by Penny Reid
Because William and Sean weren’t alone.
“Bryan,” I said on a gasp, drawing three sets of eyes to me. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were wide and surprised as he took in my appearance, trailing over my high heels, bare legs, and form-fitting silk dress. Self-consciously, I glanced at myself again, tugging on the hem.
Bryan’s voice was distracted; as though he were talking to himself, he began, “Holy sh—”
“You look great.” William stepped in front of his teammate and gave me a warm, if sedate, smile.
I frowned at William, then at Bryan—or what I could see of him behind William—then at Sean, who was inspecting my ceiling.
My frown deepened. “What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Sean chirped, imbuing his tone with forced lightness, “I just thought since you were going out, Patrick, Bryan, and I could have a men’s night in. You know, go through the latest Dolce & Gabbana catalogue, play a friendly game of Mario Kart, teach Patrick how to hook in a scrum. The usual.”
Glaring at my cousin and his fake expression of innocence, I released a pained sigh. “Sean, you should have discussed this with me first.”
“Ah, I thought he had.” Bryan sidestepped William, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry, I can go.”
Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I steadied myself, because his voice sent prickles racing over my skin.
His words from earlier in the week assaulted me.
I can’t stop thinking about you . . .
When I felt prepared, I turned my attention to Bryan. His expression was truly repentant and concerned.
The sight of him, dressed so casually in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, his hair tousled like he hadn’t yet brushed it, his jaw shaded with two days’ stubble, shouldn’t have made my chest tight and achy. But it did. He did.
My heart melted and I sighed again, waving away his offer. “No. It’s . . . it’s fine.”
Bryan stepped completely around William and crossed to me, ducking his head as he caught my eyes and giving me a small, earnest smile. My insides twisted and rearranged themselves into chaotic knots.
“Hey. It’s no problem,” he said soothingly. “I thought Sean had cleared it with you, but no big deal. I can go. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, in any case. I can wait.”
“No. Don’t do that. You should stay and visit with Patrick.” I gave Bryan a quick, tight smile, and walked around him, moving sightlessly to the door and saying to Sean, “I already said goodnight to Patrick. I’ll . . . see you later.”
I felt the weight and warmth of a big hand on my back as William leaned in and whispered, “You really do look great.”
I smiled up at him. “Thanks.”
“Have fun,” my cousin said, shoving my jacket at me, his features unrepentant as I glared at him from the corner of my eye. To William, he added, “But not too much fun.”
* * *
We did have fun.
Instead of organizing his closet, we went to dinner, and then to a nearby club for a few drinks—we both had tonic water, no gin.
William didn’t talk much, but he did ask a lot of questions. However, when I asked him about himself, he wasn’t especially vociferous with his answers.
“Where are you from in the States?”
“Oklahoma.”
“Oh. I’ve never been to Oklahoma. Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” he hedged. “Where did you go to school?”
“Uh, Boston. I love Boston.”
“Tell me.”
So I did.
And that pretty much summed up our night.
He wasn’t a talker, but he was a great listener. He was still asking questions even as he walked me to my door.
“What was Sean like growing up?” he asked, opening the door to my building and placing his hand on the small of my back.
“Oh, ha ha.” I shook my head, my grin automatic. “Basically the same as he is now.”
“Really?”
“Yes. When he was eight, all he wanted for Christmas was an Italian suit.”
William chuckled, insomuch as William chuckled, and blinked once slowly. “I believe it.”
“Actually,” I corrected, “he was also obsessed with the SkyMall catalogue. He loves gadgets, which is great for me because I always know what to get him. The odder the gadget, the more he’ll love it.”
“Like what?”
“Um, let’s see. Like a waffle maker that also warms your maple syrup.”
“That’s not that odd. That’s awesome.”
“Okay, then how about a serenity cat pod?” I withdrew my keys and faced the door to my apartment, half-hoping, half-despairing that Bryan was already gone.
“A what?”
“A pod with mood lighting that makes purring sounds and vibrates. It’s like a little bed, but more modern, for your cat.”
“He doesn’t have a cat.”
“Doesn’t matter. He would’ve loved it.”
I pushed open the door, my eyes still on William and his smile. It was the largest grin he’d given me all night and it lit up his whole face, made his rigid angles soften.
“You didn’t get it?” he asked, lingering in the hall.
“No, sadly. It cost a thousand euros.”
“A thousand euros?” William echoed, disbelief dripping from the words.
“What cost a thousand euros?”
I glanced over my shoulder and stiffened, backing up a step on instinct.
Bryan was still there. And he was yawning, like he’d been asleep, pulling his hand through his messy hair.
“A cat pod,” William answered easily, shaking his head. “Sean wants a cat pod for Christmas.”
“Why?” Bryan’s voice was roughened with sleep, and his eyes bounced between us. “I thought he liked dogs?”
William stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think we should get it for him.”
“I agree.” Bryan strolled forward, a smirk tugging his full mouth to one side. His eyes slid to me and they heated. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said, taking another automatic step away from him, my back connecting with the wall just inside my apartment.
Bryan continued to advance until he stood next to me, his gaze moving over my body unabashedly, but saying nothing.
A long, awkward moment stretched, where we all swapped increasingly uncomfortable stares but nothing was said. Or maybe just my stare was uncomfortable. Heat crawled up my cheeks and my heart beat menacingly between my ears. I couldn’t think of what to say as one tortuous minute became two.
Finally, finally William reached for my hand, drawing my attention to him. “Thanks for tonight.” He tugged me forward and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek, saying, “You’re good people, Eilish.”
“Thank you, William.” I smiled softly as he released my hand. He stepped back into the hall.
“I’ll see you Monday,” William said, his warm brown eyes still on mine.
But before I could respond, Bryan said, “Yep. She’ll see you Monday.” And shut the door.
My mouth fell open and I stared at Bryan—shocked, horrified by his rudeness—when I heard a low rumbly laugh, a full belly laugh, from beyond the door and William calling, “Let him have it, Eilish.”
Bryan grinned down at me, his green eyes dancing with amusement.
“Are you going to let me have it?” he teased, and made the question sound unequivocally scandalous.
I gathered a deep breath for patience, my attention moving to the ceiling as I quietly appealed to a higher power, and marched past him into the living room. “No. And you can leave now.”
“I’m sorry.” Bryan shadowed me. I felt his presence close at my back. “Us lads on the team, we’re always giving each other shite.”
Ignoring his shoddy excuse and his apology, I turned to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, turning on the tap. “Is Sean here?”
“No. He left an hour ago,” Bry
an whispered.
I nodded tightly, realizing all at once it was very dark. And, besides a sleeping Patrick on the other side of the apartment, we were alone.
In the dark.
My heart did a flip.
I gulped my water too fast. It dribbled down my chin and onto my dress.
“Oh, hey.” Bryan stepped into my space as I moved the glass away; he wiped gently at my chin with his thumb, his fingers curling around my neck. “Will didn’t get you soused, did he?”
I shook my head, my eyes flickering to his, then away. I couldn’t hold his gaze. And he was too close. And touching me.
In the dark.
How did I get here?
Again, the moment stretched. Rather than uncomfortable, it felt . . . ripe with anticipation. I couldn’t think, and I blamed the weight of his eyes on me, the heat from his hand on my neck, warming my blood. I could barely breathe.
How did I get here?
I’d been so careful.
So careful.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still touching me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“What for?” The question was out before I could catch it.
“For so many things. For not asking you out at Will’s party months ago, because I wanted to. For not kissing you back, because I really wanted to. But mostly,” he paused for a moment, his thumb sweeping along my jaw. “Mostly for ever making you think you are anything other than magnificent and unforgettable.”
Oh.
Well, then.
“I’m not dating William.” I blurted and closed my eyes, attempted to distance myself as the raucous chaos of my mind echoed in the beating of my heart.
“You’re not?” He sounded surprised.
“No. I’m not.”
What am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING?
“But you two just—”
“As friends.” I swallowed the last word, balling my hands into fists.
He said nothing, but something shifted. His breathing maybe?
I opened my eyes to find he’d moved closer. Our chests brushed. My breath hitched. I lifted my gaze and he ensnared it. It was dark, but this close I could see him. I watched as some internal conflict raged within him, his glare darting over my face.
And then suddenly he wrapped an arm around my waist, crushed my body to his, and growled, “Fuck it,” just as his mouth claimed mine.
17
@THEBryanLeech to @WillthebrickhouseMoore: You up?
@WillthebrickhouseMoore to @THEBryanLeech: New phone who dis?
@THEBryanLeech to @WillthebrickhouseMoore: Ha ha. I forgot my keys. Let me in.
@WillthebrickhouseMoore to @THEBryanLeech: What’s the magic word?
*Bryan*
My houseplant was still alive. Safe at home. Watered just this afternoon.
I could let myself have this, have her. I could . . .
God.
Why did she have to feel so good? I’d been born with an addictive personality, so when a woman felt as amazing as Eilish, I was pretty much screwed—and no woman had ever felt like Eilish. Touching her was a losing battle, and I surrendered willingly.
She let out a shaky sigh when I moved my mouth from hers to the hollow of her neck, sucking and licking at the tender spot, trying to consume every inch of her. I felt frantic, like time was running out and I might not ever get this chance again.
I wanted more of her sighs. Louder. I wanted her to say my name, for it to be the only name she uttered.
I slid my arms around her waist again, pulled her body flush to mine, and pressed my mouth to hers, this time deeper, opening her. She melted for me, just like I’d fantasized. The fabric of her dress was so fucking thin that I could feel her nipples brushing hard against my chest. It drove me wild.
“Bryan,” she murmured, my name a breathy sigh on her lips.
Say it again.
She was letting me kiss her. Not only that, she was responding. She wanted this. Wanted me.
I wasn’t going to push. I was going to take things slow, even though I could have us both naked in a matter of seconds. I needed to behave, and yet, my hands traveled down, down, down until they reached her thighs. Without thinking I lifted her, and her legs went around my waist.
Not once breaking our kiss, I carried her out of the kitchen to the living room, lowering her to the couch, and settled between her open legs. I was hard as a rock. Her breath hitched and she went quiet for a second, just . . . feeling me. A soft, desperate moan escaped her. I clenched my jaw and gently rocked my hips; my cock nestled right at the center of her warmth. I was desperate, but not just because I’d been celibate for so long.
I was desperate for her.
My hands shook.
I broke away long enough to breathe, “I want you,” and then I was on her again.
“I want you, too,” she whispered on an exhale. I felt twenty feet tall, invincible.
We kissed for ages. Her dress had bunched over her hips but otherwise we remained fully clothed. Bizarrely, it was enough. I could’ve kissed her for hours.
I cupped her face in my hands as I devoured her, trying not to think about her long, bare legs wrapped over mine. I didn’t touch her there. I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to maintain my control. Tilting her neck, I bit and soothed her soft skin, drunk on the feel and taste of her. I opened my eyes and her cheeks were flushed, her neck exposed, her eyes still closed. She was completely lost to this, to us. So was I.
I rocked against her body again and my balls tightened. I could come at any second. I’d hardly even touched her and I was going to blow my fucking load in my pants. Judging by the noises she was making, Eilish was just as turned on as I was.
“Please,” she mewled as I bent to her neck once more and moved downward, planting kisses over her cleavage, dying at the sight of her tight little nipples straining against her dress and begging for my mouth. I looked up. Her red hair was spread around her head like a wild halo. She was beautiful. Fierce. Glorious.
I couldn’t help it. I bit down hard on her nipple through her dress and she let out a startled moan. I smiled and sucked the silky fabric into my mouth as she writhed beneath me. Her eyes were open wide now, gazing at me with lust and want. Her chest rose and fell fast, her skin pebbled with goose pimples. I moved my hips again, thrusting my erection against her, and she shook abruptly.
“Bryan!” My name left her lips on a sharp breath.
Fuuuuck.
Eilish’s entire body trembled as I gazed up at her darkly. I bit down on her nipple again. She sighed and I recognized the look of pleasurable contentment on her face.
She’d come.
I made her come without even taking her clothes off. Jesus. She was all docile and compliant when I took her mouth in another kiss, thrusting against her, drawing out her orgasm. I liked her like this—open, needful, soft.
How the hell had I forgotten her? Forgotten this?
I took her into my arms, sitting back on the couch, and she came willingly, curling up in my lap like a satisfied kitten. I couldn’t stop kissing her, my own need to come suddenly less urgent. In that moment, I was too obsessed with her. Usually, she was closed off, locked up tight, but now she was giving me something rare: vulnerability. Trust.
Our kiss was deep at first, but then slowly tapered off into little pecks and nips. Her lips were red and bruised. Her hands trailed over the corded muscles in my neck, down my shoulders and back. Her tender touch was loving, cherishing, gentle.
When was the last time I’d been touched like this?
Had I ever been touched like this?
Christ, I sounded like a teenage girl.
I wanted her.
Her touches made a new fire in my veins, building to a frenzy, and soon I could barely breathe with how badly I wanted her. Although I would have loved nothing more than to carry Eilish upstairs to her room and make love to her for the rest of the night, I couldn’t.
Not yet.
She would fee
l overwhelmed in the morning. Regretful, even. The idea of her regretting anything that happened between us from here on out terrified me. I wanted this to work, and for that to happen I needed to take it slow. And not just for her. For me, too. A relationship—a sober relationship—was uncharted territory for me. I’d pushed her in the locker room, sent her running away. I wouldn’t make the same mistake tonight. I didn’t want to test her boundaries before I knew for certain what was going on with us.
I needed to leave.
And if I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t.
“I should go,” I told her between kisses. Her eyes were closed again. I loved how lost she was in me.
“Hmm?”
“It’s late, love. I should go home,” I said again, my voice tight, my words at odds with my actions because I didn’t stop kissing her. My hands squeezed her hips.
“Go?” she murmured and finally opened those beautiful eyes. She tilted her head, confused.
“Yes. Go,” I repeated between clenched teeth.
Eilish seemed to remember herself because she flinched, breaking away and tugging on her skirt. “No, you’re right, it’s late.”
I watched her with a sinking sense of frustration as her beautiful flush of contentment and pleasure became one of embarrassment.
“Hey,” I whispered, cupping her cheek. “I’m not going to push you into doing something you’ll regret in the morning.”
Her eyes flickered back and forth between mine.
Say you want me to stay.
Say you wouldn’t regret it.
Say you never could.
She didn’t. She only nodded and answered in a trembling voice, “Uh-huh. Okay. Sure.”
I paused, just a second, a luxurious moment of hesitation during which I indulged myself in the feel of her under my fingertips—her warmth, her smell. Maybe I would stay. Maybe I’d hike up her skirt and touch her, pull down her underwear and taste her.
Jesus fucking Christ.
My lungs ached when I stood, my every pore repelled by the idea of leaving her now when she was so ready for me. But I had to. I wasn’t the same man I was when we first met. I was an adult now. I was a parent for Christ’s sake. And I was going to show some restraint . . . even if it fucking killed me.