Such a simple thing, and yet I was fucking gone.
Release barreled down my spine, and I only had time to work my hand under her, flicking her clit hard and fast.
We came together.
Lights. Stars. Heaven. Whatever it was flashed in my brain as pleasure consumed me, roaring in my ears as wave after wave took me.
I came to what felt like hours later, already rolled to the side with Fiona tucked against me, her breathing just as unsteady as mine.
“You okay?” I asked, tracing a path from her shoulder, over the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip.
“Absolutely. Ruined.” She turned her head and met my lips with a breathless kiss.
“Good. Now give me two minutes and I’ll ruin you again.” There was never enough when it came to her. I was an addict and she was my drug of choice.
“Excellent plan.”
16
Fiona
“I absolutely love this place,” my mother said after finishing a bite of her swordfish. “I’m considering asking the owner if she would consider catering for my wedding.”
I nodded, swallowing a bite of snapper. White linen tablecloths covered all the tables in the quaint room, and the food was beyond delicious. It would be the perfect place to seek catering from—not too fancy, not too casual, just humble elegance and wonderfully prepared dishes. If I ever got married, I’d love it if they made a smaller version of the snapper I was eating right now, narrowing it down to a perfect bite for appetizers.
My heart clenched, and terror slicked through my veins. I could see the wedding, right down to the outdoor venue with a view of the water, the smell of salt in the air, and the dress code super casual. I could see Daisy and Madeline in dresses they chose to fit their body best, and Skye bedecked in a sweet little dress with lace trim and Brogan—
I stopped my racing mind with the effort of stopping a train from racing down the tracks.
“Did you get the links for the dresses I picked out for you?” Mother asked, and I forced myself to the present.
“I haven’t had a chance to look at them,” I said. More than happy to focus on her situation and not mine. “Can’t I wear the same one I wore two years ago?”
Mom gasped, her fork clanking against her plate as she dropped it. “You can’t be serious, Fiona,” she said, staring at me with wide eyes. “Would you truly want to jinx my wedding by wearing the same dress you wore at my last—”
“Wedding,” I cut her off, the word coming out sharper than I’d meant it to. She visibly swallowed, and I flashed her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” I said, and she waved me off.
“I understand,” she said. “I know it’s not easy being my eldest child,” she said. “I know my lifestyle choices have…taken their toll on you.”
I sighed and grabbed my iced tea, taking a nice long gulp to try and dislodge the knot in my throat.
It didn’t work.
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” I said, setting down my glass. “What you do doesn’t affect me.”
Mom pursed her lips, a sadness flashing in her eyes. She reached for my hand across the table, and I slid mine into hers. “We both know that’s not true, Fiona,” she said, and I tilted my head at her. “I know I’m not the best mother,” she said, and I opened my mouth to argue, but she hurried on. “I never gave you a stable home or a stable father figure. I’m a servant to the pursuit of true love, constantly questing for that perfect happily ever after.”
I sighed, the urge to tell her she’d always kept me fed and warm and gave me some of the best siblings I could’ve asked for. I wanted to tell her she’s the reason I went into child psychology or the reason I worked so fiercely to be independent, to stand on my own, to not need a man to take care of me…but those words died with the seriousness in her eyes as she continued.
“My failures have clearly made you utterly terrified of marriage, and that is one of my biggest regrets for you, Fiona. I never wanted my relationships to ruin your own.”
I furrowed my brow. “I’m not terrified—”
“Well,” she cut me off. “Of course, you are. Why else would you be hesitating to say yes to someone like Brogan Grant?” She said his name with a sort of reverence that made my skin crawl. She’d never even met Brogan. She only knew what little pieces I’d told her about him and how the media painted him.
“If it’s not my failed marriages, then what is holding you back?” she asked when I didn’t respond.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I fiddled with the snapper on my plate, no longer hungry. Because I didn’t have a clear answer for her. “Fine,” I admitted. “I can’t help how I see marriage. My entire life,” I said, my voice heavy. “I’ve seen you get married, seen you be blissfully happy until you’re not. And it seems more often than not that the second two people get married is the second the love disappears.” Tears gathered in Mom’s eyes, and I internally scolded myself. “I’m sorry,” I continued. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Mom. I can’t help the way I saw things growing up. The way I see them even now.”