Craving Resurrection
Page 55
“Only if I get caught.”
“What have you done?” Panic was rising in my belly as different scenarios ran through my head. My Patrick wasn’t a criminal. He was smart and kind and funny. He had a passion for the written word that astounded me, but was adamant that he had no talent of his own. He had a temper, but I’d never seen him become violent. He took care of his mother. He had more confidence than any man I’d ever met, and was so sure of himself that it translated into an acceptance of others.
“Do not ask me dat,” he replied, cupping my head to turn it toward his face. “Not ever.”
“Patrick?” I whispered.
“Not ever, Amy,” he insisted. “Don’t look for answers, ye’ll not like what ye find.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I tried to blink them away. “I’m scared.”
“Ye don’t ever have to be scared again,” he replied instantly. “I’ll not let anyt’in’ happen to ye.”
“I’m scared for you.”
He sighed, and looked away from me, his eyes landing on the ceiling above us. “I’ll be alright,” he stated quietly. His hands began to clench and unclench in my hair.
“You’re clenching your fists again, Mr. Gallagher,” I said, leaning heavily into his body.
“I’ve tried to stop doin’ it.” His hand softened on my hair. “I don’t even realize I am, half de time.”
“Maybe you should try to do something else. Something less noticeable.” I crawled up his chest until we were nose to nose, my arms bent and resting on top of him. “Like this.” I tapped my fingers softly against his breastbone.
“I don’t realize I’m makin’ a fist, how de hell am I goin’ to stop it?”
“Any time you think you might be getting anxious, tap your fingers.” I tapped mine again in a short pattern. “Eventually, you’ll do it automatically, and the fist thing will be gone.”
“Oh, yeah? How do ye know dat?”
“Because I used to suck my thumb,” I told him with a small smile. “I did it for a long time, until finally my parents started punishing me for it. So I figured out that any time I was worried, if I tucked my thumb into my palm I wouldn’t put it in my mouth by accident.”
“I’ve seen ye do dat.” He said with a grin.
“Not very often anymore. But, it worked back then.”
“I’ll try it out.”
“It’ll work.”
“We’ll see.” He cupped my cheeks in his palms and tugged me gently until my face was close to his. “I’ll figure dis out,” he told me seriously. “It won’t be dis way forever.”
“Will you have to leave again soon?” I ran my fingers over his eyebrows and down the sides of his face, soothing both of us with the repetitive movement.
“Not if I can help it. I have to take small trips back, but I t’ink I can spend most of me time here.”
“That’s a relief, at least. What’s happening with your dad?”
“I’ve no idea. If Mum forgives him, he might stay here. If she doesn’t, I guess he’ll go back to his flat.”
“This was what she was so afraid of all these years, isn’t it? She didn’t want him pulling you in with him.”
“Yes.” He settled me more comfortably over him, my legs on the outside of each of his and our torsos pressed together from hips to chest. “Dough, I t’ink it wasn’t for nuttin’. If she’d have let him stay, I wouldn’t be de man I am. Ye see? I wouldn’t have de clear sight dat comes from watchin’ somet’in’ from de outside. I’d be full of zeal, ready to take on anyt’in’ dey gave me wit’ a sort of blind obedience dat dey’ll never get from me now. She protected me de best way she knew how, and I’d like to t’ink dat it gave me somet’in’ of a chance to keep me head around dose men.”
“Why is life so freaking hard all the time?”
“It just is, me love. But it makes times like dis—wit’ yer sweet body on top of mine while we talk and de sun goin’ down outside shadin’ de room—it makes dose times all de sweeter for it.”
“I thought you weren’t a poet?” I asked, tilting my face until our mouths were barely touching.
“I’m not. I’ve probably stolen it from someone and I just cannot remember.” He pulled me deeper into the kiss as his hand slid down to cover one of my ass cheeks.
“I’ll try not to be afraid,” I told him quietly, as the room became darker with the setting of the sun. “I love you.”
“I’ll protect ye always,” he said back, rolling slightly, switching positions so I was beneath him. “Dis is just a bump, me love. We’ve plenty of smoot’ road ahead, I promise ye.”
He leaned down to give me a soft kiss while I reveled in the weight of his body above mine, and before long the heat between us grew. My husband was home. No matter what life had in store for us in the future, no matter what he had to do to survive or what I had to live with—that was what mattered. The weight of him above me, the feel of his arms surrounding me, the wetness of his kiss as his tongue slid against mine, and the feeling of absolute joy I felt whenever he was near... those were the things I would focus on.
We were quiet as we pulled off our remaining clothes and Patrick took one of my nipples into his mouth. He made love to me slowly, with soft touches and smooth movements that made my eyes grow heavy and my skin break out in goose bumps.
“What have you done?” Panic was rising in my belly as different scenarios ran through my head. My Patrick wasn’t a criminal. He was smart and kind and funny. He had a passion for the written word that astounded me, but was adamant that he had no talent of his own. He had a temper, but I’d never seen him become violent. He took care of his mother. He had more confidence than any man I’d ever met, and was so sure of himself that it translated into an acceptance of others.
“Do not ask me dat,” he replied, cupping my head to turn it toward his face. “Not ever.”
“Patrick?” I whispered.
“Not ever, Amy,” he insisted. “Don’t look for answers, ye’ll not like what ye find.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I tried to blink them away. “I’m scared.”
“Ye don’t ever have to be scared again,” he replied instantly. “I’ll not let anyt’in’ happen to ye.”
“I’m scared for you.”
He sighed, and looked away from me, his eyes landing on the ceiling above us. “I’ll be alright,” he stated quietly. His hands began to clench and unclench in my hair.
“You’re clenching your fists again, Mr. Gallagher,” I said, leaning heavily into his body.
“I’ve tried to stop doin’ it.” His hand softened on my hair. “I don’t even realize I am, half de time.”
“Maybe you should try to do something else. Something less noticeable.” I crawled up his chest until we were nose to nose, my arms bent and resting on top of him. “Like this.” I tapped my fingers softly against his breastbone.
“I don’t realize I’m makin’ a fist, how de hell am I goin’ to stop it?”
“Any time you think you might be getting anxious, tap your fingers.” I tapped mine again in a short pattern. “Eventually, you’ll do it automatically, and the fist thing will be gone.”
“Oh, yeah? How do ye know dat?”
“Because I used to suck my thumb,” I told him with a small smile. “I did it for a long time, until finally my parents started punishing me for it. So I figured out that any time I was worried, if I tucked my thumb into my palm I wouldn’t put it in my mouth by accident.”
“I’ve seen ye do dat.” He said with a grin.
“Not very often anymore. But, it worked back then.”
“I’ll try it out.”
“It’ll work.”
“We’ll see.” He cupped my cheeks in his palms and tugged me gently until my face was close to his. “I’ll figure dis out,” he told me seriously. “It won’t be dis way forever.”
“Will you have to leave again soon?” I ran my fingers over his eyebrows and down the sides of his face, soothing both of us with the repetitive movement.
“Not if I can help it. I have to take small trips back, but I t’ink I can spend most of me time here.”
“That’s a relief, at least. What’s happening with your dad?”
“I’ve no idea. If Mum forgives him, he might stay here. If she doesn’t, I guess he’ll go back to his flat.”
“This was what she was so afraid of all these years, isn’t it? She didn’t want him pulling you in with him.”
“Yes.” He settled me more comfortably over him, my legs on the outside of each of his and our torsos pressed together from hips to chest. “Dough, I t’ink it wasn’t for nuttin’. If she’d have let him stay, I wouldn’t be de man I am. Ye see? I wouldn’t have de clear sight dat comes from watchin’ somet’in’ from de outside. I’d be full of zeal, ready to take on anyt’in’ dey gave me wit’ a sort of blind obedience dat dey’ll never get from me now. She protected me de best way she knew how, and I’d like to t’ink dat it gave me somet’in’ of a chance to keep me head around dose men.”
“Why is life so freaking hard all the time?”
“It just is, me love. But it makes times like dis—wit’ yer sweet body on top of mine while we talk and de sun goin’ down outside shadin’ de room—it makes dose times all de sweeter for it.”
“I thought you weren’t a poet?” I asked, tilting my face until our mouths were barely touching.
“I’m not. I’ve probably stolen it from someone and I just cannot remember.” He pulled me deeper into the kiss as his hand slid down to cover one of my ass cheeks.
“I’ll try not to be afraid,” I told him quietly, as the room became darker with the setting of the sun. “I love you.”
“I’ll protect ye always,” he said back, rolling slightly, switching positions so I was beneath him. “Dis is just a bump, me love. We’ve plenty of smoot’ road ahead, I promise ye.”
He leaned down to give me a soft kiss while I reveled in the weight of his body above mine, and before long the heat between us grew. My husband was home. No matter what life had in store for us in the future, no matter what he had to do to survive or what I had to live with—that was what mattered. The weight of him above me, the feel of his arms surrounding me, the wetness of his kiss as his tongue slid against mine, and the feeling of absolute joy I felt whenever he was near... those were the things I would focus on.
We were quiet as we pulled off our remaining clothes and Patrick took one of my nipples into his mouth. He made love to me slowly, with soft touches and smooth movements that made my eyes grow heavy and my skin break out in goose bumps.
