The House Supervisor was pissed, and that’s putting it mildly. I’m clearly on thin ice. But I’m not very replaceable in a rural area like this, so I feel like I can keep pushing a little more before I’m at risk of losing my job.
And if I have to pick between losing my job or potentially losing my brother, I’m picking Tadhg, every time.
Brother.
I shouldn’t say that, even in the privacy of my own mind. We always threw the word around pretty casually, even after we’d been apart for so long. ‘Stepbrother’ seems clumsy, and we were so fucking close for the brief time that we were family, I never really thought it mattered what people thought about how we were related.
The only important thing to me back then was that we belonged to each other. We were the only family we could rely on. The only ones in each other’s corner.
Now, after all this time, I still feel like we belong to each other. But I guess my child’s brain couldn’t comprehend that it was maybe meant to be in a different way—a different kind of family—and it’s taken my adult brain a really long time to catch up.
He’s fucking beautiful. I’ve always known that.
Even with his cheap tattoos and his redneck haircut that’s one step away from being a mullet, he’s still stunning to look at. Light golden skin with just a few freckles. Those fucking eyes with matching shades of gold in them. The kind of strong jawand straight nose I always associated with what Patrick called “real men”, but also with that gorgeous, pouty mouth.
If I’m being truly honest with myself. If I really dig deep into my inner bank of denial… Maybe I’ve projected a little of what I used to love about Tadhg onto the kinds of men that I fuck. There are maybe a few similarities there. If I really, really let myself think about it.
His entire body is like a wonderland of curves and muscle, so pretty and perfect he could have been made in a lab. But like a real person, not a Ken doll.
Well, a little like a Ken doll. But one with golden body hair in all the right places and little scars and imperfections and points of softness where the human body is supposed to be soft.
He’s my Ken doll. And while my rational self is screaming to figure out the ramifications of this huge, paradigm-altering shift in our relationship, the basic bitch part of myself just wants to take him out of the box and play with him.
No. Not until he wants to.
If he ever wants to.
I can’t push him. He doesn’t like to make decisions, I know, but in this case, he’s going to have to lead a little or I’ll feel like I’m dragging him into some toxic dynamic for my own twisted pleasure because I’ve just uncovered the world’s most deeply buried subconscious lifelong crush.
“You’re thinking very hard.”
His voice interrupts me, and when I peer further into the darkness, I realize his eyes are open and he’s watching me with that vulpine, calculating expression he sometimes gets.
“Mmm.” I reach out to touch his cheek, and he immediately presses into it, like he always does, which soothes some of my worry. “I was thinking about what happened.”
Tadhg stiffens. “Yeah?”
“I know this is a big question, but are you okay with it?”
I can just about make out the line of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, but then he nods, the movement taking my hand with it.
“It was good. Areyouokay with it?”
I bite my lip. I don’t know whether I should be honest about how freaking okay with it I am. How seeing him rubbing one out against my hip unleashed something hungry in me, and I’m currently sporting raging fucking morning wood that’s reaching out toward his body like a heat-seeking missile.
“Yeah. The more I think about it, the more I think maybe I wanted it for longer than I realized.”
Tadhg’s eyebrows raise, but I can faintly hear his breath quickening in the quiet room.
“Really?”
I nod. “Have you ever done anything with a man before?” It’s the million-dollar question, and I don’t know how he’ll react, but I have to ask. I’m not asking him to label his sexuality, because I know what his dad is like and how this must be hard for him. But everything I know about him told me he liked girls. I want to know how much is shifting for him right now.
His face clouds, and he pulls fractionally away from my hand.
“Can we not talk about that right now? I don’t… I just. It’s not important. I liked it. It was good. I don’t want to think about anything…”
Outside of this room, where the consequences live.
