Ryan: O’Connor Brothers #2

by Kelly, A. S.

  He sits down next to me on the sofa, passing me a plastic container of leftovers, two forks resting on top.

  “How do you feel?” he asks gingerly.

  “Tired. Shocked.”

  “My mum says that there’s something that can be done, we just have to wait a few weeks. Luckily, she found a clause in the insurance form about acts of vandalism. You know, the small print that no one ever notices – nothing gets past her. You’ll be able to get back almost everything.”

  “Your mother is terrifying.”

  “Sometimes. Don’t be fooled by her sweetness – she can be a real badass when she wants to be.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just tell me you’re not angry?”

  “Why would I be?”

  “Because I dragged my whole family into this, but you have no idea what they’re like. They get involved in everything… They’re obsessive, controlling and… exhausting. Honestly.”

  “I could get used to it,” I say uncertainly.

  Ryan smiles at me. “Trust me, you’ll never get used to them. I’m twenty-eight, and I’m still not used to them.”

  “Twenty-eight, eh? You’re still a little boy, O’Connor,” I tease – but he doesn’t seem amused.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “What?”

  “That I’m a little boy.”

  I stroke his cheek reassuringly. “No, Ryan. You’re so much more than that.”

  He takes a deep breath and looks me straight in the eyes.

  “I know that I’m a few years younger than you, and that you’re a strong, amazing woman, and… I still don’t know how to stand on my own two feet, and I’m ashamed of that, believe me. But I’m trying to become a man, Christine: a man who works hard to protect the people he cares about. A man who knows how to take care of women. Of his woman.”

  66

  Ryan

  “Don’t you realise what’s happening?” I ask her, nearly throwing up from the anxiety.

  She shakes her head.

  “I’ll tell you. I have to tell you, because it’s eating me up inside, and I have to say it out loud before my head caves in.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “I’m about to explode, Christine. And it isn’t over just anything –it probably isn’t a good thing. For me, but definitely not for you. I…I’m no good, and I can only make your life worse. I’m not the right guy for you, for all this – for anyone. But I want it anyway. It’s like I have a bomb ticking away inside me, and it’s ready to destroy me, you, everyone around. It’ll hurt. It’ll probably ruin us both. But I can’t fight it, because I want to feel it – this bomb. I want it to shatter my heart. And even though it could shatter yours too, I’m not going to stop it, because I’m too selfish.”

  “Ryan…”

  “I’m going to do it. I’m going to make you fall in love with me, Christine,” I breathe onto her lips.

  Looking into her eyes, I see my own fear reflected – a fear I’ve been trying to push down – but I can’t let it take hold of her, too.

  I want to save her, to keep my pain to myself; I don’t want my wounds to imprint themselves onto her skin; I want my anger to dissolve into the air, without grazing anyone else on the way. I don’t want her to become a victim of my past, of my mistakes. And when these thoughts start to take root in my mind and my heart, I feel the ice melting away, slowly, diffusing into the ocean that is dragging me down.

  I lean in to her and grab her hips, pulling her onto my lap.

  “I’m drowning, Christine. And I need you to save me.”

  I stroke her face, brushing my thumb over her lips.

  “Save me. Pull me back to the surface,” I say, breathlessly.

  She smiles at me and leans in, whispering into my mouth: “Breathe, Ryan. Breathe.”

  “I need air,” I say, gasping.

  He lips press lightly against mine; small, tender kisses that slowly bring me back to life.

  “Breathe,” she says again, as she keeps saving me, holding my hand and pulling out of the water with all her strength.

  Christine gives me all of her breaths.

  And I take them. Every single one.

  I need them.

  I need her.

  I slide my hands under her shirt and feel her skin shudder at my touch. Her tongue slips into my mouth, searching out mine. It calls her, tickles her, demands her.

  I circle her nipples with my thumbs, and she moans as they begin to harden. She tightens her grip on my hips and pulls them into her.

  “Not here,” I tell her, forcing myself to tear away from her. “I can’t do what you want on the sofa.”

  I get up suddenly, keeping her wrapped around me. I climb the stairs, carrying her in my arms, stride into the bedroom and head towards the bed, laying her down. I stand there and fill my eyes, my mind and my body with her image.

  My chest hurts; my breathing is suffocating me. The fear of making another fucking huge mistake sends my stomach up in flames, but it’s too late to turn back.

  I don’t run away from her.

  And I don’t run away from myself.

  I approach the bed, slowly pulling off her jeans, and pulling her towards the end of the bed by her thighs. I kneel down on the carpet and lean over her, lightly brushing her clit with my lips; I gently bite her just above the waistband of her panties, as she arches her back, pushing against my face.

  I slide her panties off and run my hands up her legs, making my way up her inner thighs with kisses. She laces her hand through my hair and pulls me towards her.

  My fear is pushed aside by my desire to feel her, that longing for intimacy killing my demons one by one with its bare hands.

  My fingers gently stroke her pussy. As soon as my tongue reaches her skin, I lose my mind.

  Everything. I have to take everything.

  I slip my tongue slowly inside her, alert to her every movement. Christine watches at me. She wants to do it, too. She wants the same contact, the same intimacy.

  She wants to take everything, just as much as I do.

  I plunge into her, consumed by passion. I’m already addicted to the taste of her, taking away everything bad within me.

  I softly bite down on her swollen clit, before sucking on it, almost making her scream.

  Being so close to her, being so ready for this all-consuming intimacy, is making my legs tremble in anticipation. I touch her, sliding my hands along her stomach, feeling her vibrate under my touch.

  There’s no hesitation, no pain, no fear: just a longing to have everything she can give me.

  With my fingers, I trace her clit, before sliding them inside her. Christine moves under my touch, victim to my invasion, my desire. I devour her, tormenting her with my teeth and with my tongue, giving in completely to the heat flaring up within me.

  My fingers slide deeper inside her, making her cry out with pleasure. I throw her legs over my shoulders and drive her crazy, suffocating with my own desire to have her, just for me.

  I don’t stop torturing her, sucking her clitoris as I slide in and out with my fingers, again and again, pushing her to the limit; I want to see her shudder, overwhelmed by me and everything I can give her.

  Her taste explodes into my mouth, her moans drowning out every thought in my mind. My dick pulses against my jeans, waiting anxiously to delve inside her.

  The orgasm that ripples through her makes its way into my body, like a chain reaction. Christine tries to muffle her groans, pulling the covers over her face, and, before she can come back down to Earth, I jump quickly over her, kissing her furiously. I understand what it’s done to me, seeing her like that; my only option is to transfer it directly back to her.

  I surround her body with mine, speaking to her through my gestures, caresses, kisses, before we join together once again.

  Her hands slide along my back, my arms, my shoulders; her taste is still on my lips and in my head; her breath takes away my own. />
  Just one taste, one touch, and I’m gone: disappeared, floating away.

  I’m lost. For her.

  I’m hers.

  Not anyone else’s.

  67

  Chris

  Ryan kisses me again and again. This time, it’s slow, attentive, despite the burning fury in us both. We’re taking things slowly, he doesn’t want to miss a second or a single breath – and neither do I.

  He slowly slides down my neck, my breasts, my stomach, and stops at the ugly scar I have just above my vagina.

  “Caesarean,” I tell him. “It wasn’t nice.”

  He looks up.

  “I was young, only sixteen: I was alone, so I panicked.”

  “Where were your family?”

  “No one was around that day. I had to take the bus to the hospital.”

  “And…Martin?” he asks through his teeth.

  “He was away for the weekend with his friends.”

  “Very responsible for a future father.”

  “It’s not like we planned to have a family. We were just kids, I can’t blame him for anything.”

  “And you never tried to stay together?”

  I laugh, shaking my head.

  “What?”

  “You haven’t worked it out yet, have you?”

  He shrugs.

  “Martin’s gay.”

  He jumps back onto his knees, and I laugh at the shock on his face.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me before?” he asks, angry.

  “It wasn’t relevant.”

  “Of course it was fucking relevant!”

  I keep laughing, holding my stomach, but Ryan is not amused. He grabs my thighs and pulls me towards him, then traps me between his arms, heading for my mouth.

  “You took the piss out of me. I’ll make you pay for that.”

  “You don’t scare me.”

  He tries – unsuccessfully – to stifle a laugh.

  “I already knew that.”

  His hands slide down my body, flipping me onto my front when he gets to my hips. His lips trail along my spine, setting every centimetre alight, his enormous, seductive hands following behind. Then I feel the pressure of his body on mine, the tip of his cock pushing between my legs.

  “God, Christine… what are you…?” he whispers into my back, before filling me with him once again.

  He moves slowly inside me, sliding his hands over my body and reaching round to grab my breasts in his hands. He plays with my nipples, tormenting them with his fingers as his lips brush against my neck. I turn my head just enough for him to suffocate me with his mouth, taking my breath away. He lifts me up suddenly, leaning back on his knees and pressing me against his chest.

  He keeps thrusting inside me, massaging my breasts in his hands. I move against him, overcome by passion, by the way he’s holding me close to him, by his body loving me, making me realise that it’s all real. That we’re real, and that everything he promised me is really happening.

  His hand suddenly slides between my legs. I lean my head back against his neck in pleasure. I completely let myself go to him.

  “Yeah, like that…” he whispers into my ear. “All for me.”

  His words are seductive, making push myself against him in a frenzy. Maybe it’s because I’m crazy, or maybe it’s because I’ve lost all logic – I just know that I never want him to stop.

  Ryan wraps his arms around me, as I feel him pant against my neck. His hands are everywhere, greedily demanding my body.

  “Fuck, Christine…I’m going to…” He doesn’t finish, because just seconds later I feel him explode inside me, groaning into my shoulder.

  He stays there a few minutes, holding me tightly, then grabs me by the hips and lays me out again.

  “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  He sounds like a maniac – but it has an entirely different effect on me.

  He spreads himself out next to me, sliding his fingers inside me. I stretch my legs apart for him, letting myself be taken away into a world of passion, uncontainable desire, sighs. A world of longing, for us.

  And only for us.

  He watches me as I move against his hand on the bed, and mumbles: “Your expression… Fuck, I never want to see anything else for the rest of my life. The way you come…even that makes me lose my mind.”

  His incredible fingers push in deeper, his palm brushing against my clit, as he keeps watching me, his eyes seeping with desire, waiting for my body to liberate itself.

  When I grab fistfuls of the sheet, throwing my head back, Ryan quickens his movements, suffocating me with his mouth; I let the orgasm take me into oblivion.

  He kisses me slowly, taking away my last few breaths – but it’s not enough. I bite down on his lip, grabbing his butt cheek and kissing him again, my tongue seeking out his. I pull away from him slowly, our eyes never breaking their contact.

  “We’ll never leave this room if you keep doing that,” he breathes into my lips.

  “I never want to leave,” I tell him, pulling myself up and reaching for his erection as his eyes catch light once again. I rub it, moving my hand up and down, watching him, before taking it between my lips and sliding my lips around it as deeply as I can.

  Ryan abandons himself underneath me, powerless, as I hold him hostage. I want him to be a slave to me and everything I can give him. I watch his expression, the rise and fall of his chest, his tensing abs, his hands pulling at the bedsheet. I watch the excitement grow, pulsing through his veins.

  But then he grabs my shoulders, flipping us upside-down and stretching himself over me.

  It looks like he wants to play games.

  “As much as I like seeing your mouth all over me, I can’t help myself,” he says, penetrating me once again.

  And we continue like this, until we’re both out of breath, collapsing on top of each other.

  Until I fall asleep, exhausted, with my head on his chest, soothed by the beating of his heart, beating as quickly as my own.

  68

  Ryan

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, go for it.”

  “You and Martin…well, why?” I ask her, as she makes us coffees in her café. The coffee machine, thankfully, is still in one piece.

  I brought her here after taking Evan to school. She has an appointment with the insurance company and I should really be on my way to training – I’m already late, and after skipping a few days, the coach’ll kick my arse.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Everything, for fuck’s sake. Last night I didn’t want to push it – we were busy with something else – but this morning her words started to take shape in my mind. A strange desire to hear everything about him and her is gnawing away at my insides.

  “You told me he’s gay.”

  Christine hands me a cup of coffee and jumps onto the counter.

  “He didn’t know back then, he hadn’t realised yet. He was confused.”

  “You don’t say,” I say, taking a few sips, worsening the burning sensation in my stomach.

  “We went out for a while, we had sex… It was the first time for both of us, and after almost two months I realised I was pregnant. When I told him, he confessed that he’d realised he was gay.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “My parents lost their shit. He lost his shit and…well, you know me by now.”

  I smile.

  “There was no sense in trying to be a family. He didn’t want me. But he was always there for Evan, and that was what counted.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” she says, avoiding my gaze. “I was just a girl, I was so scared, and I suddenly found myself with a baby in my arms. There were a few really difficult years where I thought I couldn’t do it, where I thought I’d only mess everything up even more… And that’s kind of what happened. I’m hardly a model parent.”

  “I think you’re amazing,” I say impul
sively.

  “I’m really not. Sometimes I ask myself how he turned out so well.”

  “I’m sure you did your best.”

  “I tried. I dropped out before the last year of school – it wasn’t the best decision…but I got my secondary school diploma after doing evening classes at college. Then I found this job. At first, my parents helped out a lot, but when Evan started school, I wanted to try and do it by myself. I worked here, which meant I could afford an apartment. It was nothing special: a bedroom, a kitchen-living room, and a bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Ours,” she says, looking at me in embarrassment. “We didn’t have much, but everything we had came from us,” she says, with a sense of pride in her voice that I can only envy.

  “A few years ago, I took over here. The owner was retiring and now it’s all mine. Thanks to the café, I could afford a mortgage from the bank, and now we have a decent house to live in.”

  “And Martin? Didn’t he help you out with all this?”

  “Martin helped us when we asked him for it. Medical bills, school uniforms, books…all the things Evan needed.”

  “He could’ve done more,” I say, feeling the burning feeling worsen again.

  “I didn’t need him for that.”

  Jesus, what a woman.

  “You’re not used to asking for help, are you?”

  She shrugs.

  “It’s necessary sometimes, you know.”

  “I’d rather do it on my own.”

  “You must be so proud of yourself.”

  “I’ve never done anything special.”

  “Are you kidding? When I was sixteen, I was still being pushed around by the school bully.”

  “You?” She looks at me, incredulous.

  “I was nothing like I am now. My brothers always had to run to my rescue.”

  “You make a great team,” she says, smiling.

  “Yeah, we do. But I was the youngest, the weakest, the one who always had to prove himself to them,” I say without thinking.

  Christine slides off the counter and comes over to me. She wraps her arms around my neck and smiles.