Page 36 of Fighting for Irish
“Any tighter and you’ll have me in a decent choke hold. You afraid I’ll drop you?”
A flush of embarrassment heated her face despite the humor in his eyes. She loosened her grip and apologized. “Maybe a little. Which I guess is stupid. You’re probably strong enough to carry Ally.”
He chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but I’m definitely strong enough to carry a little thing like you.” Stopping at the side of the bed, Irish looked down at her with renewed seriousness. “But all that aside…I’d never let you fall, kitten. Not ever.”
Naht evah.His words rolled around in her brain, looking for a place to settle and take root. Unfortunately the dark memories grew rampant in her mind like weeds choking out any bloom of trust that tried thriving for very long. She could only enjoy it for as long as it took for history to repeat itself, proving she’d been wrong to hold out hope that this time would be different.
He gently lowered her onto the bed, then joined her and propped them up with pillows as they lay on their sides facing each other. She kept her focus on his chest, hoping to avoid revealing the riot of emotions that fought within her. Desire, shame, anticipation, anxiety… She couldn’t make heads or tails of what she should be feeling, which she guessed added confusion to the volatile mix.
“Hey.” With the side of his finger, he forced her gaze up to his. Instantly, the emotions that threatened to consume her quelled. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
Irish expelled a breath as heavy as the thoughts Kat suspected he had tumbling around in his head. His dark brows almost knitted together and his lips were set in a straight line. She was afraid to know what he thought of her.
“Hey,” Irish said softly. “Like I told you before, I’m no good with words. I don’t know exactly what this is between us, but I do know I’m having a damn hard time fighting it.”
“You’ve been trying to fight it?”
“Well, yeah.” He pushed up on his side a little and bent his supporting arm to hold up his head. “I mean, I’ve been attracted to you for forever, but I respected that you had a boyfriend. Even though he was a dirtbag who didn’t deserve you.”
A little thrill buzzed through her that Irish thought she was at least worthy enough of someone better than Lenny. “And after you found out I wasn’t still attached?”
“Ah, Christ.” He leaned back a bit and gazed up at the ceiling before resuming his original position, a half smirk playing across his lips. “Pardon my being frank, but it was like giving my dick the green light while my brain kept trying to keep my filthy hands off you. You can probably tell by now my brain’s been fighting a losing battle.”
Irish had a no-nonsense way of putting things. He said what he meant, even if what he meant was blunt or crass. That type of talk would probably turn off a lot of women, but his blue-collar roots comforted her. With him, she’d always know where she stood and she didn’t feel like she had to pretend to be anything other than who she was. Or at least who she allowed the world to see.
“Well, I’ve been wondering for a long time what it would be like to have your ‘filthy hands’ on me. Which is weird because…”
Kat trailed off, wondering if too much information was a bad thing. But then his free hand grabbed hers. He kissed the tops of her fingers and then tucked their joined hands to his chest. The moonlight spilling into the room illuminated the honesty in his face as he waited for her to finish her sentence. Not an ounce of manipulation to be found. Only sincere tenderness.
A warmth, intangible and yet no less remarkable, seeped into her chest, further softening the barriers she’d erected to keep others from hurting her. Kat couldn’t explain why, but she felt that if anyone could be entrusted with the horrific details of her past, it was this man. That didn’t mean telling him would be any easier. She still needed time to work her way up to that step if it ever came. But she wanted to tell him the little truths for now.
She took a breath and finished the sentence. “It’s weird because I’ve never desired intimacy with anyone until now. Until you.”
“Never?”
She smiled as she pictured him puffing his chest out like a proud peacock. She hadn’t considered what kind of an ego stroke that would be for a guy, but she kind of liked the idea of stroking Irish’s ego. She liked the idea of stroking a lot of things on him.
“Never.”
Irish wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in flush with his body. Not necessarily in a sexual manner, but a protective one. He seemed to act like that a lot around her. She wondered if he had an innate sense of gallantry around any female or if maybe she might be special. Odds were it was the former. She couldn’t imagine anything about her inspiring anyone to act out of character. He probably helped little old ladies cross streets and retrieved their cats from trees as a hobby.
“Tell me the real reason you don’t like to be kissed.”
His face was set with a strange mix of demand and plea. The answer swelled in her throat until it hurt to swallow. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. But as much as she wanted to shut down, something inside her encouraged her to open her scarred-over wounds.
“My first experience with kissing was with a man I didn’t want to kiss,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotions she’d rather not let surface but was helpless to hold at bay any longer. Much like the pain she could no longer balance on the precipice of her lashes. With her next blink, the first of many drops was overflowed, flaunting her secret shame. “He was much older, and for months he gave me these looks and seemingly innocent touches that made my skin crawl. One day he cornered me. His foul breath made my stomach turn, but I had nowhere to go. He put his lips on mine. I tried keeping them closed, but he pressed his thumb and finger into my cheeks to— Then his tongue— And it was so— S-so—”
She couldn’t complete a sentence to save her life. The nightmares flooded her memory, slicing through the signals in her brain, hindering her ability to speak cohesively. Irish gathered her into his arms, one hand stroking her back while the other pushed the stray hair plastered to her tear-streaked face. He whispered sweet words with his lips pressed to her temple, though he needn’t say anything. A certain amount of calm settled over her just by being wrapped up in his strong arms and his unique scent. With Irish acting as her anchor in the present, Kat took a deep breath and finished.
“It was disgusting. Not only was I unwilling, but he tasted like every bad addiction he had and it felt like he was trying to lick my tonsils. It made me gag really hard, which I guess he took as an insult. He stopped kissing me, but only because he split my lip open when he backhanded me for almost puking in his mouth.”
“Sonofabitch.”His body snapped wire-tight, and she felt the muscle in his jaw tic above her eye where his face was still tucked over hers. “Please tell me the next time he tried that shit, you kneed him in the balls before kicking his teeth in.”
She was surprised when a chuckle, weak though it was, bubbled past the tightness in her chest. “I probably imagined scenarios like that a thousand times, but no. I was only fourteen at the time and he knew all the things to say to keep me compliant.” Clearing her throat, she did her best to put a verbal punctuation on the subject. “So that is why I don’t kiss.”
Inside, Kat gave herself a few pats on the back and even tossed some mental confetti. It was the most she’d revealed outright to anyone. She’d never even told Nessie any of that, though she knew her older sister had plenty of airtight suspicions. Though she hadn’t wanted to tell Irish, a very small part of her felt relief. As though just by sharing it with him, it unburdened her, if even a little.
