Ramsay(3)

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?"

"Stuart!" Lydia screamed, stepping forward.

"Don't, Lydia," I managed, stepping forward, as well. "What happened  here is a private matter. Excuse me." I went to step around Stuart but  he pushed me, his hands braced on my chest so I flew backward, slamming  into the wall. Lydia gasped. I clenched my jaw against the sensation of  hard wood jarring my body and stood up straight, meeting Stuart's eyes.  At seventeen, I was already bigger than him at twenty-one. I could kill  him right here if I wanted to.                       
       
           



       

"Did you rape my sister, you lowlife piece of trash?"

Rage raced through my system and in a flash I stepped forward and swung  on him, nailing him straight in the jaw. Lydia shrieked again as her  brother went flying backward, stumbling and catching himself. "You  motherfucker!" he yelled, his hand coming up to his jaw, blood dripping  from his lip.

"Of course he didn't rape me, Stuart," Lydia yelled, her voice  high-pitched and panicky. She hurried to Stuart and stood in front of  him so he wouldn't attack me . . . I assumed.

She had done this. My Lydia. She had done this. No, not my Lydia. Never  mine. Grief clogged my throat, and I almost choked on it.

Stuart narrowed his eyes at me. We stood there for several tense  moments, the only sound in the room my own harsh breath. "Add this up,  math genius," he finally said, a nasty edge of mocking in his tone. "You  taking advantage of my sister plus you being a disgusting piece of  garbage equals me throwing your family off my property. Be gone by  morning." I froze, my heart hammering.

We lived in the small house at the edge of their property, reserved for  the gardener. Right this minute my dad was passed out in bed, and Eileen  was watching cartoons on the couch in her leg braces. Edward De  Havilland was ill, and he was a fair man-although he might not be if he  found out what I'd just done with his daughter-but his son was not a  fair man, and for the time being, Stuart De Havilland was in charge. He  was going to make me beg, here, in front of Lydia and Myles. I let out a  long, slow breath, my face growing hot.

"That's not necessary, Stuart, please," Lydia said weakly.

"Shut up, Lydia," Stuart said, pushing her aside. I clenched my fists  more tightly. Even though she'd just used me cruelly, my instinct to  protect her was strong. Grief and anger now competed in my heart. I  bloody hated myself.

"This is not me father's fault, Stuart," I said. "Be fair about this."

Stuart's eyes narrowed further. Several heartbeats went by before he drawled slowly, "Get down on your knees and beg me, scum."

My heart faltered, but I wouldn't flinch. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Stuart-"

"Shut up, Lydia!" Stuart yelled again. I didn't even look at her.