Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance

by Fox, Nicole

  “Why do you even care?” she flares up suddenly.

  I hesitate. This is the first question she’s asked me that I don’t have an immediate answer to.

  “Well?”

  Two can play at that game.

  “Why did you come here with me?” I shoot back. When she falters, I add, “Am I the only one capable of telling the truth?”

  She takes the bait, her eyes flashing to mine in a burst of blue fire.

  “Fine. You wanna know why I came out here with you?” she spits like she hates herself for how true this feels. “It’s because there’s something about you that makes me feel like anything’s possible. And for just a few hours, I wanted to believe that I could leave. That I could run away and be someone else, with someone else and no one would notice. No one would care.”

  I smile at her softly. Full of understanding. Full of empathy.

  She averts her gaze immediately.

  I can tell from her face that she hadn’t planned on being that honest.

  “I’m sure your father wants to see you happy,” I tell her gently.

  She sighs. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know sometimes,” she says. “If he really wanted me to be happy, he would have stopped gambling a long time ago. He wouldn’t insist on getting involved with men who keep threatening his life. Or mine.”

  “All good points.”

  She looks up at me and her jaw juts out a little.

  “He’s not a bad man,” she says suddenly, like she doesn’t want me to get the wrong impression of her father. “He’s just… He’s a weak man.”

  “Which has forced you to be strong for the both of you.”

  She looks out over the city. There are lights everywhere. So much so that they blot out the stars completely.

  None of it compares with her, though.

  Not the skyline.

  Not the stars.

  Not the fairy lights that twinkle above us like diamonds suspended in the air.

  “You could leave,” I tell her again. “You could.”

  Slowly, I reach out and take her hand, our fingers winding together.

  “I can’t leave,” she whispers. “Not ever.”

  She has a far-off expression in her eyes. She’s hiding something there. A secret. A threat. A shadow.

  Maybe she’s not quite so honest after all.

  I don’t like that look. It makes me feel like she’s pulling away from me, sinking back into the dredges of the life that’s sunk its claws into her.

  “My father is not the only one who’s watching me.”

  I frown. “Who else is?”

  She blinks, snaps herself out of the daze she’s in. Then she focuses on me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Right now, I’m here. With you.”

  I want to pursue this question, but I have a feeling it would ruin everything that’s percolating between us. So I just smile. “Lucky me.”

  She takes a step closer. There’s only a sliver of space between our bodies now. I desperately want to close it.

  “I should go back to the hospital,” she says hesitantly.

  “Do you want to?”

  She smiles sadly. “No.”

  “Then don’t,” I tell her. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

  10

  Saoirse

  “Stay with me.”

  The words feel almost physical.

  Like they’re swaddling me. Engulfing me with warmth. Makes the rest of the world and all its problems seem so distant. So unimportant.

  I don’t want to go back to it yet. I want a little longer.

  Just a few more hours to play make believe. To pretend like I can have the life I want.

  Is that so much to ask?

  “Okay,” I whisper. I do it quietly, as if saying the word too loud will break the spell.

  Cillian’s smile makes everything around me fade away.

  Even the beauty of the rooftop garden we’re standing in seems to melt into the background. A needless distraction from the man standing before me.

  He releases my hand, but then I feel his fingers graze against my cheek.

  We’re so close now.

  How did we even get so close?

  His light blue eyes are flecked with darker dots of cerulean that seem to change shape every time the light touches them.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispers to me.

  “Funny… I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  The smile slides off his face for a moment. But before I can decipher the complicated look that flashes across his eyes, he leans in.

  His lips press down over mine. Soft and fluttering.

  He takes it slow.

  He makes me feel like we have all the time in the world.

  Even when he increases pressure, his lips remain soft.

  They pull me in deeper, and my hands rise up and wrap around his neck. I can feel his palms at the small of my back.

  He turns his head to the side slowly, deepening the kiss so seamlessly that I still feel the lingering tentativeness even as the kiss evolves into something more decisive, more passionate.

  His tongue runs down my bottom lip. Without even thinking about it, I open for him.

  There’s nothing probing about the way he enters me. Nothing uncomfortable about it.

  It just feels… intense. Completely transformative.

  How many boys have I kissed before?

  Three, I think?

  Four, if you count Sebastian O’Hara in fifth grade, which I tend not to.

  None of them were like this.

  Those kisses were clumsy, inexperienced, fumbling. Those boys were either shy and uncertain, or demanding and aggressive.

  Cillian is none of those things.

  Under other circumstances, I might be intimidated by his self-assurance. His poise. He’s obviously done this before—kissed, touched, had sex.

  But somehow, none of that scares me right now.

  Because there’s more in his kiss than simple desire.

  I can tell he cares about me.

  We may be strangers still. But you don’t have to know someone to care, do you?

  When we break apart, Cillian’s lips have a slight blush on them and I can feel how raw my own are. I half expect the sun to be coming up.

  Surely, we’d been kissing for hours…

  But no.

  The sun is still hours away from rising. His hand is still pressed against my cheek, cupping my face.

  “I’ll be damned,” Cillian breathes.

  I smile. “Best kiss you’ve ever had?” I ask.

  “Hands down.”

  I smile shyly.

  “You’re not going to second-guess me?” he asks. “You’re not going to call me out for lying?”

  “No,” I say. “I believe you this time.”

  I turn on the spot, angling my face up to the fairy lights hanging over us. The little alcove we’ve walked into has been set up with a deep bench, on top of which lays a thick beige rug.

  “Wow,” he grins. “I’ve won your trust.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I correct quickly. “I just… That kiss was pretty…”

  I trail off, suddenly conscious of the way his eyes are following me. I choose to focus instead on running my fingers through the lush rug.

  “Yes?” he presses. “Pretty what? Pretty mind-boggling? Earth-shattering? Leg-quivering?”

  I shrug, trying to throw off that all-encompassing feeling of transformation.

  “It was good.”

  “Good?!” Cillian bursts, his eyes bugging out a little. “Just good?”

  “Yeah.” I bite back a smile. “It was good.”

  He snorts. “That kiss was more than just good. ‘Good’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  I laugh. “How would you describe it?”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “I would describe it as… the kind of kiss that you would cross oceans for. The kind of kiss you’d go into batt
le for. The kind of kiss that’d make a hero out of a villain.”

  I stare at him blankly. “That was almost poetic.”

  “Almost poetic?” he balks. “Jesus. That was as fucking poetic as you can get. I get no damn credit these days.”

  I laugh. “I think you’ve found your stride,” I say, turning out of his arms and walking down the balcony.

  He follows behind me. “It probably sounds dramatic to you,” he says, with a shrug. “But to me, it’s accurate.”

  “You certainly are a charmer.”

  “That’s just it. I’m not trying to charm you,” he says in all apparent sincerity. “I’m just telling the truth.”

  I turn around abruptly and he almost walks into me.

  I put one hand on his chest and he looks down at it resting there.

  “In any case, the ship’s already sailed with that one,” I tell him softly. “Consider me charmed.”

  “Yeah?” he asks with that boyish smile of his.

  “Yeah.”

  “So then I’m not the only one feeling this,” he says, placing his hand over mine.

  I can feel his heartbeat come in loud and strong.

  “No,” I reply, even though I’m not quite sure what ‘this’ is. “You’re not.”

  As we look at each other, the smiles fade from our faces as the realization of what we’ve just admitted surfaces.

  Maybe we’re both in vulnerable places in our lives.

  Maybe this feeling is purely imagined.

  Maybe we’re wrong.

  But how often are two people wrong together in this way?

  When Cillian kisses me the second time, it’s different.

  It feels different.

  It feels more.

  As if the admission of our feelings for one another has heightened everything. My body feels like it’s on fire when he touches me.

  My lips are greedy.

  My body is hungry.

  And this time, I’m not satisfied with just a kiss.

  I’m the one who reaches for his hoodie. I’m the one who pulls it off him and throws it on the floor. My hands slip under the white t-shirt he’s wearing underneath.

  I actually sigh as my hands run over the hard wall of muscle.

  Then I pull his t-shirt up and over his head.

  When I reach for the buckle of his jeans, he stills for a moment. He pulls away, breaking our feverish kisses. He’s still smiling, but his eyes are serious.

  “Saoirse…”

  I tug at his buckle and I hear it pop loose. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  I bite my lip. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  And I’m not lying either.

  He lets me unzip him and his jeans fall down around his ankles. He steps out of them and kicks them to the side, and then before I can even process what’s happening, he’s standing before me, wearing only his boxers.

  His hands go to the buttons of my shirt and he starts unbuttoning them one by one.

  Cillian tosses it to the ground beside his small pile of discarded clothes. His eyes graze over the simple black bra I’m wearing before he reaches for the zipper of my jeans.

  He peels the garment off me patiently, getting on his knees so that he can tease my legs free from the unforgiving material.

  He keeps his eyes on me the whole time.

  I’ve never had a man kneel for me quite like this before. Certainly not one who can do it with such power and confidence.

  I’m the one who’s looking down at him.

  So why does it feel like he’s the one who’s in control?

  And I’m the one in free-fall?

  If you can’t fly, then I’ll be there to catch you.

  When he’s removed my jeans, his fingers trail over my legs as he slowly straightens up again. When he’s at eye level with me, his fingers run up and down my sides.

  I feel a gasp in the back of my throat, but I manage to hold it in.

  My heart is hammering hard, but it’s not fear. Well… it’s not only fear.

  It’s also excitement. The thrill of what’s to come.

  “You can still change your mind,” he tells me.

  “I’m not changing my mind,” I assure him. “Why? You scared?”

  He smiles inwardly. “Maybe a little.”

  His answer surprises me. “Why?”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you ever before,” he admits. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I’d actually believed it was a myth.”

  My eyebrows wrinkle. “A myth?” I repeat, trying to follow his train of thought and keep track of my own at the same time. “What is?”

  He smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll tell you,” he says. “Later.”

  I feel the clasp at my back give way and my bra falls away from me. I hadn’t even noticed him doing it. He pulls it away with careful fingers, his eyes falling to my naked breasts.

  He cups my right breast, his fingers circling the pink nipple slowly.

  Then his fingers knot in the thin strap of my panties and he drags them down slowly. He sinks down to his knees again.

  But this time, he stays there. He sets my panties aside and runs his hands up between my thighs.

  I’m shivering a little. I know there’s no way I can hide it.

  “You’re shaking,” he observes.

  “I… I’m a little nervous now,” I admit.

  Ordinarily, I would never have copped to that. But he’s got my walls down. He’s got me laid bare, literally, before him.

  His fingers reach my pussy and gently, he pushes my legs a part. He starts running two fingers up and down my slit, sending unreal vibrations right through my core.

  “What’s there to be nervous about?” he asks.

  “I… I’ve never…”

  The words get caught up in my nervous. I notice him glancing up at me and I feel the panic swell just a little.

  “I’ve never had a man go down on me before,” I confess.

  His eyes widen. He actually looks a little pissed off.

  “Seriously?” he asks. “Never?”

  “Never.”

  He lets out a derisive snort. “I don’t know what man in his right mind could be with you and not need to find out what you taste like.”

  I gasp as my moisture pools between my legs.

  That’s never really happened before, either.

  He gives me a smile, and just like that, I find myself relaxing. Easing into it. He seems to notice the same thing, because he leans in and the next thing I know, I can feel the sweet wetness of his tongue against my lips.

  I let out a mewling sound, a rapturous cross between a scream and a moan.

  Cillian doesn’t relent, though.

  He’s only getting started.

  He pushes me back a little so that I’m pressed up against the rustic brick wall that comes up to my chest.

  The brick is rough against my skin, but I’m barely feeling it now. It can leave claw marks up and down my body for all I care.

  His fingers stretch me out and then his tongue takes over, exploring my insides and forcing my walls apart.

  I grab his downy blond curls and try to hold on, but the sensations are overwhelming. They’re robbing me of the ability to pay close attention to what he’s doing to me.

  Is this what living in the moment is? Is this flying?

  Because it feels deliciously freeing and terrifying in the same breath.

  When his tongue circles around my clit, I cry out, my fingers twisting into his roots.

  “Cillian…!” I gasp, but he doesn’t stop for that, either.

  He sucks on my clit, sending new vibrations through my body until I can’t hold myself up any longer.

  I keel over, but Cillian grabs me and falls back until he’s lying on the ground, and I’m sitting on his face.

  I’ve never felt so completely out of control before. I’m scared I’m going to suffocate him, but he’s the one
holding me down, making sure I can’t get away as he licks frantically, hungrily.

  And then I lose all sense of where I am.

  It feels like I lose sense of who I am, too.

  A wave of pleasure hits my body so hard that I’m shaking and bucking against Cillian’s tongue.

  My back arches, my face turns up towards the fairy lights, and for a second, I’m seeing stars.

  I don’t even realize that Cillian has pushed me off him until he’s sitting next to me, one arm slung around my shoulders.

  We’re leaning against the bench and I can feel the thick carpet sooth my sore back.

  He glances at me, but my breathing is still coming in erratically.

  It’s only then that I realize he hasn’t even taken off his boxers.

  Before I can make a joke about it, his lips come down over mine. We kiss long and deep, but it takes a few seconds before I realize that I’m tasting myself.

  I pull away at the realization. “I’m sweet.”

  “You certainly are,” he laughs. “I knew you would be.”

  I glance down at the noticeable bulge that’s pressed up against the front of his boxers.

  “It’s not polite to stare.”

  I can’t help it. My cheeks flush with color.

  A ridiculous reaction, considering his tongue was just inside me. But it’s hard not to blush when he’s looking at me like that.

  “Sorry.”

  He laughs louder. “It’s okay,” he says with a sigh. “I’m used to being treated like eye candy. It’s the curse of being beautiful.”

  I shake my head at him. It’s becoming a habit.

  His eyes twinkle.

  And I feel my confidence recover slowly.

  I reach out and place my hand on his cock. I can feel him throbbing through the thin fabric and a new crash of excitement consumes me.

  I stroke him through his shorts and watch carefully as his eyes close and his mouth pops open in a small O of pleasure.

  His fire stokes mine. My fire stokes his.

  And despite the coolness of the night, my skin is burning up.

  I want more of him. I need more of him.

  I push him back against the carpeted floor and pull his boxers off.

  His cock springs free and I almost shriek at the sight of him. He’s thick, veined, and hard as rock.

  Once I’ve thrown his boxers to the side, I wrap my hand around his thick shaft and drink in the sight of his pink head. There’s a tiny drop of pre-cum at the very center and I lick my lips instinctively.