Page 44 of Desire Me
He couldn’t leave her like this.
“Don’t stop, Rae. Don’t stop.” He snaked his hand down between them, into the front of her pants, inside her panties, and found her opening with two fingers. She could take them, he knew, but still he waited, his fingertips sliding from her clit down between her soft, slick lips, and back up, leaving the decision up to her. Rae hesitated only a moment and then bucked forward. His fingers slid halfway in, and he grinned. “Good girl.” He pushed all the way inside, gratified at the way her head fell back and her hips sped up. “That’s it.” He caught the nearest nipple between his lips and sucked it hard through his teeth.
Rae ignited immediately. “Oh, oh, oh!” Slick cream coated his fingers and eased the way for a flurry of thrusts that set her off again. “Saint!”
When the tiny contractions around his fingers stopped, he withdrew, using his free hand to pull Rae down until their mouths met in a desperate kiss. He wanted to groan—he wanted to come—but whoever was waiting wouldn’t wait forever.
The beep sounded again, reinforcing his thought. Rae groaned, eyes closed. “Not good timing.”
His chuckle was strained. “Our timing was perfect. Our guests”—he shrugged—“not great, agreed.”
Her forehead settled against his. “You haven’t—”
He laid his wet fingers on her lips. Dared to slip one inside to see how responsive she was to her own taste. Rae sucked the digit clean.
A growl escaped. “I haven’t. But it is what it is.”
Rae curled against him for a moment, and his chest ached with emotion. “Later?”
“You better believe it.” The words were rough with unspent need, but it couldn’t be helped. He eased her backward on his legs despite feeling like he was tearing a part of himself away. “Go change, beautiful.”
Her smile was soft, somewhat spent. She nodded, easing off his lap, and her gaze dropped to his crotch. “I don’t think I’m the only one who needs to change.”
Since his sweats hid absolutely nothing, he had to agree. “I’ll take care of it. Just let me see who’s at the gate.”
Rae left him to it. He couldn’t stop watching her until she disappeared into the bedroom. Only then did he go to the security panel, read the code that had appeared, and let out a hard curse. Definitely had to change. He pushed the button to open the gate, jogged into the guest room where he’d stashed some clothes, and switched his sweats for a pair of fatigues. Washed his hands. Then hurried back to the front door.
An SUV pulled to the base of the front steps, and an older man stepped out. He rounded the vehicle and assisted a woman from the passenger seat, and together they climbed the stairs to the front door. Saint opened it to greet them.
“Good morning, Mamá. Papá. Come in.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Rae still hadn’t eaten, and he’d be damned if she missed another meal; she’d already missed dinner last night. He motioned his parents inside and let them follow him to the kitchen, where he took up the breakfast plates and set them in the microwave. Rae would come out eventually, and he’d heat them up when she did.
“We interrupted,” his mother said. The hint of caution in her words made the corner of his mouth tip up. Not that he wanted her tiptoeing around him. It was just like his parents, though, to rush in first and then worry about overstepping afterward. They had big hearts that sometimes overrode boundaries.
“It’s all right, Mamá.” He knew them well enough to know they’d have shown up eventually after his sister’s visit; he just hadn’t expected them this soon.
His father rounded the island to take Saint’s face in hand. The two of them were the same height, though Isaias Solorio was more slender than Saint—Saint got his build from his mother’s side of the family, where all the men were hefty with muscle. He was happy to lord his size over King occasionally, since his friend was an inch or so taller than him.
Isaias kissed first one cheek, then the other, the scent of his spicy cologne warm and familiar as Saint accepted his greeting. “It’s good to see you,hijo.”
That scent and the familiar, comforting sounds of the traditional Spanish endearments his father so often used both served to ease his frustration. “You too, Papá.”
The older man stepped back. “I’ll get the food from the car.” He gave his wife a kiss as he passed. “Back in a moment, cariño.”
A smile tugged at Saint’s lips. Of course they’d brought food. Mercedes had told them something was going on; what else would his mother do but bring food?
Saint started cleaning the waffle iron.
“You’re angry.”
He loved his mother’s voice too. She didn’t have as strong of an accent as his father had—Mamá had been born in the States; his father had been born on the Spanish coast and moved here with his parents when he was almost ten. The warm, almost country tone of his mother’s words always reminded Saint of childhood. Made him feel a bit like he was still a child, if he was honest, even now, in his thirties. And though he probably should be, he couldn’t get angry with her, with either of his parents. They meant well, even if they sometimes didn’t understand boundaries too well.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t a bit irritated, though.
He met his mother’s eyes across the expanse of the island, eyes the same color as his. She had dark hair with sprinkles of silver, and lines of age beginning to show on her face. A slight woman with more strength in her body than men twice her size, strength age hadn’t diminished.
