Breathing Wisteria Read online

  “I don’t need to hear about all the women you’ve fucked, ’kay, Irish?”

  “Jealous?” I challenge.

  “Pfft, please. I’m hardly going to be jealous of all the plastic Barbie dolls you’ve been attached too. Besides.” Her eyes narrow evilly. “I get laid plenty, I don’t need to concern myself with your sex life.”

  Okay, and the tension is back.

  “Maybe we don’t talk about this.” My hand reaches up and I try to knead the stress from my neck.

  “Good call.” She grins at me. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you just showed up here. I would have thought you didn’t go anywhere without an entourage, these days.”

  “Really? We both know I don’t like people enough to deal with that shit.” I shift in my seat, moving closer to her, just enough so she doesn’t notice.

  “Yeah, that’s true.” She snort-laughs and it captivates me in a way that a snort really shouldn’t. “I guess I just didn’t think you would be able to walk around the streets unnoticed, that’s all.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can get away with.” I wink at her which causes her to roll her eyes. “No, seriously though. People are in their own world, living their own lives. They don’t expect to see the person whose music they sing along to, in Target, you know? If they do recognize me, more often than not they convince themselves they’re mistaken. I’m not gonna lie though, I don’t test the theory out too often, these days.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. So…” She leans slightly forward, her brow raised. “Target, huh?”

  “Fuck, yeah. Never trust anyone who doesn’t love Target, Cherry. Words to live by, swear to God.”

  Her laugh rings through the air, lightening the mood and we launch into conversation, sharing our lives and our secrets. Everything we’ve missed over the years. I’m hurting for every drop of information she’s giving me like a junkie craving his next fix.

  My eyes are fixed on her mouth as she tells me how she got started illustrating children’s books and it takes me a minute to realize she asked me a question.

  “What?” I can’t even try to hide my distraction. All I can think about is how soft her lips look and how much I want to taste her.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Shit, she sounds pissed. Tearing myself away from that mouth, I do my best to focus on what she’s saying.

  “Are you shitting me? Of course I am, Christ, when did you get so needy?”

  “Fuck you, Irish. You were so not listening to me.” She giggles.

  That giggle. Fuck. Me.

  “You helped out a friend on a college assignment, illustrating a children’s book she wrote. Her professor passed it along to a friend of hers who is a children’s author and she contacted you. Then you got contacted by a bunch of her author friends and so it began.” I intone in a bored voice. “Did I miss anything?” Jesus, I hope I didn’t miss anything.

  “Ugh, fine. Maybe you were listening.” She shrugs. “But I coulda sworn you were too busy thinking about kissing me.”

  My heart thunders in response to her words and a sharp pain cuts through my shoulder. Am I having a fucking heart attack?

  “You would let me?” The old Flynn, who was one half of Wyatt and Flynn, would never have needed to ask. This Flynn, with his ass seated on this sofa across from Wyatt, he doesn’t entirely know anymore, needs to ask.

  “Probably. But it doesn’t matter, I guess. Turns out you were listening, so I guess I was imagining things.” She stifles a fake yawn. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late, we should probably call it a night.”

  I glance up at her ugly-ass clock—pink, Christ, this woman—and I’m surprised to see it’s after two in the morning. But, if she thinks she’s getting rid of me after that little comment, she’s got another thing coming.

  “Yeah, maybe we should.”

  The hint of disappointment that flashes over her face is the only encouragement I need.

  Leaning forward, I grasp her neck and pull her toward me, my mouth finds hers and my tongue traces along her bottom lip, savoring the taste, still so familiar, even all these years later.

  She groans, and I use the opportunity to slip my tongue in her mouth, the feel of hers sliding against my own has my cock hardening painfully.

  I imagined tonight going a lot of ways. Her standing me up. Her telling me in no uncertain terms how she felt about me tracking her down. Her hand finding its way across my cheek.

  I can honestly say I never considered this.

  She moves against me, pushing me back against the couch and her mouth starts trailing soft licks along my jaw. When she slides her leg over my lap to straddle me, her pussy grinds along my cock causing my head to fall back, a loud groan rolling through me from deep within my chest.

  My hands grip the cushion beneath me. I want to touch her so fucking bad, to slide into her pussy and thrust slowly, deeply. The way she always liked it. Instead, I’m imagining the look on her face tomorrow when this becomes just one more regret in our story.

  She pulls away from me, eyes glazed over, her hips still rolling over my dick in the most perfect way. Her hands find their way into my hair and she pulls my face toward her until we are only inches away.

  “Stop overthinking this.” Kiss, hip roll, moan. “I want this. Now, let’s see what you’ve got, Irish.”

  Wyatt

  My words are like a red rag to a bull. Any trace of self-control evaporates and all I can say is thank-fucking-god. This is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I want this. Him. I may even need it.

  He surges forward with a ferocity that should frighten me. Instead I feel safe and wanted. Like this man would kill for me if he had to. Once upon a time that would have been true, but right now I’ll settle for this moment of false refuge.

  His hands thread through my hair, pulling me where he wants me. He never felt the need to be gentle with me and I love the desperation that is ingrained in his every touch. Love the heat that blazes along my skin after every contact.

  Our mouths move against each other and ten long years of need is making it difficult to hold back. He’s making these soft grunts, every time his tongue finds mine and I can’t believe I’d forgotten how good this is. How intensely I have always craved the sensory overload that accompanies sex with Flynn Maguire.

  How am I going to walk away from this?

  “Baby.” His hands move down my body, gripping my hips and grinding me against him. “You want to ride me so I can get my mouth on those tits or you want me to bend you over and fuck you from behind?” He leans down and kisses my neck before sucking hard, almost to the point of pain.

  “Are you giving me a hickey?” I can’t disguise the horror in my shriek as I push away from him and punch his shoulder as hard as I can. “You asshole!”

  A quiet chuckle vibrates through his chest and he pulls me back in for a kiss, this time slow and delicious as though we have all the time in the world. Just when I think I’m about to come from the taste of him alone, he breaks away and lightly caresses my bottom lip with his thumb.

  “Wyatt?” His voice is quiet and rough, as though he’s about to reveal a dangerous secret and I automatically lean into him, needing to hear his confession.

  “You about ready to sit on my dick, ’cause I need to be inside you like right fucking now.”

  “Ugh.” A slap to his chest this time. “What happened to romance? You suck!”

  “Not right now, but later, I promise.”

  His smirk is infuriating, and I would be more than happy to continue telling him off if the sight of his hands working his zipper open wasn’t so distracting.

  My hands fall to my side and I watch, captivated, as the zip slowly lowers, revealing a light trail of hair and nothing else. I keep watching as his large hand, God, I always loved his hands, lowers and I have to bite my lip to stifle a groan when he pulls his cock free, jerking himself roughly.

  I should move. I should slide to my kne
es and take him in my mouth. He’s the only guy whose dick I’ve actually enjoyed having in my mouth, so I have no explanation as to why I’m frozen to the spot. Other than the fact I’m enjoying the view too damn much.

  “Baby?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You good?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  A chuckle vibrates through him and I force my eyes to meet his.

  “What?”

  “Come here.” His voice is demanding and snaps me out of my lusty haze.

  “Wait.” I hop up off his lap and make quick work of removing my leggings and panties. As I lift my sweatshirt over my head, I see Flynn dragging his jeans off and the persistent throb in my clit intensifies.

  Sliding back onto him, I press myself against him, desperate to get as close as possible. His arms immediately wrap around me, unclasping my bra and as soon as it drops to the floor, his mouth is on me, his tongue teasing my nipple and then he bites down deliciously hard, drawing a loud moan from me.

  My hands tangle with his t-shirt, pulling it up and off. I flatten myself against him, my breasts cushioned against his chest and the contrast of our bodies intoxicates me. His hard to my soft. I know that regret will most likely find me tomorrow, but right now all I can do is surrender.

  The feel of his mouth on the curve of my neck causes me to grind on him, and there is no finesse, no skill. My thighs instinctively tighten around him every time the head of his cock teases my clit and his hands are clutching my ass, dragging my wetness along his hard length over and over, torturing us both.

  When his mouth finds mine, I lean forward and my ass lifts, giving him the room he needs to place his cock at my entrance. I feel him push the tip in, stretching me in the most perfect way. I thread my hands through his hair and with his tongue moving with my own, his hands pinching my nipples, I press down until he is fully seated inside me.

  So. Fucking. Deep.

  So. Fucking. Perfect.

  He breaks our kiss, letting out a roar. “Jesus Christ.” His accent is more pronounced, his voice ragged and strained. I roll my hips, the need to move faster, to pull him in deeper, urging me on. All I can hear is the sound of us. Flynn’s harsh grunts as he pushes up forcefully, meeting me thrust for thrust. My low moans as his thick cock hits the perfect spot within me. The gentle sound of our bodies sliding against each other in an act that is far from gentle.

  It’s desperate, needy fucking. It’s us taking everything from each other that we’ve missed these past years. Taking everything from each other that we’re going to miss in the coming ones.

  “So, so good,” I hiss. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

  He buries his head in my neck with a choked laugh. “Not gonna stop, baby. You gonna come for me?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” I whisper the words on repeat, completely unaware, and I feel myself tighten around him, coming so hard my vision blurs momentarily.

  I feel my body go languid, and I lean against Flynn, allowing him to take control. His hands grip my hips painfully and he thrusts up vigorously. Sweat that is surprisingly cool on my skin, drips from his forehead onto my shoulder and there is something so incredibly raw and beautiful about this moment.

  Flynn loses control, pushing himself deep within me and I feel him come at the same moment he releases a loud, animalistic groan.

  Right there in the midst of the sounds and scents of what could only be described as dirty, crass sex, I feel like I’ve come home.

  The soft glow of the sunrise is starting to peek through the curtains. Flynn’s talented fingers are playing with my hair and I can feel sleep starting to drag me under.

  “I have to leave in a couple of hours, Cherry. I wish I didn’t have to, but I need to be back in LA by midday.”

  “Mmmhmm.” God, his voice is so soothing, how had I forgotten that?

  “Wyatt?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Promise me you’re not going to regret this?”

  “Okay.” I fall asleep with his fingers tangled in my hair and his lips on my temple.

  “So, explain.”

  I stare at the two faces looking back at me. One glaring, one curious.

  My mouth opens, but when words fail to come, I clamp it shut again. I’m still reeling from my encounter with Flynn last night and I feel unprepared for this interrogation. I almost refused Cassidy’s demand to meet today, only relenting when I realized it would just make matters worse.

  “Look, Red, I don’t know about Skyeballs here, but I'm pissed.” She pushes her giant caramel frappe away and crosses her arms over her chest with a haughty pout. “We’re supposed to be your best friends, so explain to me how you think it's okay, in any universe, for us not to know that you're married to a fucking rock star? How?”

  “What I think Cass means is,” Skye, sweet, sweet Skye who hates confrontation, interrupts, throwing Cassidy a pointed look. “We were surprised to find out you were married. And, maybe a little hurt you didn't feel like you could confide in us.”

  “That is not what I meant at all, Balls. I am pissed.” Her blue eyes continue to glare at me.

  “Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up in defeat. “I am the worst friend in the world, is that what you want to hear?”

  “No!”

  “Yes.”

  Their answers are simultaneous and force an unexpected laugh from my lips.

  “It didn’t have anything to do with trust, it was never about you, I promise.” I can't stop my fingers from playing anxiously with the sugar packets and I'm seconds away from tearing one open and scattering sugar all over the table, just to keep them occupied, when a gentle hand covers my own.

  “You don't have to tell us anything, Wyatt.” Skye’s eyes are full of compassion. “We all have things that hurt so much it feels impossible to put them into words.”

  This right here, this is why I love Skye Mackinnon.

  “Okay, well, maybe you don’t need to give us all the gory details.” Cassidy sounds slightly remorseful. “But you have to tell us something.”

  I lean back in my seat, the plush velvet chair soft against my skin, grateful we’re having this conversation at the quiet coffee slash book shop that Skye manages.

  “I met him when I was fifteen.” Deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “He had just moved from Ireland with his mom after his parents divorced. He was—” I search for the words to adequately describe him. “Quiet. But he had this presence, even then. He was hot as fuck, the answer to every rebellious teenage dream with his broody, bad boy musician thing.” I smile at the memory. “Then he would open his mouth and every word was snide, sarcastic perfection delivered in the most exquisite Irish accent. I was screwed from the start. Never even had a chance.”

  “You were childhood sweethearts? Oh my God, that’s so beautiful!” Skye swoons while Cassidy rolls her eyes at her enthusiasm.

  “Anyway,” I continue, anxious to get this story over with. “We began dating. When we turned eighteen, we ran off to Las Vegas and eloped, much to the horror of our parents. God, I still remember the reaming my parents gave us when we got home. My father threatening to end Flynn if we didn’t annul the marriage. But we stood firm.” I pause to take a sip of my coffee, mostly to give my hands something to do, before pushing on. “Our town in Texas was tiny, there were no opportunities for a musician or an artist, so we moved a couple of towns over. We thought we were so grown.” I shake my head sadly. “We had no fucking clue.”

  “What happened?” Skye’s gentle voice probes.

  “I started going to art school and waitressing at night. Flynn taught guitar lessons during the day and played gigs at night. We had this tiny little one-bedroom apartment.” I smile at the memory. “We were eighteen and had no doubt that every one of our dreams would come true. That we would make them come true. Then I got pregnant.”

  “Holy ducking plot twist!” Cassidy exclaims.

  “Cass!” Skye hits her on the leg, narrowing her e
yes and looking remarkably formidable.

  “What?” she asks innocently. “I did not see a baby coming!”

  I snort out an ironic laugh. “Well, that makes three of us.”

  “If you tell me that douchenugget tried to make you get rid of it, I will hunt him down and slice his dick off with the bluntest knife I can find.”

  “No, no, no. It was nothing like that. There was an accident.” I clutch my coffee mug to my chest, needing the feel of something tangible beneath my fingers as tears threaten to fall. “I experienced some abdominal trauma and it caused severe placental abruption. Carys was stillborn at twenty-three weeks.” I attempt to give them a reassuring smile, to let them know I’m okay, but their concerned expressions tell me I’m not successful.

  “We struggled to cope. I was… angry. Very angry. I blamed him, he tried to help me, but I just couldn’t—” I choke on the words. “I pushed him until he had no choice but to leave. When he finally did, I just shut down. Eventually my parents encouraged me to come out here, stay with my aunt, and start fresh. It took some persuading, but it was the best thing I ever did.” This time my smile comes slightly easier. “I could breathe again. I started over. Started dreaming again. I built a new life and, for the most part, I’ve been happy.”

  I reach over and place my mug on the small round table positioned between our chairs, and slump down in my seat.

  “I’m so sorry, Wyatt. I can’t even imagine how awful that must have been.”

  “My heart is fucking breaking for you right now,” Cassidy consoles.

  I can’t believe the relief that is overwhelming me right now.

  “And I have so many questions,” Cass continues.

  Okay, that relief was short lived.

  “Ask away.” I sigh.

  Cassidy and Skye exchange a look before turning to me expectantly.

  “You never saw him again?”

  “How has the press not found out about you?”

  “Why didn’t you get divorced?”

  “What did he want yesterday?”