Page 7 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
One Year Later
Anentireyearofnonstop practice and we’re experts at fucking.
I’m warm. Sticky. Wrecked. His breath is slow and heavy in the curve of my neck. The smell of sweat, old amps, and fresh sex hangs in the air like smoke. My skirt’s up around my waist,panties…somewhere. His jeans are halfway down, and my tits jiggle every time his cock hits the magical place deep inside me.
The couch under us groans with every thrust. Padraig roars as he comes, his face contorting in ecstasy.
His chest is pressed to mine when the basement door creaks open.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Liam snaps, his annoyance slicing into the haze. “Can you twonotfuck on every surface in the practice room?”
Padraig barely lifts his head from the crook of my neck.
I don’t bother with embarrassment. This isn’t the first time Liam’s caught us and it won’t be the last. I tilt my head toward him. “You ever heard of knocking?”
“Uh, I fuckinglivehere,” he shoots back, marching into the room like we’re the problem. “You’re corrupting the wee ones. If I can hear everything through the ceiling and through the goddamn floorboards, so can they.”
Liam’s guitar is slung over one shoulder, dark hair damp from the shower. His t-shirt clings to him half-askew like he got dressed in a rush. He averts his eyes out of respect.
Padraig pulls out and tosses me his flannel. His fingers trail down my thigh as he shifts off me, breath ragged. He grabs his jeans and tugs them on, turning to give me some minute semblance of privacy as I try to cover myself.
“You’re early, Dar.” Padraig coughs roughly.
“Fuck off. I’m on time. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want me to see your pale, bare ass.” Liam waves him off.
“Okay, I’m decent.” I get up and sit cross-legged on Liam’s amp like a queen reclaiming her throne. “Ready for rehearsal?”
Liam drops his bag with a thud and pretends to focus on tuning his guitar. Padraig locates his drumsticks under a pile of setlists. Takes his place behind the drums, rolls his shoulders and taps the snare like his brother didn’t walk in on us.
Again.
“You two are a health violation,” Liam grumbles.
I look down at my nails. “Then maybe stop barging in on us. I swear you do it on purpose.”
Liam snorts. “The couch is a cesspool of come.”
“Worth it.” Padraig winks at me. Gives me thelook. Makes my stomach flip even after the hundreds of times we’ve fucked. His gaze is hot and steady, like I’m the only thing in the room worth noticing.
It’s shocking how perfect we are together. Well, maybe not, considering how long we’ve been best friends. I’m a safe place for him to escape everything going on in his family and all our other stresses. We mostly hang out. He draws. I read. Fuck when we can.
Graduation is in a couple weeks. College is looming. Real life is coming at us like a freight train.
“Are we actually rehearsing today?” Liam spins one of the tuning pegs with too much force.
Padraig clicks his sticks together. “Aye. Let’s run through our set list.”
They fall into place. Liam sings and shreds on guitar, Padraig hammers a beat so tight it shakes the ceiling dust loose and adds backing vocals. I sing along out of habit, not thinking, not planning. Muscle memory.
I’ve been here since the beginning, which was three or four years ago. Nothing’s cohesive, but they both enjoy playing even if the wind’s out of their sails without Connor.
Four songs in, as if he reads my mind, Liam cuts the song off. “He’s never coming back, is he?”
Not a question. A statement. Aimed at no one.
Padraig and I look at each other, not sure what to say.
After a few minutes, Padraig sets his sticks on the snare. “He’s working fifteen-hour days. Handling the paperwork for Da. He doesn’t have time.”
