But then she was lying next to me, warm and soft, and I forgot why this wasn't a good idea. In that moment, I barely knew my own name. My senses were focused only on her, naked in my arms, and it felt so blessedly good, so right.
Lydia . . . Lydia.
She kissed me again, and I reached between her legs and felt the slippery evidence of her arousal, rubbing it between my fingers and then bringing my hand back to the place that made her buck and yelp. She was so slick, so lush. "Oh God, Brogan, yes, please. Don't stop."
We touched, and explored, and stroked until we were both moaning and panting. My blood was swirling through my veins in a fiery frenzy. And yet all the while, Lydia seemed to understand that I couldn't take too much at once. She seemed to know when to withdraw her hand from one spot so I could focus on what she was doing to another. She seemed to understand that for me, there was a fine line between pleasure and pain, that my senses were overly acute. She couldn't know, of course, because I'd never attempted to explain how it was always this way, but she reacted to my body as if she did know, as if she understood this about me better than I did. And I was lost. When I moved over her, there wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her eyes. She opened her legs, and she welcomed me.
I pressed inside her, inch by inch, gazing into her face. Her beauty. Mesmerizing. I was awed that I was inside her . . . or nearly. When I came to the barrier of her virginity, I met her eyes, full of trust and wonder, and whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sweet Lydia. Mo Chroí." And then I pressed inside, tearing her. She cried out in pain. I wanted to comfort her, but it felt so blessedly good that I could only bring my forehead to hers, holding myself still by sheer force of will, gritting my teeth to stop myself from thrusting, while she became used to my invasion. Why did it have to be that something that felt so wonderful to me hurt her? I had never imagined anything feeling so good as her hot muscles clenched around me, pulling at me, stroking me from deep within. "Are ya okay?" I finally managed. She nodded, and I began to move, groaning with pleasure at the tight friction surrounding my throbbing erection. Sweat broke out on my back. I knew I wouldn't last long.
"Tá tú gach rud atá go hálainn dom," I breathed.
You are everything that is beautiful to me.
Lydia sighed, tipping her head back and wrapping one leg around my hips. After just a handful of thrusts, I felt an orgasm tightening my abdomen and swelling my cock even further. It was the first time I'd ever been inside a girl. With one final thrust I came, the pleasure washing through me and causing goosebumps to form on the surface of my skin. Groaning, I collapsed beside her and attempted to catch my breath, finally looking at her. Her eyes were slightly stunned, but her expression was introspective, as if she was deep in thought. My heart froze. Did she regret this already? I doubted she'd had an orgasm—she had to be disappointed. I didn't know what to feel. There was joy tightening my chest, but there was also insecurity and confusion, and I tried to remember how this had come to be. "Are ya okay?" I asked her again, repeating the words I'd said the moment I'd taken her virginity. I'd taken Lydia De Havilland's virginity.
"Yes, are you?" she asked.
I couldn't help chuckling. "Yeah. I just . . . I'm not sure exactly how this happened."
Lydia gave me a small smile, leaning up on her arm, her breasts drawing my attention and amazingly making my cock throb again. "I know," she said. I nodded curtly, feeling suddenly awkward. I reached for my jeans and handed Lydia's clothes to her, looking away as she used her underwear to wipe the smear of blood off her left thigh. We both dressed quickly. I wiped my sweaty palms on my hips as I turned to her.
"Lydia, I—" I started, reaching for her hands. The door flew open behind me, hitting the wall with a sudden bang. What? Adrenaline burst through my veins. Myles Landry was standing in the doorway. What the feck? As he took us in, a look of perplexed anger took over his face.
"Lydia?" he asked, his brow furrowing, eyes darting between us and then down to the rumpled blanket on the cot.
I looked at Lydia and her face was white, her expression arrested.
"Why'd you ask me to meet you here, Lydia?" Myles asked, an edge of hostility in his tone. My body went ice cold. Lydia had asked Myles to meet her here after she'd asked me to meet her here? Why? I looked back to Lydia and my heart thudded dully in my chest when I saw the expression on her face: knowing guilt. She'd set me up. She'd wanted Myles to find us here. A game? I had been the unknowing player in some game of hers. Myles's jealousy maybe? Getting him back for some misdeed? Stupid that grief instead of anger should grip me in that moment. All the worse that I didn't remember it hurting this badly when I'd found out my mam had died.
Lydia was shaking her head, her expression still stunned. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning her eyes my way, big and bright blue in that moment, no green at all. "I really didn't mean for it to go that far. I only meant for him to find us . . . kissing." The last piece of my heart cracked.
"What's going on in here?" My head swiveled back to the door as Stuart De Havilland stepped into the room. Lydia's older brother. Shite. I knew things had just gone from bad to worse, and yet, I couldn't manage to feel anything. I was numb.
Just as Myles's had done, Stuart's gaze went from Lydia to me to the cot and back to me. For the first time, I noticed a smear of blood on the light blue blanket. I watched as rage filled Stuart's expression. He stepped toward me. "What the fuck did you do to my sister?"