Cillian (The Kelly Brothers #2) - Megan Wade Page 0,20

shoots out and wraps around the back of her neck, my arm jerking her closer until my mouth is crashing down on hers. I suck her lip into my mouth, inhaling a shaky breath as I consider what I’m doing. Then she whimpers and I’m fucking gone. My tongue pushes past hers.

I tilt her head backward, dragging her by the hair so I can deepen the angle and devour her forcefully, necessarily, obsessively. She tastes like fruit and vodka, lime and tequila and something that is undoubtedly her.

She’s my desire, my need and my undoing, and that craving that’s been simmering just under the surface has emerged with full force as I suck on her tongue and knead her ass with my free hand, tugging her flush against me so she can feel my hardness and the deep-seated need she fosters inside me. I don’t know if I can stop.

Releasing her hair, my hands go to her hips and shove her against the wall, my hips grinding against her as I pin her in place, losing myself in the feel of her, the taste.

“Cillian,” she whispers, lacing her fingers in the back of my hair as my fingers bite into her flesh. This needs to stop.

I drop my forehead against hers, eyes closed as I steady out my breath, forcing myself to dial it back. “We can’t,” I rasp. “Not like this.”

“What do you mean? I’m here. I want this. Don’t stop.” She curls her fingers in the front of my shirt and urges me closer.

Bracing my hands against the wall, I push away, shaking my head. “You’ve been drinking. I can’t. It isn’t right, Hazel. I can’t have you like this. Please don’t push me. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I took advantage of you.”

When I force myself to meet her eyes, I find understanding. Thank god. “OK,” she whispers, lowering her hands. “We’ll wait.”

“I should get you home,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“OK.” She presses her lips together and nods.

Now my hand is rubbing the back of my neck as my eyes move down her body, drinking in the way her breasts practically spill out of her figure-hugging dress. “You can’t go out wearing that though. I’ll, uh, get you something to wear.”

I make my way to my childhood bedroom with Hazel in tow. The same bunk bed I shared with Branagan is still in there, still freshly made because Mam has a thing about always saving a place for us. These bedrooms are a shrine to our teenage selves. They even still have clothes in them.

“This will be big on you,” I say, pulling a sweatshirt and sweatpants from the drawers. “But it’ll keep those lecherous scumbags at bay.”

“Thanks.”

I offer her a smile as I hand the clothes to her. “It made me crazy seeing the way they were looking at you out there,” I whisper, swallowing hard as my eyes drift over her supple body. It’s hard for me to leave her, but for the sake of decency, I press a kiss against the top of her head then wait outside the room so she can change.

It’s not until a good ten minutes go by that I start to get concerned.

“Hazel?” I tap on the door lightly before I push it open and find Hazel fast asleep on my old bed in the sweats I gave her, her body curled onto its side as she snores softly. My chest squeezes as I grab a blanket and pull it over her, picking up her discarded dress and hanging it over the back of the chair. It’s when I look at her again, soft and vulnerable in her sleep, that I realize I’m a goner over this girl. I love her. As unconventional as this relationship is, I want her, I need her. That’s all there is to it.

Hazel

When I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to sift through the aching in my head and figure out exactly where I am. In Cillian’s old room, the room he probably slept in when he was my age. Fitting in a way, but also oddly intimate. It’s like a time capsule of who he was, and it makes me feel closer to him, even though we’re years apart.

Forcing myself to sit up and look around, I take in the neat and tidy room, decorated with heavy oak furniture stained a golden brown with emerald green and navy quilts and matching curtains. The