As my breath caught, I said, "Come with me."
Burke moved faster, and I clasped my legs around him as I vibrated with my release. He groaned, angling me higher and pushing deeper, and I felt the way he lost control right before he came.
Breathing harshly, he spoke against my throat. "I brought something for you, but you distracted me."
I was too busy running my fingertips up and down his back to care what frivolous gift he might give me. By now, his tattoos were engraved onto my mind as deeply as they were his skin: the Gallagher crest with its fighting lion on his left pec; along his ribs, a cross represented by the words Crann Beatha and Crann Cothaithe, which he’d told me means Tree of Life and Tree of Nourishment. Dates of death for his Irish grandparents, and a few celtic knots which matched those of his family and business partners dotted his arms and shoulders.
"You don't want to know what it is?"
In response, I hummed. Whatever he'd brought wasn't worth what I had in my arms.
He pushed up on his elbows and kissed the tip of my nose. "You always surprise me."
"Why this time?"
Smiling down at me, he said, "I expected you to jump up and demand to know what it is, but I should have known you wouldn't."
We were still intimately linked, his softening cock resting at my entrance, and he thought I’d give that up for jewelry? I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue, as I assumed he had done.
You're not like other girls, Kinsley.
I don't want baubles, I just want you.
"Well, what is it?"
Laughing, he got off the bed, and I watched him walk naked to the chair by the door. "I do know you a little."
With a flourish, he offered me a plate of strawberries with chocolate sauce. I grinned; maybe he did know me a little. Of course, he sat on the bed and demanded I let him feed me. Every time he accidentally dripped chocolate on me, he insisted on licking it off.
"Burke!" I shrieked when he purposely dropped a cold glob on my belly button.
He gave me his boyish smile, the one that was my favorite. "Oops."
I let him push me back and work his tongue in and around my navel, not at all surprised when he scooted down and paid special attention to my clit. Panting, I tugged on his hair as he brought me to the brink before backing off again.
"Oh, God. So close."
Slipping two fingers inside me, he sucked my clit into his mouth. I’d never known such heights were possible, but I'd stopped being so amazed at his skill.
"Come for me," he said as he plied me with his fingers.
So close to falling apart, I trembled. “I want to.”
He put his mouth on me again, and I broke into a mass of writhing pleasure.
We showered together when he'd finished covering me in sauce. Love for him swelled in my chest as he splashed me childishly. He wasn't the feared criminal when we were together; he was just a man playing around with his lover.
If I'd known it was the last night we'd be together, I might have stayed a little longer, clung a little harder. It was for the best, I knew, that his departure should be a surprise. So instead, he kissed me dizzy and left me on my front stoop, watching him walk away in the dark with the promise of seeing me the next night.
But his grandmother passed away the next day, and he became embroiled in funeral plans. He called to apologize, and with a stone in my belly, I reassured him it was fine. I knew all along the end was coming and was already resigned.
For work the next day, I dressed in black. It seemed fitting; there had been actual death and metaphorical death. Over the course of the next few days, he texted with less frequency and more excuses. I tried to be accepting, to not be hurt by the end of our relationship and accept what was. It was harder than I'd expected, though, especially once I returned to being alone every night.
I went back to making dinner for my parents, and they didn't ask what happened to the boy I was seeing. Part of me thought it was because they were relieved to have me back to making their meals and taking care of the house. How would they cope if I actually had a serious relationship and moved out?
Shoving down the ache, swallowing the pain, I went back to my daily routine. I went back to being Kinsley Hawthorne of Chester, Connecticut, and he went back to being Burke Gallagher of Boston, Massachusetts. We weren't fated to be together, and I wasn't living out a romance novel.
"How's Thomas, dear?"
