Page 9 of O'Connell's Forever

“Finn, I need...” I continue my onslaught, slamming up into her while slapping her ass sharply.

“I know what you need. I know exactly what you need.” I remove my hand from her ass and push two fingers into her mouth. She sucks them without instruction, and the feel of her tongue lashing over my fingers has me groaning in ecstasy. Jesus, she’s incredible.

Then I pull them out with a pop and push my fingers between her ass cheeks. With no further preparation, I shove them into her ass. She tenses, her whole body coils tight, and the feel of her pussy convulsing around my cock has my balls drawing up as I surge inside her one final time. Cum spurts from my cock with such force my body jolts forward before I can do anything to stop it taking her with me. The horn on the car sounds, and the alarm to the garage goes off as our heads snap forward and our eyes find one another’s. She pushes forward so her ass is no longer on the horn, then the door to the garage opens, and Bren comes through the doorway with a gun aimed in our direction.

“Shit.” I choke on a sardonic laugh, making Angel swipe at my chest as she scrambles to cover her tits from my brother’s view.

Bren lowers his gun and shakes his head before turning and closing the garage door behind him.

“Merry Christmas, darlin’.” I grin at her, and when she smiles back, my entire body comes alive with warmth despite the cum trickling down my balls becoming colder by the second.

That’s what my Angel does to me, she’s the light guiding me in my darkness. She’s the warmth against my cold. But most of all, she’s what makes me whole, what makes me feel.

Through her strength, my Angel gave me life again, and I sure as shit intend to live it.

“I love you, Finn O’Connell.” Her hair blows around her face, the golden locks shining like a halo, a true angel. I can’t help the way my lips tug up into a cocky grin at my analogy.

“Love you more, darlin’.”

ChapterEight

Bren

It took me almost two goddamn hours to fill the car and then empty it only three doors down. A bead of sweat drips down my spine as I heave the last of the dozens of bags from the trunk.

After discovering Finn and Angel fucking in the garage, all I can think about is getting Sky alone long enough to fill her up again. Afterall, Ma said she loves watching the kids. I just need to ensure she has mine first.

I tug down the hatch but misjudge moving out of the way. “Motherfucker!” The hatch door slams into my forehead, making me stumble backward.

“Don’t drop the bag, Bren!” Sky shouts from the doorway.

I grit my teeth. Don’t drop the fucking bag? Seriously?

“Oscar says you need to put the presents in Con’s annex at the bottom of the garden,” she whisper-yells, and I huff at the fact I now have to traipse through his goddamn property to hide the gifts. They were perfectly fine at our house.

“Come on. We’re going to be late for dinner!” she shouts while skipping across the driveway. My gaze snaps in her direction, and the moment my eyes land on her, all fury is drained. She’s a fucking vision standing in the doorway with the light behind her, her blonde hair blows in the winter breeze and illuminates her lithe form. She looks like a fucking angel. No, scrap that. I shake my head, unable to think of the word angel and my woman in the same context ever again.

Nah, she looks like a fucking fairy from the Disney movies she watches with the boys.

Slamming the hatch shut, I stride toward her with the bags thrown over my shoulders, and the stretch of my T-shirt chafes my chest with each step. I meet her at the door; Jesus, she takes my breath away.

Her startled blue eyes meet mine, and her mouth falls open. “Oh, Bren, you’re bleeding.”

I grunt in response, then melt into her soft touch when she places her hand on my cheek, and my body sways at her tenderness.

This is what Sky does to me, she has the ability to transform the man I am into someone unrecognizable, the ability to make me hers. When in reality, I don’t belong to a goddamn soul; they all belong to me.

Apart from her.

She raises onto her tiptoes, and I bend to meet her, our lips a hairsbreadth from one another.

“One of your kids just shit under the Christmas tree,” Con snipes from behind Sky. My lips tip up into a smile. That’ll be Sam; kid still drops his pants whenever he has the chance.

“Ma! Can you clean up the shit?” I shout as I pull Sky into my arms and step into Christmas hell.

Angel

The house has been decorated beautifully, much like our own. Only Con’s house feels like you stepped into a cross between Narnia and Santa’s workshop.

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