Page 119 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
In the early days of my marriage to Coop, I’d find myself wondering if my connection to Padraig was merely sexual. We learned how to fuck together. Spent hours exploring each other’s bodies in wonder, figuring out exactly how to get each other off. Did I mistake sexual connection for love?
One thrust of him inside me now obliterates my theory. On a molecular level, I know—have always known—Padraig and I are...
Fire. Need.Soul.
This isn’t memory. It’s a living, breathing truth I feel in my bones.
Dangerous and holy all at once.
God, he feels exactly the same. Better. Stronger. Our rhythm finds itself without thought, our bodies remembering what our minds tried to forget. Every push and pull is ingrained in our very being, no matter how many years or miles were between us.
We fuck like we’re making up for lost time. Fast, fierce, no patience left in either of us. The slap of skin, his ragged breathing in my ear, the way his hands grip my ass to pull me onto him harder. His teeth graze my neck, dragging a whimper out of me I’ve never made for anyone else.
This is everything I’ve missed and swore I’d never have again.
I’m already close, the years of want condensed into every friction-slicked stroke. He knows my body better than I do andfinds the exact angle to make my walls clamp down around him. Heat coils low and tight, and I cling harder, my breath ragged against his ear.
“Right there—” The words snap off into a gasp when he drives deeper, pinning me against the door like he’ll fuse us into one. His hips grind into me, the rhythm rough and relentless until my vision shatters into white. My release rips through me, sharp and molten, pulling a roar from deep in his chest.
He’s right behind me, his thrusts turning brutal, desperate, until he buries himself hard and holds there, every muscle locked. A guttural sound breaks free from him as he spills inside me, heat flooding deep, his forehead pressed hard to mine.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing. His hands cradle my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks like he’s grounding himself in proof I’m real.
I’m shaking, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of everything this means.
“Jesus, Stevie…” He’s utterly wrecked. “I’ve missed you every second.”
I kiss him. Slow. Searching. “Me too.”
When he eases me down, I feel him slip from my body, leaving me empty and aching all over again. My skirt is bunched at my waist, my panties hang off one thigh. Neither of us moves to fix it.
I trace his scruff with my fingers. “It’s still there.”
“Never left.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
We stand there, caught in the space between what we did and what comes next. Then he brushes his knuckles along my cheek, voice low. “Show me to your room.”
I take his hand to lead him down the short hall. The air shifts as soon as we cross the threshold. Electric, but deeper now,slower. This isn’t about erasing the years anymore. It’s about claiming what’s always been ours.
This time he doesn’t yank my dress up in a frenzy. He takes his time, palms sliding down my sides, the heat of them soaking into my skin. His knuckles graze the backs of my thighs as he first slides down my panties and then gathers the fabric of my dress slowly, inch by inch, until it’s bunched at my hips. Then he pauses, eyes locked on mine, before lifting it higher, over my stomach and my breasts until he draws it up and over my head in one unhurried sweep.
The air chills my bare skin for a heartbeat, goosebumps sweeping across my arms and down my spine. My nipples harden into little bullets. “Christ, Stevie. If you only knew how many times I’ve dreamed about these tits.”
His hands come up, palms warm and broad, cupping the weight of my breasts. His thumbs brush over my nipples in slow, deliberate circles, sending heat ricocheting through my belly into my core. He bends, mouth closing around one tight peak, sucking until my knees threaten to give out. Then the other, lips and tongue working me into a state.
Padraig’s hands skim down with deliberate pressure on my legs as we fall to the bed, the pads of his fingers trace over the softest parts before gripping tight to press my legs farther apart. Then he feels it. The long, pale scar carved into my right thigh, a raised ridge where they opened me up to piece my femur back together.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he turns his attention from my nipple to study my leg, his finger stroking over the seam. He drops to his knees, not in hesitation, but with the gravity of a man paying tribute.
“Jesus, Stevie…” He chokes out. “What if you’d been taken from me?”
His words rip through me, sharp and hot.
He bends, pressing his mouth to the scar. The kiss is deep, deliberate, sealing something in place. Another follows, higher. Then another, until I’m trembling. “This—” his lips press to the mark “—means you’re here. Alive. I will never forget what it’s cost you.”
The lump in my throat burns as his mouth trails higher, onto the soft skin of my inner thigh. His stubble scrapes and lips soothe, the mix of rough and tender making my pulse slam. The first stroke of his tongue over my pussy steals my breath. He groans into me, his hands gripping my ass and pulling me forward until my knees are over his shoulders.
