Ryan (O'Connor Brothers Book 2)

by A. S. Kelly

  32

  Chris

  I say goodbye to Leah and Brad, flipping the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, and pull the door shut, turning the key in the lock. I watch the rain fall out of the window, and sigh dejectedly at the fact that I have to close up alone, yet again. Vic had a day off, so Leah and Brad worked a double shift – I didn’t want to keep them overtime, so it’s up to me to roll my sleeves up and get home. Even though I have no one waiting for me there: Evan’s staying at his dad’s tonight.

  I turn, deciding to get started, but a noise against the glass almost gives me a heart attack. I spin around to see his damn face at the window – beautiful, even in the rain. But still the same old dickhead.

  I have no intention of letting him in, or talking to him. Letting him treat me like an idiot again. Letting him feel like he makes an ounce of difference to my life. Letting myself be flustered by him and his apparent bipolar disorder.

  I gesture at him to go away, but he doesn’t move.

  “Open the door,” I hear his muffled voice through the glass.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I just want to talk, okay?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “How about I speak and you listen?”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Please, Christine, it’s raining.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I want to apologise for yesterday.”

  “You can do it from out there.”

  “Come on. Please open the door?”

  I scoff and step towards him. I turn the key and let him in.

  “There, was that so bad?”

  I already regret opening that door.

  “Say what you have to say and then piss off. I have loads to do and I want to get home.”

  He closes the door behind him and slowly approaches me. I instinctively take a few steps backwards, until I feel the counter pressing against my back.

  “S-so?” I stutter, feeling my confidence dwindle.

  “The other night…I don’t know.”

  “That’s your apology?”

  “Just give me a minute, okay? It’s not easy.”

  “What? Admitting you’ve been an arsehole?”

  “Don’t start.”

  “You started it – whatever it is.”

  “Me?” he raises his voice. “You think I want to fight with you every time I see you?”

  “It sure seems like it.”

  “Well, I can assure you that I don’t.”

  “Go away, Ryan. Let’s just both pretend that you said sorry and I forgave you. Let’s end it here.” I say, my patience gone, as I head through to the back of the café, leaving him in the main room. I don’t want to waste any more time arguing with him, getting myself all worked up.

  I stack the dishes onto the shelves, wiping down the worktop, then put the final load into the dishwasher.

  “Could we try talking without jumping down each other’s throats?” My body shakes at the sound of his voice, for no real reason. “Christine…this makes no sense. We got off on the wrong foot right from the start, from the first day I came in here. And I don’t even know why.”

  “Maybe we just wind each other up.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly what it is,” he says, but his voice lowers into a tone that gives me goosebumps.

  I feel him stepping closer, smell his scent diffusing around the room, overpowering everything – including my senses.

  “Christine…”

  His breath is on my neck, his voice against my skin. My name falls seductively from his lips.

  His hands are sliding slowly over my shoulders.

  Oh my God, those hands. Shivers are trembling through me. My own breath starts to suffocate me; his closeness consumes me.

  “It’s better if you just go,” I tell him, because if he stays this close to me, I could make a huge mistake. The sort of mistake that not even two bottles of wine can erase.

  “Believe me, I want to,” he whispers.

  “So what are you waiting for?” I say, unconvinced, my legs shaking.

  His hands stop tormenting me, and he places them on the counter in front of us.

  “I don’t know,” he breathes into my ear. “I shouldn’t be here. This is the last place I should be.”

  He’s right. He shouldn’t be here – there’s no reason for him to be. But the thought of him walking out that door and leaving me again terrorises me.

  None of this makes any sense – not in my head, and definitely not in his – but I want it anyway. And he does, too.

  “I can’t leave.”

  It’s only when he murmurs these words that I realise just how much I desperately wanted to hear them.

  He takes his hands off the counter and moves them towards my legs – I can feel their heat before he’s even touched me. He wraps his hands around my thighs, and just the pressure of his fingers makes me tremble. He slides slowly up until he reaches the hem of my dress, hesitating for a moment before he continues.

  A breath I’d been holding for far too long escapes my lips in a burst.

  “Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, still in that voice. And hell, yes: I want him all over me.

  His hands continue their journey, brushing against my flesh. They’re huge hands – hands that take without asking. Hands that make you forget who the hell you are. They slide along the small of my back, along the top of my buttocks.

  “Should I stop?” he asks, his breathing heavy.

  Jesus, don’t you dare.

  I shake my head firmly.

  He grabs my butt. Squeezes. Imprints his touch onto my skin, demanding.

  Ryan O’Connor is a man who is not used to asking permission.

  His hands slide to my front, his fingers reaching for my panties under the counter.

  “God, Christine…”

  If I cry out now, he’ll think he’s hurt me but God…those hands.

  He pulls me into him, pushing his erection against my buttocks.

  “I want to fuck you,” he says brazenly, suddenly, laying it out on the table.

  He trails along the seam of my panties and something stirs inside me. I don’t cry out, but I’m pretty damn close.

  “And you want it, too,” he says assuredly, as his fingers keep tormenting me.

  I can’t even remember the last time a man touched me like this.

  He plays around with the elastic of my underwear, slipping it out from under my dress. I feel the fabric brushing against my hyper-sensitive skin, his fingers trailing them down; the feeling of being in his hands, him wanting me so much that he can’t control himself.

  I can feel it everywhere: his desire. It’s suffocating me.

  Nobody has ever wanted me like this.

  “Now.”

  “H-here?” I stammer, lost in the moment. I’m drunk on him: his scent, his hands, his heat, his body, and what I can feel under his jeans.

  “Right against this fucking counter.”

  His voice, his tone, his breath.

  My body’s going up in flames, and he’s only just touched me. I’ll be burned alive by the end of the day.

  My panties are down by my ankles, and I instinctively lift my feet to kick them away.

  I’m shameless. Thoughtless.

  And I want him. Now.

  I hear the rustling of buttons being undone, jeans sliding down his legs; and then I feel the heat of his penis against my skin. I push my hips into him, wanting him to take me right now, without wasting any more time.

  He lifts one of my hips with his hand. I feel the tip of his penis pressing into me.

  “Please tell me you’re on the pill.”

  I could explode with joy. “Yes,” I murmur, holding back.

  And then I don’t say any more. I don’t think, I don’t breathe: I’m not there.

  Because Ryan O’Connor empties me out completely, filling me up with him.

  He pushes in as deeply as
possible, without restraint. My brain switches off, as my body flares up with desire from the contact.

  He grabs my waist and pushes in again, forcefully and confidently. I lean over the counter, trying to take all my weight on my hands; Ryan is strong, almost overpowering, and I can barely take it.

  I feel him moving in and out of me, and every time he comes back to fill me it’s deeper, more intense.

  Ryan O’Connor is just more.

  He squeezes my buttocks in his hands and mutters into my ear. “This arse…My God, it’s become my obsession. I was wondering if it could really be as good as I’d imagined it.”

  His voice is rugged, domineering. But, Jesus, it turns me on.

  With one swift push, I’m bent over the counter. I try to move, but he holds me hostage.

  “Ryan…”

  “Shh…like this. I have to have you like this.”

  His confidence dies in his throat. There’s no domination in his voice, he isn’t ordering me. It’s a request – almost desperate – as if this man only allows himself to feel whatever he can control.

  I’m crushed underneath him. I can feel his hips pressing into my lower back, the friction of his skin rubbing against mine, his dick sliding tirelessly in and out of me – because even if this situation is nothing more than a fantasy, I’m so turned on that I could come at any moment.

  He lets go of my hands, lifting himself off me. I breathe deeply, and try to stand back up, but his hand pushes firmly down on my back.

  “Don’t. Stay like that.”

  And then his other hand is on my clit.

  Oh my God.

  “Do you want me to touch you?”

  My legs almost give way.

  “Tell me that you want it, Christine.”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Touch me, Ryan…”

  I don’t finish my sentence because two fingers are sliding into me.

  Ryan keeps going inside me, alternating between his dick and his fingers – and I don’t know which I prefer.

  I knew those hands would be my downfall.

  Suddenly his thrusts are faster, relentless. His hand moves excitedly, his fingers devouring me, and I feel heat rise and explode between my legs, just seconds before he folds himself over me, breathing hard into my ear.

  He slowly lifts himself off me, stepping back a few paces, leaving me covered by emptiness. I get up too, with my cheeks on fire, and turn to him, waiting for him to say something, to look at me, to tell me that we shared something more than just an orgasm. But the ice that falls over us confirms just what I feared.

  “Are the toilets over there?” he asks, his eyes on the floor.

  “Uh-huh,” I say, feeling tears prick at my eyes.

  He walks off towards the café toilets, while I desperately attempt to reclaim my dignity.

  A few minutes later, he comes back, buttoning his jeans. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply.

  “I don’t know how that happened…” he begins – and from the tone of his voice, I already know what he’s going to say. “It was crazy, I lost control…”

  “So when you lose control you just fuck the first person you see?”

  “Not really…” he says, finally meeting my gaze. “But I guess you know that this is…just this. Nothing more.”

  I nod. I can’t speak.

  “I just wanted to be clear.”

  “You’ve been very clear,” I manage, miraculously without bursting into tears.

  “Well…maybe it’s best if I…”

  “Sure, you don’t have to stay. Let’s not kid ourselves.” I avert my gaze, because I can’t bear the weight of his eyes, of what he’s saying: You’re just someone to fuck then leave, Christine – nothing more.

  “Christine…”

  “Goodnight, Ryan.”

  After a few seconds of silence, the door opens and Ryan goes, leaving me with my stupidity, my shattered pride and my heart hidden away in a dark corner – that way, no one can ever find it.

  33

  Ryan

  “Ryan?” Ian elbows me in the ribs. “Hey, what’s up with you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Coach is calling you.”

  I shake myself out of my stupor and look around.

  “Are we lost, princess? Do you want a coffee? A magazine? Shall we paint our nails?” The coach is winding me up, and I jump to my feet a bit too quickly.

  “What? Do you want to fight me, boy?”

  I clench my fists tight and grind my teeth.

  “Ryan,” Ian pulls me by the arm, sitting me back down.

  The coach shakes his head and types something onto his tablet. Then I hear him mumble something about trust and dedication.

  “What’s wrong with you today?”

  “I just don’t want anyone to piss me off, okay?”

  “Well maybe you should go and calm down.”

  I suddenly stand up.

  “Not now, you idiot!”

  “O’Connor!” The coach calls me, but I pay no notice. “Jesus Christ, boy! Turn around right now or I’ll kick you straight off the team!”

  I ignore him and storm inside, heading straight for the changing rooms. I grab the towel from my bag and jump under the shower. I stand there shaking under the cold water, until someone turns it off, bringing me harshly back to reality.

  “Not today, Ian. Please piss off.”

  “I can see today’s not the day,” he says, passing me a towel which I wrap around my waist. “I’ve been wondering what the hell happened.”

  “Nothing, I’m just in a bad mood.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at training?”

  “Shouldn’t you?”

  “I’m done for today.”

  “It’s not up to you to decide.”

  I push past him and over to the benches, grabbing my clothes from my bag, and start to hurriedly get dressed, without drying myself off.

  “So? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Do you really think I’d want to talk about it?”

  “I’m not expecting us to cuddle as you tell me your deepest, darkest secrets. But I don’t like being ignored.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Did you go and see…?”

  “No!” I scream. “I didn’t go and see her, I haven’t been there since…” I tail off.

  My breath catches. Whatever I have in place of a heart stops.

  The revelation hits me, unexpectedly and surprisingly. It’s enough to make me fall, a dead weight, onto the bench. It hits me square in the face, blurring my senses.

  I can’t remember the last time I went and waited outside that house. Maybe it was a week ago, maybe more. Maybe it’s since I saw her dancing in the café, or maybe since I saw the way she helped my father. Maybe…

  I close my eyes.

  I’m suffocating. Someone is suffocating me. She’s holding me up by the shoulders as I drown in a puddle of water. My lungs are filling with water, my heart has stopped pumping and my mind is losing its clarity.

  Jesus Christ, how did this happen?

  “Hello? Are you there? I’m starting to get seriously worried.”

  “I haven’t been outside her house anymore, Ian,” I tell him, my breathing short.

  “Okay. I want to believe you.”

  “It’s something worse.”

  He sits down.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”

  “So does that mean we’re just going to sit here in silence until you feel ready?”

  “It’s going to take some time.”

  Ian laughs. “Ah, Ryan. You’ve never been very good at hiding things – you don’t even know how to keep a secret. Like the time we gave you your first beer, and you ran straight to Mum and Dad to tell them.”

  “I’m not that little boy anymore.”

  “That little boy is always there,” he says, poking my
chest with a finger.

  “I’ve grown up.”

  “That’s true, but who you are will always be there, Ryan. Even though you try to hide it and pretend to be someone else.”

  “Are we still talking about me?”

  “It’s the same for everyone. You’re struggling, and I can tell. I know when you’re lying, when you’re pretending. You’re not this guy that you want everyone to see. You’re scared, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to be. But being scared doesn’t mean you can hurt others.”

  “How do you know I’ve hurt anyone?”

  He smiles. “Because you’re a good guy, and you can never do anything wrong without your guilt eating you up afterwards.”

  I shake my head, annoyed.

  “You’re not really capable of being nasty.”

  “But I really am.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “I’ve done something…I’ve made someone feel like shit.”

  “Go on…”

  “And they didn’t deserve it.”

  “Mmm…and who are we talking about?”

  “Don’t go too far.”

  Ian raises his hands. “Okay, that’s fine. I won’t push it.”

  “Good. Because you won’t get another word out of me.”

  He stands up, looking at me.

  “You can always make things up to them.”

  “Maybe it’s better to just leave it as it is.”

  “It depends how much you care about this person.”

  “I don’t care about them, they’re…no one,” I say through my teeth.

  “Okay, whatever you say,” he says, heading towards the exit, before turning to me again. “By the way, if you do decide to be a man about this, you still remember where she lives – right?”

  Shit.

  I drive along the road that leads up to her house about ten times, maybe more. I go past it, turn around, then pass it again. Her car is there, parked in the driveway. The lights are on, but I can’t see what’s going on inside. I park a few houses down and wait. I wait for logic to come back to me, for my brain to start working again, to tell me that stepping onto that driveway will take me twenty steps backwards.