Page 40 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)

Rory

T here’s a delicious tenderness in my limbs as I stretch my arms above my head and sigh, drawing my lip between my teeth and sinking back into the mattress.

I trace my fingers over lips that feel slightly bruised from Cillian’s kisses, recalling the hours and hours he spent exhausting me until I was nearly boneless.

Last night, it was like something changed between us, like we just couldn’t get enough. An insatiable, frantic need that only seemed to grow with each kiss, each brush of our skin, each time he slid inside me and whispered that I was his.

And for the first time in a very long time, I shut off my alarm and skipped my morning classes because I was too tired to move, and also because playing hooky one time this semester felt worth it to spend the morning with him. Especially after last night.

When I run my hand along the sheets next to me and find them cold, I realize that Cillian must have been awake for a while.

I throw the covers off, find his discarded T-shirt on the floor, and pull it over my head. It hangs nearly to my knees and smells exactly like him. Clean and masculine. I inhale, breathing the scent in, and I can’t help but smile.

I’m happy. So deliriously happy.

Part of me wishes I could keep us in this bubble, uninterrupted, just the two of us for longer. And another part of me can’t wait for the day when we can eat at my favorite restaurant together or see a movie without having to worry if someone sees us or not.

I walk out of my bedroom and smell the scent of bacon cooking, and my stomach growls noisily. I’m starving, which makes sense after the hours and hours of strenuous physical activity last night.

My core throbs in response to that memory, and I cover my mouth, hiding my grin as I make my way into the kitchen.

I lean against the doorframe, watching as Cillian stands in front of the stove, skillets on every burner, humming while he flips a piece of bacon.

And I realize how happy he looks.

I wish he could always be this happy.

“Good morning,” I murmur. His head whips toward me, a wide smile overtaking his handsome face. Arousal stirs inside me despite the fact that we spent the entire night fucking on every surface of my apartment… including the kitchen table he’s set for breakfast.

“Morning, baby.”

His voice is low and gravelly, the way it sounds when he’s just woken up. The sleepy syllables rolling from his tongue in his delicious accent that makes heat pool in my lower stomach.

“I hope you plan on disinfecting that table.”

He laughs. “Nah. I plan on having you for breakfast on top of it.”

“As much as I would love that, I’m not sure that’s possible. You’ve practically rearranged my organs with the monster that you keep in your pants.” I wince slightly, and his brow immediately pinches in concern.

“Shit, are you sore?”

I nod wordlessly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. He sets down the spatula next to the stove and moves to the cabinets, calling over his shoulder, “Where do you keep the painkillers?”

“I don’t need painkillers, Cillian. I’ll be fine.”

Ignoring me, he begins to open each cabinet until he locates the one where I keep medicine and finds the Advil, pouring a few into his large palm.

“Here. Take these and drink some water. You need to hydrate, St. James,” he says, his voice soft and coated with worry.

I can’t help laughing. “You’re cute when you’re worried, but I don’t think anyone’s ever died from sex.”

“Just take the bloody things,” Cillian grunts, dropping them in my hand. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

I take the pills from him, and grab water from the fridge. I toss them back and drink almost half the bottle. Damn, I guess I was thirsty. “Happy now?” I ask.

He nods, a devastating smile curling his lips. “Very. Now I’m going to feed you. Then I’ll make your pretty little pussy feel better with my tongue. How does that sound?”

Glorious actually.

My stomach grumbles again, and he chuckles, turning back to the stove as I sit down at the kitchen table and lean forward, placing my elbows on the top, watching him cook.

There’s something incredibly sexy about a man who can cook. Especially a man who spent the entire night giving you orgasms and then offers to give you another as soon as he feeds you the food he’s cooking.

I think I’d like to do this every morning.

The faint sound of ringing comes from down the hall, and Cillian grunts again. “Can you grab it for me? Probably Ais.”

“Of course,” I say, rising from the table and walking out of the kitchen. I go to my bedroom and find his phone on my nightstand just as it stops ringing. But then it rings again, and I see Aisling’s name on the screen.

“It’s Aisling,” I call to Cillian. “Should I answer?”

“Yeah, please.”

I swipe my fingers across the screen and hold it to my ear. “Ais, it’s Rory. Cill—”

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Mr. Cairney? This is Logan Marks from Prescott University Medical.”

My stomach plummets, and the phone shakes in my hand. Why is the hospital calling from Aisling’s phone?

“O-okay, just one second please,” I manage to say as I sprint back to the kitchen, almost running into the door as I carry the phone to Cillian.

He laughs when he sees me running, but then he sees my face and his own pales. “What’s wrong?”

I thrust a shaking hand at him. “It’s the hospital. Aisling.”

I’ll never forget the raw panic that flashes in his eyes. They go hazy for a moment as he lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

His voice shakes, and it nearly kills me.

I can’t hear what’s happening, but I watch as his throat bobs, and he nods. The entire call lasts only a minute, if that, and then he pulls it from his ear.

“I have to go,” he mumbles blankly.

“I’m coming with you.”

It feels like he hardly registers my response as he brushes past me into my bedroom.

Less than thirty minutes later we burst through the doors of the emergency room, making a beeline for the front reception desk.

“Hi, my sister has been admitted. Her name’s Aisling Cairney?”

The older man wearing dark scrubs nods. “Give me just a moment, please.”

Cillian’s frustration feels palpable with each second that passes as the nurse types away on the computer so slowly that even I start to get antsy.

“Sir, please, I’m very worried about my sister, can you please just tell me where I need to go?” Cillian says exasperatedly as he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, his tone heavy with panic and worry.

Because I can’t last another second without touching him, I grab his hand, lacing my fingers in his and squeezing reassuringly.

I don’t care if someone sees.

I don’t even care if my dad walked through that entrance right now.

Cillian needs me. And I need him to know that he’s not alone.

“I’m trying, son, please give me just a moment,” the surly nurse responds, and I squeeze Cillian’s hand again, trying to offer any comfort I can.

Finally, the man looks up from his computer, takes Cillian’s and my IDs, and tells him that she’s on the second floor, room 293.

Thank God.

We take the elevator to the second floor, and Cillian bursts through the minute the doors open, dragging me behind him. The kind lady at the nurses’ station points us in the right direction, and we easily find Aisling’s room.

When we walk through the door, she’s sitting upright in bed, wearing a pale blue hospital gown and a small frown. Compared to the size of the bed, she looks tiny sitting in the middle of it.

“Ais,” Cillian says, his voice breaking on her name. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He strides over to her in two large steps, eyes running over every inch of her body looking for visible signs that she’s hurt.

She nods. “Yes. I’m one hundred percent okay.”

“You’re in the hospital, Aisling. That’s not okay,” he deadpans.

“My insulin monitor must have glitched. My sugar dropped, and I fainted. I bumped my head against the table at the library, and the guy that witnessed it insisted that they call an ambulance. He actually um… rode with me here, so I didn’t have to ride by myself.

It was just a slight overreaction. I’m fine .

” Her sigh is heavy, her small frame shaking with the movement.

It causes her glasses to slip down her nose.

She pushes them back up before adding, “I mean it was the most embarrassing moment of my life having to be taken away in a freakin’ ambulance, but other than being humiliated, I’m good. ”

Cillian curses as he reaches up and drags his hand down his face, shaking his head. “I was so fucking scared, Aisling. I—” I can tell how badly he’s fighting for his composure, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching for him.

It’s the worst feeling in the world when you care about someone and they’re hurting, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I feel helpless.

Aisling’s expression softens as she gazes at her brother. She pats the bed next to her, beckoning him to sit beside her.

“Should I give you guys a min—”

“No, please stay, Rory,” she says, giving me a smile. “I want you to be here.”

I nod but hang back, taking a spot in the chairs beside the floor-to-ceiling window that gives a full view of campus and the rugby pitch. It would be gorgeous in any other circumstances, the sun shining bright and high as fresh snow blankets the ground and buildings.

“I promise you, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry, Cillian, I can handle this,” Aisling says when he sits beside her, fitting his massive frame next to her. “I have to take care of myself.”

He huffs. “It’s hard to do that when you’re currently in a hospital bed, Ais. You could have been… You falling could have been very different.” He reaches out, grasping her chin and turning her head to the side so he can inspect the spot that’s bandaged.

“Yes, but it wasn’t. It’s not like I was careless and forgot. It was a malfunction.”

“I knew we should’ve gotten another one after the issues the other day, but I didn’t want to—”