Page 81 of Cowboy
"That's it," I encourage, feeling her begin to respond, to move with me. "Show me what feels good."
Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as she finds her confidence. The slight sting only heightens my arousal.
"Faster," she breathes, and I obey, increasing my pace while maintaining control.
I slide a hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, circling in time with my thrusts. Her eyes fly open, locking with mine as pleasure builds again.
"Stay with me," I urge, feeling her starting to get lost in sensation. "Right here, with me."
She nods, her gaze never leaving mine as we move together. This connection—seeing each other, truly seeing each other—is more intimate than the physical act itself.
"Ciarán," she gasps. "I'm close."
"Let go," I tell her again. "I'll catch you."
She comes with a cry that she muffles against my shoulder, her body clenching around me in waves. The sight of her lost in pleasure, the trust she's placed in me, pushes me over the edge. My release hits hard, pleasure spiking through me as I spill inside her, her name a prayer on my lips.
Afterward, I hold her close, both of us trembling slightly in the aftermath. I brush damp hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss there.
"You okay?" I ask softly.
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek despite her smile. "Better than okay."
I wipe the tear away with my thumb. "Happy tears?"
"Yes," she whispers. "I didn't think I could feel like this again. Like my body was something other than a weapon to be used against me."
I gather her closer, my throat tight with emotion. "Your body is yours, Caoimhe. Only yours to give or withhold. Always."
She nestles against my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. "Thank you," she says eventually, her voice soft in the darkness.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. "For what?"
"For making me feel safe. For making me feel... mine again."
I tighten my arms around her, understanding the weight of what she's saying. "Always, Caoimhe. For as long as you want me."
She lifts her head, meeting my gaze with a newfound steadiness. "I think that might be forever."
"Forever works for me," I say, feeling a smile spread across my face. "Forever sounds just about right."
26
CAOIMHE
SIX WEEKS LATER
The mid-morning sunlight streams through the kitchen window. Six in the morning used to be my only peaceful time, when the nightmares would finally release me and Saoirse wasn't yet awake. Now, I sleep until seven most days, and the nightmares, while not gone completely, have lost much of their power.
Progress, Dr. Mitchell calls it. I call it a miracle.
"Thinking deep thoughts?" Ciarán asks, entering the kitchen fresh from his shower, hair still damp. He drops a kiss on my head as he passes, heading for the coffee pot.
"Just appreciating the moment," I tell him, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face. This happens every time he enters a room now—this rush of warmth, of rightness.
"Saoirse still sleeping?" he asks, leaning against the counter, his own mug cradled in his hands.
I nod. "She was up late finishing that art project for school. I thought I'd let her sleep in."
