The Cassidy Brothers

by Sienna Blake

  Since when had I started thinking of them as mine?

  After three songs in a row and a volley of applause, Donncha spoke into the microphone again. “You guys have been an amazing crowd. We have one more song for you. This is our first original piece, and we want to dedicate it to a very special lady. Someone who has turned this holiday season into a real celebration for the three of us. Orla, this is for you.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath.

  For…me?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arianne turn to me with her jaw dropped. I could sense others looking my way as well, making an awareness dance across my skin. Every woman in the place must be eyeing me with daggers, but I didn’t care. No one mattered aside from the three men onstage.

  Tristan started playing, the sweet melody starting slow, Aogán joining in. When Donncha started singing, the lyrics told the story of a strong, admirable woman.

  Me.

  This song was about me.

  The world around me seemed to fade away. Love overpowered me until I thought my heart might burst in my chest, a sob trying to burrow its way out of my lungs. I hadn’t planned on this, but I was helpless against it.

  I was in love with all three of these men.

  And I was screwed.

  Because I’d never be able to choose just one. And I didn’t think I could survive without them.

  Tristan

  “We can include a diagram of predetermined designs, like animals. Maybe a horse or a bear? Or anything, really. Buildings, vehicles, airplanes, animals… The possibilities are endless. And we can build upon it at any time. What do you think? Tristan?”

  “Huh?”

  Orla and I were in my design studio, working on a toy design together. Orla had been creating a design for a toy targeted at toddlers, a creative blend of building blocks and music, encouraging kids to create certain designs with the blocks to activate songs. It had great potential for expansion packs and gave me a chance to do something that I loved—create music.

  I’d been staring at her. Wondering if I’d ever seen a woman so beautiful. Mesmerised by the movement of her mouth as she spoke, at the way her hands moved gracefully across the paper, the subtle hint of vanilla that teased my nostrils when her hair fell over her shoulder.

  Orla caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. “I asked you what you think.”

  “I think I’m in love with you.”

  She blushed, the pink rising to her cheekbones making me want to capture this moment in paints. No…in charcoal with my fingers. “Tristan, be serious.”

  “I am serious. Be mine, Orla.” I leaned in to kiss her but she dodged my lips.

  “Tris,” she said, “this is my first toy idea and I’m nervous as hell and you’re not taking me seriously.”

  I let out a sigh. We’d been growing closer these last few weeks, and I knew she was falling for me, too, but she always dodged any admissions of love or questions about our future.

  I had a feeling it had to do with the reason she wasn’t drinking…

  She had to tell me. And she would when she was ready.

  I just had to be patient. Even though it felt like she might never be ready.

  I wanted to tell her that I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter who the father was. If she’d let me, I’d look after the child as my own. I’d be his or her father. I’d be Orla’s husband. If she’d just let me in.

  But she had to let me in.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to keep my frustration at bay, “let’s talk about the toys then.”

  “Take a look,” she said as she turned the sketchpad toward me. “I was thinking the building pieces could be interlocking discs of various colours.”

  “I see that,” I said, looking over the paper. She had drawn a mock-up of a cat built out of the discs, and she studied it for a long time. “It looks great.”

  “But how will we add in the music element? Can it be done?”

  “Anything is possible,” I said. “We have a hell of an IT department. I’m thinking it’ll be some kind of microchip imbedded in the pieces. When they come together as intended, probably with a specialised piece that acts as a brain and brings it all together, the music will play.”

  “Sounds complicated.” She chewed her lip. “Are we trying to do the impossible here? Maybe we should rethink this.”

  “No way,” I disagreed. “Complicated is good. It’s the way of innovation. Industry thrives on these things.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked with her eyes glued to the sketchpad. I cupped her chin and turned her face toward me. The uncertainty was clear on her face.

  “What are you worried about?”

  “I…I don’t know. I’ve never been good at anything before, but I want to be good at this. I need it. I need a future, Tristan.”

  Impulsively, I pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Come here,” I said, standing. “I want to show you something.”

  Anxiety ate away at me as Orla followed me to the other side of the room, where my easel sat. There was a white sheet covering my latest piece of art. I had specifically hidden it so that she wouldn’t see it, as she was the only person who came into the studio besides me. I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly wanted her to see it. I wanted her to like it.

  Pulling the sheet off the canvas, I turned to her.

  Her mouth parted. “Is that me?”

  It wasn’t really a question. There was no doubt who the red-haired beauty was. I had spent hours capturing Orla’s delicate features, trying to make it as perfect as possible, even though I knew nothing could compare to the real thing.

  I stepped around her to stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and placing my chin on her head. Partly because I wanted to be close to her, partly because I was feeling exposed, and burying my face in her hair seemed like the best place to hide.

  “Tristan, it’s…” She swallowed thickly. “Wow.”

  “Is that a good wow?”

  She leaned back into me and let out a sigh. “It’s a great wow.”

  There was something so intimate about it, sharing my newest art project with her. And for her to love it made my chest fill to near-bursting.

  I didn’t even realise I was rubbing her belly, a small bump beginning to protrude, until she pushed her hands off me.

  “Oh, God,” Orla stumbled back away from me, “you know, don’t you?”

  “Orla—”

  “Oh God, I’m going to be sick.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t care who the father is.”

  She shook her head over and over. “You don’t understand,” she repeated, her voice a near-whisper. Stark pain was printed across her face, making my heart lurch.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said. “You’re eighteen. You’re allowed to have sex.”

  “It’s not that…”

  I caught her, gently turning her face toward me. “Then tell me.”

  “I…”

  “When have I ever judged you? For anything.”

  “You haven’t. But—”

  “I won’t judge you for this. I swear. Trust me. Please.”

  She stared at me, her emotions warring across her face. “I…do trust you. But…”

  “But?”

  “You’ll hate me.”

  “Never,” I shook her, my voice growing fierce, “I could never hate you. No matter what. I promise on my life.”

  “You don’t know…”

  I leaned my forehead against hers. “I love you. Which means any secrets you keep are mine to love, too.”

  “It’s the father. He’s…” she took a deep, shuddering breath, “…he’s my foster father.”

  Everything clicked into place. The shame, the secrets, the crack in her voice. White-hot anger exploded inside of me, and I had to struggle to keep my voice calm as I asked, “Did he force you?”

  Her chin quivered as she nodded.

  I cursed in a voice that sounded foreign to my ears, in a voice so feral
it caused Oral to wince.

  Fuck, no, she was wincing because I was gripping her so tightly, my hands forming fists around her arms. I winched my fingers apart, stumbling back. My jaw clenched so hard that I thought my teeth might break.

  “See,” she said, tears forming, “you hate me.”

  “No! Baby, no.” I forced myself to calm down, forced softness back into my arms as I pulled her against me once more. “I hate him. Hate what he did to you. But not you. Never you.”

  “But the baby…”

  “It’s yours, which means I love him…or her,” I said without hesitation.

  There was a beat of silence. Orla stiffened in my arms. Then, “You…do?”

  I looked down at her, never so sure of anything before. “I love you, Orla. And this child is yours, which means I will love them. I already do.”

  “Even though…” Her voice hitched.

  “Even though,” I confirmed. “There is nothing that could stop me from loving you both. Always. And forever.”

  Orla pressed a kiss to my lips that said more than words could. I poured all the love and acceptance I had into that kiss. She moaned my name against my mouth, and I decided that I could live on that alone. The kiss quickly turned heated as she drew her hands down my body and slid a hand between us.

  We pulled at each other’s clothes and stumbled toward the old cot I had pushed up against the wall. The same cot we’d spent hours kissing and grinding on each other these last few weeks. My lips moved along her jaw and down her neck. I pulled away just long enough to whip her shirt, then mine over our heads before throwing them aside. I traced her collarbone with my tongue while she unbuckled my pants. Instead of leaving my briefs on as she usually did, she pushed them down off me, too.

  I paused to look at her, standing naked before her for the first time. Her eyes ran over me, and my skin tingled everywhere they landed.

  “Wow,” she said in a breathy whisper.

  “A good wow?” I asked, a hint of uncertainty in my voice.

  She laughed. “A great wow.”

  She unclipped her bra and let it fall to the ground, her pert nipples and full breasts on display.

  I drank her in for a second, tracing her bare skin before unbuttoning her pants and pushing them down, revealing her long legs one inch at a time, until she was left in only a pair of lacy black underwear.

  I guided her down to the cot so that she was lying flat. She lay back on her elbows and looked up at me with so much trust.

  “God, I want to paint you like this,” I murmured. Hovering over her legs, I pressed a kiss to her inner thigh just above the knee. Working my way up, one wet kiss at a time, I gently spread her wide for me with the palms of my hands.

  By the time I’d reached her panties with my mouth, they were soaked. I let out a low growling sound as I pressed my face against the lace, running my tongue along her slit through the fabric. Orla let out a whimpering sound that brought a wolfish grin to my face.

  “Tristan,” she moaned, “stop teasing me.”

  I wanted to tell her that it was only fair, because she was teasing me back. But I was already drunk on her scent, on her breathless pants in my ear, on the need to taste her again.

  I tugged off her panties, almost ripping them with desperation. She was so wet, glistening under the dim light, making my stomach clench with the need to have her. To truly make her mine.

  Pressing forward, I gave her one long, slow lick before flicking my tongue off her clit. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed backward onto the cot, her elbows giving out. Sucking and licking, I painted her with my tongue, delighting in the incoherent sounds of pure pleasure that escaped her. Her thighs tightened around me when my tongue found her clit, lapping at the little bundle of nerves over and over again. Orla was getting close, I could tell by the desperate way she called out my name over and over.

  “Wait!” She pushed at my head and I backed up. Had I hurt her?

  “I want to come with you inside of me.”

  I froze. Staring at the woman beneath me, her hair wide around her head, her cheeks flushed.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  Orla nodded and reached for me.

  This was even more significant than sex for the first time. This would be the first time Orla trusted a man with her body. She trusted me.

  I would not let her down. Never.

  I settled myself on top of her, careful to keep most of my weight off her chest. I brushed a strand of hair out of her face and kissed her, pouring my soul into her.

  “We don’t have to if—”

  “No, I want to.”

  “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  She smiled, kissed me and said, “I know.”

  Her trust was complete. My love for her was, too.

  Lining myself up at her entrance, I kissed her lips as I pressed forward. I paused. “Okay?”

  She nodded, her arms tightening around my neck.

  Her warmth surrounded me as I slid farther inside, pausing every few moments to check on her, until she’d taken every inch of me. She felt like tight, wet heaven.

  I gritted my teeth as I withdrew, only to drive myself forward again.

  Her back arched, pressing our bare chests together as she let out a sob.

  “Orla,” I tried to pull back, terrified I’d hurt her, but she wouldn’t let go.

  “God, Tristan, you just feel so good,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with tears but there was a smile on her face.

  “Baby, you’re crying. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She cupped my face and looked right into my soul. “I’ve never been so sure in all my life. Fuck me, Tristan.”

  I moved against her, slowly at first. Then faster, spurred on by the way she rocked her hips up to meet mine. The way she gripped my forearms, her fingers digging into me as she held on. With her head tilted back and her plush lips parted, I couldn’t stop staring. She was mesmerising like this. Open. Vulnerable. Uninhibited.

  “Please,” she begged, her voice raspy from all the moaning. “I’m so close.”

  I lifted her legs to wrap around my waist as I drove into her harder and faster, deepening each thrust into her body and driving both us closer and closer to our climax.

  “Yes,” she cried loudly, and a second later I felt her slick walls contracting around me. It pushed me over the edge and into the abyss, pleasure shooting through my entire body, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

  We were in this moment together, clinging to each other until the sensations faded and we were left, just her and I.

  Orla

  “You okay, ginger snap?” Donncha asked as I was spooning okra onto my plate. I jolted, dropping the spoon and sending the vegetable flying.

  “What? Grand. Yeah. Why do you ask?” I glanced around the dining room table to see that all three men were watching me closely.

  We had just sat down for dinner. I’d been jumpy all evening, having decided that I had to tell the others about my pregnancy and how it’d happened. I hadn’t worked up the courage though, nerves churning in the pit of my stomach.

  “You just seem distracted,” Donncha said.

  Tristan was sitting beside me. I glanced over at him and he nodded encouragingly. I sighed and pushed my plate away.

  “I need to tell you guys something.” I nibbled on my lower lip.

  “Is everything okay?” Donncha asked. Aogán just watched me silently, continuing to eat his corned beef.

  “Yes… No…” I winced. “I just…hope you don’t hate me.”

  Tension crackled in the air like electricity. Aogán’s focus on me was laser-sharp as he set down his fork. “Go ahead.”

  My eyes trailed to the woodgrain tabletop as I spoke.

  “After my parents died, I was placed in a foster home in Galway,” I started, my voice sounding brittle to my own ears. “With a couple. Channe and Angela Henley. At first, I was just lost in my own grief. I didn’t notice anything…”


  None of the boys spoke as I took a breath, the silence heavy.

  “He was pretty strict. He took my cell phone away. He wouldn’t let me use the home phone. Wouldn’t let me go out on the weekends or after school. He had a lot of rules…

  “Channe had become more and more overbearing, giving me an ever-expanding list of things that he had forbidden. Cell phones, shoes in the house, sugar, boyfriends, the list went on and on.

  “He got angry really quickly. And over stupid things. His breakfast was cold. Someone had moved the remote. We didn’t come fast enough when called. I could tell that Angela was scared of him even though she tried to hide it. Right before I turned eighteen, she left him and…” Tristan reached over and took my hand where it lay on the table, giving it a squeeze. I was sure the others noticed, but no one said a word. I let out a shaky breath.

  “He started…coming into my room at night.” My voice was a whisper, but I knew they heard. Aogán and Donncha tensed up on the other side of the table, their features frozen.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  My words were met with silence. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I’d cried enough. Roared with anger into my pillow enough.

  “That’s why I fled. Because…” I choked, unable to speak.

  Tristan’s hand squeezed mine. I squeezed back, anchoring myself to him. I was here. I was safe. I was loved.

  Donncha’s chair toppled over, hitting the wooden floor with a loud bang that seemed magnified by the chilling atmosphere. Rage was clear on his face, clenched jaw and fire in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but appeared to be at a loss for words. Surely that was a first for him.

  Instead he let out a low curse and turned away from the table. He strode to the other side of the room and back again, as if he had energy that needed to be used up or else he might explode.

  “What was his name again?” Aogán asked, his tone deadly. I looked at his face and felt a chill roll down my spine. While Donncha’s anger was explosive, Aogán’s was cold and calculating. I’d hate to ever be on the wrong end of that kind of fury.