I roll to my ass on the edge of the bed and drop my face into my hands with the realization. This woman has chiseled under my skin and become someone I trust… someone I value. This was supposed to be an arrangement and it’s become… more.
“Nutter Butters. My body is putty. I— Liam? Are you okay?”
What do I say? It’s fine? No. No big deal? Also no.
My cum is inside you, and I like it there and I’m not okay with thatdoesn’t have a good morning ring to it.
Lorien’s voice is small and it shakes when she asks, “Do you regret… being… with me?”
If my eyes weren’t already closed, they would at that. No. No, I don’t. And yes, you ruined me, and I’m trying to figure out how to recover. Both are half-truths.
“I—” she starts.
I don’t want her comfort or her soft touches or her feisty spirit to rise up. I want my Harley and the wind and a long ass ride on winding roads that requires one hundred percent of my focus. I don’t want that, I need it. I need it like my lungs need oxygen.
How the hell do I survive a confining flight and a family weekend where no one knows me, everyone is white bread, and I’m supposed to be on my best behavior? They’re khakis; I’mcargos. They’re probably boat shoes or whatever those things are that everyone wears. I’m motorcycle boots. They’re manicures, and I’m the man whose first tattoo was a snake twined from wrist to thumb because I would never be under my father’s again. I’d served my time. The Anderson family probably doesn’t even know people can be like Seamus Murphy.
The covers rustle and Lorien moves from the bed. The smell of her, the smell of us, permeates the room. It’s in the air…
… and under my skin.
But that’s not on her. I mean, technically, it is. It’s all over her, but it’s not her fault. So I head to the bathroom, to find her under the running shower. She turns her back to me when I enter, busying herself with something in the corner.
I have nothing to strip off, and I step into the shower, pushing my head under the spray, and reaching over her for the shampoo. I run a hand over my head, but there’s so little there that I focus mostly on my beard, eventually taking the rest down my body.
Lorien works efficiently and has rinsed off, sliding around me with no eye contact, trying to escape. It’s not like my shower where there’s more space. Her tub is generous, but not that generous.
Trailing a hand down her arm, I stop at her wrist and turn her to face me. The spray hits the back of my neck and spits around me to splatter her in the face. I turn us, so she isn’t in the crossfire.
“I do not regret being with you. I do regret?—”
She stiffens, and I rub my thumb over her pulse on the inside of her wrist.
“I regret you thinking I ever could.” I lean in, press my lips to hers in a peck and pull back. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought…” she drops her eyes.
“Dr. Anderson’s never been wrong before?”
She shrugs. “Not often.”
That puts a smile on my face. “I’ve been duly warned.”
“Are you…” She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. “Are you really coming to Peoria?”
“Do you want me to?” Shame on me. I already know theanswer, but I want to see her outgrow the expectations people placed on her. She should be free to live how she wants, not how sheshould.
“Yes. And no.”
“Tell me about the yes.”
“I feel safe with you. Protected. I’d like you to know where I came from. And I don’t mean Illinois.”
“And the no?”
“We said dissolve without”—she averts her eyes—“complications. Me bringing you home to my family is complicated.” She reaches up, not thinking as far as I can tell, and traces the grim reaper along my ribs.
“Because of my ink?”
