Page 34 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Technically, it’s true. The live recording ofTir na nÓgmade it onto some editor’s playlist and now it’s wildfire. Felicity’s voice cracked something open creatively. Liam and I write the music and we may be the heart, but she’s the vessel.
All of that being said, Liam’s gotta keep his shit together or Felicity’s gonna leave us and we’ll be back to square one. Hedoesn’t seem to notice she looks like a kicked puppy whenever he ignores her. We can’t expect her to stay if she doesn’t feel appreciated.
“Let’s get outta here.” Liam puts his guitar in its case.
The two of us pack and load the gear in a fog. Liam jumps in the driver’s seat and I retrieve Felicity. She rides in the back, cheek pressed to the seat, earbuds in. Liam drives like he’s chasing ghosts. His window is cracked barely enough to let the cold roll through.
Attempting to ignore the tension, I text Stevie. When she doesn’t reply, I drum rhythms on my knees and count the minutes until I can climb into bed with her.
As usual, by the time we unload our equipment into the house, it’s a disaster. Cables snake across the floor like vines. Instruments and amps line the hallway. Boxes of merch are stacked in the foyer.
Rather than help us hump everything to the basement, Felicity vanishes down the hall and into her room. Liam stares at the mess for a second, shakes his head and heads back out. I’m not about to finish the task myself, so I decide to leave it until morning.
I find Stevie curled up in bed, one of my old hoodies swallowing her whole. Laptop open. Sound asleep with papers scattered around her like autumn leaves.
I sit next to her, close her computer and kiss her temple. “We’re home.”
“Did it go well?” She blinks awake and smiles up at me.
“Amazing.” I set her laptop on the nightstand. “We missed you.”
She lifts her lips up to kiss me, but something seems off. Her lips part, warm and wanting, but her hand on my chest doesn’t grip my shirt and pull me toward her.
I tuck her hair behind her ear, watching her eyes. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?” She shifts in bed and looks down.
“No reason.” I don’t press. “I need a shower.”
On my way to our bathroom, I strip out of my jeans and step under the scalding spray to try and recalibrate. The lights, the crowd, the crackle of adrenaline buzzes under my skin. Felicity’s voice echoes somewhere in my skull.
Stevie’s indifferent demeanor gnaws at me.
When I come back to bed, she’s on her side. One arm tucked beneath her cheek, blonde hair tangled across the pillow. The curve of her ass catches the amber light from the bedside lamp, soft and familiar and fucking perfect.
I slide in behind her, my cock is thick with the kind of ache only she can ease. My hand trails down the slope of her waist to her thigh, then nudges her knees apart as I press close. Skin to skin. Heat meeting heat.
She doesn’t say anything.
Just breathes.
Short, shallow.
I pull her panties to the side and guide myself between her legs, run the tip of my cock through her folds and ease into her pussy in one long, slow thrust. Tight. Wet. Fucking heaven. Her breath catches, and for a second I think I’ve got her.
She shifts her hips and rolls onto her stomach. Let’s me climb over and fuck her.
Except she doesn’t push back. Doesn’t gasp or clench or beg me to go harder. Her body takes me like it always does, but it’s quiet. Muted. Like she’s offering herself without being in it fully.
I move slower, grip her thigh tighter. Kiss her shoulder. The base of her neck. Slide my hand under her breast, thrum her nipple and wait for her to arch into me.
She doesn’t.
I keep going anyway, because I need her. After a show, this is how I reset. How I find my center. Buried in her. Breathing her in.
My hips roll in smooth, steady strokes. My orgasm builds fast, sharp and hot, cresting with a low groan into the hollow of her neck as I spurt inside her, every nerve fucking wrecked.
She doesn’t come. Or make any sound of enjoyment.
