Chapter 26
What the hell do I do?
Paddy
“Your bedroom?”
My eyes jam shut as the door closes behind me.
Morgan dry laughs. “You ran me right into your bedroom?”
You’re a grade A twat, Paddy O’Keefe.
“Shit, I…” I swipe a hand through my hair, staring at the carpet on my bedroom floor.
“Relax, Paddy.”
I’m not used to Morgan being the one telling me to relax. Usually, it’s me telling her what to do.
Rolling my shoulders back, I give her a smile, keeping my feet firmly on the spot as I watch her look around the room with curious eyes.
“So, this is what Paddy O’Keefe’s room looks like.”
I have to chuckle. “The one and only.”
Sweet Jesus, the way she’s walking around the room like she isn’t shy is refreshing and downright scary. “I thought there’d be more trophies from your footballing days.” There’s a brightness to her that wasn’t there earlier. Like sunshine cracking through the clouds, she seems happier.
I allow myself one step closer to where she’s looking at the shelf at the other end of the room. “I keep the big ones in the loft.”
Morgan looks back at me. “In the loft?” She’s got her arms crossed over her front; one hip popped out as her weight stands on one foot.
If I didn’t know any better, and if this was any other girl, I’d consider such a stance as an invitation to move closer.
Digging in my heels, I say, “Yeah.” I shrug, hands going into my pockets. “Didn’t want the shelf to fall down on my head in the night.”
Morgan smiles, looking back to the trophies. Her eyes roam over the only remaining items from my original bedroom, which has since been a gym and an office before Mum put a bed back in here.
“You sure were good at it, Paddy.”
Don’t step forward. Don’t step forward.
“Still am.”
I see her nodding slowly.
Guiltily, my eyes drop down the curve of her spine to her arse, following the length of her legs right down to her ankles.
“Paddy?” she asks me softly.
Inhaling slowly, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, curly fries.”
Turning on the spot, Morgan faces me, her hands now down by her sides. She slips off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor.
Oh.
My heart literally stops when she curls the bottom of her top in her fingers, seductively peeling it away from her body.
“What are you doing?” I don’t mean to sound as harsh as I do, but she’s got me fighting for air, eyes unable to stop soaking up the way her skin looks so soft in the hazy bedroom light.
Not answering me, she reaches her hands behind her, unclasping her bra and letting it join her top and jacket.
Her tits are every bit as perfect as I imagined.
No.
“Morgan, stop.” I rush closer to her, dick fully erect and aching at the sight of her hard nipples. “You don’t have to do this.”
Her eyes close. “I want to.” Her voice quivers, and it’s then the familiar smell of Vodka and Red Bull hits my nose, explaining the Dutch courage she has tonight.
God, she’s killing me.
“I can’t,” I choke, licking my lips which are now drier than the Sahara Desert. “I want to, but we can’t.” I’m not sure if my words are what any girl wants to hear when they’ve been brave enough to do what she’s just done.
Her brows draw together. “I’m not that drunk,” she tries to reassure me, shrugging way too casually for my liking.
I believe her, I really do. But I am not the type of person who would take advantage of anybody, especially the girl whose bare chest is pressed up against my front.
Fuck my life.
The sexual tension brewing would be strong enough to snap the sharpest of knives. With every beat of my heart, and each long, drawn-out breath that I take, her chest rises and falls quicker too. Her eyes keep dropping to my mouth, causing a light sweat to break on my neck.
As soft hands land gently on my hips, I suck in a sharp breath. “Stop.” I step back, but it only gives me a better fucking view of her perfect fucking body. “Jesus Christ, Morgan.” I move to rearrange the beast trying to break free from my jeans.
A hint of a smile dusts her face, her cheeks reddening slightly.
Then I freeze, reading her expression, knowing what she’s going to do but doing absolutely nothing to stop her.
Unzipping the zip at the back of the material that some might call a skirt, she shimmies the thing off her hips, revealing the laciest pair of knickers I’ve ever seen.
She came to watch my game, and she had this on underneath? Fucking hell, my cock’s going to explode.
“Will you look at me, Paddy O’Keefe?”
I am, baby.
Dragging my eyes up from her thighs, I meet her gaze.
“I’m a virgin.”
I choke on nothing, clawing for some oxygen to hit my suddenly dilapidated lungs.
What?
She rushes her words when saying, “I mean, I know you think I slept with Rory Lane years ago, but I didn’t. I’m a virgin.”
Frozen in horror, my eyes widen. Still there’s no air in the room reaching me.
“And I had no intention of doing this tonight, but it’s clear to me that you will never look at me as anything more than your friend. There’s clearly something wrong with me, so as my friend, I’m asking you to take my virginity.”
Sure, because those seven words are exactly what a man who hasn’t had sex in months wants to hear.
My internal voice chose the wrong fucking moment not to tell me what to do, the bastard.
“Morgan—”
“Before you say anything,” she begins, sucking in air and straightening her spine which only makes her breasts look fuller and my pants tighter, “I want you to take it because you’re the only man I trust.” She lifts her chin, showing me how strong she can be.
Fortunately, the unease that was making my core tremble, settles when she says it again, slower this time.
“I trust you, Paddy.”
Managing to get a handle on my racing heart, I replay everything she’s just announced.
There’s something wrong with me.
What the hell do I do?
Trying not to dwell on the knife that just shred my heart in two, I step closer to her again. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” I cradle her face with my hands.
As soon as I say it, her eyes glisten, but nothing more. “Even you don’t believe that. I know my father said something to you, something that’s kept you here, in Stoney Grange.”
I turn to ice. “What?”
Morgan closes her eyes, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “I know something is making you spend all this time with me. I’m not stupid, contrary to what people say about me.”
I shake my head, frowning. “I spend time with you because I want to. Not for anything more.”
“Okay,” she says gently, pulling away from my touch. “Well, considering you’re the only man who’s taken the time to get to know me. I want you to take my virginity before you up and leave us all again.”
“Jesus, Morgan,” I strain not to laugh. “It’s not something you just give away.”
She shrugs. “No one else will ever get it. Might as well be you.”
She’s being socially fucking awkward, but I can’t tell if this is really her, or if she’s playing with me.
“So you’re gifting it to me?”
She just goes ahead and nods like what she’s saying is no big deal.
“What if I want something else before you give it to me?”
Her eyes narrow. “Like?”
Shit. “I don’t know. Like the usual stuff you do with someone you like.”
One of her brows raises. “Did you just tell me you like me?”
Smart girl. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
My lips part slightly. “Not what you wanted me to say?”
She looks left to right. “No, actually, I think that’s exactly what I wanted you to say.”
“And you like me?” I ask stupidly.
She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t have taken my clothes off in front of you if I didn’t.”
A few seconds pass. “So, what now?” I ask her tentatively, a wide smile beaming on my face. “Because you are undressed in my room and this door doesn’t have a lock.”
Morgan’s face turns flaming red quicker than a race dog out of the gate. “Oh, God. And your mother, she’ll…”
“Yep. She’ll just—”
“Walk right in here,” she finishes my sentence for me. “She’ll see me fully naked in Paddy O’Keefe’s room.”
Now is not the time to tell her that technically she isn’t naked, but I don’t point it out. “Yeah.”
“Oh, shit.” Her forehead lands on my chest. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“It’s not a big deal, curly fries.” My hands rub up and down her bare arms as my feet shift, making more room for her to get closer.
“Urgh,” she grumbles against my chest, the warmth from her breath seeping through my T-shirt. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t take all of your clothes off and ask for sex.”
No. But I try not to think about how much of a turn on it was. “If it helps, I could make you feel better?”
Her head snaps up. “What are you on about?”
I shrug nonchalantly and drop one knee to the floor.
“Oh my God.”
I double take when I hear her breath catch. “Christ. No. I wasn’t doing that.” I quickly scramble to my feet with her clothes in my hand. “I was going to help you get dressed,” I say in a rush, giving the clothes a little jiggle in between us.
“Right,” she flusters, her hands covering her face, before we both break into comfortable laughter.
Breathing out a heavy, steadying breath, I tell her, “I want you to be mine. Officially.” There, I hope that makes her feel better.
She stills. “Yours?”
My legs feel unsteady, feeling every bit as uncomfortable as I imagined I would.
Not because of what I’m asking or who I’m asking.
But because it’s selfish of me to ask her to be with me when she doesn’t even know that she’s living with a lifelong illness.
If she knew, that would take precedence over everything. Including me.
“Mine.”
Her lips pinch together at the same time as her forehead wrinkles. “Officially?”
“Yeah. Arms up,” I instruct, giving her arm a light tap.
Gazing at me, giving me the most unabashed eye contact I think she ever has, she raises both arms above her head.
I loop her arms through her top and pull it down, readjusting her hair for her.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She smiles. “Yeah.”
I point a finger at the floor. “Now, I’m going back down there, but I’m just going to hold this thing you call a skirt open for you, alright?”
Happiness emanates from her as her cheeks visibly lift. “Alright.” She uses my shoulders to keep steady as she steps into the skirt, one foot at a time. “I wore this so you’d find me sexy.”
I swallow, my eyes level with her thighs. “Trust me, curly fries. The skirt wasn’t needed for me to think that.”
She remains quiet, but I can bet she’s blushing.
“Bollocks.” I stand, holding her bra in my hand. “Forgot this,” I show her, just as the door flies open.
I shove Morgan’s bra behind my back, spinning around on the spot. “Mum?”
She looks between the two of us. “What are the pair of you doing?”
“We’re talking, Mum. Jesus.”
Morgan tugs at her bra.
Mum’s back jams ramrod straight. “You talking to me in that tone, boy?”
Morgan chuckles behind me.
“No, Mum,” I say scolded, trying not to smile.
“That’s right you’re bloody not.” She huffs. “Dad’s opening the bottle of Sambuca, wants to know if you and Morgan are joining him for celebratory shots?”
“Of Sambuca?” I can feel my glands swelling at the thought. “God, no.”
“I’m in,” Morgan sings, and I sag.
“Alright, we’ll be down in a minute,” I concede. This is my payback for ruining his movie with Evie. The old man can drink me under the table, and he knows it. Naps or no naps needed.
Giving me a wry smile, Mum closes the door and the sound of her feet padding against the carpet can be heard.
“Give me that,” Morgan whisper shouts, pulling at her bra again.
I turn to face her, keeping my grip firmly on it. My gaze lands on her chest before I lift a hand to cup her face, pulling at every remnant of strength I possess not to go overboard with her. “I’ve never thought you had something wrong with you,” I say gently.
“Is that why you asked me to be yours, Paddy?”
Leaning down, I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. “Well, you did show me your tits.”
She hits the side of my arm.
I hold up the bra, chuckling. “Are you wanting this back?”
She bites her bottom lip. “I think it’s a good idea before we have to go downstairs.”
Both smiling, I help take off her top again and get her into her bra, before taking her hand in mine.
It feels right.
I have to work out a way to tell her the truth.
Even if it goes against what I promised her father.