Page 81 of Fall for Me

Seamus

Iwoke sometime before dawn to the sound of breathing. Not my own.

I blinked once, twice, and then the night came back to me in a punch so strong my body jerked, making Chelsea, her back curled into my front, murmur.

Chelsea. Here, in my bed, in my arms.

Chelsea, who I’d just spent hours with… naked. I pictured her face under mine as I’d entered her, as I’d come—fuck. My dick jumped at the memory, molten heat going through me, and I backed my ass up. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I wanted to wake her up for another round.

I definitely hadn’t even planned on round one, or at least, not getting to the fucking part. I would have been satisfied with everything that came before it. But really doing it?

Jesus.

I rolled over, sitting up on my elbows. I had to pinch my eyes shut and open them again when I saw the glowing numbers on the clock on my dresser. It was half-past six in the morning.

I was shocked—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept past five-thirty, no matter how late I stayed up. I felt halfway human, save for the light headache piercing the front of my head. Normally by this time I’d have downed half a pot of coffee already, and my caffeine-starved brain knew it.

I quietly extricated myself from the tangle of the duvet and slipped on a pair of sweats and my robe before heading to the kitchen.

After the fire had died down last night, we’d migrated to my bedroom; with just the moonlight filtering in, and we’d made love again. Only this time, I just focused on her. I’d made her come over and over again, working my tongue on her and taking my damn time. Turned out worshipping Chelsea’s body was my new favorite pastime. She begged me to make love to her again, but when we’d tried, I could see the pain on her face. I refused after that.

Curse my dick.

My dad had given me a talk when I was old enough about the Reilly appendage, which was the single most embarrassing conversation we’d ever had before or since. But hell if I wasn’t glad we’d had it. “I haven’t seen it since you were in diapers, son,” he’d said. “But you need to know it’s not like other men’s. And it’s not the blessing people think it is.” He’d told me as delicately as he could that when it was time to go to bed with someone, I’d need to spend most of my time focusing on them, and never expected to do what most people did. I took the advice to heart, and when I was old enough to drive—and have my first girlfriend—I’d driven to the specialty bookstore in Burlington and picked up all the books I could find with titles like Pleasuring Her and A Woman’s Needs. These skills had served me well over the years, but my focus—and near paranoia about the size of my dick—meant I hadn’t actually had full, all-the-way sex with very many women. Every time kind of felt like the first time. But last night? I couldn’t remember anything before Chelsea. All memories had been washed away, and it wasn’t just because of the freshness of it.

It was because I was fucking in love with her.

“Morning,”

Chelsea’s voice made me nearly jump out of my skin.

I whirled around. My heart thudded, both at the shock of thinking what I’d already known, and at the object of said realization startling the hell out of me.

“Morning,” I said.

Then I took her in. Oh shit. Chelsea had found my t-shirt from last night, and her wearing it was almost hotter than seeing her naked. Almost. The thin, over-washed fabric clung to her every curve.

“Sorry for taking your t-shirt,” she said. “I was kind of…”

“Naked?” I finished.

She gave a little smile, sending an ache through me, straight to my thudding heart.

“Yeah, that.”

I cleared my throat. “It looks good on you.” I strode over and cupped her face. She took a minute to meet my eye, and for a moment, concern made my stomach twist.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Then she did meet my eyes. There was definitely something there in her expression. That sadness, in her eyes. But she smiled again, and it was gone. Maybe I’d imagined it.

“I’m good,” she said. She placed her hands on my chest and then she was kissing me, and I forgot about anything but the sensation of her. Her scent, her touch, the way she sighed when she went back onto her flat feet. I kissed her scar then, just the softest brush of my lips, and when I pulled away, her eyes were glassy.

“Thank you, for last night,” she said.

“Thank you!” I laughed. “God Chelsea, I should be thanking you. That was the best night I’ve had in… ever.”

She gave a half smile, and there was heat in it this time. God help me, my idiot dick jumped.

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