisted one hand in her long hair, kissing her with urgency and feeling the need build inside me. I could tell that she was excited, too, because her breathing was all erratic and her cheeks were flushed. Her lush lips seemed to have become even softer, more pliant. I couldn’t get enough of her taste.
When she broke the kiss and whispered, “Come for me, Finn,” in my ear, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I blew my load in her hand, and she smiled against my lips. I grabbed a box of tissues from the glove compartment to clean up, and she curled herself around me. Holding her in my arms, I closed my eyes, and a feeling of contentment took over.
“That was … embarrassing but incredible,” I breathed, kissing her hair.
“Why embarrassing?”
“Because I’m a thirty-one-year-old man and I haven’t come from being jerked off by a woman in a really long time.”
She stared at me, and I wondered if I said something wrong. “You’re thirty-one?”
Ah, so she wasn’t aware of our age difference. I laughed self-deprecatingly. “Should I be worried by the shock on your face, or should I take your surprise as a compliment that I don’t look my age?”
“Um, I guess I just didn’t think you were that much older than me.”
“Is it a problem for you?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Of course not. You just took me off guard.” Now she smiled. “Actually, I kind of like it. It’s sophisticated to go out with an older man, right?”
“Way sophisticated, Goldy. All your girlfriends are going to be, like, totally jealous.”
She punched me playfully in the chest, and I pretended she winded me. “Stop making fun.”
“Sorry, no can do. There’s something you should know about me,” I said leaning close to her.
“What is it?”
I let my voice drop several notches lower when I answered, “I’m a massive tease.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, amusement tugging at her lips. “Shut up.”
I was about to say something else when there was a loud thump on the hood of the van. It was raining so I had to turn on the windshield wipers to clear the glass. When I did, I saw Marcel standing in front of the vehicle. He was dripping wet, his long grey hair straggled around his face—and there was a massive bloodstain smeared across his hemp shirt.
15.
Tegan
The atmosphere in the house settled down once Roman brought Emilia and Rebecca back from Theodore. I sat in the living room, nibbling on a selection of cream buns and scones that Alvie had bought for me (yeah, my appetite was still crazy strong), when a loud ruckus sounded from the front door.
I jumped up just as Finn burst into the room, dragging a rain-soaked Marcel by the scruff of the neck.
“Evening, Tegan,” he greeted. “I brought a visitor for you.”
My mouth curved into a little in a smirk as I eyed Marcel. I held the plate out to him, my tone casual. “So nice of you to stop by. Scone?”
Marcel shook his head, his usual confidence gone. He looked scared and desperate.
“I need your help,” he said, and it sounded like he sacrificed a good deal of pride just to spit those words out.
“Evidently. Is that your blood or someone else’s?”
“It’s not mine. It’s Michael’s.”
“Michael Ridley’s?” Finn asked, stepping forward. Alora hovered by the door, watching Marcel closely. She looked like she was trying to figure out if this was a ruse. I was wondering the same myself.