Ciarán slid his arm around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “Relax, love,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing my skin. “You’re stiff as hell. That mean you’re thinking about him?”
I let out a slow breath, willing my body not to react to the way he was touching me. “I just don’t know how this is gonna work.”
Ciarán massaged my hips and chuckled low against my ear, his hands sliding lower. “It works however we want it to work.” His fingers trailed over my hips, teasing. “We could invite him up. Let him watch. Or he could be the one to fuck you while I watch. Would you like that?”
I stiffened, my breath catching. “Stop,” I said, trying to sound stern, but my nipples stiffened.
“We’ve talked about it before.” He turned me in his arms so I was facing him, his gaze dark and unreadable. “You want afamily. Marriage. Stability. I don’t. Oak does. We both want you. And I’m willing to share.”
His words made sense in a way that sent a shiver through me. It sounded... right. But not easy. And I liked easy.
“You make it sound simple, but it’s not.”
Ciarán smiled, dragging a finger along the strap of my tank top, slipping it down my shoulder. “Then make it simple. Tell him what he has to do to be in your life. Tell him straight up you were on some fuck-him type shit until the accident, and now this is what you want. He can participate, or he can move the fuck on. He no longer has the right to make demands of you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but his hands slid down to cup my ass, squeezing, distracting me.
“You got enough to share,” he teased, his lips ghosting over my jaw. “He can have the left cheek. I have the right.”
I swallowed hard, heat rushing through me.
“I have the right nipple,” he said, pinching it through my shirt. “He can have the left.” His mouth trailed down my throat, his tongue flicking over my pulse. “When the kids come, I’ll be goddaddy. I like kids. I want to spoil them, love them. I just want their momma and daddy to raise them.”
My head tipped back, giving him better access to my neck. His hands made slow, deliberate strokes over my body.
“This is strange,” I whispered, even as my body melted into him.
“Yes,” he agreed, kissing the top of my breast before flipping me over so I was beneath him. He hovered over me, his eyes burning into mine. “But we’re creatives. We can blame it on that. Or we can blame it on nothing. It’s nobody’s fucking business what we do. How we survive this world.”
I trembled as his lips brushed lower, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband. His voice was softer now, more serious. “Tell me you don’t want him, and he’s gone. But I know you needhim. I’ll never meet your expectations, Jordin, and I wouldn’t lie to you by saying I would.”
I inhaled sharply. “But I really want you.”
His eyes searched mine. “And you want him, too.”
I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t even try. I nodded.
His hand slid lower. He pushed his fingers into my pussy, his mouth swallowing my moan as he kissed me—deep, slow, and easy.
“You don’t have to choose,” he spoke against my lips. “Not everything has to be black and white. Let it be messy.”
I gasped as his fingers curled inside me, my hands gripping his shoulders for balance. My thoughts blurred, but all of my fears and doubts melted under his touch. For a moment, I let myself believe it could work—this strange, tangled arrangement.
Ciarán’s lips found my ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Tell me you’re mine, even if you’re his too.”
And I did. My voice broke. “I’m yours.”
He chuckled like he didn’t even need the answer. Like he knew, no matter how complicated this was, I wasn’t going anywhere.
thirty Six-Ciarán
Jordin was asleep next to me, her body soft and warm, her breathing even. The way she knocked out so easily after I fucked her was good for the ego, but I wasn’t anywhere close to sleepy. My mind was racing. My thoughts were looping, speeding up, then crashing all over again.
I needed my meds.
They were in the bathroom, just a few steps away, but I didn’t move. I was in that headspace where I thought I could be good without them. That dangerous space where I convinced myself I had control. That if I just breathed through it, just pushed through the static in my brain, I’d be fine. It’s fucked up that I was aware enough to know I wasn’t fine and still wouldn’t do anything about it.
I’d been doing this dance for years. Taking them when I was supposed to, skipping doses when I felt good, thinking I was past it. And Jordin had me feeling too good. Now I had it in my head that I’d beaten it. It would stay that way until it reminded me I hadn’t. Until my brain started running too fast, my emotions swung too wide, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, restless as fuck, feeling mean as fuck.
