Ripple (Persy & Sully) (Seaside Valleria #2)

by Marianne Knightly

  His heart started beating faster. She was opening up to him; he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “What about her?”

  “Her smile. Her l-laugh.” She took a bracing breath. “Then…then the way she looked that last night.”

  He took a deep breath himself. “What was her name, honey?”

  She curled tighter against him and shook her head.

  His voice was low and gruff. “What was her name?”

  “M-Molly.” Her breath caught. “Her name was Molly.”

  He felt the tears against his chest. “That’s a pretty name.”

  “The first time I saw her, I thought ‘Molly’ and so she was.”

  He kissed her head, his hand still stroking while she let the tears out. He kept stroking even after they stopped, and her body eventually relaxed into sleep again. He kept stroking until the sun began to peek into the room through the gap in his curtains. Only then did he stop stroking and follow her into sleep.

  Chapter Five

  The scent of coffee invaded her sleeping mind first. It tickled her nostrils enough that she stretched. Her covers were particularly comfortable this morning and she didn’t want to get up, but she liked the smell of that coffee.

  Her eyes shot open. The ease of morning was destroyed in a split second as last night came back in glaring color.

  “Oh God.” She turned her head, burying her face against the pillow, and slid further under the covers. Maybe she could hide here. Hiding here for the rest of her life sounded good.

  Except she was in Sully’s apartment, not her own. She couldn’t stay here forever.

  She’d told him about Molly. For the first time in years, she’d even said her name out loud. It had felt like a slash against a festering wound. She hadn’t been allowed to say it after she’d died. Why was it so hard to say the names of the dead when they passed?

  Now, in the light of day, she was glad she had. Molly shouldn’t be hidden away and forgotten. People should know about her little girl.

  Last night, she’d just felt after years of feeling practically nothing except in passion. At dinner, in his living room, in his bed after a nightmare.

  Oh God, that nightmare.

  How many times had she relived it in sleep, that awful, terrible night and the morning that followed when her life had changed? When she’d still been married and had these nightmares, her husband just left the bed. He didn’t comfort her. He didn’t hold her like Sully had. Even if she’d cried in front of someone, they’d just told her she was to blame, and she shouldn’t cry. Eventually she’d just hidden her pain—and any emotion, really—from the world. Looking back, she saw that maybe her ex just had too much of his own pain and couldn’t handle hers on top of it. She’d thought he’d be stronger than that.

  She’d been wrong.

  So now, after revealing so much last night, her first inclination was still to hide.

  “Honey?”

  Her body froze.

  Steady steps were followed by the bed shifting under the weight of his body. Even without seeing, she could sense he’d put a hand beside her and leaned into her. When he rubbed his other hand over her head, she scrunched her eyes tightly closed.

  “I can tell you’re awake. Did you have another nightmare?”

  She shook her head, but still couldn’t face him yet. God, his voice was so sweet. Why was he so sweet?

  He pushed some of the covers back. “Persy?”

  She knew it was foolish to hide, but she just needed some time before facing him. She wasn’t used to a man being so comforting; since she’d never really had that, she wasn’t sure how to act.

  Would he judge her for how she’d acted or what she’d revealed?

  He hadn’t last night, and it didn’t seem like he was this morning.

  Would he see her differently, as less or somehow wanting?

  Was he strong enough to help her? She’d already had a man who wasn’t and had no desire to relive it. There were times, like now, when he was being so gentle, that showed he might. There were other times, such as during sex, where he’d shown a control she liked and a tendency to put her first.

  So he could be the man she needed, but she wasn’t ready to decide it after such an emotional night, especially since he might be leaving Valleria anyway.

  He was stroking her back now, like he’d done after her nightmare. “All right. You take your time and come out when you’re ready. I’m going to get breakfast started. It’s still early, not even eight, and there’s no rush. All right?”

  He kissed her head, and the bed shifted as he got up. She should say something, but she couldn’t.

  And now she also felt like a coward.

  The door clicked shut, and she popped one eye open to make sure the room was empty before she sighed and flopped onto her back. She stared up at his bland, white ceiling, in the largest, comfiest bed she’d ever been in, and just let her mind relax.

  After five minutes, she realized this was a fruitless effort.

  She sighed again and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. With her head resting on her knees, she glanced over at Sully’s side of the bed. He was on the right side, she on the left. They’d never had a discussion about who was on which side. She and her ex’d had one on their wedding night—he was an adamant lefty—so she’d just accommodated him. Sully’d been on the right side when she’d come out from the bathroom last night. Even after so many years sleeping on the right, she didn’t have any issues sleeping on the left.

  Maybe it didn’t really matter which side you slept on, as long as you were sleeping with the right person.

  She brushed a hand over the rumpled sheets on his side, then over his pillow, still depressed with a vague shape of his head. She pulled the pillow towards her, inhaling the scent of him: the lingering trail of cologne mixed with something musky and familiar. He always smelled good.

  But the real thing was better than a pillow.

  She took a deep breath, then got off the bed. His shirt barely covered the bottom of her bum, but since they’d seen each other naked—a lot—it seemed silly to feel shy now.

  She’d opened the bedroom door before she thought about how her hair must look and that she should probably wash her face, but she needed to face him before the day. Once she got that over with, she’d feel calmer.

  She walked into the kitchen to find him looking too sexy, shirtless with his hair disheveled and clad only in form-fitting boxers. He was in front of the stove, shifting something in a skillet.

  Her eyes bugged out as she saw what he was making, and she completely forgot to be worried about facing him. “Is that a full Irish? I can’t eat all that. I don’t even know if you could eat all that.”

  He grinned, turned the stove down, then pulled her into his arms and laid a hot, wet kiss on her that had her body tingling between her legs. “Morning, honey.”

  “Um, morning.”

  “How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Persy.”

  “No, really. I’m not trying to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.”

  His voice was gentle. “Then what was that in the bedroom?”

  She tried to look away, but he tipped her chin back up.

  “Honey?”

  “I just…”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He was silent for a few moments, then let go. “All right.”

  When he turned back to the food, she wished he’d hold her again. She liked that. They’d never really done that before, unless it was during sex, but this was different.

  It was nice and gentle. She missed that. She missed a man being nice and gentle to her.

  Her husband, in the end, hadn’t been very nice, and definitely not gentle.

  His eyes on various pans on the stove, he didn’t look at her when he spoke. “It’s not a full Irish, but you need something hearty. You didn’t eat much last night.”

  She s
wallowed. If he remembered how much she ate, he probably remembered everything else. Not that it was something so easily forgotten.

  He still didn’t look at her while he pushed tomatoes and mushrooms around one pan, then sausage in the other. “You want tea or coffee?”

  “I’m sorry.” She’d just blurted it out. She wasn’t sure why, but it was out there now.

  He turned to her, one hand still moving food around, his other hand on his hip, his brows furrowed. “Why are you apologizing?”

  She rolled her hands in the air as she tried to come up with the right words. “For, for, crying and getting upset last night?”

  He turned dials on the stove completely off and cupped her face. “Honey, you were sharing something deeply personal and tragic. There’s nothing wrong with being upset. Is that why you were hiding from me this morning? Because you were upset again and didn’t want me to see?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Why? I’m not going to push you, but you can trust me. You’re safe here.”

  Safe. When you lived a life alone, it was hard to feel truly safe with anyone. “I was ashamed.”

  He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Of what?”

  “Of getting emotional last night, and then waking you up last night, too.”

  His eyes got deeper, more intense, but his words were careful. “Honey, did someone make you feel ashamed when Molly died?”

  Her breath caught. He’d said Molly’s name! It sounded sweet on his lips.

  Moisture pooled in her eyes. “Yes.”

  He tugged her into his arms, which were warm and strong around her, and she could hear the comforting beat of his heart through his chest. She scrunched her eyes closed and managed to stave off the tears, at least this time.

  He shifted to rest his cheek on her head. “Who made you feel that way, honey?”

  “Everyone,” she whispered and tightened her arms around him. Visions flipped in her head like pages in a book, one after the other, of the people who’d made her feel like she couldn’t grieve, couldn’t feel.

  “Honey.”

  He didn’t say anything more, didn’t ask anything more, and she was grateful.

  They stood like that for several minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms. She didn’t want to move, and he didn’t seem in a hurry, either. Only when a timer on the stove beeped did he kiss her head and twist so he could turn it off along with the oven.

  “I need to get the soda bread out of the oven.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You made soda bread.”

  “I’m a good cook. Had to learn so I could feed my sisters while my ma was at work.”

  “Oh.”

  He brushed her lips with his. “You want tea or coffee?”

  What she needed was some time to herself to settle. Though Sully didn’t seem to mind her expressing emotion, it was still something new to her. “Tea. Is it all right if I have a shower before breakfast?”

  “Of course. You good with the clothes you’ve got, or do you want me to run over to your place and pick up something for you?”

  He’d do it, too; he wasn’t one to make a suggestion like that without following up on it. “Um, my clothes from last night are fine, though I wouldn’t mind stopping by my place after breakfast.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. Let me know if you need anything.” He leaned down to kiss her.

  In that moment, she realized she didn’t need to be alone to settle. Here was a man who hadn’t turned her away, not when she’d told him about Molly, not when she’d cried about her either.

  Right now, all she needed was just him.

  She deepened the kiss, pulling him flush against her.

  He moaned, and she felt that like a wave of heat over her body. Her hands moved up his chest to wrap around his neck and she hitched up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  One of his hands went to her ass, dipping inside her underwear, while the other cradled her neck.

  He moved her to sit on the counter, then shifted his hands to the front of her, rubbing her in that perfect spot.

  Her head tipped back, eyes closed. “Sully.”

  “You want this?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Open your eyes and tell me.”

  She blinked her eyes open and caught him assessing her. He was being nice again, she realized. He didn’t want to take advantage of her.

  What he didn’t realize was that she wanted to take advantage of him.

  “I want this.” She cupped his cheeks. “I want you, Sully.”

  After a moment, he nodded and pulled her panties down, tossing them aside. He spread her legs wide and knelt.

  “Sully.”

  “Shhh,” he whispered against her leg. “Take what I give you, honey.”

  She wanted him inside her, pounding away, but nodded.

  He licked her slit, causing her to lean back on her elbows. He moved her legs over his shoulders and dipped his finger inside her.

  “You’re so fucking wet. I love the way you light up for me.”

  She clenched at the word ‘love’ then tensed in a different way when he added another finger inside her.

  Her hips started moving, searching for what she wanted, needed. She fell back on the counter, her back arching.

  He added his mouth, then his thumb against her clit.

  She was close, so close.

  When he dipped a third finger in, stretching her in a painfully delicious way, she dug her heels into his back. Her hands reached out for something grab, but all she felt was the cool, marbled counter.

  “Sully.”

  One of his hands slipped under her shirt to her breast and tweaked her nipple. It was all she needed to push her over the edge.

  She exploded, startling herself when a sharp cry—her sharp cry—burst through the air.

  “Milk my finger, just like you do when it’s my cock. That’s it.”

  She was rolling her head from side-to-side as one orgasm drifted into another.

  Finally, her body calmed, her panting breath slowing to gasps.

  He kissed the inside of her thigh, then moved up, shifting the shirt up with him. He spent some time at her belly. When she glanced down at him, he was kissing her stretch marks.

  God.

  It was so easy to forget during sex. It was why she’d had one-night stands since her divorce. She couldn’t think about anything but the good she was feeling.

  Then, right afterward, she’d always felt ashamed. Ashamed that she’d wanted to forget the pain and loneliness, even for just a few minutes.

  Sully had been different. Since their first time together, she hadn’t felt that same sense of shame from meaningless sex. Because it hadn’t been meaningless, not to her. It’s why she agreed to another night with him, then another, and another.

  She’d never spent a night with a guy more than once since her divorce, not until Sully.

  He didn’t make her feel as meaningless as the sex was, as others before him had done. He didn’t take what he wanted without bothering with her pleasure; he always took care of her, always, before he took care of himself.

  And now he was kissing her stretch marks reverently, gently. Preciously.

  She hadn’t felt precious to anyone in a very long time. “Kiss me.”

  He glanced up, then continued up her body until their lips were barely a breath apart. She could smell herself on his lips and she liked that. She never liked that sort of thing before, but she did with him.

  She pulled him closer with her legs, now wrapped tight around his waist. Her fingers fisted in his thick, dark hair. “Kiss me.”

  His hands were roaming down her legs, his touch causing shivers across her cooling skin. His lips descended, the tangy taste of her mixed with the heady taste of him.

  Her hands grazed his body, reaching down, down, down until she encountered the impressive tent in his boxers. She started rubbing his cock, and he pu
lled away.

  “No, honey.”

  “Why? I want to.”

  He cupped her between the legs. “This wasn’t about my pleasure; it was about yours.”

  God, he was sweet. “But—”

  He kissed her protest away and she let him. Damn the man. One kiss and her brain went fuzzy.

  “Not saying no. Just saying not right now. We’ll have time later.” He kissed her again, then helped her down. She staggered a little, but he was there to catch her.

  “Take a shower. I’ll finish up breakfast in the meantime.”

  She trailed a finger down the center of his chest and abs, stopping just short of the happy trail under his belly button. “You could join me in the shower.”

  His eyes heated. “Another time.”

  The back of her mind wondered if he, knowing a bit of her past, still found her attractive.

  No. He’d been—and technically still was—hard for her, and he’d made it clear last night that wasn’t the case. She’d just have to try harder to believe him.

  “I want you,” he said, as if reading her mind. He did that, she noticed, and it unnerved her. “I want your body. I want my cock in your body, and in multiple places both in or on your body.”

  Her eyes widened. “Multiple?”

  One of his hands tugged her against him, while the other roamed her skin, pausing at various places. “Your pussy, for one.”

  She gasped as his finger slipped easily inside, as she was still so wet for him. She grabbed onto his shoulders for support, her short nails digging in to keep hold.

  His finger slipped out, and his hand roamed up her front to pause between her breasts. “I want my cock here, too. I want to fuck your breasts, then come all over them.”

  She felt spasms in four places.

  His hand continued up, emerging at the neck of her shirt, and his wet finger slid into her mouth. “I want your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, sucking it dry. Suck my finger. Suck it like you would my cock.”

  She moaned and did as he demanded.

  “Fuck, Persy, yes.”

  She felt his cock between her legs as he rubbed her back and forth through his thin boxers.

  He slipped his finger out with a pop, and slid his hand around her body and over her ass.