Page 130 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
I pump like a goddamn madman, the sound of beating off fills the space between us. Her gaze flicks down my chest, over my abs, locking on the head as it glides through my fist.
“Oh, yeah.” She licks her lips. “I want you to come all over yourself so I can lick you clean.”
Holy.Fuck.
I brace one hand on the mattress, muscles tight, eyes never leaving hers as the heat pools, sharp and inevitable. “Fuck, Stevie… I’m—”
She leans in, her voice all silk and sin. “Give it to me.”
My orgasm rips through me like wildfire. Thick ropes stripe my stomach, my chest, and my neck. I jerk myself until every drop is wrung out under her watchful eyes, groaning low. Riding it out until I’m a shuddering, breathless mess.
When I open my eyes again, she’s smiling. Slow and knowing, flushed from her own high.
“God, I can’t wait for you to be inside me for real.” Stevie blinks sleepily.
“Counting the days,” I agree. “Tonight will hold me over, but when I get home, we’re gonna need a whole weekend of fucking. Maybe more like a year.”
Her laugh is quiet but warm. “You always were stubborn.”
“And you always were worth it.”
thirty-eight
Stevie
One Year Later
IparkbesideConnor’scedar-and-glass house and sit for one breath, watching wind skate ripples over the lake.
Even if it’s in the most expensive neighborhood in Washington State, the place looks rooted, not flashy. A builder’s home where every board knows why it’s there.
I grab my tote, follow the flagstones, and knock.
Connor opens with a toothy grin. “Stevie.” He steps aside. “Welcome.”
He leads me back to where I hear the murmur of voices past a wall of windows overlooking the lake. Entering the kitchen, a gaggle of McGloughlin brothers, including Padraig, are waiting for me.
Ronni stands at the island, kettle in hand, wearing a sweater loose over a noticeable bump. “Herbal tea? I’m hydrating.”
“Tea is perfect.” I slide my tote onto a chair and flip my notebook open. “So, guys, today’s going to be a fact-finding mission. I listen, you lot talk. We build a plan for Rory from there.”
Cillian’s on a stool in faded denim and steel-toe boots, phone facedown for once. Seamus wears a hoodie over scrubs, his hair flattened on one side. Padraig leans against the far counter, hair tied back, forearms crossed, mouth curved cheekily, indicating he’s thinking about last night’s grown-up activities.
I look away, hoping my blush doesn’t give us away.
Connor claps once. “Let’s start with venue.”
“Shouldn’t we host considering I’ll be ready to pop?” Ronni offers before anyone else can answer. “It’ll be winter, but we could use the patio if we set up a tent and heaters at the corners. String lights along the railings.”
Connor shrugs, pleased. “Aye, sounds like a plan.”
I glance around, this is a commercial kitchen times a million. “It’ll be easy to prep the food here. Day of, staff can stage in the butler’s pantry. What do you think the guest count is?”
“Family, close mates, a few old foremen, neighbors from the early years, your family of course,” Connor says. “Fifty to sixty max. Ma will push for five more once she remembers someone she forgot. We can absorb it.”
I scribble it down and look up. “Budget?”
The brothers look at each other and Cillian lifts a hand. “Let’s go big. Da isn’t fussy, but we should have good food and make it look awesome. Maybe some sort of party favor.”
