Stars Over Castle Hill (On Dublin Street 6.6)

He stared down at me, his teeth gritting together as his body tensed at the hard tugs on his dick. “Jocelyn,” he gasped, his hips slamming hard against mine and then pumping in short jerks as he came hot and wet inside me.

As I panted for air, my limbs loose and languid, my body purring with satisfaction and yet burning for more, Braden collapsed over me, tucking his face in my neck. His hands gripped my hips and he kneaded them as he thrust his semi-hard cock in and out of my slickness. “Fuck, babe,” he muttered, pressing kisses along my neck and down my shoulder. “You can make a man come hard.”

“Yeah, you did okay yourself,” I teased, still a little breathless.

Braden pulled back and grinned, a wicked, beautiful grin that turned me to mush. “Okay? I’ll take that as a challenge.”

And before I could stop him, he was kissing his way down my body. “Braden, no,” I tried to argue, knowing where his destination lay. “I should shower first.”

“I could give fuck about that.” He stared up at me from his position between my legs. “I made a promise to lick and suck you and I intend to keep that promise until you come on my tongue and on my cock too many times to count.”

“You’re a little dirty,” I whispered back. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

His answer was to dip his head and press his mouth to me.

My head flew back as sensation ripped through my oversensitized body. He suckled my clit, pulling on it hard, and he played me with expertise. When my breaths grew more shallow, grew shorter, harsher, quicker, when my hips started to undulate faster against his mouth, he would know I was reaching climax and he’d pull back.

“Bastard,” I huffed in pained, unfulfilled desire.

His fingers dug into my hips, bruising. “Tell me what you want, Jocelyn.”

“You know what I want.”

“Say it. I want to hear you beg me.”

I think I might have growled in frustration. “You really are a bastard.”

“Babe.”

“Fine!” I huffed and then whimpered, pushing my hips into him. “Please. I want you.”

“To …?”

I shivered with need, no longer caring what I said or how I sounded. “Fuck me. Fuck with me with your mouth, your tongue, your fingers, whatever. Just fuck me.”

I instantly had his tongue back, this time licking inside me. My fingers curled into the sheets beneath me as I writhed against his touch. And then two fingers slid inside me as he licked. “Braden!” I gasped.

And then he stopped.

“I’m going to kill you!”

His laughter puffed against my sex.

I was about to consider murder when I got his mouth back and this time, as tears of frustration pricked my eyes in fear that he’d stop, he didn’t. The orgasm that rocked through me almost blew my head off, my body shuddering in what felt like never-ending hard pulses.

My eyes flew open as my inner muscles throbbed in release and my already staggered breath stopped at the sight of Braden kneeling over me, staring at me like I was the most awe-inspiring thing he’d ever seen.

And that’s when I felt the trickle of panic again.

This time as Braden eased inside me with torturously delicious slow thrusts, the panic didn’t recede. Because as he braced himself above me, his hands at either side of my head, our eyes held as he moved inside me.

In that moment, I felt like he could see deep, deep inside me, to where all the broken parts of me lay.

And I felt like I could see inside of him where all his shattered dreams had once lay, dreams he was beginning to believe in again.

A dream he was beginning to believe in again.

Fear cascaded over me and I tried to convince myself I was wrong, that his feelings for me couldn’t have grown so much so soon.

But as my breath caught on each sensuous thrust toward orgasm, his eyes never left me, and his longing punched through me, trying to reach for my heart.

And I realized I would let him take it. I would let him take it all.

And then I would inevitably lose him.

No.

NO.

“Jocelyn,” he brushed a kiss across my lips, “where the fuck have you been all this time?” He groaned and pressed his forehead against mine, squeezing his eyes closed as if he were in pain.

And then he came.

Afterward he kissed me, long, wet, deep kisses but I was starting to feel like I couldn’t breathe.

“Braden.” I pulled my head away and pushed at his chest. “Braden, get off,” I panted, trying to breathe.

He frowned down at me. “Babe?”

“Get off.”

He stared down at me confused while black spots started to cover my eyes.

“Get off!” I found enough air to scream.

I didn’t even take in his expression. All I knew was that the pressing weight of him was gone. I jumped off the bed, hurried out of the room, crashed into the bathroom door, and slammed it shut behind me.

I had the presence of mind to lock it before I launched myself across the room at the window, throwing it open. Cold air rushed in around me and I struggled to suck it in.

My skin felt cold and clammy, and my head prickled all over.

Eventually my breathing eased, and the rushing of blood in my ears died to a gentle whoosh.

“Jocelyn,” Braden called loudly outside. “Jocelyn!” He hit the door and I could tell by the impatient concern in his voice that he had been there a while. “If you don’t open this fucking door, I will break it down!”

Shaking badly from the aftermath of my panic attack, I slowly made my way over to the door and turned the lock.

When I opened it, Braden towered over me. He had on his pants, putting at me a distinct disadvantage, so I reached up a trembling arm and pulled the robe off the hook on the back of my bathroom door. I slipped it on to cover my nakedness from him.

He frowned at me. “What the hell happened?”

I realized I care about you and that you care about me and I am absolutely fucking terrified of it. I have a habit of losing people I love, you see. I thought I was ready to get over it.

I’m not ready.

I played this game with my issues, with my fears, hoping to win.

But I wasn’t the winner this time.

I didn’t know if I’d ever be the winner.

“Panic attack.” I shrugged.

His frown of concern turned to a glower of annoyance. And if I wasn’t mistaken, hurt. “Why?”

I brushed past him, walking toward the bedroom where the rest of his clothes were.

“I want an answer, Jocelyn.” There was a definite warning in his voice.

Sighing, I sat down on the edge of my sex-rumpled bed and tried not to think too hard about how goddamn amazing sex with Braden Carmichael was. Instead I stared up at him, and decided that was a bad idea too.

No man should be that sexy.

I lowered my gaze to my bare feet. The red nail polish on my toes was chipped. I sighed again. Braden was better off without me anyway. I wasn’t exactly a well-maintained cover girl.

And then I hated myself for thinking that because it made Braden seem shallow. He wasn’t shallow. He was real.

He was so fucking real, it terrified me.

“This isn’t going to work.” I forced myself to look up at him. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

I tried to think of a way to explain without really explaining. “I’m not getting into it with you … All you need to know is that I’m fucked up. Okay? And I can’t do serious. I’m … I’m not made for it. I wanted to be. I thought I was ready to be … but I’m not.”

I thought about never getting to touch him again and I felt cold at the thought. A desperate idea grabbed me. “If I knew

it wasn’t serious, that you weren’t serious, then we could do this. We could keep it casual.” I gave him a halfhearted smile, already knowing by the incredulous look in his eyes that he wasn’t into the idea. Still I pushed. “Why not? Great sex with no strings. You’ve done it before.”

“Not with you. And seven years ago, yes, definitely, I would have said yes.” Braden crossed his arms over his chest as he burned me with his indignant stare. “But I would have said yes so I could spend time wearing you down, helping you get through whatever it is that’s haunting you … until you said you’d be mine.” His voice was thick, hoarse, and there was sad realization in his gaze. “Because I want you, Jocelyn. I want you to be mine. I haven’t wanted a woman to be mine as much as I want you to be. But … Abby. My kid is a pawn to her mum. There is enough instability in her life without having a dad who is fucked in the head over another woman.

“You have to understand, Jocelyn. My own mother didn’t want me. I was a pawn in her marriage; that marriage failed, and then I was a mere nuisance. I promised myself that I would never be with a woman who would do that to my kid, and I’ve failed. I won’t fail again. I could risk myself taking a bet on a woman who doesn’t speak about her family, who has no photos of family or friends in her entire flat,” he gestured around my space, “a woman who is, in her own words, ‘fucked up,’” he said. His words were gentle, not meant to harm, though it hurt me anyway. “I would risk myself on you in a heartbeat if it was only me to think about. But I have my kid to think about now. Her needs are always going to come before my own. And I can’t bring someone into my life, casual or not, whose issues could hurt us both more than we already have been.”

Fuck.

That only made me like him more.

Like.

That was a pitiful word. It wasn’t the right word. Not for what I felt for Braden.

I nodded, emotion choking me. Eventually I managed to get words out. “I’m sorry.”