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Diarmuid

 

 

 

I dreamed I was in the arms of an angel.

She kept me warm and she brought me peace. The kind of peace I’d never known. The ghosts from my past stopped rattling their chains. The heaviness that lay across my shoulders fell away. And the uncertainty, the feeling of being untethered, a single cork bobbing in an ocean, fell away.

She was an anchor. My anchor. My safe harbour.

As I woke, I felt every outline of her soft body, her breasts pressed against my side, her softness tangled around my limbs. My blood began to heat. I reached for her and found her slim waist under her shirt, my hand moving across her smooth skin as I shifted towards her. She let out a soft moan and her leg slid across my thigh, pressing against my growing hardness. I rocked against her, every movement like a tide pulling me closer to awake.

I opened my eyes and found the blonde angel curled in my arms, her sweetheart face—the most beautiful face I’d ever seen—lay on my chest, her long lashes almost touching her high cheekbones.

It felt like cold water had splashed over me, snapping me out of my near-dream state.

Oh shit.

Saoirse.

In my bed. Up against my erection.

I jumped out of bed. She stirred, blinking. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

“What the fuck? How the…? Wha?” I wasn’t making any sense, my mind still trying to put together the pieces.

I had been on the couch. I swear I had gone to bed on the couch.

Saoirse sat up in bed, the sheets falling around her. Dear God, I wanted to get back in there with her.

“You looked so uncomfortable last night,” she said, “I dragged you here.”

And in my half-asleep state I had gone with it. Even though I shouldn’t have.

“Jesus Christ.” I rubbed my face. I was going to prison. Even worse, I was going straight to hell.

Saoirse rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened.”

Except something did happen. It happened inside of me.

My erection was evidence of it. I had pressed it against her. Rubbed it against her. God help me.

I had to get out of here. I spun and practically ran out of the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” she called after me.

“You shower. I’ll coffee,” I grunted back, just needing some distance from her. From me around her.

In the kitchen, I cupped my hands around a mug, letting the heat from the freshly brewed coffee within burn my skin. If only it could burn away my sins.

I’d woken up in bed with Saoirse. I’d pressed my filthy erection against her clean body. Heaven help me.

“Why is there a box with my name on it in your closet?” Saoirse’s voice broke through my reverie.

Ah, shit.

I looked up to find her standing before me, dampness at her hairline, wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted jumper that showed off all her curves. Curves that I instantly remembered being pressed up against me in bed.

Double shit.

“You went through my closet?” My voice came out like a growl. The best defense is an offence, or so they say.

“No.” She shifted her feet. “Maybe. I was just looking for a hand towel, I swear. You didn’t have one in your bathroom.” She screwed up her face. “Or your closet, for that matter.”

Now that I was living on my own there were a lot of things I realised I missed about living with a woman. Feminine things. Like candles, flowers and hand towels.

I didn’t miss them enough to take Ava back, though.

“So the box…” Saoirse said.

Right. The Box.

“It doesn’t have your name on it,” I said, stalling.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Why is there a box with Selkie written across the top?”

I let out a sigh. I hadn’t meant for her to ever see that box; it had been for me. Especially now that things were more…complicated between us.

No, I scowled to myself, things were not complicated. I did not have a complicated attraction to a woman who was over a decade younger than me.

It was simple.

Keep my hands off Saoirse.

Make myself stop thinking these illicit things. Right now.

Her jade eyes met mine, her tiny teeth chewing on her lip. “I didn’t open it. I wanted to, though.”

“You’ve seen it now,” I said. “You might as well have it.”

She blinked several times at me. “The box is for me?”

“No. Yes. Sort of.”

She frowned. “Clear as mud, Brennan.”

I downed the rest of my coffee as if it were a shot, the bitter burning searing the back of my throat—I needed something stronger, but this was all I had to hand—before dropping the empty mug in the sink. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Saoirse was still staring at me, the stern look on her face telling me that there was no way she was letting this go.

I let out a sigh. “Come on. It’ll make more sense when you see it.”

I felt her eyes on me all the way to the bedroom. And when I heard her dainty footsteps enter the bedroom behind me, my skin became electrified.

Saoirse and I were in my bedroom.

Alone.

I shoved this thought aside, yanking the closet door open just a tad too hard. The box was sitting plain as day in the back corner on top of the set of inbuilt drawers, Saoirse’s nickname, selkie, written across the top in my tiny script.

I pulled it out and placed it on the bedspread, sliding it in front of the lady in question.

Saoirse glanced at me, a request for permission.

I nodded, permission granted.

Even after being apart for three years, we could still have a whole conversion without uttering a single word.

She slid the top of the box off and peered inside, my stomach flipping in my belly.

Ah, shit.

I was nervous.