Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance Book 2)

by R. G. Alexander

  I drag my lips along his neck, tracing his collarbone with my tongue before moving down to his small, hard nipples. He gasps and I suck gently, discovering how sensitive they are.

  “I’ll have more fun with these later,” I promise, sliding further down the bed to sample his stomach, leaving a path of bite marks that make him squirm in arousal.

  I love having my mouth on him. My hands on his skin. His reactions are honest and addictive, and the noises he makes have me lingering, learning him. I could spend days like this.

  When I slide my hand up his inner thigh to cup him, he lifts his hips off the bed in silent demand. “Brendan, please.”

  “I thought you liked teasing,” I say wickedly, blowing softly against his cock. The arousal pearling at the tip of his shaft makes me lick my lips, hungry for a taste.

  Next time.

  “Why would you think a crazy thing like that?”

  I almost grin at that. I told him I wouldn’t let him rush me, but I’m having a hard time following my own rules. Every new taste and touch is making me more impatient. I want him too much.

  I grip his thighs and lift, pressing his knees against his chest, and the view steals my breath. His ass cheeks are spread just enough to tempt me.

  “This is going to be a first for both of us,” I warn him, my breath rasping in my chest. “I’m glad you’ve got something to hold on to.”

  Miller struggles slightly in my grip when I lower my head. “What are you—? Brendan, whaohmyfuckinggod!”

  My eyes close as I lick the tender skin between his cheeks, tasting the lube I didn’t know was flavored and smiling against his skin at the noises he’s making.

  Cherry-flavored Miller.

  I didn’t lie—this may be my first time, but it’s also one of my favorite fantasies. After my reaction to his ass in those boxers, I’ve been imagining that night going differently. Instead of saying things I don’t mean, I drop to my knees and bury my face between those cheeks instead.

  This is what I wanted. Miller at his most vulnerable. The tight ring of muscles I want to explore, the place I want my cock to call home. I memorize it with my tongue, biting and sucking on the tight flesh around the hole until he’s swearing. Then I slide two fingers inside, stretching him so he can take more as I lick around them.

  God, I could fuck him like this. With my tongue. Could I get deep enough to get him off with my mouth? Just feast on the tight bud until he comes again?

  “Fuck me, Bren. Please fuck me,” he begs hoarsely.

  At his plea, I rock against the mattress, wanting that more than anything. But I hesitate, loving his reaction to my tongue.

  “I need your cock inside me, damn it.”

  I lift up at that, snag a condom and rip the package with my teeth, taking in his red face and swollen lips. So fucking sexy.

  I won’t be able to last if I’m looking into those golden eyes while I bury myself inside him for the first time. “I need you on your knees.”

  There’s enough give in the cord, though I know it tightens when I reach for his hips and flip him over. “Too much?”

  “It’s good,” he says breathlessly. “I love it. Don’t stop now.”

  I don’t think I can. I barely recognize myself as I roll on the condom and guide my stiff erection home. “I’ll try to go slow.”

  He shakes his head rapidly, muttering under his breath as I slide one hand up his back to his shoulder and push forward.

  Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

  “Son of a bitch,” Miller groans.

  I stop, every cell in my body protesting. “You okay?”

  “It’s a lot.” His laugh is choppy. “You’re a lot. Just getting used to it.”

  “Can you take more?”

  Don’t say no.

  Miller sends me a hot, frustrated look over his shoulder. “I’m tied up, aren’t I? You’re the one who decides what I can and can’t take.”

  It’s like waving a red cape in front of a bull. He doesn’t understand how close I am to losing it. I dig my fingers into his shoulder and squeeze his hip with my free hand. “A wild streak and mouthy?”

  “You bring it out in me,” he says, lifting his hips higher in submission.

  “Fuck.” I press forward with one steady, forceful thrust that has me flush against his ass. “Fuck, that’s perfect.”

  Miller is shaking, white-knuckling the bedpost, but he doesn’t tell me to stop. He doesn’t pull away. He’s so damn tight, I feel like my head might explode. I want to shout loud enough for the whole damn city to hear.

  “Mine. I got here first. Stay away.”

  I don’t want to hurt him, but I need to move. I take some deep breaths and stare at the wall, trying to think of anything else to calm me down or this will all be over before it can start.

  How can I think of anything else?

  I drag my cock back and stroke deep. His moan of pleasure tells me to do it again. And again. And oh fuck, how did I not know it would be this fucking good?

  “Now that I know how this feels, you won’t be able to get rid of me.” I watch my shaft disappearing in his ass and feel a growl building in my chest. “It’s too good, Millie. Warm and tight.” And mine. “You’ll have to lock your bedroom door if you want me to stay away.”

  “Oh God, that’s hot,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

  “You like hearing that? Knowing I’ll be thinking about this every time you walk by? Wondering when I can get back inside?”

  “Yes,” he breathes. “I love hearing it.”

  I love it too. Love that I’m the only one who knows how this feels. How tightly his muscles are squeezing me. How much he likes it when I lift my hand from his shoulder to tangle it in his messy hair.

  I’m the only one who knows how hard he can take it.

  He pushes back against me, begging until my hips are slamming against him in a punishing rhythm. Harder. Deeper. Fuck, I can’t get deep enough.

  “Harder.”

  “I have to—need to…” I can’t focus on anything but how good he feels stretched around me. How much I need to come.

  I hear the creak of the old bedpost as he grips it tighter, his cries and the sounds of slapping skin as I take more.

  Faster. Harder.

  “Yes. I’m almost— Damn it, Brendan. Touch me.”

  I have just enough awareness left to slip my arm under him and grab his thick cock, jerking roughly in time with my jarring rhythm. “Come for me first, Millie. Need you to come.”

  “Don’t stop,” he moans. “Brendan, I’m almost there.”

  “Get there, baby. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

  Miller’s body arches in my grip and he cries out my name as he comes in my hand. My fingers are slippery with it. Covered in the proof of his release.

  So good. God, it’s so good it might really kill me. “Fuck.”

  My body curls around his, my thrusts brutal and bruising as I desperately reach for my climax. Can’t hold back. I’ll never get deep enough.

  “Yes!”

  I shudder, the force of the release crashing through me. Wave after wave of pleasure and relief as I pump inside his ass again and again. I can’t stop stroking him. Can’t stop fucking him. His body bucks against me with each pulse through my cock until it finally recedes, leaving me shaken.

  I’m not sure how long I stay like that, deep inside and clutching him like a lifeline until I feel recovered enough to let go.

  When I pull out gently, he shivers in reaction. I run my hand over his back and squeeze his hip before I get rid of the condom. Then I climb up the bed to untie the cord and rub circulation back into his arms.

  I need to take care of him. I need to touch him and make sure I wasn’t too rough.

  God, was I too rough?

  I knew it would be different. I knew we’d be good together. I had no idea need could be like that. So strong it was almost violent. Raw and revealing. I’ve never felt this naked after sex before.

&
nbsp; Is it because it was Miller or because this was my first time with a man?

  You already know the answer.

  It isn’t easy to admit it, even to myself. I can say I love him. I can say I want him. But in love? That kind of love? In the past, the mere idea of it would send me flying out of the country.

  But I’ve already proven there’s nowhere I can go that would be far enough to get Miller out of my head or my heart. He’s there to stay, even though I know he’s the kind of man who would need someone he was in love with to stick around.

  Does Miller want me sticking around? Did I scare him again?

  Ask him.

  “You’re quiet,” I say tentatively.

  Miller breathes out a laugh and buries his face in my shoulder. “I’m processing. Or maybe I’m dead. It felt like it for a minute there.”

  “Did I hurt you? Things got kind of intense. Was the cord too tight?”

  “No. I mean, yeah, but in a good way. It was just what I needed. I had no idea sex would be that…that. Thank you.”

  That what? And thank you? What the hell does that mean? Who politely thanks you for banging their brains out?

  “It’s not this good with everyone,” I say firmly, feeling like a needy asshole. “It’s never this good.”

  He sighs sleepily. “Well, you would know.”

  I tighten my arms around him, needing a minute or two to compose myself before I blurt out something that— “I was jealous of Robbie. That’s why I followed him.”

  Way to not blurt.

  He stiffens, but I keep going. “That was when I knew I wanted you. That I had for a while. I haven’t slept with anybody since then.”

  “Is this part of the afterglow experience people talk about? I’m new to this, so I just want to be sure we’re supposed to talk about other people we’ve almost slept with two minutes after seeing God.”

  He sounds wide awake now.

  Good job, Brendan. At least he saw God before you ruined it this time.

  He sits up, dragging the covers over his lap, his lips still swollen and distracting. I want to kiss him again. “Why did you tell me that, B? Are you the one freaking out over there? This is your first time with a man. Any regrets?”

  “I should be asking you that—it’s your first time with anyone,” I remind him defensively. “But no, no regrets here. And I’m not freaking out now, but back then I was. I even went to a club in London to see if it was all men or just you I was attracted to.”

  When will you stop talking?

  Miller runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “If you’re about to tell me a story about experimenting at a gay club with another guy, I might kick you out again. I’ve had to deal with your X-rated Travelocity stories for years. At least those gnomes were women.”

  “No.” I reach for his hand and slide my fingers through his. “That’s what I’m trying to say. The whole time I was there, I was thinking about you. It’s just you, Millie. You’re the only one I want.”

  He looks down at our hands, his brow crinkling again. “You don’t have to say that. I wasn’t holding out for a confession or a declaration of true love. I’m not experienced, but I’m not naïve either. We’re friends. We had fantastic sex. I’m okay with that.”

  I’m not. Why the hell is he?

  When I don’t respond, he leans over and kisses my chest, my neck. When he straddles me, my cock responds because it can’t resist him. I can’t resist him. “What are you doing?”

  “Let’s try this again, Kinkaid.”

  Our kiss is long and slow, almost tender—more like a first time than our first time was. Without a word, he opens another condom, rolls it down my shaft and lowers himself on me with a soft moan.

  I roll him over, looking into his eyes as we take each other back to the edge.

  When I come, his mouth is on mine so I can’t say the words that are trying desperately to escape my lips.

  I love you.

  But I fall asleep with them still lingering in my head.

  A sound cracks through the room and Miller is off the bed and jumping into the nearest pair of sweatpants before I realize that what I heard. It sounded like a small explosion.

  “What the hell?”

  “Fred’s house!” Miller shouts, racing out the bedroom door, his bare feet pounding down the stairs. “Call the fire department!”

  I juggle my phone and my pants, flames from across the street tinting the room with hues of orange and gold while I give the address to the operator.

  I glance out the window and see a shadowed figure running toward the burning house. I know it’s Miller and I bolt after him down the stairs, desperate to catch up.

  He’s going to run into that damn house.

  I cross the threshold of the front door and hear Diane and Heather scream Miller’s name from the other side of the street. They’re waving frantically, with Fred between them in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, Dix cuddled close to her chest.

  Her eyes are wide and filling with tears.

  Miller, thankfully sees them and runs over, pulling Fred into his arms.

  “Is your sister inside?” I hear him ask as I run up to join the group, my bare feet slapping the asphalt. Miller glances at me, his expression grim but ready.

  She shakes her head, crying too hard to speak. I step closer and send a questioning glance to Diane, whose face is twisted with rage.

  “Fred’s sister and her boyfriend were home tonight,” she says through gritted teeth as she stares at the burning house. Flames have started to lick out the front door. We hear a loud whoosh, followed by glass shattering which makes us all flinch in surprise. Miller immediately starts urging them back across the street, further away from the fire.

  Once we’re standing on the grass in front of Miller’s house I look back at Diane, “We heard them screaming at each other from across the street,” she says bitterly, her eyes still fixed on the flames. “Fred was in her room, but she thinks they were cooking something on the stove because the fire started in the kitchen. While she was trying to put it out, they got in his car and left her behind.” She hugs Fred protectively and gently pulls the sobbing girl’s head to rest in the crook of her neck as Heather rubs her back. “Just left a fifteen-year-old girl alone inside a burning building.”

  Motherfucker.

  Miller looks at me over the sobbing teenager, his expression furious.

  I get out my phone, knowing exactly who I need to call.

  Hopefully he’s forgiven me by now.

  Chapter Eight

  Guinea Pigs and Barbecue

  “How’s Fred holding up?”

  Royal and I are sitting at the bar on the far side of Finn’s pub while Miller, Austen and a handful of her friends and family help set up for her first official Thursday night GPP.

  Miller told me it was originally called a Guinea Pig Party—when it was just a family gathering where Austen could try out new products on her siblings and gossip—but she’d decided to change the meaning of the initials for its public debut. I think she’s already scrapped Girl Power, Great Powder, and Getting Paid Party so far. She’s supposed to be holding a family vote today.

  If anybody’s asking, I thought it was fine the way it was. But then, I don’t spend much money on face creams.

  “Fred’s a champ,” I tell Royal, twisting the cap on my water bottle. Yes, water. There’s no way I’m drinking alcohol again for a while. Not here at the scene of the crime, anyway. “We’ve been more upset this week than she has. Even when they found her sister, she kept her cool. Thanks for calling in that favor by the way.”

  “Of course, man.” He pats my shoulder sympathetically. “That’s what brothers-in-law are for. Especially when they work for the real-life equivalent of Batman. I’m only sorry about how it turned out.”

  Yeah, about that. Fred’s sister is a drugged-up waste of space, in my opinion. One who, even after seeing her boyfriend put in jail, has no desire to clean up her act, or maint
ain her status as Fred’s legal guardian.

  “The little she-boy can rot in hell. I’d rather go to jail than deal with her shit anymore. Took all my fun money to rent that place, and she flushed my stash like five times.”

  Which is when we found out exactly how Fred had gotten her sister to rent a house in the nice, decent neighborhood in the first place. The brilliant little model of civil disobedience had threatened to report her big sister, and her dirt bag boyfriend, for child endangerment and drug possession if she didn’t spend Fred’s half of their monthly trust stipend on a clean place to live until she could file for emancipation in six months.

  Miller was right. She’s very mature for her age.

  “It’ll work out.” I gesture toward the laughing group across the room to change the subject. “It was nice of the owner to let Austen throw her first party here. I can’t believe he closed the place down for this. At the last minute, no less.”

  Royal’s face transforms with the slightly besotted grin I’ve come to expect whenever anyone mentions Austen’s name. The man has it bad.

  “Well, Austen’s little brother, Thoreau, is Seamus Finn’s business partner. He’s a great guy, and he has a vested interest in keeping his young beer genius happy. She called Seamus as soon as she found out the hotel overbooked to see if they could work something out.” Royal shrugs. “Besides, there could be some women in this group who decide to come for the pore cleanser but stay for the hot guys and beer. Pub makeovers could go viral.”

  I smile at the idea, feeling only moderately guilty for being grateful to have a break from the cloud that’s been hanging over the house since the fire.

  Every night when we close the bedroom door, Miller is mine. He gives himself to me with no reservations. We can’t get enough of each other. When I’m with him like that, it’s raw and honest and I know there’s nothing that could ever come between us.

  Unfortunately, we don’t stay in the bedroom twenty-four hours a day. And outside of that room, Miller is using his worry about Diane and Heather’s anxiety, Fred’s bravado, and his job at the day spa to keep me at a distance.

  I’m not sure how to close the gap.