by Alex Kidwell
I cut him off, tugging him in to kiss him quiet. “Brady,” I told him, holding his gaze. “I don’t care that you dated someone however many years ago. You’re not sleeping with him now, right?”
Giving a mock shiver, Brady shook his head. “Definitely not.”
“So, it’s fine.” And then, quieter, “I believe you were going to tell me. It’s an ex, Brady. We both have them.” There was one question, though, that I hesitated in asking. But finally, I ventured, “Why did you ask him to bring me the box? And food and stuff?”
Rubbing a hand across his face, Brady paused. “He’s one of my oldest friends,” he told me frankly. “Whether or not I’ve seen him naked, Conner and I have been friends for nearly a decade. I trusted him to make sure you were alright while I worked.”
It wasn’t malicious or a test or anything like that—not that I’d seriously thought it could be. Brady might be a lot of things, but discovering he had a thing for men who worked out did not mean he was suddenly manipulative or cruel. Still, I relaxed at the confirmation. This was the guy who patiently stayed with me even while the specter of my dead partner lurked over the relationship. I could handle him being friends with a former boyfriend. I wasn’t that insecure.
“I dated Tracy once,” I informed him, arching my eyebrows over my wineglass as he snorted out a laugh. “It’s true. We were in fourth grade, and she was the only girl I didn’t think was icky. We kissed on the swing set, and then she stole my cupcake. I left her for my crush on Rudy Morten, who is now a dentist.”
Shaking his head, grinning at me, Brady pulled me in for a hard kiss. “You, sir,” he told me in a murmur, “are dancing with me. Right now.”
We did. He made me feel like awkwardness was for other people, and I could feel him relax into us, into my arms, as we moved around the floor. I laughed as he described the process of making sure five hundred mini chocolate soufflés didn’t fall even while your pastry chef was so tired he kept whipping the mayonnaise instead of the egg whites. He introduced me to everyone as his boyfriend, his hand on the small of my back and mine around his waist as we mingled and mixed, as we drank more wine and I didn’t once wish for a nap. But mostly, we danced.
It was perfect.
CRASHING back against the wall of my apartment, I grabbed at Brady’s suit coat and shoved it unceremoniously to the floor. His mouth was on mine, hot and hungry, devouring me while I was helpless to do anything but moan. I slid my hands down his back, palms flat against the soft fabric of his shirt until I could shove them down under his waistband. I curled my fingers around the gorgeous curve of his ass, nails digging in, and jerked him closer. He groaned into our kiss and my tongue tangled with his, both of us panting for breath when we pulled away.
His lips were flushed and swollen, his eyes dark with want. I stared at him, knowing I looked just as needy, that I was practically vibrating with how much I was turned on. His fingers fumbled at my belt and I helped him, our eyes locked on each other, tendrils of heat curling into my gut, hooking me up into dizzying heights of arousal.
With a low groan, he shoved my pants down; I kicked them away, leaving puddles of clothes behind. My shirt, his shoes, our belts, all scattered across the floor as we stumbled our way toward the bedroom. He was kissing me like I was oxygen, hands sliding across my skin.
After yanking off my shirt, he tossed it away with a laugh, with that beautiful grin, and I teased my lips across his. “You’re gorgeous,” I murmured, fingers mapping the curves and ridges of all that wonderful bared skin.
“God, Quinn.”
We fell across the bed, Brady blanketing me. Heavy and warm and solid, he rocked against me, my moan lost in another endless kiss. His hand slid down my arms, playfully pinning them above my head before he moved to mouth his way across my chest. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me,” he breathed, and I felt a shot of heat clench at my gut. “Because you’re so damn beautiful, and I think I’ll go crazy if you’re not inside of me right the hell now.”
With a laugh, a breathless, aching whimper, I rolled us over. This time I pinned his arms, biting his neck, his shoulder, loving the way he responded. I’d never even thought about biting before, but with the way he moaned and moved under me, I couldn’t help myself. “I need you,” I told him, resting our foreheads together. I did. In that moment, in all the moments since I’d met him, that had become truer than anything else I could say. I’d grown to need Brady in terrifying, heart-stopping ways.
“I’m right here.” His voice was a low breath of sound against my ear. His hands painted trails down my back, his mouth busy drawing maps along my collarbone. “I’ll always be right here.”
It was a promise no one could keep, but it seemed so possible right then. So close with his hands on me, with our kisses panted between moans. I reached out and found the lube, the sad little bottle I had left. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought much about this, about the necessary things; it’d been so long since I’d wanted anything like this.
“Shit.” I pulled back, heaving in air, realization dawning. “Condoms. I don’t have any condoms.” It’d been nearly a decade since Aaron and I had needed them and until that moment, feeling the hard press of him against my thigh, the coil of want tight in my belly, I’d forgotten all about them.
“My wallet.” Brady arched up to catch my lower lip between his teeth, smirking lightly when I shuddered. “Back pocket. I have two.”
“We’ll need to get more later,” I murmured, and he smiled, fingers threading through my hair while I kissed my way down his body, reluctant to leave him alone. Finally, I made myself stand, him sitting up with me to keep touching me as I dug through his pants, as I found his wallet. Brady grabbed my hips and nuzzled into my cock; every muscle in me jumped at the contact. His tongue, clever and quick, teased around the base, darted up to the head, found the slit and sent me moaning.
Easily, I pushed him back, and he went happily, legs spreading as I ran my hand along his thighs. I eased one of my fingers inside of him, slick with lube, warming from his body. Christ, he was tight. I kissed him as he rocked back against me, eager and wanting. It took a great deal of effort to hold back, to make myself go slow. I didn’t know how long it’d been for him, but this was something far bigger than sex, than just fucking. This was us, for the first time; it was me in the moment.
Aaron wasn’t there. He hadn’t been the last time, either. The difference was, this time I wasn’t looking for him.
Two fingers, now, scissoring in and out of him. I watched his face as he moaned for me, as his head fell back, as his body arched into me. It was intoxicating. He was lean and long, the blond trail from his belly button to his cock becoming my new favorite thing to tease my teeth against, his legs spreading wider, as if he could take all of me in. As if he wanted nothing more than this.
I kissed his thighs and he groaned my name. “I’m ready,” he panted, teeth gritted together. “Fuck, Quinn, I’m ready. Stop teasing.”
I laughed. Startled and, God, so free, I laughed, feathering kisses against his hips. “So impatient,” I murmured, and he growled, but his hands running along my shoulders were gentle. His eyes, when I met them, were achingly sweet. He wanted me, just like this. He wanted us.
God, I did too.
Easing inside of him, I almost lost it altogether. He was heat—more than heat, he was fire. He was the god of the sun, burning me up with need. Every inch I sank into him, I lost myself more into the glorious joining of us. I gave myself up to worshiping him. “You’re perfect,” I murmured against his neck, panting hoarsely, scattering kisses anywhere I could reach. “God, Brady.”
His legs wrapped around my waist and we moved together, slow at first, gentle rocks of our hips as he turned his head to find mine, as we kissed, as his tongue teased into my mouth and I was utterly his. The languid pace, though, couldn’t last. Not with Brady looking the way he did, feeling as tight and hot. He hands urged me on, fingers digging into my back, and I moaned again
st his lips.
Bracing my arms on either side of his head, I moved faster. Harder. Deeper. I took him and he took me, and looking down, I wasn’t sure which part was only mine and which was only his any longer. Every second pleasure raced deeper. Every moment it was like I was burning up with need. He was kissing me, I was lost in the sensations, and the bed was shaking with how hard we were fucking together.
He came with a near-silent cry, a whimper as his head fell back, eyes falling shut. I watched as the blush coiled along his skin, as his legs shook and his hands grasped at my shoulders. He tightened around me and I couldn’t help but follow.
“Brady.”
I sagged down against him, heart racing, lost in the blaze of pleasure, the pounding bliss of the aftermath. We sank into one another, arms wrapped tight, barely able to move. For a long time, there was nothing but that, but sweat-slicked skin, but his breath stirring my hair, but the bass throb of my heart and the little jolts of pleasure through my veins.
“Christ.” I barely managed to roll off of him and Brady followed me over until we were lying side by side. We just looked at one another, and I contemplated the flecks of hazel in his eyes, the satisfied curve of his lips. My fingertips explored his cheeks, his jaw, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
I didn’t feel guilty. I felt sad, a little. More than a little. Like I’d shut a door I couldn’t bear to see left behind. But Brady’s arms were around me, and he smiled, just for me. And the sadness wasn’t unbearable. It simply was, the pull of a scar, of newly healing skin.
“Hey,” I whispered and Brady huffed out a little laugh, quiet and still, kissing the tip of my nose.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Chapter 7
SUNLIGHT, warm and golden, flitted across my eyelids. Slowly it coaxed me back to wakefulness, the haze of sleep being gently replaced by the weight of a certain enormous fluffball on my feet, by the comforting press of someone tight against my back. Brady’s arm was slung across my waist, his head buried into my shoulder, and the man was still sleeping soundly, filling my bed with his solid presence. There was warmth, there, and weight; there was the undeniable idea that I was not alone.
Smiling faintly, I turned, grin growing as Brady snorted irritably, as he nuzzled into my chest and his arms tightened around me. Apparently Brady was not a morning person. Kissing his forehead, I amused myself with teasing the wayward curls back from his face, studying him as he slept. His features were relaxed and content; he sighed softly, a smile easing across his lips.
We were there, in bed, to greet the morning. The other pillow was rumpled, the sheets were tangled around us, Brady’s legs were laced with mine. It was so achingly normal, so perfectly domestic, and I wanted to soak it in.
Winston heaved out a long-suffering meow and nudged his way up between us, rudely shoving his face into Brady’s. I choked back a laugh as Brady woke with a start, blinking widely and staring around himself. Winston chirped at him, nudging his face again, then mine, before prancing off.
“Morning,” I murmured, kissing his startled expression. I could feel his smile bloom under it and he trailed his fingers through my hair, happily turning us so I was sprawled underneath him while he deepened the kiss.
“You’re here,” he whispered, lips trailing along my jaw, back to my mouth, before he rested his forehead against mine, eyes drinking me in.
“I’m here,” I agreed, brushing my fingers along his cheek. “As is my cat.”
Brady snorted out a laugh, nuzzling his nose against mine. He was sleepy and warm and cuddled close; I couldn’t find too many things to complain about at that moment. Even my giant prissy diva of a cat was a special kind of wonderful right then. We kissed again, slowly, and morning breath didn’t seem to matter so much. Not when I felt so decadently lazy. Not when Brady’s fingertips were sliding along my side.
“Are you sad?” he asked quietly, pulling back just enough to see my face.
I considered the question. I’d told him I would be; whatever else I’d learned over the past few weeks, I knew hiding myself away was the least-favorable option. Brady, for reasons I hadn’t quite grasped yet, wanted to be here. With my ghosts, with my grief, with my cat and my haunted apartment, he wanted me. I wasn’t going to take that lightly.
“Yeah,” I admitted, lips curved up ruefully. I let the next kiss linger, though, nudging my forehead against his. “But I’m starting to be happy too.”
His smile was quiet but I clung to it, the soft, sweet swell of sunshine hovering between us. “You make me so happy, Quinn. Just like this, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Even if I still miss him?” I knew the answer, I thought. I just needed to hear it, while we were like this. I needed to know Aaron was still a part of me, even if he wasn’t the whole any longer.
“Babe, you wouldn’t be you if you stopped missing him completely.” Brady’s hand gentled through my hair to land lightly curved around my neck, thumb stroking just under my jaw. “He was part of you. You’ll always feel that loss. I just….” He trailed off, worrying his lower lip. Insecurity seemed so strange on him, so utterly foreign after his graceful confidence. “I don’t want to push you. But I’m selfish, Quinn. I want a part of your life. I want….” Brady breathed out a quick, helpless laugh. “Shit, I want this. I want us. There has to be a way for you to be both things. To be someone who misses him and someone who… someone who wants me too.”
There was an instinct to rush to reassure him. To make him promises, to press pretty words between us and hold them there. But I could feel that tightness at my throat, the ache that hadn’t died down no matter how much I’d wished it to, warring right alongside the urge to gather Brady close and hold on. Aaron had been the largest piece of me for so long; even if I wanted to give that to Brady, I didn’t know if it would be that simple. If it should be that simple.
“I can’t promise I’ll be easy to live with,” I finally began, eyes down on our hands, which had laced together, before coming back up to his face. “And I can’t promise I won’t have moments, days, when missing him is all I can do. I lost my way, Brady.”
“I know,” he started, but I shushed him with a kiss, needing to say this. Desperately wanting to.
“What I can tell you,” I murmured, forehead resting against his, eyes closed as I sorted through every word and made sure all of it was true, “is that I want you. That when I said I was falling for you, I meant it. That I need you in my life, more than I think you realize. And I’m going to mess up. I’m going to stumble.” Sighing softly, I cupped his cheek. “I went to the graveyard the other night. After you came to see me.”
He pulled back a little, startled, searching my eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked, so tenderly I nearly drowned in it. In him.
Nodding, I tightened my hold on his fingers. “I… I needed to tell him. He’s not there, I know he’s not, but I don’t know. I needed the symbolism, I guess?” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Before, when you and I were together, I felt like I was cheating. Like I didn’t deserve to feel happy with someone else. And you needed someone better than that, someone who could be more.”
My words were thick around the sharp hurt in my chest, the tight grasp the past and the scary prospect of the future had on me. But I didn’t flinch away. “I think I stayed there, in all the grief and… and everything. I think I did it because it was easier. It’s easier to wallow in that than it is to wake up in the morning and realize he’s not coming back. And it’s easier to say that than it is to finish the sentence.” I touched my fingers to his cheek, his jaw, looking for the light in those beautiful brown eyes that said he understood. “He’s not coming back, but I have to keep going.”
Brady exhaled slowly, eyes closing for a moment before he wrapped me up in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered, and I shivered at the words, at what they meant. At how big and huge and terrifying, at how small and simple and hopeful.
Before I could try and say anything,
before I could sort through the rush of emotions, Brady nudged my shoulder lightly with his chin. “Don’t even think about it, O’Malley,” he murmured, and I could feel his smile against my skin. “I just wanted to say it. I don’t need you to say anything back.”
Relaxing into him, I nodded. I couldn’t yet. I wanted to. I felt myself craving that word, knowing Brady was worth giving it to. But not yet. I was still too raw to offer that part of me.
We wound up eventually moving out of the bed after Winston had come to complain at us a second time. He curled up happily in Brady’s arms as we padded out to the kitchen, Brady’s boxers slung low on his hips and definitely a nice sight to wake up to. I showed Brady where the cat food was and he took care of the obviously starving to death drama queen while I started up the coffeemaker and banged around for a large pan.
“What are you doing, Mr. Industrious?” Brady’s arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my shoulder as he watched me carefully mixing flour and sugar and eggs. “Why I do declare”—his Southern accent was terrible, but he did it with gusto—“are you cooking for little old me?”
“I promised you pancakes,” I reminded him archly. “Coffee should be ready soon. Is His Royal Butterball fed?”
“Apparently he was only minutes from wasting away,” Brady informed me seriously. “We were lucky, this time, to save him from a food coma.”
“Yes, he is so neglected.” Said abused cat was currently winding around our legs, purring loudly. His squished face turned up to me, eyes blinking closed as he kneaded the ground, doing a little happy wiggle. “And he’s definitely not getting pancakes.”
“You’re such a hardass.” Brady kissed my neck and I leaned back against him, taking a moment just to bask. I liked basking.
“That’s me.” Nudging him toward the coffee, I laughed at his pout, turning to brush my lips against his cheek. “Go. Have coffee. Let me cook.”
