Chapter 12 Stevie
twelve
Stevie
Three Months Later
I’m in the middle of holiday chaos of SeaTac.
A toddler wails behind me in the long customs line while a woman in a red scarf shouts angrily into her phone. I’m being jostled and nudged nonstop. I may pee my pants if things don’t get moving soon.
Doesn’t matter. Nothing can dampen my mood.
I’m home.
When it’s my turn, I dig out my passport and get it stamped, then everything moves in a blur. I grab my bags, coast through customs and head for the tram to the arrivals area.
As the train speeds toward my destination, I wrap the camel coat I bought in Switzerland snug over the blouse I steamed a million hours ago before I departed.
The girl who left Seattle wore t-shirts, denim, and ChapStick. This new version of me is polished. Professional. Certain. Like the woman I want to become.
Only, I’m quivering beneath it all.
Because I’m about to see him.
Padraig.
It’s been months without his hands on my body, his mouth dragging over my skin and his breath heaving when I fall apart for him.
We may have spoken nearly every day, but a screen can’t kiss you. Video sex kept us sane, but let’s be real. A pixelated orgasm isn’t the same as being split open by someone who knows your body like a prayer.
I’ve missed him every second with a deep, unwavering ache.
I loved Switzerland., but I love him more.
When I step off the escalator, my suitcases bump behind me as I weave past families holding signs and couples crashing into each other with duffel bags and wide-eyed grins. I scan the crowd, pulse in my ears, searching for the one person I’ve craved every single night since I left.
And then—
There he is.
Leaning against a column like the whole airport’s background noise.
Black jeans slung low on his hips. Boots beat to hell.
Long charcoal hoodie layered under his ancient, cracked leather jacket.
His hair is even longer than it was in June, brushing past the sharp lines of his cheekbones, over his shoulders.
Wild and stupidly perfect.
Padraig’s fingers tug at his bottom lip until his eyes find mine. Everything in him stills as I approach. He lifts a white, crinkled paper bag. I recognize the logo. Café Besalu. I know what’s inside. An almond croissant. My favorite since we were thirteen.
Everything inside me explodes.
For half a breath, I can’t even move. He crosses the short distance between us in long, purposeful strides. Then he’s in front of me and I’m enveloped in his arms. The croissant hits the floor. My arms wrap around his neck and I bury my face into his shoulder.
His arms cage me, one hand grips the back of my head, the other flattens against the small of my back.
“I missed you.” I breathe in his scent. “God, I missed you.”
His nose skims along my cheek. “I’m so happy you’re home. You look and smell amazing.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “New clothes. Swiss shampoo.”
His mouth finds mine. Hot. Desperate. Our lips smash together. His tongue slips in like he’s starving and I’m the only thing he wants to taste. It’s messy. Public.
I don’t care.
He breaks away first. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Ten minutes later, Padraig lugs my suitcases behind him and we weave past the crowds in record time.
Outside, it’s raining of course and colder than I expected.
He yanks open the back of the band’s van, sticker-bombed from the tour, and tosses my belongings inside.
We get in and he peels out of the parking garage.
We don’t talk much on the drive, not because there’s nothing to say. We’re too busy stealing glances. Caressing each other. His hand stays on my thigh the entire time, thumb tracing over the fabric of my slacks like he’s relearning the shape of me.
I’m surprised when he steers downtown instead of taking the exit toward Capitol Hill toward our families’ neighborhood. Seattle glows under the magic of a million holiday lights. Soft gold and silver strands strung from awnings and wrapped around trees.
When he pulls into valet at the W, I blink in happy surprise. “Seriously? You booked a hotel?”
“We’ve been apart six months. I’m not spending tonight sneaking into your childhood bedroom trying not to wake your parents when I fuck your brains out.” He glances over and winks.
A beat passes. Electricity surges through my body. “Okay, then.”
He hands the keys to the valet and leads me through the glass doors with unshakable purpose.
Low ambient music pulses beneath the soft hush of voices in the lobby.
Evergreen garlands drape the front desk, velvet ribbon threaded through golden pinecones.
The scent of fir, leather, and something faintly spiced lingers in the air.
He checks us in. Confident. Calm. Focused.
Watching him, I burn. I want to crawl inside his coat, press my face to his chest, and revel in this moment. Strip away every polished piece of the woman I’ve become and return to the high-school girl who used to curl against him under the sheets as we learned how to please each other.
He palms the keycard, pulls me close and we’re on the move. My cheek brushes his collar. Air stretches tight between us, thick with memory and need. Our time apart collapses into seconds.
The doors open to a long, muted hallway. Gold sconces flicker against dark walls. He finds our room and slides the key against the card reader. We step inside. Rain streaks the windows in silver ribbons. Exposed brick glows in the lamplight. A king bed waits in the center. Turned down. Untouched.
Not for long.
We stand there. Then I move. Or, maybe he does.
In any case, we collide. Mouths open, breath stolen. His hands grip my waist, then lift as his palms flatten over my ribs, my back, my hips. Each touch greedy and grounded, like he’s desperate to confirm I’m real.
My fingers dig into his jaw, along his shoulders, then tangle in the long strands of the wavy hair I’ve dreamed about for months. Feeling him. Breathing him. Loving him.
The room tilts. We stumble toward the bed.
Padraig peels my coat down my arms. Tosses it.
Unbuttons my shirt one button at a time, his mouth hovering, breath uneven.
He doesn’t rush. He maps me. His fingertips brush the swell of my breast above my bra, across the center of my sternum, against the mole below my collarbone he loves to kiss before we fall asleep every night.
Brown eyes find mine, misty with emotion. His lips part, like he might say something.
I shake my head. “No, let’s talk later. I need you to keep touching me.”
So, he does.
Both hands trail from my shoulders to my hips. No hesitation. Nothing held back. He drops to his knees and presses his mouth over the front of my slacks, inhaling deeply. Then he undoes the button, slides the zipper slow, and shucks them down my legs and I step out of them.
His mouth trails from my ankle up my shin, tongue tracing my inner knee. My thighs shake with anticipation. He groans and rises once again, sweeping me up in his arms. His lips slant over mine and our tongues dance to our favorite song.
I tear at his jacket. Yank it off. Then the hoodie. His shirt. He’s thinner than when I left. Ripped, all sinew and definition from long hours onstage. My palms glide across his taut abs, nails raking lightly down his chest against his nipples and he gasps into my mouth.
We fall back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and memories.
He kisses every inch of me. My throat, my sternum, the slope of my tits. He tugs down the cups of my bra and sucks on my nipples until I moan and I arch.
“I missed these.” He licks the curve of my breast.
“You missed me.”
“Every fucking day.” His fingers hook the waistband of my panties and he pulls them down, lowering himself to kiss the inside of my thigh.
He moves lower and drags his tongue up my center with gusto. “Oh my God…Padraig—”
I barely get the words out when he wraps one arm under my thigh and pulls me closer.
His tongue swirls, presses, plunges. I grab fistfuls of the duvet and clamp my thighs around his ears, but he doesn’t stop.
One finger slips inside. Then another. I lose track of words.
Time. Space. Breaking apart in a rush, shaking and calling his name.
He doesn’t stop until I tug his hair hard enough to make him growl.
Padraig looks up at me from between my legs, his eyes molten. “You’re unreal. Fucking heaven.”
“I want your cock.” I reach for his jeans.
He helps, pulling them down and tossing them across the room. No boxers. No hesitation. Skin, heat, and his shaft heavy in my hand. Thick, hot, hard in a way that makes my mouth water. I stroke him once, twice, and he bites down on his bottom lip as his eyes flutter closed.
I guide him against me.
He pauses.
Then he slides into me slow, thick, and unforgiving. We lock eyes, my calves hooked around his waist, his palms braced beside my head, every inch of him buried inside me.
“Fuck, Stevie.” His breath catches. “You’re so fucking tight.”
My back arches, heat blooms between my legs. “God, babe, don’t stop.”
His hips start to move, slow at first, then rougher, harder, until I can’t think. Can’t speak. I grip his biceps, my nails biting deep. Sweat glistens on his skin as he fucks me with an intensity I can’t get enough of.
“You feel this?” His voice is shredded. “Am I fucking you good, Stevie?”
Every stroke hits exactly where I need it. Deep and deliberate. “Yes. God, yes.”
He shifts, lifting my hips slightly so he can go harder and deeper. It steals the air from my lungs. My head falls back.
I can’t hold still. Can’t keep quiet. “I need you. I need you more than anything.”
“I’m nothing without you.” His mouth moves against mine, wet and bruising. His hips hammer until I break apart. My body locks and vision goes white-hot. Pleasure pulses through every nerve.
He flips me onto my stomach, palms dragging me back by the hips. “Again.”
“Yes.” I brace against the mattress. He drives into me in one brutal stroke. “Do not stop. I want you to be inside me all night.”
The room fills with the sound of skin slapping, broken cries, the creak of the bed under every punishing thrust. One hand on my waist, the other between my legs, fingers rough and perfect until I’m coming again.
“Fuck, Ohmygod—”
Padraig grunts as he pulses deep inside me. When he finally collapses and rolls us to our sides, both of us are wrecked and breathless. His chest presses against my back and his arms wrap around me, locking me in tight.
We stay like that. Raw. Quiet.
His lips find my shoulder. My neck. My spine.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmurs.
He turns me beneath him, cradles my face with both hands, and kisses me slow.
“And, don’t fall asleep. We’re not done,” he whispers. “Not even close.”
“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” I whisper against his lips.
“Like what?”
“Home is wherever you are.”
He pulls me closer. “Thank God you feel the same way.”