Page 65 of Sugar Coated Lies
Daire pours two drinks and hands me a glass.
“Thanks.” I take mine to one of the leather couches and sit.
Daire joins me, sitting one couch over and types on his phone. “The food will be here soon.”
I nod and sip more of the drink. It’s the same thing he served me at the fire pit during his mom’s party. I welcome the burn in my throat and the heat that travels down my body.
Daire watches me, his expression torn. “Do you want the TV on?”
“Sure.”
He lifts a remote to the flat screen above a sleek stone fireplace. The news comes up, but he changes the channel to the food network. I don’t watch a lot of TV—no time—so I’m not familiar with the chef who’s making pasta and appears to be part of a competition.
I wish I could sleep again, but those naps in the car on the two-hour drive here have me alert in a way I don’t want to be.
Daire gets a text that the food is here and has the doorman send it up. After retrieving it, he sets the Chinese food on plates at the large peninsula in the kitchen.
“Take whatever you want,” he says.
I scoop some noodles onto a plate. We sit on stools on one side of the counter and eat in silence. The food is good, full of flavor, but I’m not hungry. I’m eating more for the fact that it’s here and what a person should do after something like this happens.
I’ve been down this road. I should be used to the drill of losing a loved one. But losing Grandpa means I’m alone. He was the last of the family and now there’s no one but me. My sinuses fill and tears swell in my eyes with emotional overload. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel anything.
Daire drops his fork and turns to me. “Oh, Everleigh.” Sincerity drips from his tone. “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” I mumble to my plate. “There’s nothing anyone can do.” I wipe my nose and eyes with a napkin. “I don’t want to cry,” I murmur. “I don’t want to hurt.”
He stands and touches my hair with gentle fingers. It feels good, sweet, caring. I need that so badly. I turn to him and bury my face in his chest as I wrap my arms around his waist in a tight hug. He embraces me too and holds me as I cry into his shirt.
“I can’t do this. I can’t. I need something else.”
“Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you.” Daire kisses the top of my head.
I lift my gaze to his and rise from the stool, my arms still around his muscular body.
He stares back and releases one arm from around me to wipe tears from my cheek. “I hate seeing you like this. I wish I could take it all away.”
“You can. For a little while.” Right and wrong no longer matter.
His brows pull together, but something in his eyes says he understands what I need.
“Make me feel good, Daire. Make me forget.”
He cups my cheek with his big hand but doesn’t make a move. I won’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want. I just thought he’d be fine with this, better than fine.
I’m about to pull away when his thumb sweeps across my bottom lip. My eyes close on an exhale as a sizzling sensation, far better than the pain, whirls through my body.
When I open my eyes to Daire’s, I see the resolve in them, the desire and torment, too. He tilts his head and kisses me for the first time.
The act is slow and gentle, as if I’m made of glass. It’s nice, better than nice, but I want more. I need to release what’s in me and slow and gentle won’t be enough.
I grip Daire’s shirt, tugging him closer to me, and lick the seam of his mouth.
He stiffens for a moment and then, as if figuring out what I need, he seizes my waist and hoists me onto the counter. I spread my legs and welcome Daire’s body as he wedges himself between my thighs.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks in a husky voice, his pupils blown with desire.
“Yes.”
