Craving Resurrection

  “Patrick? We need to stop,” she whispered, pulling her hips away from me timidly.

  The words were like a bucket of ice water thrown over my head,

  What the hell was I doing? My hands were completely covering her breasts, my fingers clenching against the resilient flesh, and I let go so quickly I could see them bounce a little as I glanced over her shoulder. After all I’d said, all the decisions I’d made for the both of us concerning sex and the fight we’d had that morning that had upset her so much that she’d broken out in hives…

  I was the one who was supposed to stop things from going too far. I was the one who was supposed to protect her.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, tripping backwards as I ran my hands over my face.

  “It’s okay. I just…”

  “Ye’ve got whiplash from me givin’ ye mixed signals? Fuck me.” I shook my head in disgust.

  “I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

  “I know, lass. De fault was mine.”

  I sat down heavily in a kitchen chair and braced my elbows on my knees. Christ. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could live like this. I wanted her. Badly. And I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I took her.

  I was living with the woman I wanted above all others, yet I couldn’t allow myself to touch her the way I wanted to. I could barely touch her at all without becoming so turned on that I had a hard time remembering why I held myself back. It was a hell of a position to be in.

  “It’s time I go back.”

  “What?” She spun toward me in surprise, water splashing across the floor around her. “No! We’ll just be more careful. I can—”

  “Love, it’s not anyt’in’ yer doin’ or not doin’. I’ve got to get back to school and work. Can’t be stayin’ here forever and livin’ off me mum.”

  She stood there in the kitchen, wringing her red hands and her eyes filling with tears, while little tendrils of hair curled around her face from the steam.

  She was as beautiful as the Madonna statue they kept in the church. Her beauty went so much deeper than her face or body; it was a manifestation of her innocence, the sweetness she showed everyone, the steadfast loyalty that she gave to others even though it had never been given to her.

  And for some reason, she loved me. She hadn’t said the words, but I knew it. She showed it in every action, in every secret smile and small brush of her hand against me when she thought no one was looking.

  She was everything—messy and emotional and pragmatic and snarky and possessive and beautiful—and I couldn’t go another day without making her mine.

  I knew with sudden clarity that I wasn’t going anywhere before I quieted the doubts I knew were running through her head.

  I stood from the table slowly, my eyes never leaving hers and she sniffled even as she raised her chin proudly. She wouldn’t beg me to stay or try to change my mind—that wasn’t her way. She’d made her argument, or attempted to before I cut her off.

  She didn’t beg for scraps. It was beneath her to do so.

  She expected everything, as she should. Lucky for her, I’d give her anything.

  I stepped closer and raised my hands, resting them at the sides of her throat, my thumbs tracing her delicate jawline.

  “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question.

  The wind-up clock in the kitchen ticked at least fifteen times as she stared at me with wide eyes. I’d surprised her.

  “Marry you? Are you insane?” she said finally.

  “No. Marry me.”

  “I’m eighteen. I haven’t even finished secondary! I can’t just—”

  “Marry me.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  She gripped my forearms tightly in her slender hands, her nails digging in, and I couldn’t help but smile happily. Finally, finally, something in my life felt right. This felt right. I’d anchor to her to me so securely, she’d never again think of a life without me.

  The front door opened and my mum walked briskly into the kitchen, pausing as she caught sight of us.

  Checkmate.

  “Marry me.”

  Mum gasped in delight, and Amy’s eyes closed in defeat.

  Then her lips tipped up just a fraction.

  “Marry me,” I whispered again, pulling her face toward mine.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered back, opening her eyes. “Absolutely sure? This isn’t a game Patrick Gallagher, you can’t just change your mind.”

  “I’m more sure of dis den I’ve ever been of anyt’in’.”

  Her eyes shifted from side to side, searching for something in my gaze, and I knew when she’d found whatever she’d been looking for. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll marry you.”

  I heard my mum clapping her hands together gleefully, but I couldn’t focus on anything but Amy’s flushed cheeks and excited eyes.

  I kissed her hard, pushing my lips against hers as I pressed my tongue between her teeth. I ignored the fact that we had an audience and were standing in my mother’s kitchen. Nothing mattered but her.

  I inhaled deeply, taking in her scent and the slight smell of the oats she’d been soaking in as one of her hands left my arm and wrapped around the back of my head. Her nails dug into my scalp as I stood taller and pulled her with me until her feet barely touched the ground.

  I wanted her to remember how she felt at that moment— loved wholeheartedly, yet perched precariously on her toes and leaning on me for balance as I controlled our movements.

  Chapter 17

  Amy

  “You’re still leaving?” I knew I was gaping like a fish, but I had a hard time trying to school my features. I was blindsided. We’d only just decided to get married, and I’d thought we’d have longer—that I’d have longer—to just bask in the excitement.

  “I’ve still got responsibilities, love. More so now den ever.”

  Patrick continued packing his small duffel, pulling t-shirts and socks from the bottom drawer of the dresser we’d been sharing.

  “But I thought—” My words broke off as I realized how ridiculous I’d been. Of course he hadn’t been leaving to get away from me. How self-important I’d been to assume that.

  “I’ve only got a few more classes before I’m finished. It’ll go by quickly, especially while yer finishin’ up yer own studies and plannin’ for our weddin.’ ” He glanced up at me with a grin, and I couldn’t help but mirror it.

  We’d been discussing our plans most of the night, cuddled up on the couch while Peg knit in a chair next to us. It didn’t seem real yet, the idea of being married. Where would we live? What would it be like to fall asleep next to Patrick and wake up the same way? Would sex be as awesome as I’d been imagining, or was the all the hype just bogus posturing?

  I had a thousand questions and very few answers, but I couldn’t help but be excited. I was getting married. Married. I’d never again feel like a guest who’d overstayed her welcome. I’d belong to Patrick. He’d belong to me.

  “I’ll be home again in a few weeks. Mum says dat she’s sure Fadder Mark will be anxious to get de deed finished and he’ll probably let Kevie do the ceremony, especially since ye’ve been sleepin’ in me bed for so long already,” he commented with a sly look as he zipped up his bag. “Ye’ve less den a mont’ to find a dress and some sexy undergarments.”

  “Less than a month,” I said quietly to myself as I dropped to the edge of the bed. “It feels so far away and so soon at the same time.”

  “I’d marry ye tomorrow,” he answered quietly, sitting next to me and taking my hand in his. “Dis’ll give ye time to be certain.”

  “I am.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I laid back against the cool quilt, dragging him with me until we were lying side by side with our feet hanging of the edge of the bed. I could feel the heat of him from my knee to my shoulder, and for once I didn’t feel the urgency to connect our bodies more fully. I was happy to be just breathing the sam
e air as him and clasping his fingers between mine.

  “Where will we live?” I asked dreamily, rolling my head to the side so I could watch him. “How many children will we have?”

  “Here for now, I suppose, dough I’ll be back and forth from Uni for a while.” He squeezed my fingers between his own. “I’m sorry I’ve not more to give ye yet.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It’s not, but I promise ye, some day ye’ll have everyt’in’ ye want. Once I’m done wit’ school, I’ll find some job—maybe teachin’—and we’ll move far from dis place. Get us a house wit’ a garden where ye can lie in the sun and bloom like de roses.”

  “What about Peg?” I loved this game we were playing. I wanted to know all of his dreams, all of the things he imagined for us. I wanted, for once, to picture a happily ever after.

  “We’ll take her wit’ us. Perhaps I’ll be hired in Scotland and we can bring her dere for a while.”

  “She’d love that.”

  “She would.”

  “She could babysit our kids while we go on romantic dinners.”

  “Keep dem overnight so I can fuck ye in every room of our house.” His thumb began to trail over my fingers, never hesitating over the missing ones, as if he didn’t even notice them anymore.

  “I’ll wind up pregnant again from all that fucking.”

  “Christ, it’s hot when ye curse.”

  “Focus. We were talking about our children. How many will we have?”

  “As many as I can plant in yer belly.”

  “Two.”

  “Six.”

  “Three.”

  “Four.”

  “Okay, four.”

  We lie there, smiling at each other for a long time, the future full of possibility and promise. I knew that things wouldn’t be easy, life rarely was, but I couldn’t imagine it being less than perfect if I was with Patrick.

  He could make me giddy then livid within the space of a few moments, and I couldn’t have loved him more. We fit somehow, the two of us. His overwhelming need to look after the women in his life matched my need for security, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle.

  “Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?” I asked quietly, dreading the answer.

  “If I don’t go tomorrow, I won’t go at all. De lure of ye will be too strong to resist,” he answered, turning to his side so he could brush his fingers through my hair. “I know it’s been hard to wait…”

  “Now we don’t have to.”

  “Aye, we do. We’ve still a mont’ until de weddin’, we’ll not be anticipatin’ de vows.” He lifted an eyebrow at my snort. “Be patient, me love. Less den a mont’, and I’ll be wakin’ up to all dis beautiful hair wrapped around me.”

  I giggled like an idiot at the picture he painted, and he smiled at me indulgently as he waited for me to finish. No one had ever looked at me the way Patrick did—like everything I said and did was the most important thing in the universe and he didn’t want to miss a moment.

  “What would you do if I came down the aisle with my hair cut to my chin?” I teased.

  “I’d marry ye, kiss ye hard and den spank yer arse before we even made it to de reception.”

  “You would not!”

  “Aye, I would.”

  “You’re full of it. You’d never hit me.”

  “I’ll ask ye a question den. Do ye t’ink me mum would ever hit ye?”

  “No. No way.”

  “But she flicks ye every time ye take de Lord’s name in vain, does she not?”

  “That’s completely different!”

  “So is a spankin’ from yer husband.”

  “Bullshit!” I sat up in irritation. “I’m not a kid you can just spank when I do something wrong!”

  “Dat could be argued…” he grumbled as he sat up next to me.

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  “Ye’d radder ye felt guilty for days because ye knew ye’d made me angry?”

  “Of course not. But what about you? Do I get to spank you when you do something wrong?” The words sounded ridiculous as they came out of my mouth, which irritated me even further because it hadn’t sounded ridiculous when he’d threatened the same thing. Overbearing and controlling, yes, but not ridiculous.

  “Darlin’, I have no doubt dat ye’ll belt me upside de head more den a few times in de course of our marriage,” he said with a smile. “And I’ll let ye, because guilt’ll be eatin’ me alive.”

  “Do you plan on fucking up a lot?”

  “I’ll try me best, but I’m a man, yeah? I’m sure I’ll do somet’in’.”

  He was wearing the charming grin that I had such a hard time resisting, and after a moment I was grinning right back. He was so…ugh, I didn’t even have words for the way he made me feel.

  He filled me to bursting with every emotion, and it was a novelty that I couldn’t get enough of. I’d been floating along for what felt like my entire life—never belonging anywhere or to anyone, and within just months, Peg and Patrick had completely changed everything.

  “Ye look tired, love,” he said gently, pulling me out of my musings. “I’ll go to de couch so ye can get some rest.”

  He leaned down to press a soft kiss on my lips, but the moment his lips touched mine, the urgency that had been missing while we discussed our future came back in a flood of sensation.

  “Don’t go yet,” I whispered against his lips, “You’re leaving in the morning. Don’t go yet.”

  “Amy,” he said in warning, groaning as I stood from the bed and immediately climbed onto his lap. “Dis is not a good idea.”

  “We’re getting married,” I reminded him, kissing across his jaw. “And you’re leaving me tomorrow. Tonight we should celebrate.”

  “Do ye have any idea how hard it is not to push dose shorts to de side and sink into ye? Yer playin’ wit’ fire, engagement or not.”

  “You only said we couldn’t have sex…”

  “Yes,” he hissed out the word as I made my way to the lobe of his ear. “What exactly do ye t’ink yer gonna get tonight?”

  The question stumped me. What was I looking for? I wasn’t sure, but I knew I wanted more. Even if he couldn’t give me everything, I wanted something.

  And frankly, I was getting tired of always being the aggressor.

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly, leaning back so I could meet his eyes. “You’re the experienced one.”

  “Oh, so it’s me decision den?”

  “Well…”

  “Dat’s what ye said.”

  “Goddamn it, Patrick,” I sighed, “If I left it up to you—” My words were cut short as I was flicked right in the center of my forehead. It completely stunned me for a moment; we’d been having what I thought was a serious and heated conversation and he flicked me in the forehead?

  I must have looked as shocked as I felt because Patrick began laughing hysterically at whatever he saw on my face.

  “What the hell?” I screeched after a moment of complete silence, throwing my body weight against him until his back hit the bed. I scrambled to hold him down as he continued to laugh beneath me, ineffectively trying to fight me off as I flicked at his head.

  “Ye shouldn’t take de Lord’s name in vain, Amy,” he tried to scold through his laughter, “I’ll not have any wife of mine bein’ blasphemous.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re so funny,” I said back through heavy breaths as we wrestled across the bed. “Can’t say goddamn it, but I can say—” I paused, before moaning breathlessly, “Fuck me now, Patrick.”

  He froze beneath me, exactly like I knew he would, and I crowed in delight as my finger met the middle of his forehead with a hard thump. Ha! A little distraction and victory was mine.

  He didn’t even flinch as I flicked him, but the moment I put my arms over my head in a modified victory dance, he was rolling me underneath him.

  “Say it again,” he ordered seriously, pinning my arms above my head.

  “What??
??

  “Say, ‘Fuck me Patrick’,” he ordered, shifting my hands into in one fist. “Say it.”

  His free hand slid down my leg to catch underneath my knee, and before I knew it he was pulling it up to hug his side and arching his body into mine. Our breaths were still labored from the wrestling match, and my chest felt tight as I tried to acclimate myself to the change in mood and the feel of him against me.

  “Say it,” he whispered, rubbing his lips over mine then pulling away as I tried to deepen the kiss.

  “Fuck me now, Patrick,” I whispered back, the words sounding so much more obscene when I wasn’t joking.

  “Ye need it, darlin’?” he asked as his hand slid under my tank top and curled around my breast. “I haven’t been takin’ care of ye. I was bein’ careful.” He rolled his hips against mine and a thousand pinpricks of sensation seemed to flare through the lower half of my body. “I don’t have to be so careful anymore,” he said with another roll of his hips. “I can give ye a little, now dat I know dat pretty soon I’ll be so deep, ye’ll feel me for days. I’ll take de edge off a bit, yeah?” Another roll. “What have ye been doin’ wit’out me? Ye take care of yerself in me bed?” Another roll. “Slip dose little shorts off and roll around in me sheets?”

  If he hadn’t been hitting me in exactly the right spot to make my mind go fuzzy, I probably would have cared that his words were making my cheeks heat in embarrassment.

  “I have not!” I argued, lifting my hips to meet his. My hands were still pinned above me even though I pulled at them, and his fingers began to pluck at my nipple over and over, the sensation adding to what he was doing below. “I don’t do that.”

  “Ye don’t use yer fingers to get yerself off?” he asked dubiously.

  “Not here! Your mom’s here!”

  “Me mum’s here now, and I don’t hear ye tryin’ to stop me.” I whimpered as he leaned back to his heels and lifted his hands from my body, but I wasn’t disappointed for long. He was only leaning back so he could grasp the tank top at my waist and rip it over my head in one smooth movement. “Ye goin’ to stop me?”