Chapter 26 - Ciarán
twenty six-Ciarán
I rolled over in bed, reaching for Jordin, but the sheets were cold. Low music and a faint voice from another room caught my attention. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, threw on a pair of pajama shorts, and headed toward the kitchen.
Jordin stood at the counter, wearing one of my shirts, her hair tousled, her head tilted down as she listened to something on her phone. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip, and her fingers toyed with the hem of the shirt. She was so lost in the words she didn’t even hear me walk in.
"...Just wanted to say I miss you, J. I’m trying to be better, for you. For us. Please call me back," the voice said. Oak.
I stopped halfway into the kitchen. She looked up, her eyes widening when she realized I was standing there. Her grip on the phone tightened, like she was bracing herself.
“Ci, I—” she started, her voice rushing out. But I held up a hand, cutting her off.
“Don’t.” My voice was calm. I felt calm. “You don’t have to explain.”
Her brow rose, confusion flashing across her face. “I don’t?”
I closed the space between us. “No,” I said firmly. “I don’t care if he calls. I don’t care that you listened to him. You don’t need my permission, Jordin. As long as I get to have you too—love you too—that’s all I care about.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak, her eyes searching mine for... something. Maybe she expected anger, jealousy, a fight. Instead, all she’d find was the truth. I wasn’t letting her go. Not to him. Not to anyone.
“I’m not asking you to stop loving him,” I said, my voice low but steady. “I’m just asking you not to walk away from this. From me.”
There were parts of me—dark, messy parts—that she didn’t know about, secrets I wasn’t ready to tell. Because of those hidden things, I wasn’t selfish enough to try and make her choose between me and him. I just couldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.
I couldn’t give her everything. But what I could give her, she wouldn’t have to ask for; they were already hers.
“I need you, J. Just... need you to want me as much as you want him. And I know you do.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. I didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, I lifted her onto the counter, her legs parting instinctively to make room for me. My hands slid over her thighs, my fingertips tracing the soft skin there, and she shivered.
“You’re mine,” I whispered. I dropped to my knees, brushing my lips against her thigh, then biting into the meaty flesh.
I felt her breath hitch, saw her fingers curl into the edge of the counter like she needed something to hold on to.
I let my hands and lips do all the talking, I let everything else—the secrets, the fears, the doubts—fade to black.