I shook my head silently as he tossed the shirt off the side of the bed, but when he leaned down toward me again I found my voice. It was hoarse, as if I’d been yelling and sounded almost scratchy to my ears. “Yours, too,” I ordered.
His dimple showed as he smiled at me in approval, then with little fanfare he grasped the t-shirt behind his head and tore it off, sending it flying to the floor. His skin was smooth, with just a smattering of hair in the middle of his chest, and I ran my fingers through it for a moment before he took hold of my hands, trapping them above my head again.
“Hands to yerself, yeah?” he said. “I’ll stop, but—” He didn’t finish whatever he was about to say, instead lunging toward my chest with a groan and pulling my nipple into his mouth.
He sucked hard then softly in a confusing rhythm that I couldn’t follow, then bit down tightly before soothing my skin with his tongue. My hips instinctively moved upward seeking his, and he met me with a hard thrust.
“Keep dem dere,” he ordered, pushing down on my hands so I’d understand what he was telling me. “Christ, ye feel good.”
“Watch your mouth,” I chastised breathlessly as he moved to my other breast, giving it the same attention as the first. His hand slid down to my thigh, rubbing down to my knee and then back up slowly.
“Make me,” he challenged, moving up to press his mouth to mine. His chest rubbed against mine as we writhed on the bed, and my breasts, still wet from his suckling met little resistance as they slid up and down with the force of his thrusts. My breath began to hitch in my throat as the pressure on my clit intensified, but before I could hit the peak I was reaching for, he pulled away, leaving me frustrated beyond belief.
If he left me then, I might have killed him.
“Shhh,” he murmured into my mouth. “I need to feel ye.”
His hand slipped up the side of my shorts, making me freeze in both anticipation and nervousness. Things were venturing into the unknown, and even though I wanted him, I was still a little… apprehensive.
When his fingers reached the gusset of my underwear at the juncture of my thighs, I held my breath.
“Not inside. Not dis time, alright? We’ll save dat,” he said tenderly, leaning down on his forearm to cup my face.
I jumped as his fingers finally slid over my skin slowly, but his eyes held mine as he explored, and soon I was relaxing into the bed. His calloused fingertips on my flesh felt a thousand times better than what I’d been getting through our clothes and I was at the edge again only a few minutes later.
“Ah, darlin’,” Patrick said, his voice breaking a little before he cleared his throat. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Yer so swollen and wet. Almost dere, yeah?”
I nodded once before sliding into oblivion, my arms wrapping around his neck without thought as I rode the waves. They seemed to go on and on, magnified as he moved his mouth back to my breast, and tugged each nipple. The feeling lasted much longer and was much stronger than when I’d attempted to do the same thing on my own, and as soon as I was finished, I was anxious to do it again.
“Whoa. Too much, Patrick,” I warned starting to pull away from his touch when the pressure intensified.
“I know,” he assured me, laying his hand completely over me in a firm grip. “After a while it hurts a bit, eh?”
“Yeah. Holy crap.” I pulled his mouth to mine, licking into his mouth, until eventually he slid his hand completely out of my shorts. I could feel him moving it around above me, but I didn’t understand what he was doing until he pulled his lips away and looked down.
I followed his gaze to see him sliding his fingers against each other, and rubbing his thumb up and down the digits that were completely lubricated from my body. It was slightly mortifying at first, but the longer he stared at his hand, the less I felt that way. He was literally rubbing me into his skin, and I had a feeling that if he hadn’t been braced above me with one arm, he would have been rubbing his hands together as if he was applying lotion.
“That’s kind of gross,” I muttered, not bothering to move away.
“It’s not gross. It’s lovely.”
“Lovely?”
“Look at dat,” he said, raising his hand until it was closer to our faces and I could barely catch the scent of myself. “Smell it.”
“Dat’s what yer body made to prepare for me. Dat’s de reason ye’ll take me easily, wit’ no pain. It’ll smooth me way, tell me when yer turned on, tell me when yer ready to take me. It not only prepares ye, but de scent of it—de feel of it—will prepare me, as well. One look, one sniff, one small touch, and I’ll be stiff as a pike.” He glanced up at me as I stared at him wide eyed. “Lovely.”
“Lovely,” I whispered back.
I knew then why he’d forced me to wait, why he’d gone to such lengths to keep our hands above our clothing and our kisses chaste. Because as he spoke, I wanted nothing more than to take him into my body.
“I love you,” I told him.
“I know.”
Chapter 18
Patrick
I left my mum’s after an hour of goodbyes with Amy. It seemed as if the moment I stood to walk out the door, I just needed one more kiss—or she did—and the cycle started all over again. After I’d had my hands all over her body the night before, it was almost impossible to keep them off her that morning.
I knew the scent of her, the way she felt on my hands, the way she went silent and still just before she came, shuddering helplessly. I’d shown incredible restraint in not taking what I’d wanted so badly, but with the end of our abstinence in sight, I refused to give in.
She’d been everything I could have imagined the night before, a touch hesitant here and there, but otherwise almost aggressive in the way she’d moved against me. There were many things I loved about her, but I knew that if we didn’t spark sexually it would be a miserable marriage for us both. I’d never doubted our chemistry from the first, but chemistry and willingness to reach for what you wanted in bed were absolutely not the same thing. Thankfully, it seemed with Amy that I’d gotten both.
By the time I got back to my flat that afternoon, any gratitude that I wouldn’t be torturing myself by living chastely with Amy was long gone. I missed her already. I missed the warmth of my mum’s house, the sound of her instructing Amy on how to prepare different dishes, the way my woman would brush innocently against me as if she needed just a small touch to ground her. I missed it all, and the flat that had once been if not comforting, at least comfortable, felt anything but.
I dropped my duffel near the door, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. I started classes again the next day, followed by my shift at the garage, but that night I had absolutely nothing to do. I made my way to my messy bed and sat my beer on the bedside table that was covered in water rings from the many beers that had gone before. I would lie in bed and read, I decided, striding to my bookshelf for a tattered copy of Robert Frost’s greatest works. It was the only thing that might be able to take my mind off Amy and allow me to relax.
But as I pulled back the sheets in one hand and fell into the bed, a vaguely familiar scent met my nostrils. I jumped back up, my stomach roiling as I knocked over my beer in an attempt to get away from the bed.
I’d forgotten.
How had I forgotten?
That blonde girl. Moira.
Mother of God, what had I done?
I swallowed hard, staring at the bed in horror before losing it completely and ripping the offending sheets onto the floor. I didn’t want them anywhere near me. I forced myself not to panic as I checked the wastebasket, finding used rubbers and their wrappers littering the inside. The sight made me literally sick, until my mouth was watering so badly that I had to swallow over and over again until the nausea dissipated.
I had to get rid of it all. I had to wipe it away as if it had never happened, I thought, as I tried to stuff the sheets into the small bin. I’d only once thought of my poor decisions while in Ballyshannon, during the argumen
t with Amy in the alleyway, but at that time I hadn’t been aware of just how much I may have fucked up.
We were engaged now—set to be married quickly, and planning our lives. If Amy knew that I’d fucked a woman just hours before I’d gone to her, she’d be completely devastated. She’d never want to see me again. I could argue that we weren’t yet together, but I knew that was shit. There were expectations there, long before I’d brought Moira back to my flat. The excuse that I hadn’t made any promises was despicable; it would be using semantics to try to justify my behavior, taking no account of Amy’s feelings, or my own.
I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at nothing, but it eventually grew dark before I moved again. I slid my feet back into my boots and threw on my coat before grabbing the bin full of bad decisions and taking it out to the dumpster that sat outside my building. I tossed it in with a curse, knowing that it wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of the guilt that seemed to be burning like flames inside my chest. How could I have done such a thing?
I wasn’t paying attention as I walked up the stairs to my apartment, so I didn’t notice the two men outside my door until I was almost on top of them. I shuffled to a stop in surprise when they blocked my way, and as I looked up, my surprise turned into dread.
“Malcolm,” I greeted with a nod.
“Trick,” he answered, his expression not giving anything away.
“Can I help ye wit’ somet’in’?” I looked between Kevie’s older brother and his companion.
“Lookin’ for yer Da,” Malcolm informed me. “As a courtesy, we came here first.”
The underlying threat was not as subtle as he’d like to believe. If I couldn’t help him, he’d be on his way to my mum’s.
“I just came from home tonight,” I answered, “I’ve not seen me da in weeks. He know yer lookin’?”
“He does.”
“If I see him, I’ll let him know.”
“Do dat.”
I nodded again, then waited silently as they watched me for any sign I was lying. After years of listening to the other children snickering about the way my mum had ‘run my da out of town’, I’d learned to hide my feelings quite well. They’d not get one twitch from me.
“Good to see ye, Trick.” Malcolm said after he’d decided to believe me, clapping me on the shoulder as if we were old friends.
“Ye, too,” I replied.
I watched them walk confidently down the hall and into the stairwell before unlocking my front door and pushing inside. Jesus. I was having a hell of a night.
I strode to my phone, and as I gripped the receiver, I noticed that my hands were shaking with restrained nerves. I opened them wide and clenched them again and again before picking up the receiver once more and calling my mum.
Amy answered the phone.
“Hello?”
Her voice was like a punch to the solar plexus.
“Hello, me love.”
“Patrick! I didn’t think you’d call so soon!”
“I miss ye.” I had to clear my throat twice before I could get the words out.
“I miss you too, baby.”
“Baby?”
“Was that weird? I thought I’d try it out.”
She was such a goofball. So completely unassuming. For the first time in a long time, I felt a lump in the back of my throat as if I was about to cry.
“No.” I cleared my throat again. “No, I like it.”
“Okay. Yeah, me, too.”
“What are ye doin’?”
“Getting ready to watch a little TV with your mom while she tries in vain to teach me how to knit. What are you doing?”
I glanced at the bare bed and swallowed hard. “Just havin’ a beer and gettin’ ready to read for a while before bed.”
“You’re going to bed already? Are you eighty years old with gout and a broken hip?”
“No, I’m twenty-t’ree and have class and work tomorrow. Gotta rest up while I can.”
“I can’t wait until you’re not so busy.” She paused for a moment. “And home with me all the time. I really can’t wait for that.”
“Me, eider, love. I better get off to bed, but I wanted to hear yer voice for a moment.”
“I’m so glad you called,” she replied softly.
“Me, too.” I rubbed my hand down my face as my shoulders slumped. “Is Mum around?”
“Sure. She’s right here. Want to talk to her?”
“Please.”
“Okay. I love you, Patrick.”
“I love ye, too.”
“That’s the first time you’ve actually said it.”
“I won’t be de last.”
“Good. Here’s your mom.”
There was a pause and some shuffling before Mum got on the phone, and I listened intently as she scolded Amy for dropping a stitch before she said hello.
“Hey, Mum,” I called dully.
“Hello, my lad! Get home safe then?”
“Safe and sound. But I had a couple of visitors to me flat not long ago.”
“Oh?” On the surface, her voice sounded nonchalant, but I could hear the panic threading through it.
“Malcolm was here lookin’ for Da.”
She sniffed into the phone.
“I told dem I just came from Ballyshannon and I’ve not seen him in weeks… but Malcolm mentioned stoppin’ by yer place,” I warned, just the thought of it making me want to race back home.
“Ach. I can handle Malcolm. I changed that boy’s nappies,” she snapped back.
“Mum, he’s not de boy—”
“I know that, son. But I know nothin’, so there’s nothin’ for him here. I’ll tell him the same if he comes.”
“Please be careful, Mum. Dese men won’t be trifled wit’.”
“Aye, I will.”
“Keep an eye on Amy, will ye?”
“Of course. We’ve a weddin’ to prepare for.”
“I’ll talk to ye soon, Mum. Ring me if ye need to.”
“I will.”
She disconnected without another word, and I was left once again standing in the flat I suddenly hated with a bed I wanted nothing to do with.
The next month could not go quickly enough.
Chapter 19
Amy
My future wife,
The days cannot move fast enough for my taste. It feels as if every minute takes an hour and every day a month.
I’ve had a hard time concentrating on classes and I almost dropped an engine on my foot at work yesterday. How would you feel about a groom on crutches with his foot in a cast? It may be a distinct possibility by the time I can come home to you.
Yes, home to you. My flat has become this depressing place where I brood and bemoan my loneliness like an Emily Bronte hero. I’ve never missed my tiny cot at Mum’s more than I do now, knowing that is where you fall asleep each night.
Some days I wonder why the hell I made us wait until we were married, and others I’m filled with anticipation and a feeling of rightness that our wedding night will be the first time we come together.
I sound like a woman, don’t I?
Ignore my ramblings. I’m tired.
Remember that you only have a few weeks left of school. Don’t go offending the priests now, or you may never get out of there… even if you did think that he was trying to get a glimpse up your skirt. (Even writing that has me grinding my teeth.) Though, I’m sure by the time you receive this letter, you’ll have already come to the same conclusion.
You flashes of anger remind me of Roses and Rue by Oscar Wilde:
“And your mouth, it would never smile,
For a long, long while.
Then it rippled all over with laughter,
Five minutes after.”
Not much longer, my love, and I’ll be there with you.
I’ll slay all your dragons.
Love, Patrick
The weeks flew by at a rapid pace. There was so much to do and so many small details to fina
lize that it felt as if I was deciding on wedding favors in my sleep. We’d decided to have a very small service, just those closest to Peg and Patrick, and even though I knew Peg had hoped for something bigger, I was relieved. All my attempts to contact my parents had been in vain, so I would have no one on my side of the church except for some of my teachers from school.
My pews would be filled with black and white habits… at least I knew none of them would try to outshine the bride.
I talked to Patrick at least twice a week, sometimes more, and we sent tons of letters back and forth, sometimes overlapping so a question in one of my letters was already answered before I knew he’d gotten the one I’d sent. He hadn’t been able to visit during the month like he’d hoped, but the things we talked about while we were far away from each other seemed to have created a stronger bond, anyway. It was so much easier to write our feelings down on paper—our fears and hopes for the future—that we seemed to have discussed a lot more than we ever had face to face. A part of me also reveled in the fact that I was receiving dozens of love letters that I could keep forever. Occasionally, his notes only contained a few lines, a poem or something he couldn’t wait to tell me about—but other times they were long and heartfelt and made me feel like the luckiest woman on earth.
He’d finally come home the night before for our rehearsal at the church, and it had been extremely hard to keep our hands off one another. When I’d caught sight of him, stepping off a motorcycle I’d never seen before, Peg had gripped my arm like a vice in order to keep me from flinging myself into his arms.
He’d laid himself bare for me in his letters, and I wanted nothing more than to pull him into me and wrap myself around him.
Dinner at Peg’s had been a lesson in torture, as she’d made us sit across from each other. She was adamant that we behave ourselves, and for the first time, became some sort of morality police to keep us honest. I think we were all afraid that after waiting so long, Patrick and I wouldn’t be able to help ourselves. The thought being that we were so close to being married, we could act as if it already happened.