Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

C onnor watched Kirsty as she fumbled with a box, her movements less sure than usual. The festival had been a smashing success, but none of it mattered now. As they unloaded the last boxes in silence at the back of the café, neither made eye contact. Like an invisible line had been crossed and they couldn’t find their way back. Stiff movements and clipped gestures betrayed the undercurrent sweltering beneath the surface. He could tell her mind was elsewhere. Also, his fucking back hurt like hell. He let the last box down with a thud.

‘Shush. You’re gonna wake up my da. It’s past nine, he’s already in bed.’

‘Aye, I remember.’ His gaze caught hers in the dim light spilling from the door lamp. The memory of kissing her against this exact wall… He could almost taste those reckless nights they’d spent wrapped up in each other right where they now stood.

‘Aye.’ Her voice was raspy. She must remember it, too.

His muscles tensed under the weight of the moment, every cell in his body begging to close the distance between them. But he held back. He had to. There was no way that she could ever want him again.

Now he truly understood what he’d done to her.

At the time, he had been so consumed by his own anger and hurt. He’d never realised how vulnerable she’d allowed herself to be with him. Only him. Sharing her true self, her dreams. And in one moment, he’d destroyed that trust. Echoing the criticisms her parents had constantly thrown at her.

How could he make amends for that?

Connor wished he could turn back time, undo the damage.

Because in that instant, he’d lost the only person who’d ever opened up to him. The only person to whom he had mattered. And that he’d always regret. Not just for himself, but also for her. For what it had done to her. Made her hard and cynical, hide behind a thorny wall. It was a miracle she even let him anywhere near her. He didn’t deserve her, not after what he’d said to her.

She hadn’t answered his question. Clearly, she didn’t want to think about what if. That he regretted letting her go.

Or maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she didn’t care. But at least now she knew. She knew his heart, as she’d always known it.

Rein it in, Bannerman.

Kirsty had enough to worry about with her parents and all. She didn’t need him to burden her with his mess. Because this was a mess. A huge simmering mess. ‘I should go,’ he said gruffly. ‘Have to dismantle the stall early tomorrow morning.’

She nodded, arms wrapped around herself. ‘Thanks for all your help with the festival. That was grand. A lesser man than you would’ve…I don’t know. Gone fishing?’

‘Night, Freckles,’ was all he could press out. Connor turned to leave, ready to endure the lonely walk home and the onslaught of self-loathing that would follow him like a shadow.

But before he could take his first step, her hand on his arm stopped him. He froze. Her fingers felt like flames on his skin. She whirled him around to face her, eyes shimmering with emotions he couldn’t decipher. She was about to speak, but the words got caught in her throat.

Then she did the one thing he didn’t expect.

She soared towards him, her mouth crashing into his with a fierce and fervent urgency, arms flying around his neck. Her kiss, untamed and ravenous, was bursting with longing as her lips melded against his, hot like a furnace. Those sweet, sweet lips. Burning him alive. Kissing him like she wanted to inhale his very essence.

Holy fuck.

Years peeled away with each frenzied touch, the pain of their past, the what-ifs, it all dissipated in the heat of their mingling breaths. She softened in his arms and his brain lost any semblance of control, giving way to instinct.

God, he’d missed this. Missed the way her lips felt so damn perfect against his own. He groaned into her mouth, one hand gripping her locks, and pushed her against the wall. Pure need. Nearly made him faint. Kirsty tasted like cupcake, purgatory, and salvation; and he wanted all of it.

Dear God, he always had.

Her hips pushed back against his. Divine friction that sent jolts of white-hot want straight to his dick. Her warmth, her softness, her scent… Hell, she was like the damn lock to his key, the end to his means, the air that he breathed.

‘Kirsty,’ Connor rumbled against her mouth. Her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt. A sharp contrast to the plush, wet softness of her lips. ‘If we… I can’t…’

Her low moan was the last straw.

He took her face with both hands, blindly, fingers digging into her cheeks so he wouldn’t fall to his knees. He nipped at her plump bottom lip, she whimpered, and he soothed the sting with his tongue. He wanted to be tender – he tried – but he couldn’t.

This is too fucking much.

He angled her head back, holding her in place as he thrust his tongue into her mouth again and again. Her lips clung to his with every retreat, sucking him back in. He plundered her with his tongue. Hard and deep and hungry.

Didn’t know he had it in him.

And she let him do this to her.

She fucking let him.

God help me.

Nothing mattered but the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her against his tongue. The world narrowed to Kirsty. She was a storm he’d weathered before, one he thought he’d been prepared to face again, but this – this was a category twelve ripper, and he was out at sea with no land in sight.

His cock strained against his jeans, desperate to be inside her again. He remembered – God, he remembered – how she felt. One night had been enough to brand him as hers forever. And he would have murdered right now to feel that again. Just one more time. Once.

He didn’t carry a torch for her. No, Kirsty Munro had been carved into his marrow. And damn it all to hell but he wanted her now more than ever.

Not the girl. The woman.

But…did she truly want him?

As he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, searching for affirmation and a glimpse of the future, he saw it – the flicker of hesitation, the shadow of her doubts. It was as if something within her was still holding back, an anchor to a past hurt. Like him, she was acting on instinct. She was susceptible, but not for the right reasons. Not because she wanted to be. Not because she chose to be.

The realisation sucker-punched him where it hurt, jolting him back to the harsh present. She wasn’t ready. This was nothing more than…nostalgia for her.

How could I believe for one minute that she’d be mine again?

He gasped for breath like surfacing from the depths of the quarry. Cupping her face, he caressed her flushed cheeks. The unsteady rhythm of her breathing matched his own, their chests rising and falling in hesitant synchrony. ‘What the fuck was that, Freckles? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’

Kirsty’s eyes, those gateways to her tumultuous soul, wide with vulnerability, closed off. He could see it, really see her shutting down. Shutting him out again.

‘Making out with my former teenage boyfriend like the tragic loser I am,’ she said, and it tore his heart to shreds.

His chest constricted with an ache that rummaged through his insides. But he couldn’t afford to let any of it show. ‘You’re not a loser,’ was all he managed to say.

‘I guess in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Night, Bannerman.’

She hid back in her old defensive shell. But his girl was still in there. Along with the woman she was and the one she could become. He’d seen her. Tasted her. Felt her. He had no idea how to set her free for good. And if he was the one who could do it. But he would die trying.

What have I done? Kirsty closed the door to her old bedroom with the peeling posters of The Kooks and R.E.M. It was a sanctuary of teenage angst and pared-down IKEA furniture, and now it mocked her with shadows of past innocence and naivety. She’d brushed her teeth in the adjoining bathroom, striving to be in control of at least this small routine. As she pressed her back against the door, the toothbrush slipped from her fingers.

Fuck. FUCK.

That had been close. It wouldn’t have taken much, and she’d have let Connor take her against the back wall of her parents’ café.

She wanted to. Oh, aye.

The walls were pulsating with the electricity of the moment she had just escaped. Kirsty had no idea what had come over her, why she’d jumped him. But the way he’d kissed her back… Like he’d been starving for her.

Jesus .

The echoes of Connor’s voice, that warm timbre that stroked against her skin, filled the silence. Frustrated and agitated, Kirsty paced the room, attempting to outrun the memories and thoughts battering her mind.

It was here they’d had their first time, twenty-fourth of December, a week before it all went to hell.

Christmas Eve – fourteen years ago

Her parents were at a Christmas party, not to return before midnight. Connor stood at her door, a goofy grin on his beardless face and an extra-large margarita in hand. ‘Pizza delivery,’ he joked.

She stepped aside, letting him in. ‘Just in time.’

The kitchen felt warmer with him in it. They set the pizza on the counter, but neither of them paid it any mind. He pulled her close. Their lips met and her hands slid up his stomach, feeling the strong, steady beat of his pulse beneath his skin.

Connor traced the edge of her bra. ‘Too much fabric’, he murmured and slipped his fingers underneath the lace. His thumbs brushed over her taut peaks and she sighed as he gently rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the sensation zinging straight to her core.

His touch was electric, sparking heat wherever his fingers grazed. Her heart cartwheeled in her chest, every beat echoing her anticipation. Kirsty had planned this. She’d been on the pill for six months and had snuck in a pack of condoms. No small feat in such a tiny town.

They’d made out in any way and any spot – the quarry, the beach, his parents’ bakery, the close, the back of the café. For over two years, they’d fondled and kissed and licked and teased each other into near madness.

But this was the night.

The cold pizza lay abandoned on the counter. She led him into her room, to her bed. In the soft glow of the fairy lights, he undressed her slowly. When they were skin to skin, he kissed her, every part of her, until she thought she was bursting into flames. Then he paused, looking at her with an intensity that made her heart thunder. ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered, voice cracking.

Kirsty nodded, eyes never leaving his. ‘Yes. I’ve been sure for a while. I want it to be you.’

He smiled and blushed and slipped on the condom with trembling fingers.

And then it happened.

‘A bit down, Connor. No, more to the left… Yes, I think…OH!’ She gasped when his thick tip found and slowly entered her. The initial sensation took her breath away, her body tensing instinctively. There was a moment of stillness as she adjusted to his first inches, their gazes fixed in wonder. It was sharp and strange at first, this stretching sensation. Both new and overwhelming. Her heart pounded in her ears, each beat amplifying the raw, electric feeling of Connor inside her. The boy she loved more than anyone in the world.

He let out a shuddering exhale. ‘Are you okay, Freckles? Does it hurt?’

There was no shame, no awkwardness, just a deep, abiding connection. Nothing but pure, true love.

‘Yes.’ Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts. ‘And a little. But it’s…nice.’

He kissed her languidly. She nodded, a slight, reassuring gesture, and he began to move cautiously. The pang of discomfort gave way to a spreading warmth, a fullness that felt right in ways she hadn’t anticipated. A soothing and thrilling tickle. Her body responded to the rhythm he set. They moved together, joining with natural ease. It was like their bodies knew each other, fitted together like ebb and flow. Each gentle thrust sent jolts of pleasure radiating from her core, rippling outward in waves. The friction was magical, a delicious pressure and release.

‘I think…I’m ready to go faster… You can…’

‘Okay…You feel so good, Freckles…Oh man…’

Kirsty’s breath hitched, her hips arching against him. The feel of Connor moving inside her was almost too much, every nerve ending on fire. But his presence grounded her, it always did. His ragged breathing in her ear, warm against her skin, the taste of his kisses…

She’d never felt so loved in her life.

The entire universe reduced to the two of them, hearts beating in unison. The slide of his skin against hers, his muscles flexing under her touch. His breathing grew heavier, syncing with the rhythm of his movements. Her gasps turned into soft moans, her body surrendering to the waves of sensation.

The fairy lights above blurred as pleasure built within her. Kirsty rode the wave, her cries muffled against his shoulder. She was alive in a way she’d never been before. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper, needing him closer. Her body convulsed around him, binding them together. She cried out his name, a sound of surprise and ecstasy.

When they collapsed together, giggling, bodies slick with sweat and humming with the discovery of a new world, Connor kissed her forehead. His lips were soft and warm against her skin. ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered.

‘I love you, too.’ Kirsty smiled, her heart overflowing. ‘How long until we can do that again?’

She remembered each detail. That Christmas, Connor had loved her with everything he had.

These very walls had witnessed her first orgasm. With him. And that, she knew, wasn’t usually how it went.

Kirsty’s reflection in the mirror caught her off guard, fiery hair framing eyes that betrayed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

She sank onto the edge of the single bed, hands shaking. Beneath her lids danced flashes of his rare smile, reserved for moments when he was unguarded. She still felt the roughness of his palms, tasted the craving of his kiss. No playfulness in it, no teasing. That kiss tonight had been bloody serious. Fervid, filthy, and gentle all at once. The kind of kiss that makes you drop your knickers and roll onto your back.

Nobody had ever kissed her like that.

Not even him.

Her breaths came out jagged as she imagined Connor’s arms around her again; not the boy from before, but the man he had become – solid and real and impossibly wrong.

Kirsty fell back, the bed creaking under her weight.

Oh God.

Absently, she slipped her fingers beneath the hem of her nightshirt, a jersey she’d pilfered from him ages ago. Number ten. His. It was soft, threadbare in places. She yearned for him around her, and this was the next best thing, as close as she could – and should – get. The fabric grazed her stomach, and a sharp breath hissed between her lips. Her traitorous body remembered every agonising second. With a groan, she squeezed her thighs together, as if that could somehow hinder the heat between her legs.

That kiss had been a mistake. A big, fat, lust-fuelled disaster of a mistake.

But her body wanted him. Wanted him bad.

She let her hand wander down, seeking out the place where he’d made her feel more tingly and alive than she’d felt in years. The memory of his touch was still burned into her skin. The fabric of his old jersey bunched in her fist as her fingers moved lower. She imagined it were Connor’s, not her own. A hungry pulse throbbed between her thighs and a moan passed her lips as she danced over her softness.

Everything down there was wet.

Wet for him.

Kirsty spread her legs and rocked her hips against her hand, rubbing her palm over her clit with practised precision. The bed springs responded with a syncopated melody as a backdrop to her desire. A well-known ache began to build in her core, the friction dragging sensations from the recesses of her memory. The fantasy of his touch became so real, so vivid, his mouth replaced her fingers. She pressed her hips towards his imaginary touch.

‘Connor,’ she gasped, ‘Oh God, Connor.’

That was all it took.

The fire in her belly combusted, the pressure rippling outward, the room spinning. Colours danced behind her closed eyes as she rode out her orgasm, legs wide and shaking. Longing for him. Breathless and sweaty and alone in this stuffy August night.

What have I done?