The Player and the Pixie(105)
“So you kept it.”
“Yes.” She nodded once.
“And you looked at it every night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not every night.”
I wanted to smile at that, in fact I wanted to shout my discovery from the rooftops, but my cheek and ribs protested. I loved that she fancied me, the way I looked, enough to keep the image and risk discovery.
Did that make me vain? Probably. Oh well.
“I have something for you, too. Go look in the closet.” I held fast to my phone while she walked hesitantly to the bedroom closet. I heard her gasp as she pulled open the door, allowing my eyes to stray from the picture on my mobile so I could see the happy expression on her face.
“This is the coolest dress! Look how sparkly.” She held up the rainbow frock I’d purchased while out with Eilish. “But Sean, it’s really short. Is it a dress or a tunic?”
“A dress. The kind you should wear for me with no knickers.”
“I’d be arrested for indecency.” She grinned, hanging it back in the closet, her hands lingering on the sequin of the skirt. “I love it, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. It reminded me of you. Will you wear it?”
“What? Now?” She glanced back at the dress.
“Now, later, soon.”
“Yes. Of course. But if I go out in it, I’ll be wearing knickers.”
I made a show of frowning, then motioned to her. “Come here. Please.”
She came immediately and leaned over me, looking concerned. “What? Why? Are you okay?”
My attention dropped to her lips. “I want to kiss the woman I love.”
They parted with surprise then curved into a huge smile. “You love me?”
I nodded, certain my grin mirrored hers. “I do.”
“You’re in love with me.” She leaned closer, her eyes wide, and happier than I’d ever seen her. I vowed to put that look in her eyes every day.
“I’m so in love with you.” I pulled her closer, curling my fingers around the long strands of her hair as she lowered.
She brushed a soft kiss over my mouth, giggling and grinning at me. “I can’t believe you’re in love with me.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” she said with wonder. “I just, I don’t know. It feels funny to say or think about. Like, Sean Cassidy, bubble-butted brute is head over heels in love with flaky Lucy Fitzpatrick. The most mismatched couple in the world.”
“We’re perfect together.” I smoothed a hand down her side and lifted her fancy dress, searching for the edge of her knickers and finding the sweet spot between her thighs.
She stiffened, her smile falling away. “What are you doing?”
“I want to taste you. Sit on my face, let me—”
She tried to back away, but I had a hold on her hair.
“No, no, no. You’re all bruised ribs and cuts. I’m taking care of you.”
“Then take care of me,” I whispered, releasing her hair and bringing her hand to my cock.
Her mouth fell open. “Are you ever not horny?”
“Only when I’m not with you. And even then I’m semi-hard, because I’m thinking of you.”
Lucy threw her head back and laughed. I allowed myself to chuckle, enjoying her free and easy smiles. As her laughter tapered off, her hand closed over my erection and stroked once.
“Rest now. More lessons later.”
As best I could, I lifted an eyebrow at this news. “You mean there’s more? More lessons?”
My Lucy winked at me and grinned, holding my gaze hostage with hers. “Oh Sean, my love, with you and me, there’s going to be a lifetime of lessons.”
Epilogue
@LucyFitz What’s the deal with Yorkie Bars these days? Def getting smaller.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz My opinion? Chocolate manufacturers and WHO are conspiring to screw us while continuing to hike prices #candyconspiracy
@RonanFitz to @LucyFitz They decided to model them on the size of @SeanCassinova’s manhood.
@SeanCassinova to @RonanFitz Or the size of your IQ.
*Lucy*
Some years later…
“I really like the burgundy one. The flower print is too busy.”
A yellow taxi honked in the background as I held my phone up in front of me, multi-tasking hurrying through a busy Manhattan street and video-chatting with Mam.
“But the flower print has a higher neckline. You know I’m self-conscious of my neck these days, Lucy.”
“Your neck is fine. Get the burgundy dress. You’ll look drop dead gorgeous in it and this date of yours will think he won the flippin’ lottery.”
My mother worried her lip, a frown marring her forehead. She was seriously overthinking her outfit choice. And before you wonder, no, hell hadn’t frozen over. Me and my mother were having a friendly conversation like a pair of old pals. It hadn’t become our norm, not yet; but I had high hopes that it would be in another two years.