Crave Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 3)

by Cecy Robson

“Wren, don’t be afraid. I’m with you.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I tell him. Not anymore.

  Again my voice trembles, but it has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with Evan.

  Alfred chimes in, hauling me back to the moment. “Curran calling. Accept call?”

  “Oh, no,” I say, urgency replacing those warm feels. “Evan, I have to go. I left Curran on hold and now he’s calling back.”

  “All right. I . . . I’ll see you soon.”

  He seems to want to say more, and maybe I do, too.

  “Accept call from Curran O’Brien?” Alfred presses when Evan disconnects.

  “Yes, accept call, Alfred.”

  “What the hell, Wren?” Curran chimes in.

  “I’m sorry, Evan called and didn’t take what I had to tell him well.”

  “Is he pissed?” he asks.

  “He is, but not at me. He wants me to spend the night at his place.”

  “Okay. Good,” he says.

  “Okay?” I smirk, the lingering tension in the pit of my stomach lifting. “When did you get all soft on Evan? Shouldn’t you be telling me not to have sex with him or some crazy shit?”

  “Damn it, Wren. I meant ‘good’ that you won’t be alone. Did you have to go there?”

  “Aw, come on. You and the others kept the key to my chastity belt too damn long. I would think you’d be happy Evan bit that lock free with his teeth.”

  “God, Wren. Shut it already.” I don’t have to see him to know he’s making a face.

  I laugh as I follow Alfred’s directions onto the Blue Route.

  “He’s a decent guy,” Curran admits, catching me off-guard. “Different from those asshats you wasted your time on.”

  “Yeah. He is,” I say, losing my humor and probably too much of my heart.

  “That’s a good thing, Wren,” he says. “There’s no shame in finding love.”

  He said the “L” word, but I don’t argue. “Like you did?” I offer.

  “Yeah,” he admits, his voice softening the way it does when Tess is near. “Hey, do me a solid and let me know when you get to Evan’s. Unless you want to stay on with me until you get there.”

  “No, I’ll text.” There’s a lot I want to say, but it’s like the silence surrounding me muffles my thoughts. “Thanks, Curran.”

  “Anytime.”

  He hangs up, and again I’m alone. But as my attention drifts to the screen, I’m reminded of the man who put everything into motion to keep me safe. For once in my life, alone is the last thing I am.

  CHAPTER 16

  Wren

  I’m not sure what to expect when I arrive at Evan’s house. In Villanova, you can find anything from classic homes straight out of black and white 50s sitcoms to sprawling mansions with horse farms. Everything about Evan screams modern and high-tech, but the British-like accent and his personality are more Old World charm.

  He’s a blend of both, and his home reflects as much. Alfred allows me through the high metal gates, shutting them as soon as I pass. A blanket of snow from the late March blizzard covers what’s probably a pretty garden, but the driveway is meticulously clean. It’s not a long drive up compared to some of the homes I passed, but thick line of pines and bushes swallow me whole, shielding me and the house from the rest of the world.

  The house alternates between light and dark gray stone and siding. Outdoor landscaping lights illuminate the path leading to the front door and the three car garage.

  I start to park in front of the far left garage door, thinking Alfred will somehow magically let me in through the front entrance, but the center bay opens when I near.

  Like the gates, it shuts when I pull in and cut the engine. My F-150 barely fits in my detached garage. But in Evan’s house, there’s plenty of space on both sides.

  I slip out, catching sight of his Jag as I wonder how the hell he keeps it so clean. Metal shelving lines the perimeter, appearing empty, and surprisingly dust and streak free. The clicking sound of the door unlocking at the top of the stairs lures me toward it. I walk in through a laundry room and into a very chic black and white kitchen.

  Dark hardwood floors extend out and into a great room roughly the size of Delaware. Floor to ceiling windows lead to a terrace, the exterior lights extending to reveal a privacy fence barely visible through the stand of trees.

  “Wren is secure,” Alfred’s voice echoes around me.

  I pause near the black marble-encased gas fireplace as the door to the garage clicks shut. “Thanks there, Alfred,” I say. “That wasn’t creepy or anything.”

  He doesn’t respond this time, which is good, I’m already feeling out of place. My crimson coat is the only color in the very sterile field of black, white, and gray. Don’t get me wrong, the house is gorgeous, spacious without being over the top. But it’s as if Evan’s playful side is absent, replaced solely by the serious and reserved side the world only sees.

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to change that.”

  “Change temperature of room, Wren?” Alfred offers.

  “No, Alfred. I’ll do that all on my own. And no offense, buddy, but can you tone it down some, you’re freaking me out.”

  “Silence mode initiated per Wren’s request,” he answers.

  Everything goes abruptly still. When Alfred doesn’t appear with some high-tech sword to sever my head, I send a quick text to Curran and Evan, assuring them I’m safe. After another quick survey of my surroundings, I place my purse and coat on the white leather couch and strip completely out of my clothes. I leave on my knee-length boots because I’m a classy gal and find the closest bathroom to freshen up.

  The garage door opens as I finish running a brush through my hair. Alfred announces, “Welcome home, Evan,” as I hurry out and reach for my coat.

  I manage to fasten the last button when Evan appears at the doorway to the kitchen. He lets the heavy briefcase in his hand fall as he steps in, releasing a breath when he sees me.

  “You’re safe,” he says, my presence appearing to settle him.

  I shove my hands into the deep pockets as I leave the great room, shortening the space separating us. “I’m fine,” I assure him, my cheeks warming as he pulls me against him.

  I’m expecting a hot and heavy night. He is too, given the way he’s clutching me. But the emotion written on his features isn’t passion. It’s relief. He’s happy I’m okay.

  He cups the nape of my neck, pressing a gentle kiss on my lips. “You were scared,” he says.

  I tense. It’s not that what he says isn’t true. But “scared” isn’t a word I use when it comes to me. “Nervous” and “freaked out”, sure, they’re easier to say. They tone down the meaning and mask the vulnerability “scared” exposes.

  Vulnerable . . . that’s another word the freaks me out and something I can never be again.

  “I didn’t like it,” he says, the gruffness to his tone revealing the anger that lingers.

  “I didn’t like it either.” It’s not something I’d tell anyone else. But just like Evan exposes himself to me, I know I can do the same.

  I smooth my palms along the soft cashmere of his dark coat. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “All right, if that’s what you wish.” He cocks his head when it occurs to him I’m still wearing my coat. “My darling, are you cold?”

  “No,” I answer, tripping over the word. He called me his “darling”. In that accent. No. That wasn’t hot or anything. Nope not at all.

  “But if I help you out of your coat, will you help me out of mine?” I offer.

  He watches me as I slip the heavy fabric over his shoulders and down his arms. He knows I’m up to something, but doesn’t quite know what that something is. He unfastens my top button, allowing the thick material to pull away and expose the swells of my breasts as his lips seal over mine. It’s not until his hand slips inside and my bare flesh meets his palm that he breaks our kiss.

  His gaze smokes as he po
ps the last two buttons free and parts the sides. “Fuck. Me,” he rasps, hauling me to him.

  He frees me from the warm wool, greeting me with a searing kiss. My fingers work fast to tug off his jacket. I’m almost down to the last few buttons of his shirt when his fingers slip between my thighs. I clamp down, moaning when he goes deep.

  Evan’s mouth attacks my throat. “I need to be inside you,” he grunts, his motions fast and demanding. “Every way I can.”

  I clutch his head, gasping when his tongue laves my nipple and biting back a curse when his teeth graze the pebbled point. His mouth feels good, so good. But it doesn’t compare to the delicious pain below when his fingers curl and his palm bats against my tender flesh.

  He bands his arm around my waist, easing me back toward the table. I unravel with the first orgasm that hits, barely keeping my feet. Evan holds tight, moving fast and propping me on the edge of the table. I’m no longer whimpering, I’m thrashing wildly, ecstasy blinding me to everything but him.

  My reaction isn’t enough for Evan. He falls to his knees, his mouth disappearing between my legs.

  The heel of my boot slams into a chair as he parts my thighs, sucking hard. I push up elbows to watch, my breasts bouncing with how fast I’m breathing and my fingers digging through his hair to hold him in place. The hunger in his dark gaze that assures me he won’t let go, and I’m already begging for more.

  My pelvis tilts to meet his mouth as he ravishes me. The first orgasm doesn’t quite leave before another builds, tightening my core in agonizing bliss. It’s almost too much, but I don’t fight it, allowing his ardor to consume me and take me to the edge.

  My legs kick out as I fall back. Evan holds tight, his deep, lustful moans, vibrating against my pounding flesh and surging my pleasure. My vision swims with tears built from primal lust. I can’t keep balanced. But when he stands, I force myself up, pulling off his belt with shaking hands, the trembles from my receding orgasm making me clumsy.

  He rips off his shirt, not bothering to unfasten the last few buttons. They bounce off the floor as I reach for his zipper.

  The thickness of his erection strains against the fabric and the glistening tip pokes through the waistband of his black boxer briefs. I lift my chin, my carnal stare meeting his.

  Evan’s breaths are ragged with desire. He’s crazed for my body, and how it will soon join with his. I can see it, and feel it in his hardness when I reach in. But there’s something more I need to do.

  His breath releases in a pained hiss when I grip him. I don’t tell him what I want, allowing my actions to speak for me. I pass my hand from the base to the tip, relishing the soft skin covering his dense and stiff length.

  I adjust my body to lay across the table so that my head hangs over the edge and my throat lies exposed. “Come here,” my husky voice calls, encouraging him forward with gentle pulls.

  Evan’s panting increases as he lowers his hands on either side of the table and grips the corners. He knows what’s coming.

  I open my mouth wide, watching his face scrunch as I take him deep before closing my eyes and going to work.

  My arms stretch out, my nails digging into his ass, encouraging the steady pump of his hips as I force myself to relax and take him deeper.

  But Evan is a generous and selfless lover, unwilling to take pleasure without giving it in return. His large hands return to my breasts, allowing their fullness to sweep through his palms before he pinches the tips and curls forward, his mouth returning to my core.

  You could say we lose our damn minds.

  It becomes a competition, who can make the other groan louder, tense harder, plead for more. He wins, finishing me off first, but just as I feel his release build, he pulls away, swearing as he pops free from my mouth.

  With expert hands he flips me around to face him and prop my leg on his shoulder. “What are you doing?” I ask. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

  I shudder when his thick tip rubs against my folds and he tries to make his way in. “You said I could have you, anyway I want you. This is how I want you.”

  My lids are so heavy I can barely see, but I see enough. He licks his thumb, returning it to my small bud and rubbing in slow gentle circles as he makes his way in.

  My body clamps down around him. It’s the sweetest torture, having him move this slowly. I whimper with need as my body accepts his. But once he’s in as deep as he can go, he withdraws leisurely, as if we have all the time in the world.

  When he’s mere centimeters from pulling out, he rams forward, repeating the motion and throwing my other leg over his shoulder. His fingers fastened to my hips as he goes full speed ahead, the table slamming into the wall with each surge.

  The steady beat fills my ears. Evan is more animal than man now, his hips lurching while his mouth devours me with kisses to my throat, breasts, chin, and mouth. It doesn’t take long for that lovely pain to feather out, tantalizing every nerve cell I possess.

  He clamps his jaw with his release, jerking forward and slamming his palms on the table. As he fills me, his motions slow, but not our breaths or the very grateful kiss I meet him with.

  He tilts his head, smiling as he pulls me toward him. I stroke away his sweat-soaked brow, laughing when he finally kicks off his pants and shoes and eases my legs off his shoulders.

  I lock my ankles around his waist when he lifts me off the table and carries me away from kitchen. “What are you going to do to me now?” I ask, my voice a purr.

  “You’ll see,” he says.

  I almost expect him to take us upstairs. He surprises me by carrying me into the garage. I bite down on my bottom lip when he lowers me to my feet and pulls out. He angles me around to face the hood of my truck.

  “Remember how you said you’d let me do anything?” he asks, flicking his tongue along the arch of my ear.

  “Uh-huh,” I respond, allowing him to bend me forward and spread my legs.

  He glides his hardening tip along my slick center. “Here comes round two,” he whispers.

  CHAPTER 17

  Evan

  The sound of water running echoing from my bathroom stirs me awake. I glance up where trickles of light stream through the partially opened doorway. According to my digital clock teetering at the edge of my nightstand, I’ve only slept a few hours at best. That doesn’t stop the smile that comes from knowing who waits behind that door.

  I push up and onto my side, intent on going to her. I don’t make it far. The lights shut off and the door opens. The moonlight streaming in from the window bathes her bare skin with light and tinges her long, fluttering hair a deep blue as she walks forward. She’s beautiful, in heart and form. I can’t tear my eyes from her.

  She doesn’t see me, her attention on her phone. I think she’s scanning through the pictures she took of us when we finally made it to my suite. In some we’re merely kissing, in others, we’re doing a great deal more. All are erotic and deeply sensual, and while it’s something I’ve never done, and only allowed to please her, the way she captured the intensity of our love-making is extraordinary, arousing me more.

  “You need new screen-savers,” she teased, holding the phone away from her as she took me deep.

  The smile she had is noticeably absent, and as she nears, I realize she’s upset. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Her head jerks up. “Oh, sorry,” she says, bending forward to kiss me. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her lips are soft and her affection tender, yet as she places her phone on the nightstand and shoves the digital clock closer to the wall, she seems to withdraw. The defenses she wraps herself in as tangible as the warmth radiating from her skin.

  I gather her to me when she sits at the edge of the bed, pressing her back against my chest and kissing her shoulder. “You’re upset,” I tell her, waiting for her to explain why.

  “Yeah, you could say that.” She sighs, clearly troubled. “My brothers texted me while we were sleeping. Someone threw a brick though my front windo
w.”

  “What the hell?” I say, straightening.

  “There’s more.” She pushes her hair away from her face. “The word ‘whore’ was written across it.”

  Fury should have me lashing out and demanding more details. But the insult takes me well beyond fury.

  “Hey,” Wren says, turning to cup my face when she sees me. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” I snap.

  “No, it’s not,” she agrees, her words trailing.

  “And you are not a whore,” I add, forcing my tone to soften.

  “Thanks,” she says, her fingers brushing along my jaw. “Believe it or not, I needed to hear you say that.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  She releases a short humorless laugh. “Considering everything we did, just tonight?”

  “Is that how I made you feel?”

  She bows her head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  I run my hand along her stomach, allowing her soft skin to brush along the thick pads of my fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

  “Please don’t give me compliments,” she says. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” I tell her, the way my tone drops causing her to glance up. “You’re beautiful because you’re bloody real. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not, you’re simply who you are, a stunning, confident woman who enjoys everything: life, food, laughter.” I kiss her lips. “And pleasure, too.”

  “Pleasure?” she questions.

  I can’t be certain if guilt is what resides in her voice, but if it is, it’s the last thing I want her to feel. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex or surrendering to what feels good when I touch you. Your passion fuels mine which is why I can’t do enough to please you.” I wrestle with whether to admit something I’ve kept from her. Ultimately I do.

  “Remember the first time we made love?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” Her soft smile lights her face despite the darkness. “It was one of the best nights of my life.”

  “I feel the same,” I admit, quieting. “Do you remember how I asked you if you wanted to take a shower?” She nods, appearing confused as to why I’m asking. “It’s something that Saundra, the woman I was with for so long, insisted we do every time we were together.”