Page 16

The Devil You Know.

“Some believe idle hands are the devil’s playground. I believe idle thoughts are. The devil’s had his hands on me my entire life, and for tonight, I am his to ruin.”

—Ivy

I ’ve sold myself short my entire life when it comes to love; to pretend I’ve ever accomplished it would be a complete lie.

Loving a ghost and loving the same physical human day in and out are two completely different things that require entirely different wheelhouses of honesty and vulnerability.

Like I said—perception.

Liam can’t love me truly with only a fourth of the truths of the woman he lays with at night.

Love is honest.

I am not.

I’ve played the role, and as far as those around me are concerned, I have it all, but what is owning the city truly worth without earth-shattering love to come home to every night? Love that’s so raw; there are no corners of the other hidden.

The digits in my accounts are null when I earned them through loneliness, lies, and rage, never allowing myself to authentically be me.

Everything I own was derived from pain, heartache, and mental torture.

I wish it was built on love, happiness, and smiles, but there’s only ever been one smiley face always smiling back at me regardless of who I am, and it sits at the bottom of my jewelry box.

We all want what we can’t have, and there is no pot of gold at the end of the fucking rainbow after the storm, but there is always a man willing to fill the voids within you.

Fuck

Walking away from Tayden is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

The tremors still cascading through my body speak that truth deep to my core, but it was a necessary move if I’m ever going to have a fucking chance at having something real, whether that’s with Liam or someone else.

Like he’s always told me, feed the desire, never love it.

Loving Tayden was never a mistake, but loving something unattainable was.

Loving him without the ability to ever have him is mental torture, a way to keep myself in the past and never allow myself a future.

He was once my savior; now, he’s become my way of torturing myself and chaining myself to the past.

Tonight, I need to go back to my roots, back to what works.

My hunger to be fed races through my mind as I stand in front of the elevator, only a few floors separating me from it.

Liam’s words are the last to replay, granting me the permission I crave right here in my destitute.

Letting out a long breath in an attempt to recalibrate myself, I enter the elevator, my finger forcing the P on the top of the panel to illuminate, alerting him to my presence, taking away my will to walk away and into Liam’s arms.

Where I should be, but I’m fucked up.

That button seals my fate, at least for tonight.

Stripping my clothes down, throwing them off to the side.

I stand here barefoot with nothing but maroon lace touching my forbidden skin.

The elevator dings, forcing the doors to part.

I’ve reached my destination, and in mere seconds, the fix I’ve been needing will stand before me.

My heart begins to race, flutters like shockwaves form deep in the pit of my stomach.

Raising my head up, I find him in my view with two flutes of champagne, one in each hand.

His muscles are relaxed but sculpted.

There’s something about a man with massive traps and a chiseled jawline that just fucking sends me.

My eyes begin the downward inspection of his gray sweatpants hugging just below his V, revealing my only true business here tonight. His cock.

My words are still as he begins his journey toward me. My breath quickens with each step he takes. A single tear breaks from my grasp as his shoulder brushes the door, steadying himself against it, holding it open. Extending his arm out, the champagne now in grasp, I take it. His eyes narrow, examining my mental state, taking in a deep breath, looking for his words.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“If I had wanted to, I would have called,” my tone stern. I’m sure the elevator can hear the beats of our hearts loud and clear. I shoot back the entirety of the bubbles in my hand before slamming it to the ground, the glass crashing as loud and reckless as I when my desire tumbles out.

“I want to fuck,” I demand.

A smirk rises from the corner of his lips as he follows suit, taking his drink in one go before crashing it to the floor beside mine. Pushing off the elevator, he lunges for me, scooping me up with one hand. My legs entrap his hips as my back slams into the wall. His hands ravage my hair, asserting his animalistic desire to have me again, if only for a night. His lips beat down on mine with no remorse, his tongue savage as it forces itself deep into the depths of my throat. The warmth of him shreds away all the pain from the cold with each thrust of his tongue.

My hands lace through his red hair, ripping his mouth from mine, my eyes beading down onto his.

“Make me forget, make me forget it all,” I beg.

Squeezing my neck, his hand my new necklace, the force snatching the words from my lips.

“When I’m done, yous won’t remember your own name, baby girl,” he growls, giving no release. His hand a vice grip against my flesh, my breaths unreachable, leaving my lungs unfed. I have no idea where he is carrying me, nor do I fucking care. I’ve always been able to count on him to ease my pain, erase my mind, and feed my desires in the most disgusting ways.

Slamming me down on the island, his lips trail off mine, his teeth scornfully attacking my bottom lip, drawing blood before he trails away his command’s stern.

“Don’t fuhking move.” His brute voice laced with his Irish accent, sending my body into autopilot. I’m fucking ready for whatever it is he’s about to do. Fear is a sexy fucking drug right next to pain. Water begins to flow behind me in my wait for my version of sex—fucking. Leather straps tighten around my wrists and ankles as he secures me to the beautiful anchors that lay embedded under the countertop. God, I’ve missed this countertop. In an instant, I am secure enough to be held captive yet free enough to squirm. The cold of a steel blade trails from my lips, making its way down my skin, drawing warmth from my core to the surface.

“Remember the safe word, baby girl?”

“I won’t be needing it tonight,” I gasp, my words his green light for tonight’s order.

“Sweet girl, I’m not doing my job if yous aren’t screaming it by the end,” he taunts, and in a second, the blade slides in between my legs, latching onto the lace scrunched between my thighs. The cold of the steel momentarily reminding me of everything I crave to forget. A pool begins to form at my opening as he slices up, cutting my panties off in one sweep. The jolt forcing a gasp from my lips, making my pussy throb at the lack of power I have, and fuck, I love it. The steel of the blade begins to climb, circling my belly button, the pressure taunting me as it makes its way up. Sliding under my maroon lace bra once again, he cuts upward, the threads breaking apart, forcing my tits to fall to the side, their recoil surely making his cock dance. The cold air encases my nipples, becoming a weapon of their own against me. Reaching over my head, he turns the water off, grabbing my throat. Crashing his lips down onto mine, his words trail off with him as he backs away, “I’ve missed yous, baby girl. I was beginning to think yous got your shit together and didn’t need me anymore. You get extra punishment for making me wait so fuhking long.”

My pussy clutches at his words.

“Yes, please, fucking destroy me,” I plea.

My legs spread my pussy exposed, he releases a long breath on my clit, the warmth enticing me for more as a flogger crashes down, spanking my cunt with force. My body attempts to jump, the restraints keep me from getting very far.

“Your pussy is so wet, baby girl, mmmmhhmmm.”

Lifting the flogger, he spanks my clit again, waiting only seconds before repeating it again and again. The heat is now a burn, and I’m certain swelling has commenced. Fuck, the pain feels so good.

His torture continues as I flinch with each punishing bend of his wrist; moans mixed with grunts trail out of me in the most pleasure-filled pain I’ve had in a very long time.

“Yous like the heat, don’t cha, baby?”

“I fucking love it,” I scream as he spanks my pussy over and over again.

“If you’re here, that means your pretty pussy has been a very naughty girl. Do yous know what I do to naughty girls?”

I don’t answer; my brain is too busy enjoying the pain.

Rearing back, he spanks my pussy over and over in lighter but firm strokes, each one quicker and quicker, causing my ankles and wrists to pull against the restraints as I feel my orgasm begin to build, connecting the pit of my stomach to that of my clit. Complete euphoria taking over, my moans now screams, the restraints becoming my helping hand to coax my orgasm to the cusp. The sound stops and, in a moment’s notice, my race to full exhilaration is stolen from me, and my body’s left crying for its release.

“What the fuck?”

“Tell me, baby girl, who’s hurt you? The cold or the warmth?”

“What the fuck does that matter?”

Leaning over me, he pulls my head to the edge of the sink by my hair, his lips mere inches from mine, my hair now as wet as my pussy as he embeds the knife against my throat, drawing blood with a pleasure-filled swipe.

“Oh, it fuhking matters; answer me, baby girl, was it the cold?”

I look at him confused; we’ve had many meetings over the years but never has he asked about either of them while we are fucking. Fuck it, let’s play.

“Seems you don’t need an answer. You already have it,” I scoff.

“To forget, yous must embrace, baby,” he taunts, the knife trailing up the side of my face. Walking away, I hear the closing of a cabinet, ice suddenly falling, piece by piece.

“No, please, no,” I beg.

“Yous know how to make it stop, baby girl.”

I’ve never been one to fold, and if I can’t ever have him in real life again, then why the fuck would I stop this now? I want to forget, not to remember, but I miss him already. He won’t get that fucking word out of me, even if I die here on the table tonight, I refuse. I came to forget, and if this god of a man is good at anything, it’s that.

My silence, my answer. I watch as he grabs a handful of ice. Reaching down, he fills my swollen pussy with the chips, the cold against my wet warmth causing an instant sting that hits all the right places in the best possible way. Grabbing another, he fills me more, forcing it in as my legs squirm at the sudden change of temperature. Grabbing another, he fills his mouth before spreading my legs further. His mouth tracing my slit until he hits my clit, circling it with a larger cube back and forth. His pace picks up, my moans matching him beat for beat. Fuck, it’s so cold it’s blissful. His hands secure my legs as they begin trembling, my climax climbing higher and higher.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.”

I can’t hold it back anymore. Fire and ice race through my veins as I fight to grasp the ending I need, fuck me, it’s just what I fucking need right now. Without warning, it’s all taken away again, and I am like a fucking druggie needing a fix. Protests leave my lips as I throw a tantrum the best I can, yanking on the restraints fiercely, my pelvis thrusting up, searching for its desire—his mouth. The pain—pure pleasure. I need a fucking release. Flicking his wrist, he slaps my pussy with purpose, forcing my ass to find the counter again. A smirk curls as his lips lower to mine, delicately kissing them, our tongues dancing slow and passionately before he pulls away. A devilish grin present, making his way to my cold hard nipples, his tongue coaxing one as his hand grasps the other between his fingers, his teeth simultaneously nipping and pulling viciously just as I like it, forcing my lungs to gasp for air. Pulling harder and further with one hand, his teeth lock in before sucking my areola back in, his teeth landing back at the tip of my nipple like he wants to bite it off. I hiss inwardly at the pain. He releases my tits, forcing their recoil, the air masks them causing a burning sensation to commence.

“We come together, you know the rules, baby.”

“Fucking torture,” I bite.

Kissing my forehead, he trails down to my ear, his words sweet as sin.

“Torture is pleasure, and pleasure is torture. Yous know that; It’s why you’re here, baby girl.”

Releasing my ankles from their restraints, he leaves my wrists still well-entrapped. Sliding my feet upward, my knees point to the ceiling, the soles of my feet lay flat against the granite countertop. Bare and exposed, the uninvited cold begins taking over again. I watch to the side as he slides off his gray sweatpants that wear his precum stain on the front down to the floor.

His cock is so fucking hard, and in this moment, I’d sell my soul for its fix. The veins tell me he’s hurting to get his own escape, and the tiny leakage from the softest and most perfect head makes my mouth salivate, wishing I could taste him. Not all men taste amazing, but O’Connor is like drinking Icelandic water, refreshing and divine. Climbing on the island, grasping my legs, he positions me right where he wants me, my ankles resting on his shoulders as he begins swirling his cock at my opening. Our eyes connecting for a split second before I find comfort in a stare-off with the cabinets.

“Look at me, baby girl. I want to see your face.”

Before he can finish his sentence, he shoves eleven inches of rock-solid Irish man into me, tearing through me unbearably. I will be paying for my indiscretions tomorrow.

“Fuck,” I gasp, my head curling up, my neck growing weaker in my attempt to keep it from the water it hovers. Thrusting slowly in and out of my tight pussy, his left hand wraps around my hip as his right rests on my sternum, allowing my tits to bounce freely back and forth with each stroke he takes. Goddamn, he feels so good.

“Fuhking hell, Ivy, you’re so beautiful.” His sweet nothings are not what I need right now; in fact, they are the exact opposite.

“Fuck me,” I beg.

“You sure yous ready?” he taunts, his fingers lacing around my throat, his cock entering me with more force. My back raw, my spine crashing into the granite.

“Ye—” My words void as he uses the leverage of my neck, forcing my head deep into the sink. My head now fully submerged, and I’m fighting for my life. My struggle making his fuck that much sweeter.

Lifting me out momentarily, he allows me a breath before suffocating me again in the wetness of the dark. My arms pull all the slack of the restraints as he continues to ruthlessly fuck me over and over. My orgasm begins to build once more, rising to a place only he has ever brought me to. Such intensity takes over me. I’m literally being fucked into fight or flight, and fuck, I’m so into it. Pulling back up, he reminds me I can use my safe word; I refuse to say it. I want all of whatever this is. When I say nothing, his hand grips tighter against my throat, forcing me back into the water; time feels infinite. My legs begin fighting him as he fucks my soon-to-be lifeless body recklessly. Water enters my throat as his hand slides up plugging my nose, I begin thrusting my head around, desperately searching for air or release, whichever comes first. Lifting me from the water he allows me a few breaths before he shoves me back under continuing to water board me.

With each bout of lack of oxygen, my orgasm soars higher and higher until, finally, I come all over his fucking cock. My screams muffled by the water around me, bubbles racing from my mouth to the surface. My legs fall to the countertop, my body exhausted as he abruptly slides up me, his hand lifting my head from the back before shoving his cock deep in my throat, forcing me back under. Fucking my face, his hold on the back of my hair giving him the leverage he needs to berate my throat stroke for stroke. His come filling my mouth with force, causing me to choke. Lifting my head from the water, his cock protruding my lips, he commands, “Fuhking swallow it.”

My water-logged eyes, desperate for clarity look onto him, doing just as he commanded, forcing him to remove his cock from my mouth. Jumping down he releases my arms from the restraints, as I gasp for air, coughing uncontrollably to rid the water from my body; helping me up, I begin to steady my breaths.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I snap, hitting him in the chest.

“You never used our safe word, baby girl, round two?” he taunts. His words make me giggle inside, fucking animal.

“Who would have thought waterboarding would be a kink? But you always do know just what I need and how I fucking need it; raincheck?” Throwing a wink his way, I slide down, making my way to the bottle of champagne across from me pouring us a glass. O’Connor returns with my favorite robe, slipping it onto me as we stand, two fucked up humans sipping champagne, our eyes locked in a banter-filled staring war. I don’t need his words to tell me what he’s thinking. His body language does that all on its own, and in his next breath, he’s going to ask me if I am staying.

In three, two, one. Okay, five, four, three, tw—

“Are yous staying tonight, baby girl?” Bingo, I fucking knew it. I know I shouldn’t, but, once again, tonight, I am the Devil’s to ruin, for tomorrow comes great change. He’s O’Connor; he’s like a sweet little man-child. What can it hurt?

“Yeah, I’m staying. Honestly, it’s been a hell of a day. Can we just head to bed?”

“Of course, I’ll meet yous in there.” His hands release from my waist, laying a kiss on my forehead. For a moment, today doesn’t seem so dark. Who am I kidding? Darkness is circling all around. Setting my champagne on the nightstand, I crawl into his California King, curling up next to my safety for the night. My head nestles in his shoulder as my hand traces his family crest tattooed across his chest, his fingers drawing crazy eights on my back.

“Can I ask yous a question, baby girl?”

I don’t really want to talk, but I have always enjoyed him for more than a fuck. Our conversations tend to always be deep and meaningful, and since Evalyn’s passing, he’s kind of become my therapist in a way. We’ve even gone on trips together, not many as of late, but we used to so often. I don’t have to hide from him, nor does he from me. Of all the people in my life, O’Connor has always been the truest of kind, never judging and always showing me compassion when I need it and even when I don’t. He’s my uncomplicated constant; he’s steady. Okay, he’s just really fucked up like me.

“Yeah, sure.”

Continuing to lace his fingers around my back, he holds no prisoners.

“Do yous think you’re ever going to choose?”

“What do you mean? Choose what?”

“Liam and Tayden. Do yous think you’ll ever make the choice between them?”

His words send a pit to my stomach, but it’s only there because I’ve been holding this answer in for more years than even makes sense. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result, and Tayden and I are the truest form of that. The result will never change, leaving me forever living in my own insanity.

“I’m not sure. There are things I do know for certain and always have, but I think I hold on in hopes of finding a different outcome to the scenario. I’ve loved Tayden almost my entire life. I can’t imagine it without him, but I can’t imagine one with him either.”

“Why? Why can’t yous see a future?”

Taking a deep breath, my mind starts racing, trying to undo the spider web of that answer.

“That’s a loaded question.” Turning over, placing my cheek against his chest, my eyes search his, and safety is granted to me through his emerald greens. His fingers run through my sun-kissed hair. Something about him makes telling your truths feel a little less intimidating.

“I—um, well, there’re many versions of an answer to that question, and a couple people whom I’m sure would love to know it themselves , Olive being one . When I think about choosing, I think of how neither is perfect. They both feed me in different ways and withhold me from things in others. On one hand, Tayden is a family man. He grew up in this perfect world with a normal upbringing. Sure, his parents divorced, and that fucked with him, but he’s an amazing dad and human outside his indiscretions. At his core is his family though. Being with him would mean putting myself in a position where I have never been. Part of one . I always dreamed of being with someone who had a large family, and the nostalgia of what I imagine that to be like. I fucking crave and want it so desperately, but then I realize I wouldn’t even know what to do with it. I have never been a sister or a granddaughter, nor an aunt or a cousin. I never even knew what being a true daughter was, and I certainly have no idea about being a mother—nor do I desire to. In theory, Tayden brings me hope that one day I could learn to be all those things, that I could have that joy and experience unconditional love and acceptance like I so desperately try to make an effort to always give. It seems like a beautiful thing to have, and I believe it could be healing for me, but I know myself, and I would find a way to self-destruct it. I know it sounds so stupid, but I have visions of him and I sometimes dancing around our kitchen late at night, his daughter coming in wearing her jammies because we woke her, joining in and the three of us tirelessly dancing and laughing the night away. I imagine holidays with his family and It’s beautiful. In theory, Tayden can give me all that, but when the coin flips on the other side, it is simply just fantasy. Because I’m not her. I’m not that version of myself I want to be, I’m very selfish at times and to attempt it would only ruin us, ruin me, and remind me of all I never had. In a way, I worry I’d become jealous and find a reason not to accept their love, and that would hurt him. He deserves someone who can be what he needs. Someone that fits into his life. So, I lock those dreams deep within me. I love the man while holding onto make-believe because it’s safer there. In a fucked-up way, I think I hold onto him because I don’t know how to survive without him. I can’t unlove him, but I can’t jump off the cliff with him either because loving each other is easy from a distance, but I imagine if we lived together, we both couldn’t present ourselves in the way in which we do with distance and through text. We’d really see each other good, bad, and ugly, and I’m not sure we would love like we do when the game is placed to the side and the masks come off. The perfect reflection we see now may be full of cracks or even shatter in day-to-day life together, and it’s not a gamble I wish to take because it’s one I may not survive the consequences of. One he may not either, and that singular thought makes my heart fucking ache. The short answer is that I don’t want to fail at being who I am to Tayden. Dissecting it even deeper, we are simply part children, still playing dress up and pretend, all while being half adults in a world with consequences bigger than a simple nineties childhood script rewrite. The hardest ones to let go of are the ones who got away; he’s that for me.”

Wiping a tear from my eye his voice cracks.

“Fuhking—hell baby girl. That’s a brutal amount of self-awareness. Yous and I aren’t so different, you know. Deep-rooted self-awareness has been brutal for me at times. It’s so pure, yet toxic, wrapped in a fuhked up bow, never knowing what will come when you unwrap it. Whether you’ll find self-preservation or self-destruction, can be fuhking exhausting. I’ve always known yous have it, but I guess hearing it makes me resonate with you even more. What about Liam?”

“What’s it you always say? Good and evil? It’s why we work. Honestly, It’s not much different. Simply the opposite, really.”

“Hows so?”

“Fuhking Liam” rolls off my tongue in an attempt to lighten the mood, imitating his accent, earning me a vicious punishing spanking.

“Valid.” Laughs escape me at the sting.

“Fucking Liam, he lets me be me. Every version of me is accepted by him, even the versions he’s never seen. I feel safe that he would either way. Even though I second guess it all the time, hence why I hide so much of my story from him. As you know, I don’t know a lot about him. I know he doesn’t have any family—none that he’s ever spoken of or mentioned. It sounds fucked up, I’m aware, trust me, but I find comfort in it. I should want him to have that, but selfishly, I feel less alone because he doesn’t. In a way, we are both unconnected nomads walking this earth, doing what we love while not having much requested of us from the world outside our home besides work. I love that we only really have each other. He doesn’t require deep emotion or conversation from me. He loves what I give him viciously with reserve, never asking more of me. Our relationship allows me to be broken, comfortable in my own fucking skin. There’s a certain comfort I have around him that I can’t quite explain, but it feels like home. Well , my fucked up version of home, not the version I crave or think I want like with Tayden, maybe not even the version I actually need, but it’s safe. At times, his version seems more authentically me and what I can emotionally handle. Somehow, he understands me so fucking well. Sometimes too well. He reads me like a book, and I love that he can, always knowing what I need without it being requested of him. That’s certainly where he and Tayden differ at times. Liam knows so much more somehow. On the other hand, the ways in which he allows and accepts my brokenness doesn’t force me to grow. He never questions me or asks more of me. I don’t think I could ever do anything wrong in his eyes, and that scares me because I am not perfect. I’m so far from it, so what is it that he sees? His unconditional love feels amazing, but I sometimes question if it’s helping me or simply allowing me to sit in my darkness. He’s like a soft emotional fucking landing when life gets too hard. I wish he’d fight with me more, but no matter what I do or how I do it, we never fucking do. The chaos I was raised in makes my soul burn for confrontation, but no matter which way I turn with him, I never find it. It’s like he knows I’m trying to create it but won’t cave to my demands. Fuck , I’m here in bed with you, and he’s fine with it. I’ve never lied to him about this or the others. I wish, at times, he’d be mad at me for it, but I love that he’s not. Selfishly. I do question who hurt him so deeply to find love in me more days than I don’t. What’s wrong with Liam? Nothing, and that makes me want to run all the while never walking away from him. So, to choose, I’m not sure I ever could unless I was forced to, and I fear if that day came as it did earlier today, I’d do as I did before I texted you—say goodbye, knowing hello is somewhere down the road again. But to choose forever? That’s life ending in my world. It can’t ever exist, or I may not either.”

“Yous are truly a complicated woman, baby girl, but a beautiful one, and they are both so lucky to have you, But, to play devil’s advocate, do yous ever think about yourself? You speak of all the ways you fear failing them, but do yous ever think of how they fail you?”

This is why we are such good friends, Mr. O’Connor. A smile crosses my face at his evaluation of my words and those left in the unspoken spaces.

“Yes, but I’m not on their journey of healing or self-worth. I’m on mine, and I can only evaluate my own actions while trying to show myself some grace. Continuing to hold myself accountable as I attempt to untangle the web of who I am. My first goal in life was not to heal but to put myself in a position of never needing someone to survive. I did that in my work, and I built a fucking empire with the help of Red, of course , but it came at a cost emotionally. Pretending to have it all together when you don’t is harmful. Eventually, you lose yourself in who you are trying to be and forget who you were, leaving them to eventually implode. Everyone says fake it until you make it, but when the cameras shut off, the bank closes, and you go home. The mirror doesn’t see the knock-off version you created to feed society’s acceptance. It reflects the real you, and if you aren’t careful, that knock-off version will only create bigger holes in you than you began with, crossing a dangerous line until you are no longer comparing yourself to the standards of the world but comparing yourself to you, and that’s not a place so easily returned from. It’s one thing to compete with another human. It’s complete lunacy to compete with yourself because you pretend to be something you aren’t, leaving the core version of you feeling insufficient. That’s my truth. I’m the literal walking example of the consequences of that. Fractured and shattered, unsure of who I am. Lately, I have been questioning whether work is causing more harm than good in my life. I have the money to retire, so why do I hold onto it and put myself in the chaos I hate , constantly around other humans, instead of going home to Liam or my new home in Maine Tayden built and enjoy life and just fucking heal? Anyways, now I’m just rambling, but yeah, I think about all of it from every angle five times over daily, but bottom line, I can’t let either go and it fucking sucks. I worry I harm them in more ways than I love them. Sometimes, I think about granting them both freedom from my complicated chains. I’m more undeserving of them than they are of me. Happiness terrifies me just like you; it’s not a place I know how to exist in, so I sabotage it when I feel it getting too close. So, do I ever think about me? Yes and no, because there are so many variables at play. How can someone think about someone they don’t even truly know?”

Lifting his head, his lips meet my forehead, the scruff of his beard tickling me as I grab onto it. Pulling his lips down to meet mine, our tongues softly intertwining.

“Thanks for not asking about you,” I whisper into his mouth.

Pulling back from me, his strong, massive hands grasp my cheeks.

“Baby girl, I know my place with yous, and I’ll always be here in whichever way you need me. Besides, neither of them can ever give you what I do.”

“Oh yeah, what is it you offer they don’t?”

Pulling my ear to his lips, he softly whispers, “S.W.A.G., baby girl.”

Laughter erupts from my chest, my palm finding his face as I shove it playfully back into the pillow.

“Yous so stupid,” I tease. “I won’t lie though. Sex with a ginger is top fucking shelf.”

“No, stupid is thinking Tayden built yous a fuhking house. That man has never gotten his hands dirty a day in his life,” he fires back, the curl of his accent at the end of each laugh turning me on.

“True, but in his defense, he did admit to hiring it out. Not all of us can live exciting lives being a big, sexy, drug-dealing Irishman, using realty as our front by day, and burying bodies for our family by night. Tell me, Mr. O’Connor, do you water board all your victims while you fuck them to get them to bare their souls?”

“No, just the insane blonde ones. I like the way their tits bounce as they struggle.”

“God, you need therapy”

“Yous got no idea, baby girl,” trails off his tongue.

“You know it’s comforting having someone in my life who accepts their dance with the devil.” I admit.

“We’re all born from the kingdom of Heaven. We’re not all meant to return home. Heaven and Hell were created for the same as good and evil—balance. Without comfort, fear cannot exist, and without evil, good can never prevail. You learn to accept that; the crown feels a little less heavy being the devil’s favorite.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate yous too, baby girl. Now grab that glass. The solar eclipse is about to start, and I plan to make the heavens blush with yous under it.”