“Yes,” I said. “Yes, yes. Oh God.”
I buried my head in the pillow to muffle the sounds that escaped this time, my legs trembling as I tightened around my fingers and came into the dark of the room. It was fast and fierce and not fucking enough. I wanted more. I wanted him.
I wantedhim and I would always fucking want him, even though I knew it was wrong.
“Kieran,” I moaned, fucking myself through it again until I couldn’t take anymore.
“Jesus,” he said, his own voice catching slightly, like he was right there with me. Like he’d been there all along. It was messy and hot and everything I didn’t want to let go of, but it wasn’tenough. It couldn’t be enough because this was a fucking crazy, terrible idea.
I kept telling myself to stay away from him, but here I was on the phone with him in the middle of the night, asking him to talk me through an orgasm.
Wishing he was here in my bed, his cock inside me.
“I should really go,” I said, my hand hovering over the end call button.
“No,” he said—but he wasn’t using his In Charge voice anymore. This was tender…pleading “Stay.”
“And what? We go again in twenty minutes?”
He laughed. Not a polite little chuckle, but a full-bellied laugh. “You have to warn me before you actually crack a good joke. I almost pulled something.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But don’t hang up. Just…just stay on the line. Let me listen to you breathe.”
A pause.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he added, too quickly. “Nothing’s changed.”
But he was wrong.
Everything had changed.
I curled into the sheets, phone warm against my ear, and felt that old ache bloom in my chest—an ache worse than the one between my legs, the one that begged for hislove, not just his cock. Because he’d always been good in bed…but it was his love I’d missed most of all.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Good night, Kieran.”
He let out a low, rumbling sigh. “Good night, Ruby.”
And after that…I actuallyslept.
Chapter Ten: Kieran
Aknock on the door woke me up.
I’d overstayed my welcome at Liam’s apartment and had then managed to crawl, in a drunken stupor, to his guest bedroom. My little brother had always liked things when he was younger, but over time, he’d become more of a minimalist. This bedroom was very much adult Liam—sharp corners, a picture of us when we were kids hanging on the wall opposite the bed, an elegant wooden crucifix hanging on the back of the white door. For a second, as I lay there with a splitting headache, I wondered what it was about our lives that had made us all like this.
Minimalist.
Professional.
Desperate for control.
The knocking got more insistent.
I was vaguely aware that my phone was next to me on the bed, that I’d spoken to Ruby last night and that I probably—no, definitely—needed to wash these sheets.
“Go away!” I shouted.
