to the bed, falling on it like a tree, face first. “I guess I don’t look quite well at the moment,” he says, mumbling into the bed covers.
“I don’t know, your ass looks especially perky from this angle.”
I hang up his coat and do the same to mine, then join him on the bed, sitting beside him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him.
But there’s no response. He’s already sleeping. I take off his boots, and he moans but doesn’t wake up. Then I take off my shoes and lie down beside him.
I watch him for a moment, this big, burly beautiful man with his face smooshed up against the bed, making him look like a kid again. He’s built like a tank — he’s a machine from head to toe — and yet I know in time his body will fail him. It’s already failing him. It’s not fair that he has to go through this, that he has to lose everything he’s worked so hard for. His body, his career, the love of the game. It all means so much to him. It’s what he prides himself on.
And yet, I know this won’t destroy him. It’s not because I won’t let it, because really, what power do I have here? I can only stay as long as I can and do what he lets me. But I know that deep inside, Padraig has formidable strength, even if he doesn’t know it himself. He’s been drawing upon that strength since he was young. It’s what’s kept him going and kept him alive through all that tragedy. That inner strength, his heart of a warrior, will see him through this disease, whether I’m there or not.
But, God, I hope I’m there.
I close my eyes, holding that prayer on my tongue, and fall asleep.
I wake up to Padraig running his fingers softly across my cheekbone and then leaning in to kiss me on the corner of my mouth.
“Are you awake?” he asks in a low, husky voice.
The kind of voice that tells me exactly what’s on his mind.
I smile and open my eyes into the dark of the room. Outside it’s night already and there’s a faint light coming in from the hotel marquee.
“I am now,” I tell him softly. “What time is it?”
“I dunno,” he says, his hands now trailing down my neck and across my sweater. “Does it matter?”
My stomach growls at that, telling me it’s past dinnertime, but I can swap that kind of hunger with another, easily.
Especially as he brings his hand up under my sweater, his warm palm skimming over my delicate skin. Up over my stomach, my torso, to my breasts where he teasingly strokes the underside of them with his fingers. My nipples instantly harden and I start to squirm.
Damn. It’s like striking a match.
“I need ye, darlin’,” he says, kissing down my neck, leaving trails of fireworks as he goes. He pulls back and looks at me through lowered lashes, his dark eyes turning molten and hot. “I mean it. I need ye. Need to be inside ye. Nothing else will do right now.”
His intoxicating words fill my head, make me drunk.
“You can take me,” I whisper to him as he climbs on top of me, removing his pants. “Anyway that you want me, I’m yours, Padraig.”
I am yours.
A small, wicked smile teases the corner of his mouth as he pulls my sweater over my head and undoes my bra. “You may not know what you’re asking of me.”
“I’ll take what you have,” I tell him, pushing down my leggings. I’m not wearing underwear this time because, well, I knew we were staying in a hotel tonight. Part of me thought I might start riding him on the drive over.
“No knickers?” A flash of heat comes across his brow and he reaches down and skims his calloused fingers along my folds, sliding over my clit. “I want to fuck you raw.”
A knot of excitement forms in my stomach at the thought, at those words, at the very intense way he’s staring at me. “I’m still on the pill,” I say. Though I do need a refill soon. “And I’m clean. I’ve been tested.”
“Yeah, so am I.” He is positively smoldering. “And I’m going take this thick, hard beast of a cock and give you every raw inch of him. Fuck you until your nails draw blood on my back and you’re screaming my name into tomorrow.”
His words slam into me, making