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

by Cecy Robson

  “Wren . . .” he says, appearing at a loss.

  “I’m not saying this because I feel sorry for you because of the way you were treated.” I bite back a curse and momentarily avert my gaze, wishing this shit wasn’t so hard to say—not to him. For once, I finally have what I’ve dreamed of, and I need him to know.

  “I love you,” I say again. “This thing between you and me, it’s what I’ve looked for my whole life.”

  He smiles, his grin widening until I think he’s ready to laugh at me. He doesn’t. What he does do is lift me to him and kiss me, his tongue flicking generously over mine. I pull away, only for his head to dip against my neck and for him to nuzzle me with kisses.

  I laugh because he’s tickling me, and being so damn sexy, even though—son of a bitch—

  I’m actually saying something that means something, for once. He chuckles against my throat and finds that ticklish spot on my backside, making me jerk. He finds it again, this time making me jump and bust out laughing.

  “Evan, for fuck’s sake. I’m trying to be serious.”

  “I know,” he says, pulling us into a sitting position.

  My knees fall on either side of his hips. “Then what are you doing?” I ask, clasping his jaw and meeting his lips.

  He grins against my mouth when I take nibble. “Trying to show you that I’m happy . . . and that I love you, too.”

  I release his jaw slowly as the truth behind his admission reflects in his eyes. He plays with my hair, allowing the strands to slip through his fingers. “I didn’t believe in love at first sight until I saw you,” he begins.

  “Stop,” I say, averting my gaze.

  “I can’t,” he says, lugging me back into a straddle when I try to scramble away. “Your face, your heart, the way you spoke, everything about you ensnared me and refused to let go.” His grin dwindles. “I can’t sleep until I feel you beside me. And every time you leave, I’m empty and lost. It’s only when I see your smile that I’m able to take my next breath.”

  “Quit reciting all that Shakespeare stuff.”

  “It’s not Shakespeare,” he says. “It’s me, telling you how I feel.”

  I don’t want to cry. And I won’t. So I sit there with my hands covering my mouth like they can somehow hold everything I’m feeling in.

  Just so you know, my hands are doing a shitty job.

  “Never have the words ‘raging asshole,’ sounded as sweet as when they slipped from your mouth,” he tells me. “Second only to ‘mind your damn business.’”

  “Oh, gawd.”

  He lowers my hands when I laugh, scanning my face. “I love you, Wren,” he says again. “My heart and soul belong to you.”

  The force by which I throw my arms around him should have us toppling backward and onto the mattress. But Evan’s strength holds like always, keeping us in place and making me whole.

  CHAPTER 21

  Evan

  Bruce Langley steeples his fingertips as he blinks back at me from the monitor. It’s what the CEO of Yodel does every time he believes he’s winning, and I’m a blundering idiot. It’s one of the many reason this pompous ass will have to pry Mechanicus products from my cold dead hands.

  “You’re in trouble, Evan,” he says, shaking his head sympathetically, like someone who came across a dead fawn. “I’m offering millions, not just in good faith deposits, not in slow increments. I’m gifting you millions which you desperately need.”

  Ten million dollars appears appetizing on the surface. But as Wren would say, “that apple looked damn good to Adam, but he was a dumbass for taking a bite”.

  Like Adam, I’d be a fool to give into temptation. Langley currently has twenty-three lawsuits hanging over his head, two are for copyright infringement, and is also currently under investigation for misappropriation of funds. And now, he’s offering millions for a product that will earn over a billion dollars, in time.

  I lean back in my chair, something I do when I’m frustrated in dealing with corporate fucks. The setup of my home office is almost identical to the one at iCronos, although instead of marble floors and sleek modern furniture, there are dark wood floors with rich mahogany panels lining the walls.

  At the far end of the rectangular room, nine flat-screens are fixed to the wall instead of the twenty-four at my corporate office. And rather than several computer screens showing me multiple views of Langley’s face, one large screen perched at the end of my desk shows enough. Maybe that’s why my attention drifts, his face is not the one I want to see.

  Wren worked close to seventy hours last week. I tipped the scales at ninety, often passing out in my office rather than coming home to her. I had hoped to spend the entire weekend together, but when I woke this morning she was gone. The note she left in our bathroom reminded me she had to meet Sol and Sofia at a boutique to try on dresses for Sol’s wedding.

  I’m very happy for Finn and Sol, but I’ll admit I envy them. Every time I see Wren, I want to ask her to marry me. But when a new problem arises or I hear from greedy bastards like Langley, I’m reminded that I can’t, yet.

  I’m ready to end the call when Wren struts into my office. She’s wearing the black pencil skirt that flaunts her figure, and possibly shoes, I think. I’m too fixated on her upper half to be certain or care.

  Her small breasts and very alert nipples strain against the lace of her bra. The fuchsia lipstick glistens on her lips, drawing my attention to her face. It’s cold in here, she mouths.

  “Ah . . .” I’m ready to apologize for taking the call, to offer to warm her—something. She gives me her back and hurries to the end of the room. With a flick of her hand, she flips on the marble gas fireplace beneath the collage of flat-screens and walks to the plush suede couch, her hips swinging.

  Without so much as a glance back at me, she dumps her large purse on the floor, bending over to give me a nice view, and shimmying out of her skirt for an infinitely better one.

  A pair of panties that could fit in the fountain pen in my hand (with room to spare), barely contain the globes of her perfect ass.

  “Jesus God,” I say. Not that I’m complaining.

  “All right, Evan,” Langley says. “Twelve million, and that’s my final offer.”

  She lifts the giant pad of paper I hadn’t noticed was in here. It’s the kind a grade school teacher would draw pictures on, and tucks it under her arm as digs through the contents of her purse. She pauses, beaming when it appears she found what she’s looking for.

  I don’t know what to expect, and am rather disappointed when she pulls out a thick black marker. That disappointment fades when she walks toward me and everything God gave her bounces with each step.

  Seduction radiates from every part of her being, from the way she moves to the way she tosses her long mane of hair as she takes the seat in front of my desk.

  “What are you trying to do?” I ask her.

  “Help you,” Langley answers. “All I’m trying to do is help you.”

  Wren ignores me. I ignore Langley.

  She places a large pad of drawing paper on her lap and uncaps the marker with her teeth. She removes the cap from her mouth, gives the end a swirl with her tongue and throws it at me.

  Maybe she means for me to catch it. Or perhaps not. I don’t really care. The solution to end global warming could be shoved inside that cap and I could give a damn.

  It bounces of the wood paneling behind me. Although she doesn’t look up from where she’s scrawling across the pad, her wicked smile indicates how much she’s enjoying herself.

  She lifts the pad, blocking the view of her breasts and making it clear I need to read what she wrote.

  Last Sunday, you read an analytical report in bed.

  “It’s a generous offer,” Langley says. “And will finally net you a profit.”

  I believe that’s what he said. I’m too busy reading Wren’s next few words.

  Thereby violating the rules of Naked Sunday.

  I swallo
w hard, though it does little to tame my desire when I read the words that follow.

  You were naughty. Very naughty.

  “Don’t be afraid, Evan,” Langley says. “We at Yodel are here to help you.”

  Now I have to be naughty and teach you a lesson.

  She unsnaps her bra, using the large pad as a shield, she extends her arm and drops the transparent piece of scrap on the floor.

  She hunkers down, scribbling fast and lifting the pad when she’s done.

  You can look, but you CAN’T touch.

  With that, she places the marker on my desk and drops the pad to the floor.

  She leans back, spreading her legs. I rise to get a better view, ramming my leg into the desk before I remember it’s in the way.

  Her hand pushes aside the silky fabric of her panties, permitting the fingers of her opposite hand to play.

  Slowly.

  Very slowly.

  In careful, lazy circles.

  Heat fires her stare punctuated with that wicked smile.

  My lips part as my jaw unhinges, my breath increasing as her delicate skin plumps and glistens. As her motion increases, her smile fades, pleasure flushing her fair skin a deep red.

  She’s watching me, clearly aroused by what she’s doing to herself and what it’s doing to me.

  Primal need to take her overtakes me, reducing me to a savage bent on taking her hard.

  “Evan, are you listening?” Langley snaps. “Twenty million—”

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time,” I snap. “You can’t have her.”

  The screen goes blank as I end the call. Wren lowers her lashes, her lids heavy as her fingers move faster. “You said ‘her,’” she rasps.

  I tug open the buttons on my shirt as I prowl around the desk. “Did I?”

  Her head falls back, exposing her throat. “Yes,” she says, the word releasing in a gasp.

  I fling my shirt off and whip off my belt, shoving the waistband of my pants and shorts down to relieve the growing strain of my thickening length. Wren’s shoulders shake as she peaks, she’s almost there.

  But it’s my job to please her.

  I fall to my knees in front of her. Her motions slow, her words escape on tiny pants of breath. “You’re not supposed to touch me.”

  It’s what she says. Not what she means. The heels of her feet slide down my back and she keeps the crotch of her panties pulled away, exposing me to her.

  I position my mouth in front of her slick center. “You said I couldn’t touch you. You never said I couldn’t taste you.” She shudders when take my first lick. “And if you beg me, I promise I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

  She bucks as I pull in her soft flesh, her hips swinging back and forth to meet me. “Evan,” she moans.

  Wren was already close, her skin so electrified it doesn’t take her long to peak. I don’t hold back, the way I devour her increases her whimpers and causes her to tremble.

  Her ankles fasten behind me, her heels digging into my back as she unravels, spewing a mix of swears and half-formed words as she pleads for more.

  “More?” I tease, lifting my gaze as I give her another flick from my tongue.

  She struggles to speak as her legs fall away from my shoulders and I strip off my briefs. “Alfred, show room,” she stammers.

  “Showing room,” Alfred announces.

  The room reflects along the flat-screens. I peel off her panties and lift her to straddle me, her hair falling around us like a silk sheet. I clutch her face, kissing her between words. “You want to watch what I do to you?” I ask.

  She whimpers when I graze her nipple with my teeth. I ease inside of her, her head falling back and her eyes squeezing shut with each press forward.

  Once I’m in, she meets my gaze, hooking her ankles around my lower back. My arms shake with raw desire and the feel of her skin against my palms. I carry her to the couch. Each shift of my legs, grinding me against her, taking me deeper inside.

  “Alfred, show us,” I say.

  Wren gasps as the tech zooms in on our forms. She’s captured our images on her phone, but to see our bodies joined as they are, our chests rising and falling in sync, and her warm skin pressed against mine is so unbearably erotic, for a moment, I don’t move. I take in how perfect she is.

  But then I do move.

  And everything surges out of control.

  I bend my knees, lifting her and bringing her down. My efforts are slow at first, watching her slide against me, the ends of her hair fluttering as she bounces. She adjusts her body around mine, tilting her head in the direction of the camera, fixated on the screen as we find our rhythm.

  Our mouths meet for a lingering kiss, tasting and nipping our bare skin between stealing glances to watch our motions. Each rapid thrust and taste thunders my heart, perpetuating the ache in my groin. I’m close, the image of me taking her accelerating my release.

  I curse, wanting and needing more of her. Wren whimpers, biting on her lower lip when I lower her on the couch and pull out. “Don’t,” she begs, reaching for me.

  I tumble as she tugs in a twisting motion, her hands moving fast. My palm shoots forward, gripping the arm of the couch to keep me from toppling on top of her.

  “Fuck,” I say, my face scrunching from her eager strokes.

  I groan, relishing each hard and possessive pass. She’s demanding my release, I can see it in the way I watch her take me on screen. But I want to finish inside her, my need as a man demanding it.

  With another curse, I tear my gaze from our image, flipping her onto her knees and push back inside. Her head bows and her nails dig into the arm rest, the steady beat of my hips slamming against her. She lifts her face, her hair sticking to her skin from the beads of perspiration gleaming her skin.

  “I’m so turned on,” she whimpers, her attention returning to the screen as her hand disappears between her legs. “Fuck, I’m so turned on.”

  Her whimpering overtakes her words as do my increasing grunts. I rope her hair around my fist and away from her face, arching her back and enticing her hand to move faster. I’m so overcome with lust, the image of my body hammering into her blurs.

  My foot slides off the couch, the heel striking the floor as my stomach muscles clench and I reach my breaking point.

  Pain and euphoria detonates from deep in my pelvis, jetting out and constricting my lungs. I don’t stop. The way her tight walls squeeze won’t allow it, as my desire to prolong her orgasm drives me on.

  My hand skims beneath her breasts as I reach to grasp her jaw, turning her for a kiss as I slide in and out. Every move is like torture, the head of my erection unbearably sensitive and aching with each pass. Not that I stop, seeking the wave of bliss that follows each moment of torment.

  “You feel so good, baby,” Wren says, moaning as I once more harden.

  She pushes her back against me, alerting me she wants to play. I fasten my arm around her waist and lift her, edging to the opposite side and lowering my back at an angle.

  My right foot stays on the floor, the other digs into the leather and keeps me in place as I reach to roll and pinch her nipples. She shudders, bending her legs on either side of me.

  Her need and desire to please me, causes her to ride me hard. I can’t tear my focus from the screens, entranced by the way our bodies move in a perfect meld of beauty and sin. She’s not showing off for the camera, and neither was I. This is simply us, and the way our bodies claim each other every time.

  She quickens her speed, movements aggressive and how I like her. It doesn’t take her long to peak, her breasts bouncing in my hands as she trembles and cries out in ecstasy. I last longer, taking control and gripping her hips to lift and repeatedly thrust.

  Watching everything I do and seeing how she reacts, reignites a familiar strain and makes me lose my fucking mind.

  Our labored breaths and slapping skin amplified by the speakers, are echoing around us, fueling our carnal desires. Wren c
ollapses on top of me as I finish, my guttural moaning resonating in her ear as the rocking motions of my pelvis ease to a stop.

  My hands slide up to knead her breasts. I nibble her ear. “If this is my punishment, I should break the rules more often,” I murmur.

  I expect her to laugh. Instead she slips off me, turning to lay her chest against mine. “Please don’t,” she says, her features riddled with sadness in spite of the soft smile she shares. “Evan, you work too hard. This, you and me,” she adds, skimming my chest with her fingertips. “This is real life. As much as I want you to succeed, I don’t want you to forget about me or what’s most important.”

  “You are my life,” I reply, frowning. “I could never forget you.”

  Her stare examines my face, as if she is unsure whether to believe me. “I don’t want you to work this weekend.” She silences me with a kiss before I can argue. “I want you to do anything but—read for pleasure, watch a movie, hell, take a bath. But no working, okay? I want you to make it just about you enjoying life.”

  “What do call this?” I challenge.

  “You enjoying sex,” she replies with one of her more impish smiles. “And me enjoying it right along with you.”

  She sits up and I think she’s leaving, so I band my arms around her waist. “Where are you going? You have to keep punishing me for violating Naked Saturday.”

  “Sunday.”

  “Very well, both,” I say, laughing along with her.

  “You’re so damn cute,” she says, gathering her hair and leaning in to kiss me. As she pulls away, her dark strands fan around us. “I have to pick up the food I ordered for brunch tomorrow. Everyone is coming here, and then we’re all going to the Phils’ game.”

  “They’re coming here, to our home?”

  A smile forms, to match hers. This is a tremendous step for Wren. In inviting her family here, she’s accepting my home as hers. It’s been almost three months since she moved in. At first she appeared out of sorts. I asked Sofia to take her shopping to help her decorate the house and make it more hers. Now, instead of décor primarily composed of gray, black, and white, the teal, deep orange, and gold accents compliment the new multi-colored rugs and window dressings, a reflection of Wren’s vibrant spirit and Sofia’s ability to bring it forward.