Page 91 of A Convenient Secret
I kiss her forehead. “No, you don’t. I could never deserve you, little Seagull. I already told you, I’m not a good man.”
She smiles, and the clouds over the conversation lift immediately. “I think you’re a good man, Declan Quinn. But maybe we can be bad for each other and enjoy the hell out of it.”
And as much as I wanted to give her a break and let her rest, I pounce, lifting her. Her back hits the wall, and she laughs.
But that beautiful sound morphs into a moan when I reach between us and push one finger into her tight pussy.
“You have quite some stamina for an older man.”
Lily takes a bite of a sandwich I made for her, because her attempt failed. Did she grow up in a house without a kitchen? How she survived this long is beyond me.
“I’m not old.” I elbow her and lean in to have a bite.
“Hey.” She turns to protect her food. “Wasn’t that your key argument against this?”
I smear mayo on a slice of bread to make my own late dinner. “The argument was you’re too young.”
She watches me making my food, munching contentedly. “Sometimes I feel very old.”
“I feel like I’m a hundred most days. Maybe I needed your youth to forget that.”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “That must be it. A confetti fight?”
I laugh. I laughed so much tonight, it will last me for the rest of my days. I don’t even know if I ever laughed before Lily came into my life.
“A pillow fight?” she teases. With her hair mussed, sitting naked in my kitchen, she is so fucking sexy, I want to freeze the moment.
“I can spank you. That would be a good game.” I put my sandwich down, and her eyes flash with something that looks like excitement. Fuck me.
“Maybe not tonight, but I’ll get there.” She takes my glass of whiskey and wets her lips, watching me through her lashes, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.
How did I get this lucky? Her curiosity is such a fucking turn-on. But it doesn’t strip me of my guilt. “Are you very sore?”
“A little.” She slides down and takes her plate tothe dishwasher. She slams it against a bowl and the plate cracks. “Shit.” She jumps back.
I’m grabbing her hand immediately. “Did you cut yourself?” I fucking train daily, but my heart is not ready for these spikes.
“No. It just split in two.” She giggles, showing me the two broken parts of the plate. “I’m sorry. I keep destroying your kitchen.”
“Sometimes I wonder if those glasses don’t need real lenses.” I shake my head.
She looks away, her eyes darting around, before she decides not to respond and goes to discard the plate.
I close the dishwasher and take my whiskey. I wish she trusted me with her secret. Her fake glasses. Her scars.
Seemingly lost in her thoughts, she steps to the window wall. I join her, passing her the glass, and she takes a sip. I like this sharing whiskey with her. I love it.
“I like sharing whiskey with you,” she says, and something dislodges in my chest.
We watch the city in silence, sipping the amber liquid.
“I don’t want to ruin the moment, but when you said you feel safe with me…” I start, and she sighs. It’s a heavy sigh, and I want to make it lighter for her.
The need is strong. I have never felt such a strong need to protect any other person besides my children.
When she doesn’t speak, I push because the not knowing is killing me. “The day of the fire drill, you said you… Are the scars from that time?”
“Yes. There was a fire in our house, and my cousin locked me in my room so I couldn’t escape.”
