Friday is one of the longest days of my life. The apartment is so tense that everyone leaves at least twice throughout the day just to get away from the strangling atmosphere. Ironically, most of the tension is coming from me, the only one not throwing myself into mortal peril this weekend. I am absolutely and totally terrified, but I refuse to say anything that would seem like I'm trying to talk them out of going.
This resolution mostly results in me starting and not finishing a lot of sentences.
I spend the better part of the morning pacing around, restlessly straightening furniture that's already straight, cleaning out a spotless fridge, and dusting things that haven't been in place long enough to have gathered any dust. Eventually, I collapse on one end of the couch, staring determinedly at a spot on the carpet a few feet away, wishing again that I had some sort of hobby I could lose my brain in right now.
After my third round of manic cleaning (every linen in my apartment is washed, pressed, and folded, every window is sparkling, and the bathroom now smells enchantingly of chemical pine), Murphy and Connor glance at each other, exasperation written clearly across their features.
"Lass, wouldja like t'go fer a walk?" Connor asks before I can comment on their expressions. I start to protest that I'm fine, but I stop when I realize I am exactly the opposite of fine.
"God, yes. Please get me out of here before I clean this place to death."
The streets in my neighborhood are strangely deserted for a Friday afternoon. I figure most everyone is waiting until later in the evening to go out, but it feels more like the city is holding its breath, waiting for tomorrow just as anxiously as I am. Connor and I walk side by side, not speaking or touching, but I don't have to ask where we're going.
Sure enough, we wind up in the same park where he and Murphy and I first talked after three weeks of near silent treatment back in December. The trees are starting to get their leaves back, so there's a mist of green canopied over the skeletally bare trunks. Connor leads me to the same picnic table where we talked, three months ago almost to the day. Knowing Connor, he chose this location deliberately to make me feel more at ease and less worried.
Once we're sitting on the same bench, facing each other with our knees touching, Connor waits for me to speak. I just can't, though. I can't dump my insecurities on him; he is doing something huge tomorrow, something that is literally deadly, and the last thing I want to do is distract him by having him concerned over me. I shake my head in resignation, refusing to put voice to my fears.
"Ain't fair t'leave me in th'dark. Ye can't keep givin' me th' start'n stop conversational treatment."
"Just you watch me," I mutter mutinously, looking away. If I stare at him for too long, I know he can get me to say pretty much anything, but I have to stay strong for them. I mean, it's not like I'm the one risking my life. Instead of looking at him, I stare down at our touching knees, examining the small rips and frays in the fabric of his jeans like they are the most fascinating things I've ever seen.
"Tis a pleasure t'watch ye most o'th'time, but not when somethin's eatin' so hard at ye. I know yer anxious about t'morra, would honestly be worried 'bout ye or hurt if ye weren't. Is dat why y'won't talk to us an' yer dashin' about yer place like a mad janitor?"
I nod, still refusing to talk. I trace the jagged path of a snagged thread in his jeans that runs along the middle of his thigh, my eyebrows knitting together as I concentrate on the tiny, worn path with all my might.
"Won't lie t'ye, 'tis a mad, dangerous t'ing we're doin,' both Saturday an' Sunday. Do ye...have any thoughts on our plans? Somethin' we haven't thought of, an angle we mighta missed?"
There's a different tone in his voice than I've heard before; it's uncertain, but also something else. I can't help myself; I finally give in and look up. There's an expression on his face that I would classify as indecisive if it were on anyone except Connor. Connor makes plans; Connor makes decisions. Connor powers along and somehow always bulldozes his way through whatever obstacle presents itself.
Connor doesn't do indecisive.
"Do you think I've thought of something that I'm holding back from you?" I ask curiously.
He shakes his head, and I see in his eyes he's not lying, but he still doesn't look reassured. I can't for the life of me figure out why he would think I know something he doesn't, seeing as how he's been planning with Rocco for the last few days, and then it hits me.
"I haven't had any more dreams, Connor," I say softly, touching my fingers gently to his wrists. Despite the wounds being little more than a week old, they look miraculously healed, weeks better instead of just days. "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow any more than you do. Of course I'm worried about all three of you. Every time you go out to do this, I'm going to agonize that this is the time you three come back to me full of holes or even don't come-"
I won't finish the sentence aloud.
I clear my throat, focusing my gaze at a distant point over Connor's right shoulder. A breeze sweeps between us, tossing my hair in a few different directions, and a stray tress flutters straight across my mouth. Before I can move it away, Connor gently pulls the strand down and tucks it behind my ear. His thumb lingers on my jaw, running delicately down the side of my face and around to my chin. He tilts my head up so my eyes are forced to meet his.
"We're comin' back. Ye said t'always come back t'ye, so dat's what we're gonna do. Ye believe me?"
"I believe you, Connor. I just don't trust the universe." And I realize now that I don't, that I haven't really for most, if not all, of my life. For as long as I can remember, people leave me; it's what people do. And even though I know Connor and Murphy aren't like anyone else I've ever met, why should the universe abruptly decide to be generous? I mean, if the two people I've loved more than anyone else suddenly take up guns to become vigilante killers, what are the odds of them lasting very long?
"Ye can't go around yer entire life believin' what ye love is gonna be snatched away, darlin'," he murmurs, running his thumb softly over my cheek. "Tis a terrible way t'see th'world. It'll eat at ye til dere's naught left."
"Can you promise me none of you will die?" I ask challengingly, my eyes hard as I gaze steadily back at him. "Can you promise me things that are beyond your control?"
For a moment, I think he's angry with me. His lips are set in a thin, hard line, and his eyebrows are low. A muscle in his jaw works agitatedly, and he starts to speak, but suddenly, I can't hear what he has to say. My fingers fly up, covering his mouth, and Connor's eyes widen with astonishment.
"Don't," I whisper, struggling to get the word out. "You're either going to lie to reassure me or tell me something I can't handle hearing right now. Either way, just don't."
After a silent, tense moment, he nods and leans forward until his cheek is resting on my shoulder. He buries his face in the crook of my neck as I press my cheek to the top of his head.
"I love you," I murmur as Connor's arms circle my waist. "Let's just leave it at that for now. I love you, I love your brother, I love all three of you assholes. Don't make me promises you can't keep. Just try your best to come back to me. Do what you have to do, and try to come back to me."
I drop my head to Connor's far shoulder, mirroring his position, and he pulls me forward until I'm straddling him on the bench. My loose hair settles around us, warm and thick against the suddenly chill breeze. In this huddled arrangement, the sounds of Boston are muffled. With my eyes closed, I can almost imagine it's just the two of us, alone in the middle of the park, alone in the middle of the city.
I wish that were all either of us needed.
It's Connor who finally breaks the silence, his lips pressed against the side of my neck, sending shivers down my spine as they move over the skin below my ear.
"I'll always love ye. I'll always try t'come back t'ye. I c'n promise ye dat."
We sit, frozen in that position, just holding each other until the sun goes down.
...
"Never did tell ye 'bout th'first time I saw ye, did I?"
Murphy lies on his stomach next to me, his head pillowed on his folded arms as he watches me slide onto the bed beside him. The apartment is blessedly quiet, Connor and Rocco having gone out who knows where. I'm stripped down to a camisole and my panties, and Murphy is down to his boxers. It's nice to be down to the bare essentials after a severely cold winter.
I stretch out on my side, pressing a kiss to his forehead before straightening a little to look down the lovely expanse that is Murphy's bare back. I don't get this view as often as I'd like, so I'm determined to enjoy the scenery while I can. Unfortunately, my view is currently partially obstructed.
"Take off your boxers, lay back down exactly like you are, and then tell me," I order. Smirking, Murphy quickly does as he's told. Before he starts speaking, I reach across the broad expanse of his shoulders and place the tip of my finger at the top of one of his tattoos, the upper figure in a pair of winged demons, tracing the outline lightly with my fingernail.
"Considering your religious affiliations, I've always thought this one was a rather interesting choice of ink," I murmur, leaning in for a closer look. My camisole-covered breasts brush lightly over his back, and I have a moment of forgivable smugness as Murphy shivers beneath me.
"T'ought ye'd figured 'em out by now, lass. Dem's me an' Connor from Ma's perspective. Got 'em special for her a year before we left, birt'day present as it were. Best present I ever got her, she said. Only time she didn't rain down God's wrath on me fer gettin' a tattoo."
"But Connor doesn't have these," I point out. "All your other ink is pretty identical. Or, at least, coordinated."
"He didn't favor 'em, chose t'get Ma some other nonsense like perfume or such. I'll let ye guess who was th'fav'rite dat night." For once, his smirk isn't at my expense, and I'm able to fully enjoy the expression without the usual added embarrassment.
"So, you were saying about the first night you saw me? It was the night I came in to McGinty's with Connor, that I finally...er...spoke to him on the train?"
The slight crinkling of skin around his eyes lets me know Murphy didn't miss my substitution. In the dim light of my bedroom, his eyes have become those dark pools that never fail to mesmerize me. Even in the stillness of the otherwise empty apartment, his words are soft and intimately low, pitched only for me to hear.
"Aye, dat was th'first time, but t'ing is, fer weeks b'fore dat, months even, I'd been feelin' restless. Can't explain it better'n dat except t'say I was waitin' fer somethin'. Like, somethin' was about t'happen an' I needed t'get ready fer it, 'cept I didn't know what it was or what t'do. I'd been really edgy that week, an' dat night I came near to poundin' on Roc five or six times fer whinin' about his job. And den Connor came in, and dere ye were, an' it was like all th'air was gone from th'room."
He stops talking, and I can feel his gaze on me as I continue to trace the ink on his back, moving down to the lower demon. When he finally begins his story again, his voice is hushed and a little deeper than normal, and each word weighs with the heaviness of his deliberation.
"Second I saw ye, only thought in me head was dis is what I've been waitin' for. Didn't even need t'hear ye speak or know yer name. Hit me outta nowhere, an' I went around fer weeks barely able to say anythin' around ye beyond just takin' th'piss outta Connor a bit. When ye blushed dat first time in th'bar, th' t'ings ye did t'me, Grace. Took me weeks t'admit t'meself how I really felt, you bein' Connor's girl an' all. Took a helluva lot longer fer me t'admit it t'him."
I relax my fingers and slide my hand across his back, savoring the feel of his warm skin under my fingertips, before resting it on Murphy's shoulder closest to me. I lean back against my pillows so I can see his face better.
"You two have definitely never told me that story. How did that conversation go?" I'm curious. Murphy has always been open with me, straightforward for the most part, but the private conversations between him and Connor are something I've not been privy to much before.
"Had a black eye fer a few weeks after, but I managed t'convince him t'let me try t'show ye dat maybe t'three of us could work summat out. He agreed after sulkin' over it fer a few hours, an' dat's when he started leavin' ye alone wit' me a bit, lettin' ye get t'know me slow-like. Said if I fucked up an' scared ye off he'd never fergive me for it."
I brush my fingers absently over his the back of his neck, frowning as I think back.
"I remember that black eye. You told me you got it fighting over a girl. I always assumed you got in a fight with someone at McGinty's. I'd ask why you never told me, but we both know why you didn't, so that's okay. Since you're in a storytelling mood, let me ask you a question."
"Anyt'in', lass."
I sweep the hair gently back and forth across his forehead, pushing it first to the left, then the right, avoiding looking directly in his eyes for the moment. "I've just...I've been curious about when you knew for sure that you loved me. It took me so long to tell both of you, and I couldn't even tell you until you said it to me first. So I just...wondered when you knew."
He reaches up, lightly gripping my wrist and stilling my hand before pulling my fingers down to his lips as he rolls to his side. He kisses the tips of my outstretched fingers before resting them over his heart.
"Knew from dat first moment ye walked in McGinty's you were somethin' I'd been waitin' for fer a long time, maybe even me whole life. But th'moment I knew I couldn't be wit'out ye was th'night I waited outside yer place wit' th'Chinese, the night ye spilled th'beer."
I can't help the incredulous laugh that bubbles up. "That night? What in the world happened that night to make you realize I was the one? I mean, don't get me wrong, the sex in the kitchen was phenomenal, but-"
"Weren't th'sex, Grace," he interrupts quietly. His face is completely serious, and I can feel the smile fading from mine. He draws his thumb delicately down my cheek to the corner of my mouth, pausing there as he searches my face for something.
"Twas everythin' 'bout ye dat night. How worn out ye were from throwin' so much o'yerself inta yer work, how grateful ye were over a measly bag o'take-out an' a little company. T'ought t'meself, 'I could take care of dis girl. I could make sure she's not ever dis worn out or hungry or lonely again.' And den when ye were goin' down on me an' I was in th'middle of knowin' what Heaven must be like, an' ye stopped t'clean up dat fuckin' beer, an' ye had' yer bare ass stickin' up in th'air…"
He grins suddenly, one of those infrequent smiles I love so much, and his face is alight with the memory.
"Watchin' yer ridiculous self, cleanin' dat shit up in th'middle of what we were doin', dat was when I realized I didn't just want ye an' all yer foolishness; I needed ye, th'whole package. An' not just then but fer th'rest of me life. Took me a minute t'process what I was thinkin', it being new territory an' all. By th'time I figured it out, ye were in th'kitchen, spoutin' some nonsense about washin' yer hands an' makin' it up t'me, so I figured I'd better let ye know how much I felt before ye got too far away. Mighta been a little overzealous in showin' ye, but I wanted t'make sure ye got my point."
And boy, did I ever get it. My face heats up and my hip bones actually ache just a little at the memory of how thoroughly he told me he needed me that night.
My hand smooths over his cheek before I even realize I've reached out, and I pull his face to mine, meeting his lips with soft, brief kisses. Murphy's eyes slide shut, and he takes in a slow, deep breath through his nose before threading his fingers into my hair and pulling my mouth more securely against his.
When he finally releases me from the kiss, his face is flushed, and I can't tell if the pounding in my ears is his heartbeat or mine.
"I ain't gonna lie an' say I ain't nervous about t'morra, an' I don't want ye t'worry, but I know ye can't help it. Ye know we gotta do dis, I know yer gonna worry, an' I don't know if dere's anythin' I can do t'help ye."
"You're going with your brother and best friend into a literal gunfight, and you're worried about how I'm going to be?" My expression must be much more incredulous than I think because Murphy snorts and stifles a laugh, pulling me down against his chest as he rolls onto his back. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pressing his lips against my forehead.
"This whole situation is insane," I mutter for what feels like the hundredth time. "And you're all crazy for doing this."
"Aye, girl, crazy as dey come."
I squirm on top of Murphy, grumbling discontentedly, and I feel the rumble of a chuckle coming from deep in his chest.
"Ye keep dat up, we won't be doin' much more talkin', girl."
I slip my arms to the mattress by his sides, pushing myself up until I'm straddling him and resting my hands on his lower belly. I must look more worried than I think I do because Murphy takes my hands firmly in his, squeezing them reassuringly as he brings my knuckles to his lips.
"Promise I'll look after t'others for ye an' bring 'em back to ye safe'n'sound. Don't fret over us, lass. Not when dere's so many ot'er pleasant t'ings t'think about." To emphasize his point, he lifts his hips underneath me, demonstrating just how pleasant some of those other thing can be. My breath catches in my throat in a whispered exhalation that resembles Murphy's name in a way that is far too encouraging for his ego.
"R'member th'first time I was inside ye, Grace?" he murmurs, his fingers moving to my knees, the heat of his hands sinking down to my bones. "How ye let go fer me an' were all brave an' wanton, askin' me t'touch ye an' ridin' me so good?" His fingers slide up my thighs, streaks of fire on my cool skin, and I close my eyes as a lazy smile spreads over my face. I roll my hips backwards, pressing against Murphy's growing erection, the fabric of my underwear sliding over his hardening cock, and I shiver as Murphy's groan reverberates up from beneath me.
"Can ye...do dat again, lass, only...dis time wit' nothin' between us? Wanna feel every bit of ye t'night. T'ink dere's a couple o'areas I haven't quite memorized yet, need t'study up."
A moment later, and I'm straddling Murphy again, as bare as he is, pressing back against him just as he asked me to. His head tips back, his face partially disappearing under the pillow for a second, and I can just make out the muffled curse. His fingers dig into my hip bones for one brief, almost painful second before relaxing.
"Need...need t'be inside ye, love. Please."
"Look me in the eyes and ask me again, Murphy."
I'm arrested by the darkened depths of Murphy's pupils as his gaze fixes wholly on me. He doesn't smirk at the effect his look has on me tonight, though he has every reason to. He watches me with an intensity I haven't seen before, even from him, his eyes set on me as if I might disappear if he were to look away.
"Please, Grace. Need t'be as close t'ye as I can t'night."
I rise to my knees above him, and he presses my hips back, guiding me to exactly the right spot before pulling down with his hands and sliding up with his thighs, meeting me in the middle. He never releases my gaze as we move together, and though my usual inclination is to close my eyes and enjoy the moment, I find I can't look away.
"Ye see what ye do t'me, girl? Ye feel it? Christ in Heaven, ye drive me insane…"
His words wash over me as he continues to murmur wonderful, filthy compliments and explanations of exactly how I affect him, and I can feel him growing harder inside me by the second. His breath is coming faster, and I know he's close, but he holds himself back from release, his fingers sliding between us. I still his hands with a touch even as my hips continue to rock with his.
"Let me do this for you, Murphy," I say quietly. "I...I don't think I can let go right now, so let me do this for you." I can see his pride warring with the absolute need for release, but I never relent my pace or motion, and after few thrusts, his head falls back with a sigh as his hips begin to work upwards with a renewed vigor. His fingers skate ardently up the plane of my belly, coming to rest just beneath my breasts, and his voice is breathless and reverent when he speaks.
"Ye feel so fuckin' good, lass. Yer fuckin' gorgeous, perched up dere on top o'me. Never seen ye more beautiful, cept when yer comin' fer me."
"I love you, too, Murphy," I gasp as a particularly sharp thrust of his hits the perfect spot to make my walls clamp down hard around him. He stiffens beneath me, his chest frozen as his breath catches in his throat and his eyes clench shut. My name slips from between his lips with the fervor of adulation, and my heart skips painfully at the sound of it. He holds my hips tightly against him, not letting me move an inch as he rides out his high.
"I love you," I murmur again, leaning forward until I'm pressed against his heaving chest. Murphy's arms circle me again, pulling me tightly against his flushed, sweat-slick skin. After a minute or so of recovery, Murphy slides out of me, shifting until I'm lying on my side next to him.
He embraces me from behind, his chest deliciously warm against my cool back. His arm is slung across my collarbone, holding me tightly to him as if I might escape given the chance.
"What's dis I hear about ye not bein' able t'let go fer me?" I giggle as his breath tickles over my neck, and I can feel his grin against my shoulder. "Ye t'ink dis is funny, do ye? Me very manhood's at stake, an' she laughs at me. Just have t'impress upon her th'seriousness of th'situation, den, won't I?"
He moves away a couple of inches, but before I can protest the absence of his back against mine, his free hand strokes slowly up the back of my neck, pressing hard into the tight muscles at the base of my skull. It hurts like hell in the best possible way, and I swear the groan that escapes my throat comes all the way from my toes.
"Dat's what I want t'hear from ye," he breathes, clearly pleased with himself. "Let's see if we can't get a few more of dem outta ye now."
He works over my neck for a good five minutes before dragging his fingernails lightly down my back. I squeak and jerk forward as he hits a particularly ticklish spot, but his arm over my chest holds me firmly in place, and he murmurs soothingly in my ear, pulling my hip back towards him again.
His free hand smooths down my lower back and over the curve of my ass, slipping between my legs from behind.
"Murphy," I say quietly, even as I'm reveling in his ministrations, "I don't know if I can get out of my head tonight. I want to, I really do, but-"
"Den why don't ye just lay back an' let me drive now? Least I c'n do is try."
Murphy's fingers press between my folds, already slick with his release, and my hips press back against him of their own volition. Unlike my body, though, my mind is a maelstrom of worry, fear, and arousal, and it can't seem to decide which part to focus on. Despite having Murphy's very talented fingers working their magic on me, I can't stop thinking about what might happen tomorrow.
"Murphy, I...I need you to talk to me again. Please, I can't...I can't stop thinking. I need you to get me out of my head. Tell me something...anything, please? I just…want to hear you."
He's silent for a moment, his fingers still, then he begins to speak, his voice lower than normal and barely above a whisper. His fingers start to move again, slowly sliding forward until they find the swollen bundle of nerves they're seeking and work carefully around it, deliberately avoiding touching exactly there.
"Th'night b'fore Connor gave me th'black eye over ye, I got home b'fore you an' him. Had a shitty day at work, just wanted t'get t'sleep b'fore th'two of ye got back an' started up. Couldn't stand th'thought of listenin' to ye t'gether an' not gettin' t'be th'one t'work dose gorgeous sounds outta yer throat."
I shiver a little at the intimacy of his words, the raw honesty of his tone. I want to say something, but nothing seems adequate. His fingers slip suddenly over my clit, lightly scraping the tiny nub with the very edge of his fingernail, and my breath catches as my hips thrust involuntarily against his hand. He continues exploring between my legs as if nothing happened, and I slowly relax back against him. He traces the edge of my ear with his nose, his lips ghosting over my neck as he continues his story.
"Tried but I couldn't get t'sleep fer anythin'. Lay on dat mattress fer two hours, tryin' my damndest t'pass out, knowin' it wasn't gonna happen, me nerves practically on fire waitin' fer ye t'get back. Den th'two of ye come bustin' through th'door, an' Connor's already got ye nearly stripped bare, an' you not even noticin' I'm dere yer so taken with him."
"I'm sorry, Murphy, I didn't-"
"Dis story ain't t'get ye t'feel bad, girl, just listen'." He presses gentle kisses from the edge of my shoulder all the way up my neck to just below my ear before he speaks again.
"Ye were more dan a little tipsy dat night, if I recall, an' ye were a bit more vocal dan usual, tellin' Connor exactly what he was doin' right an' what ye wanted him t'do differently, an' God help me, I listened t'every fuckin' word, Grace, like I was learning me catechism. Could feel me fingers twitch when ye asked 'im t'touch ye like dis-" and here he demonstrates by sliding his fingers inside and curling them just right as he thrusts inward. A jolt of pleasure shoots through my belly, and my legs clamp reflexively on his wrist as I moan his name shamelessly.
"Or when ye asked him t'do dat t'ing t'yer neck but not leave a mark." He follows his words with the action, his lips fastening on the crook of my neck as his teeth dig gently into my skin, followed immediately by his tongue soothing the sting.
"An' den ye were on top o'him, riding him just like I dreamed ye would do wit' me, an' fergive me, lass, but I watched ye th'whole fuckin' time. Couldn't take me eyes off th'way yer skin shined in th'little bit o'light from th'windas, the way yer tits bounced every time ye thrust on 'im, the line o'yer neck when ye'd throw yer head back. Could near feel it when Connor slipped his hand between ye, how slick ye must've been. Couldn't help t'inkin' how much slicker ye'd be if ye were ridin' me 'stead o'him. An' when ye came, lass, Christ...the keenin' sound that came from ye near made me come right dere, like a teenager gettin' his first hand job in th'backseat of a car."
His fingers press harder against me now, deliberately moving over and around my clit before dipping inside to thrust once, twice, enough to make my hips move with his hand for a moment before retreating. My breath is coming faster now, my heart thumping painfully in my chest. I can feel his cock, already hard again, throbbing insistently against my ass as his hips thrust lazily.
"Knew ye were most likely gonna end up asleep wit' me again dat night, an' I couldn't have ye comin' over t'me bed just t'have dis against ye all night," he murmurs, his lips hot against my ear as he grinds calculatingly against me in time with his story. "Had t'take care o'meself once th'two of ye were done an' asleep, half prayin' ye didn't wake t'me strokin' it an' half prayin' ye would. Had th'thought of ye, pressed against me when ye were sleepin', freezin' feet an' all, thinkin' what if yer hand strayed down one night, brushed over me, what it would feel like t'wake up to yer hands on me. Had yer name on me lips wit' ev'ry ot'er breath. Fastest I've ever come in me life, thinkin' of ye like dat."
The tension in my belly sharpens painfully, and I moan as Murphy's fingers thrust hard into me, his thumb grinding relentlessly into my clitoris. My arm comes up, curling around the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as his lips wander freely over my neck and jaw.
"An' when ye did come t'me dat night, Grace, like ye always did, took everythin' in me not t'take ye right dere. Ye had nothin' on but dese tiny panties an' a tiny nothin' of a shirt, stringy little straps an' all. Could see yer nipples straight through, standin' up underneath dat bit o'cloth, an' I fair drooled thinkin' o'how dey would feel against me tongue," he whispers, his voice ragged in my ear. The hand that's been slung across my chest, holding me firmly to him until now, moves straight to my breast, pinching my nipple hard as he thrusts against my ass again, his fingers dipping inside me simultaneously with his other movements.
"Murphy," I whimper, but I don't know what else to say.
"Held ye to me dat night, usin' every bit o'willpower in me not t'just take ye an' make ye ferget why ye didn't start out in me bed in th'first place. Realized I couldn't take not bein' able t'work dose noises outta ye, not hearin' me name on yer lips, not knowin' what ye tasted like when ye came on me tongue, or not knowin' how fuckin' heavenly it felt like t'be inside ye-"
Murphy takes his hand from between us, and I almost weep at the lack of sensation. Then his fingers are digging into my hip, his lips burning against my neck, and he breathes, "Hang on t'me, Grace."
With a sharp jerk, Murphy is sheathed inside me, his hips flush against me, and my fingers clench reflexively in his hair as his name is forced from my lips again. His fingers slip between my legs from the front this time, sliding in time to his strokes as his hips snap mercilessly against my ass.
"Come fer me," he orders harshly, his voice jagged and brutal as he plunges repeatedly into me. "Come hard, lass, come fer me now. Get t'fuck outta yer head an' just come fer me. Now."
The rest of the world is lost to the explosion within me, and I finally am able to lose myself as the release I've been chasing courses through me. I thrust brazenly back against Murphy, pressing his fingers hard against my clit with my own hand, echoing his name in a repeated mantra as I come against him. He drives raggedly into me twice more before freezing against my back, his fingers digging hard into my flesh as he follows me over the edge.
"Good girl," he exhales against my neck.
After several minutes of relearning how to breathe properly, I turn in Murphy's embrace, pulling his face to mine for a long, deep kiss.
"You can stop me from thinking absolutely any time, Murphy. You have my express permission to stop me thinking whenever and however you deem necessary."
He grins as he pulls the blanket over the top of us and rests his forehead against mine. His eyes close for a moment as he takes in a steadying breath, and he nudges the tip of my nose with his own.
"Want t'stop ye thinkin' fer th'rest of our lives, lass. 'F'it were up t'me, ye'd never have t'think again."
That's the dream, isn't it?
Author's Note: This week mostly went much better. You guys are fabulous. The writing...oh, the writing has taken off. I'm not nearing the end of the updates because I've gotten so far ahead, but I am nearing the end of this story, writing-wise. I had no idea these boys could say or do such things. Soooo many things are so very different then I originally intended. If you're still liking what you're reading and want me to keep going, please to let me know. Thanks so much for keeping up with the story.