Page 138 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
He rubs a hand over his face, then grins. “Wait, are we actually alone?”
I’m a little dazed from the conversation with Isla but more psyched at the prospect of some grownup time with my man. “Seems like it. Betcha can’t beat me upstairs…”
I’m across the yard, through the kitchen and halfway to the stairs before I’m airborne. He hooks an arm around my waist, hauls me up against his chest, and takes the steps two at a time. I shriek-laugh, pounding at his back while he throws me over his shoulder. His palm smacks my ass as he clears the landing.
“You forget I’m faster.” He kisses my thigh.
I shriek with laughter. “Gammy leg, don’t forget.”
Upstairs in our bedroom, he tosses me onto the bed. My shorts ride up and before I can breathe, he’s over me. Mouth on mine, stealing the air from my lungs. His knee wedges between my thighs, spreading me while his hands tear at my clothes.
“You’ve been thinking about this all day.” I giggle against his mouth.
“Yes,” he growls, voice thick with need. He catches my wrists in one hand and presses them to the mattress, while his other shoves my shorts and panties down in one impatient pull.
Letting my wrists go, he strips in a rush. The sight of his cock, thick, hard, and flushed, makes me arch, wet and aching for him. “Padraig—”
He lines himself up and drives into me in one long, deep thrust causing me to gasp. The stretch makes my toes curl, my heels dig into the mattress. He grinds all the way in, holding there until I’m squirming.
“Christ, you’re heaven,” he rasps as he recaptures my arms. Then he’s moving. Relentless, each thrust hits my spot as it always does.
“Yes,” I gasp, rocking up to meet him. My wrists twist against his hold, wanting to touch him, but he keeps me pinned. His thumb finds my clit and circles.
“Come for me,” he orders. “I want to feel it.”
It’s instant. My orgasm crashes through my entire body.
Padraig lets my wrists go and I grip his ass, pulling him closer as he pounds into me, chasing his own release. He follows with a low, guttural sound, grinding deep as he spills inside me. For a long beat, he stays there, our breath loud in the quiet room.
He finally lifts his head, mouth brushing my ear. “Guess I won.”
“Guess you did.” I smile against his skin, catching my breath.
He kisses me slow, lazy, still inside me. “We’ve got time before they’re home,” he says, flipping me over so I’m straddling him. “Round two?”
“Only if I win this time.”
By the time Isla gets home, Padraig and I are curled together on the couch, hair damp, a movie running low in the background. The click of the front door pulls me upright.
She drifts in, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, cheeks flushed from the warm night air.
“Hey,” she says quietly, dropping onto the other end of the couch with her knees pulled tight.
Padraig mutes the TV. “Didja have a good night?”
“Yeah. I, um…” She gives a little shrug, eyes fixed on the carpet. “I’m sorry for being an ass earlier.”
I turn toward her. “Isla—”
“No, let me…” She pushes her hair back, but her fingers tremble. “I miss Dad.” Her eyes fill. “A lot. It’s weird, because I like you.” She glances at Padraig, then away. “I really like you. Which makes me feel…messed up? Like I’m betraying him or something.”
Padraig’s eyes mist, but he lets her speak.
“I don’t want you to replace him,” she says in a rush, swiping at her cheeks. “I know you’re not trying to. I guess when we’re all together, part of me is happy, and then I feel guilty for being happy. I hate feeling so confused.”
I know the shape of her feelings. The push and pull between grief and connection. I’ve lived my own version, and I’ve read enough therapy notes to know there’s no quick way through it.
“It makes sense,” I say softly. “You can miss your dad and like Padraig. Those feelings can live in the same space.”
