25. Talia

Chapter 25

Talia

I stare across my kitchen table at the two women who rang my doorbell five minutes ago. They’re twenty-five years apart but look like sisters thanks to spray tans, the same hair stylist, and cosmetic surgery.

Six minutes ago, I was running on my treadmill and trying not to overthink the fact I haven’t heard from Kieran since yesterday afternoon. Now I’m trying to figure out how to kick my mother and sister out without sounding like a complete bitch. I’m not sure I can manage it. The gray roots in my mom’s artificially blond hair and my sister’s chipped nails suggest they’ve run out of money. Again.

I tune back into the one-sided conversation as my mom says, “It’s a shame, what they’re saying. We just want you to know you have family support.”

She’s trying to sound genuine, but she keeps glancing at my sweat-drenched sports bra and leggings. Her lips purse in distaste every time, like she thinks I leave the house like this.

It’s my own fault I’m in this mess. I haven’t gotten into the habit of checking the app on my phone when the doorbell rings. If I’d looked first and seen them, I could have ignored the summons and kept running—the only activity that’s doing anything for my stress.

Instead, I’d bolted for the door thinking maybe, illogically, that it was Kieran , only to be slapped into another dimension. One in which I hadn’t set an explicit boundary with these women; namely, I’m not giving you any more money, so don’t call me, talk to me, or show up unannounced at my fucking house.

I should have closed the door in their faces.

I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t.

“I appreciate that, but I’m doing fine. I have an incredible support network.” One that doesn’t include them and never will.

My mom smiles. “That’s great, Talia. We’re so relieved to hear you’re landing on your feet. Did I read somewhere that you’re writing a book?”

It’s her smile that does it—specifically the fact it doesn’t reach her eyes. At least Olivia isn’t bothering to hide the fact she was dragged here. She’s said less than a sentence and keeps looking around my house like she’s assessing its market value.

“Why are you really here, Mom?”

She turns red. Olivia’s head whips toward us, her eyes narrowing with interest. The dynamic is as old as we are. She’s always loved conflict, instigating and escalating it whenever possible. Especially when it promises a divide between our parents and me and keeps her in the position as the favored daughter.

A memory surfaces of our trip to Ireland, one of the first and the absolute last time we traveled as a family. The night I met Kieran, when I returned to our hotel room, Olivia was already there, sobbing about how I’d stolen shots from someone at a bar and then disappeared.

What she doesn’t understand—can’t seem to wrap her head around—is that I’m not her victim anymore, and I haven’t been for a long time.

“See?” chirps Olivia as she palms our mom’s shoulder. “I told you not to get your hopes up. She hasn’t changed. She only cares about herself. Zero appreciation for how hard you worked to give her what she needed to succeed. She owes you everything, but she wouldn’t help us if we were begging on the streets.”

I count to ten in my head, then stand up. “We’re done here. I’ll walk you out.”

My mom sniffs and clutches her purse to her chest as she stands. Her eyes are red and wet as they meet mine, but I’m immune to her manipulation. My armor is impenetrable these days, reinforced with bricks of the countless times I needed a hug, a kind word, a soothing touch, and none arrived. Her emotional displays—or lack thereof—no longer dictate my self-worth .

Most days, I have compassion for her. Her own mother was a highly critical perfectionist, her father remote and cold. She can’t love me because she was never taught how. Olivia is easier for her to show up for because they’re cut from the same cloth. I’m too… me. And I’m all out of fucks to give.

They follow me to the foyer, Olivia whispering furiously the whole way. I don’t bother listening.

I open the door but block the exit, staring at my sister until she scowls at me. “When I said no contact, I meant it. Don’t show up here again.” I shift my gaze to my mother. “If you want to talk to me, call next time.”

“She’s going to lose her house,” snaps Olivia, getting in my face. “She was afraid to tell you because you’re such a judgmental bitch. You think you’re better than us? What a joke. I always knew there was something wrong with you, and now the whole world does. The high and mighty child prodigy grew up to be a glorified prostitute!”

“Get out,” I whisper, “before I say something I’ll regret.”

My spine tingles just as Olivia’s gaze snaps up and over my shoulder. Her eyes widen.

A deep, lilting voice says, “I don’t have Talia’s qualms, so fuck off right now or I’ll call a judge and have you both thrown in jail for harassment and trespassing.”

Kieran’s fingers curl around my shoulder and squeeze gently. Half of me wants to turn and cling to him. The other half of me wants to elbow him in the stomach and run. All of me is mortified. I stay stock-still, afraid if I see his face I’ll do something insane like start crying .

My mom, pale-faced, gapes at Kieran like he’s a god appearing in the flesh. “That’s… you’re…” She smacks Olivia’s arm. “Isn’t he?—”

“Kieran Hayes, oh my gosh!” Olivia’s laugh is forced. “How embarrassing that you heard our little sisterly squabble. You have a brother, don’t you, Kieran? Can I call you Kieran? You know how it is?—”

“No, you can’t call me Kieran,” he says flatly. “And no, I don’t know how it is because I’d never speak to my brother that way.”

Olivia turns white as a sheet.

Kieran steps into the house, his front pressing flush to my back. With a tug on my shoulder, he maneuvers me sideways until the doorway is clear. His other arm wraps around my waist, bare forearm against my bare stomach. Calm and comfort shower me like cleansing rain. My muscles automatically relax.

He feels so right .

“Are you… together?” asks my mother in an awed voice.

Kieran says, “Yes, we are,” as I answer, “None of your business.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to my head.

Olivia stammers, “Let’s—let’s start over. We clearly got off on the wrong foot.” She extends a hand, her eyes pinned on Kieran, her smile saccharine. “I’m Olivia Stirling, Talia’s big sister.”

“No, thanks,” says Kieran mildly. “Anyone who speaks to Talia like that is no one I want to know. Now do I need to repeat myself, or should I have my security escort you to the nearest police station?”

I shiver at the very real threat in his voice. Olivia is too numbed by Xanax and her own self-importance to hear it, but my mom does—or she sees Sven and Dylan standing at the base of the porch, watching us with sharp eyes. She grabs my sister’s arm and pulls her out the door. Kieran kicks it closed behind them, then turns me around and wraps me in his arms.

He nuzzles his nose into the sweaty hair over my ear. “Mmm, you smell good.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He licks the shell of my ear and I shudder, my senses coming alive and flooding with him.

“You taste good, too, even if I’d rather be the cause of your sweat.”

Ignoring the sudden hammer of need between my legs, I lean back to see his face. His eyes are soft—the vivid blue of a clear, deep sea. I want to kiss the curl of his lips so badly my mouth burns. I can’t believe he’s here. That he’s looking at me like this. That he wants me .

“You’re home early.” I’m breathless, my voice choked by emotion I’m no longer capable of masking.

He nods, his gaze caressing my features with such focus I feel peeled open. He’s hard against my stomach, but his hands are unmoving on my spine.

“Are you done fighting, Talia? Are you ready for me?”

I suck in a breath. “I… I want to be .”

His mouth twitches. “I can work with that. Do you want to talk about what just happened now or later?”

“How about never?”

“Later, then.”

His lips graze my forehead, then dip to my neck. He takes another deep inhale. I’m too turned on to care that I haven’t showered today, that I’m not wearing deodorant. He sucks me in like he can’t get enough, his cock twitching against my stomach.

“I need to fuck you, mo ghrá. So, so badly. Do you want me back inside your perfect little pussy?”

I suck in a breath, my body temperature skyrocketing. He chuckles darkly and licks a line up my neck. My knees weaken.

“You like my filthy mouth, don’t you?” His voice lowers even more, rumbling through me. “It’s you—you did this. You make me an animal. If you told me you wanted to shower right now, I’d say it’s not fucking happening. I want you sweaty and dirty. Sloppy. Soaking. Wild.”

An unhinged moan leaves my mouth. He jerks me against him, a hand diving beneath the waistband at the back of my leggings, fingers seeking until they find my center. One long finger sinks inside me, then two. I’m on my tiptoes, helpless to do anything but cling to his shoulders as he rocks me on his hand.

Lips against my temple, he murmurs, “All this cream for me, sweetheart?”

I gasp. “Yes. ”

“Only for me?” he growls, almost lifting me from the floor.

“Yes!”

“I know you said you’d be in charge, but I—” His breath shudders out of him, and I register the tremble in his frame. How hard he’s trying to control himself.

You make me an animal.

I turn my head, taking his mouth. Soft to soft. Heat to heat. I bite his lower lip, then lick it. “I’m an animal, too. Let’s see who’s more vicious.”

The sound he makes raises the hairs on the back of my neck and makes me pulse around his fingers. He lifts me from the floor, one arm around my waist, his hand still anchored in my pussy. I spend the walk to my bedroom painting his taut throat with my lips and tongue. When I bite down on muscle, he gasps. Then we’re falling onto my bed.

He withdraws his fingers and drags my sports bra over my head. It catches on my hair tie, pulling it and several strands of hair out. At my wince, his eyes flash to mine.

“Shit. Sor?—”

“Shut up.” I grab his face and guide it to my chest. He devours my breasts with hands, lips, tongue, and teeth. Throwing my head back, I writhe against him, the base of his hard cock gliding against my clit. Another minute of this and I’ll come.

“Good boy,” I purr.

Kieran freezes. A smile spreads on my face as his head lifts from my chest, blue eyes an inferno .

“I’m not sure I like that.”

I bat my eyelashes. “Oh, you like it. Because you want to please me. Don’t you?”

His forehead drops to mine, a groan in his throat as he thrusts against me. “Honestly, it makes me want to spank the shit out of you.”

I grab his ass, then smack one cheek. Hard.

“Jesus fuck,” he hisses.

I laugh as he yanks my arms over my head, pinning my wrists in one hand. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I undulate against him. He pivots his hips away, not giving me friction. I snarl up at him.

He laughs even as black swallows more blue in his eyes. Staring down at me, he drags his free hand down my torso. His gaze falls, narrowing on the sweep of his thumb against my waistband.

“Are you on birth control?” he asks abruptly.

I bite my lip. “You want to fill my cunt with cum, Kieran?”

His eyes flare in surprised lust. My smile is knowing.

“Oh, did you think that word was only for you? Cunt ,” I draw out, my tongue snapping the T . “It’s mine. Just like your cock, your hands, and your mouth. I want them. Now . ”

He mutters something I can’t understand—more Gaelic—then rears back and slaps my pussy. I yelp at the sting in my clit, then groan at the flood of heat. It’s punishment but feels like a reward.

“Vanilla, my ass,” I mutter.

He smirks and rocks against me, giving me the lightest tease of friction. Torturing us both.

“More.” I gasp.

“Answer the question and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Fuck. Fine. Yes, I’m on birth control.”

His jaw clenches, his thumb resuming a teasing path across my abdomen. “Another question.” His eyes meet mine. “This one is for Dr. Stirling.”

He says my name with such heat my pussy clamps down on nothing. “What?” I ask breathlessly.

“Tell me why, for the first time in my life, the thought of wearing a condom is abhorrent.”

The words, coupled with the look in his eyes, make the breath stall in my lungs and pours molten lava into my core. Holy shit. I open my mouth, but my voice is nowhere to be found.

Kieran leans down and licks the corner of my lips, then peppers kisses over my cheek and jaw. He whispers, “What’s it called, Dr. Stirling? I’m sure there’s a name for it. When everything in me wants to fill you with cum, over and over?”

“Breeding kink,” I answer breathlessly.

“Huh. Sounds about right.”

He gives me a deep, drugging kiss, then draws back. I try to follow him, but his hold on my wrists keeps me in place. He plays with my nipples, tugging them until I’m panting and twitching. I’m seconds from begging.

“Does that scare you? That I feel that way?”

“Of course not,” I manage. “It’s perfectly normal. ”

“Hmm.” His hips settle against mine. I groan in relief at the pressure. “And what if I told you I wish you weren’t on birth control? Does that scare you?”

My mind stalls out even as my body reacts. Goose bumps ripple across my chest. My nipples tighten painfully. And my hips circle and lift for him.

I’m terrified—and beyond aroused.

Kieran stays still, his eyes holding mine. I’m more naked than I’ve ever been beneath his steady stare.

“Yes,” I finally say. “And… no.”

His shoulders relax a fraction.

Overwhelmed, I snap, “Are we done talking yet?”

He grins and releases my wrists. Climbing off the bed, he pulls off his T-shirt and unbuttons his jeans. Finally. I kick my shoes off and yank my leggings down. They get caught on my feet and I almost scream in frustration. He laughs and pulls them off with one hand, flinging them down. Another few seconds and he’s naked, the afternoon sunlight kissing every hard slab of muscle. Mussed hair, wild blue eyes. The most perfect cock I’ve ever seen.

He wraps one hand around himself, stroking from base to tip. The sight distracts me and I almost miss the shift in his expression. When I catch it, I gasp and scramble up—not fast enough. He flattens me to the bed, sweeping my legs up until my knees press to my shoulders and pin my arms.

The thick, blunt head of his cock presses right where I need it. I jerk my hips up, chasing penetration, but he stays out of reach .

“Uh-uh, mo ghrá. I won. I’m in charge.”

“You’re going to pay for this,” I growl into his grinning face.

“I look forward to it,” he murmurs. “For now, though, you’re going to shut your beautiful mouth and take my cock like a good girl.”

He fills me slowly, a devilish smirk on his lips, his eyes absorbing each minute shift in my expression. By the time our hips are flush, I’m shaking and panting. He groans, eyes closing briefly.

“It’s like coming home,” he whispers, then his mouth seizes mine as he slowly withdraws and pushes back in at the same, excruciating pace.

I buck against him. “I thought you wanted to fuck me like an animal,” I mumble into his mouth.

His lips curve against mine as he withdraws and fills me again, each inch taking a thousand years.

I whimper. “You’re killing me.”

Now he’s almost laughing. “ ‘Desire to us/ Was like a double death,/ Swift dying/ Of our mingled breath.’”

“Langston Hughes? Really?” I cry.

He does laugh, then, but stops when I shove my knees into his chest, freeing my arms, then grip his face in my hands. “Fill me with your cum and push it back inside me when it leaks out.”

Every muscle in his body tightens, predatory light sparking in his eyes. A shiver rolls down my spine—pricking elation, anticipation sweetened by a sprinkle of fear. With a guttural growl, he breaks, driving into me fast and hard. My eyes roll back in my head.

“Like this, Talia?”

My answer is a desperate moan. I’ve never been so full, so consumed that I can’t feel where I end and he begins.

“You take me so perfectly, sweetheart. Grip me so tight. God, do you hear that? How wet you are for me? This cunt was made for me—you know that, don’t you? That you’re meant to be fucked by me and only me?”

Lost in the sensual assault of his body and words, I barely notice my wrists being pinned over my head again or his other seizing the back of my neck. His thumb hooks into my mouth, pressing my jaw open for his tongue to invade. My tender nipples drag against his chest with every thrust, his pelvis slamming into my clit over and over again. Daunting sensation builds, a sparkling, spiraling torrent.

“Yes, yes,” I moan. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t, even when I almost bite off his tongue as I come, screaming and shaking beneath him. As the last contractions fade, he makes a small, rough noise. His hips lose their steady rhythm.

I lick into his mouth, nip at his lips. “Give me every drop. Don’t close your eyes. Let me see you fall apart.”

His features sharpen, eyes blazing. “Tá mé i ngrá leat, Talia,” he whispers.

I don’t know what it means, but I feel it like a shot of heat to my chest. He drives into me one more time, his cock unyielding steel. When I feel the first heady pulse of him inside me, a second climax hits me like a freak lightning strike.

“God, oh God,” I sob, bucking against him.

His arms scoop beneath me, clutching me tight as we ride out our twinned pleasure. I gasp for air against the slick heat of his neck, his equally harsh breaths in my ear. Our hearts pound at the barriers of flesh and bone separating them.

“If that’s death,” he says thickly, “I’ll die every day for you.”

I stroke his sweat-damp hair, his shoulders and waist, the still-twitching muscles along his spine. “Kieran,” I whisper, my voice cracking with everything I can’t say or don’t have words for. My fears. My dreams.

All of them… him.

He presses soft kisses to my eyelids, my cheeks, and finally my mouth before he looks into my eyes. And as though he heard every word my soul wrapped around his name, he says, “I know. It feels like too much and never enough, doesn’t it?”

I swallow hard and nod.

He smiles a little and drags his nose along mine. “I think it’s supposed to.”

Before I can process that, he pulls out of me and shifts down, spreading my legs open. “So pretty and swollen from me, more red than pink.” He strokes me gently, gaze avid as he parts my folds. I gasp and shiver.

“Squeeze for me, sweetheart.”

I do. He groans, two fingers catching his cum as it drips out. I know what’s next—I want it more than anything—but nothing can prepare me for the soft, reverent look on his face as he pushes his fingers carefully inside me. Like his cum belongs there. Like he does. Like he’s the only man who ever has and ever will.

His dark head lowers. He presses a kiss to my tender clit. Then he looks up with a crooked grin. “I’ll wash your hair if you wash mine.”

I want to cry, but I smile instead.

“Deal.”