He’ll never figure out the garter straps. I’m about to tell him how to unfasten the hooks, but then he just yanks the material to the side and slides two fingers inside me.
“Oh fuck,” I moan.
“God, I love how wet you are for me already.”
He removes his fingers and hurriedly gets up to remove his clothing. While he’s pulling the condom out of his wallet, I quickly unsnap the garter straps, so he can remove my panties without a problem.
“Stand up,” he commands, giving me his hand.
He pulls me up and walks me around the back of the couch, making me stand in front of him. He removes the robe and throws it onto the couch, then steps up and presses his chest into my back.
“You are a fucking masterpiece,” he growls, his hand cupping my ass.
I moan in response, then he slips the panties down my thighs, and lets them drop to the floor where I can step out of them.
“Spread your legs wider.”
I obey, and I’m rewarded when he slips his fingers inside me again.
Bracing myself on the back of the couch, I bend over slightly while he penetrates me with his long fingers.
“Oh God.”
He moans, working me over with just his hand, and then he grunts. “Fuck, I need to taste you.” He drops to the floor behind me, spreads me open, and goes to fucking town.
“Jesus,” I breathe, bending all the way over and spreading my legs a little further.
Cillian’s hands stay on the sides of my ass as he buries his face into me, eating me like I’m his favorite dessert.
My fingers dig into the brown cushions as desire burns passionately in my veins. Every time his tongue runs over my clit, my legs shake. When he fucks me with his tongue, I push back into him, wishing he could go deeper.
After several minutes, Cillian stands up and I hear the condom wrapper tear open. Thank fuck, because I need to feel him inside me.
The crown of his cock prods at my entrance, but only for a second, because then he’s pushing all the way in. Cillian grips my waist and pummels into me with hard, deep thrusts.
He leans over my back as his arm snakes around my waist and his fingers find my engorged clit.
“Oh yes,” I moan.
My body responds to him like he’s the owner. He plays me like an instrument, and his fingers always hit the right keys. He already got me worked up with his fingers and mouth, and now with his cock filling me up while his fingers rub circles on my clit, I’m about to explode.
“God, Cillian.”
Pleasure prickles up my spine, currents of electricity fire through my body, hitting every pleasure point there is, and the orgasm sets me on ablaze.
“Oh yes. Fuck!” I scream.
Cillian doesn’t stop touching me or fucking me, and as I come down from that blissful peak, I can tell he’s about to reach his.
He grabs my thigh and lifts my leg up, resting my knee on the back of the couch. His thrusts become faster, his grip tighter, and then he releases a loud grunt.
“Oh fuck.”
He keeps going at the same pace before he slows down as his muscles tense, and then he comes deep inside me with a husky growl.
After we separate, I turn around and say, “God, I needed that.”
He chuckles, taking off the condom and walking around to the other side of the couch to get his clothes. “Well, I’m willing to give it to you whenever you want. Don’t forget that.”
I kick off my heels before I start trotting down the hall. “I’m gonna use that bathroom in my room, you can use the one in the hall.”
“All right.”
After I’m done freshening up and passing back through my room, I take a second to check my phone that was left plugged in on my nightstand. I have a text from London.
London: Call me when you’re free. We need to talk.
Uh-oh.
35
Cillian
I think I’m starting to fall for Midge.
Sure, I crushed on her in the past, and I’ve liked her for many years as a friend, but things are changing. At least on my end. And as much as I hate to admit that Elijah was right, he may be.
I want more with Midge. I want to be open about us. I want to take her out and not care if anybody sees us kissing or flirting or holding hands. But she doesn’t want that, and unless we’re on the same page, this isn’t going to work.
I’ll give it some more time with the hope that she’ll come around and realize it doesn’t matter if our friends and family know. Shit happens all the time, and if this ends badly, then we’re just going to have to be adults about it and figure shit out, but why hold ourselves back for other people?
“London texted me,” she announces, entering the living room. “She said we need to talk.”
“Uh-oh.”
“My thoughts exactly. Do you think she knows? How could she?”
I lean against the back of the couch and cross my arms. “I don’t know. It’s not like you and I are always all over each other.”
She chews on her nail, something she does when she’s nervous. “I don’t know what to tell her. She’s gonna be pissed and things will become awkward as fuck, because she’ll probably tell Royce, and then both of them will be staring at us when we’re together. And we’re not even in a relationship!”
I sigh, pushing away from the couch. “Why are you freaking out about this? Maybe she doesn’t know. She could want to talk to you about something else. But even if she does know, maybe that’s good. Now you won’t have to lie anymore.”
“I’m not freaking out,” she says, in the middle of her freak out. “How are you not worried about this? You don’t care that this can become weird for people?”
“Why do I give a shit about other people?” I say, my tone a little sharper than I intended. “Honestly, Midge, nobody should think about other people when it comes to their own intimate relationships.” She levels a look at me. “Or fuck buddies or whatever the hell you wanna call it.”
Midge takes a deep breath and runs her fingers through her hair, tugging at the roots and looking one thousand percent stressed out.
“I just don’t want people to know.”
I want people to know, but I don’t tell her that. She’s too fragile about this whole situation, and I’m trying to remind myself that this isn’t personal. She’d be this way about anybody. Then again, I’m not just anybody. I’m not one of her random hook-ups. I’m her friend. She’s known me for years, and maybe that’s why it sucks so much.
I release a long breath. “Maybe we should cool it, then.” I say the words I never wanted to say. I came into this hoping I’d be able to prove to her that we’re meant to be together. We have a bond most people don’t have. She was there during my darkest time, and it meant everything to me to have her in my life. Perhaps my feelings are deeper than hers for that reason alone.
“What?” she asks softly, her hands falling to her side as she watches me with wide eyes. “This is over?”
I give her a sad smile. “No, Midge. I don’t want this to be over, but I don’t want you to be on the verge of having a breakdown over the fact that your best friend might know that there’s something going on between us.”
“It’s not that, it’s just…” she stops talking, unable to find any words.
“Let’s just call it a breather, huh? If nobody sees us together, then they can’t think anything’s going on, right?”
“Cill, it’s not that I’m embarrassed or anything.”
I gently grab ahold of her shoulders and look into her eyes. “It’s okay. I’m gonna go, though, and I guess I’ll see ya around?”
She sniffs. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
And then I walk away from one of my best friends, and someone I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.
People always want to talk about how love is beautiful. How love is this wonderful emotion, and you’re constantly happy and in a state of bliss.
Bullshit.
Love is a force of nature not to be fucked with. It hits hard and has the ability to destroy you. Love makes you vulnerable. It cuts you open and leaves your heart exposed. Love is beautiful, sure, but sometimes to get there you have to overcome a few hardships. Like Midge said, what love story doesn’t have complications?
I’m walking away now, but not forever. I’m giving her what she may need to realize we’re meant to be together instead of apart. Here’s to hoping.
36
Midge
I call in sick to work this morning, feigning flu-like symptoms. Nobody wants to be around someone who supposedly has a fever and is coughing up phlegm all over the place.
Truth of the matter is, I’m sad. I’m also trying to avoid London, because I’m still unsure what she wants to talk about, though I have a strong suspicion it involves Cillian. But now that me and Cillian are over, if London asked if we were together, I wouldn’t be lying if I said no.
Okay, I know. Semantics. She deserves to know what’s been going on, but now I’m too fucking sad to talk about it. I’m aware that when we started this, I, myself, said this would die off. But to be honest, I’ve been having fun. I love my time with Cillian, and I wasn’t ready for it to end.
I decide to send London a quick message, just so she knows I’m alive.
Midge: Taking a sick day. I’ll talk to you later.
I don’t expect to hear back from her until lunch, so I spend the morning in bed before eventually dragging myself to the kitchen and becoming a cliché character in a romantic comedy movie. I grab a pint of ice cream and a spoon, and plop on the couch to watch rom-com movies.
The day moves surprisingly fast considering I’m doing absolutely nothing. But as time goes on, karma sneaks in and bitch slaps me. My head begins to ache and my nose becomes stuffy. Hours later, I’m curled up on the couch clutching toilet paper and drinking a cup of hot tea.
I told my work I was sick, and now it appears I’m getting sick. Just fucking great.
My medicine cabinet holds only Tylenol and Advil, but nothing for colds. I take what I have and hope it helps combat the headache, send an email to my boss regarding my sickness and tell him I’ll need the week, then I crawl into bed and hope to wake up slightly better.
I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like death. It takes me hours to go to sleep again, and by the time I wake up, everybody I know is at work. I texted my mom and she said she’d bring some stuff by when she got off. London sends well-wishes, but she’s stuck at work, too. So, until my mom comes over, I stay in bed.
“Oh, honey,” she says as soon as she sees me. “Go get back in bed. I’ll put some stuff in your kitchen and bring you some medicine.”
I drag my sock-covered feet along the wooden floor and wrap my robe around me a little tighter. My skin burns like the surface of the sun while my body shivers like it’s been dumped in a frozen lake.
My nose is already raw from all the blowing I’ve had to do, and my chest is sore from all the coughing. I’m miserable.
“Here you go,” Mom says, dropping a couple pills in my hand and offering me some water. “You need to try to stay hydrated. I’m gonna leave this Gatorade on the nightstand too. These pills may make you sleepy, but it’s probably best to sleep through as much as possible.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I croak.
She places the back of her hand on my forehead. “Watch that temperature. If it gets too high, you need to go to the hospital, so let me know.”
“Okay.” I pull the covers up to my chin and curl into a ball.
“I put some soup in the pantry and some orange juice in the fridge. There’s also more medicine and cough drops in the cabinet.”
“Thanks for bringing everything.” I sniff then start hacking up a lung. “I don’t want you to get sick. You should go.”
Mom comes closer and kisses my forehead anyway, brushing back my hair. “Call me if you need anything else, okay?”
“I will. Love you.”
Mom leaves and I eventually fall back asleep. On Wednesday morning, I’m still sick, but manage to get in the shower because I feel like germs are just stuck all over my body. I Lysol the shit out of my bed and anything else I’ve touched, then wrap myself in my fluffy, purple robe, and put on my thick, fuzzy socks, and make my way to the kitchen.
I don’t have much of an appetite, but I figure I should try to eat some soup just to put something in my body. Hopefully it helps with the lethargy.
Before I get to the kitchen, someone knocks on my door. I shuffle my feet and peek through the peephole, jolting upright when my gaze falls on Cillian.
I stand there, thinking I should just wait until he goes away, because I don’t really want him to see me like this. My nose is constantly red, and the skin around it is peeling. Thanks, toilet paper. I have no makeup on to help cover the dark circles under my eyes or my sickly pallor.
But then I start coughing. I cough so hard, I plant my hand on the door and bend over, thinking I’m about to puke all over the floor. My brain pounds against my skull as I suck in a wheezy breath.
“I’m pretty sure you’re in there,” Cill says from the other side. “Open up.”
I pull open the door, looking as awful as I feel, I’m sure. “What’s up?”
He shows me the two plastic bags in his hands. “I brought some stuff.”
“Why?”
He tilts his head like he doesn’t understand the question. “Because you’re sick. Can I come in?”
“You might get sick.”
He shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”
I step back and let him in, and he instantly goes to the kitchen and starts pulling things out of the bags. I drop into one of the chairs at my dining room table and watch him.
“To help keep me from getting sick, we have these,” he says, showing me a couple of surgical masks.
I try to laugh, but it turns into am embarrassing, phlegmy cough. “Probably a good idea,” I say as soon as I’m done coughing.
Cill hands it to me and I put it on. “I brought some chocolate chip ice cream for whenever you’re feeling better.”
“You remember?”
He cracks a grin. “How could I forget when you nearly bit my head off for bringing you cookie dough that one time?”
“That was in high school, and I was on my period and feeling pretty hostile. Sorry.”
Cill laughs. “You went on a ten minute rant about chocolate chip ice cream. I’m still scarred.”
He turns and puts the ice cream in the freezer, then shows me everything else. More medicine, a jar of Vicks, vitamin c tablets, and a couple of coloring books and colored pencils.
“Coloring books?”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if you still read those stupid tabloid magazines or not, and I know you hate crossword puzzles, and I know you read books on your phone rather than buy paperbacks, so, coloring books.”
“I have TV.”
He gives me a look. “You don’t remember?”
“What?”
“I think we were twelve or thirteen, but you were so mad that I could draw and you could barely make a decent stick figure, so you would challenge me to coloring contests because you swore you were the best colorer in the world.”
I start laughing before it turns into another coughing fit. “God, don’t make me laugh.” I rub my chest. “But yeah, I do remember. I’m pretty sure I won those.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
I move to stand up, but Cillian points a finger at me. “Sit down, what’re you doing?”
“I need some tea. My mom brought over some special tea that’s supposed to help with coughs.”
“I’ll make it. Where is it?”
I explain where everything is and Cillian makes me a cup of tea and then a bowl of soup, and takes them to the living room.
He comes back for me, taking my arm and escorting me to the couch like I’m an eighty-nine year old lady.
�
�I can walk, you know?”
“Yeah, but you’re probably weak, and if you slip because of these ridiculous socks on this wooden floor, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“My socks aren’t ridiculous,” I whine.
He shakes his head and deposits me onto the couch with my soup and tea waiting for me on the end table.
I watch him take his shoes off and sit down on the other end of the couch and put on his own surgical mask as I remove mine to eat.
“What’re we watching?”
“You’re staying?”
“Yep.”
I bite down on a smile. “You don’t have to do that, Cill. I appreciate everything, but I don’t expect you to stay.”
He looks over at me, most of his face hidden behind the mask, but his eyes are serious. “I’m staying and making sure you’re okay. Deal with it.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, cracking a grin.
His eyes twinkle. “Good girl.”
37
Cillian
“How did you know I was sick?” Midge asks from her end of the couch.
“London. I saw her and Royce last night.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, she mentioned she hadn’t been able to get in touch with you. Said you sent out a couple texts and told her to stay away from your diseased house.”
“Yet, you come to my diseased house. Don’t blame me when you’re dying in a couple days.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
We spend the next couple hours watching TV, and only talk about the show’s storyline or characters. We’re clearly both staying away from any topic that could relate back to us. I know she’s wondering why I chose to come here after we just agreed to take a break, but I couldn’t stay away. I heard she was sick and needed to make sure she was taking care of herself.
I know her parents work during the day, and since her grandparents are older, I’m sure they don’t want to risk getting sick. So, here I am, making sure she’s eating, hydrating, and not dying.
Truth or Dare (Kingston Brothers Book 2) Page 18
