Page 127 of The Secret We Keep
Morgan dry laughs. “You ran me right into yourbedroom?”
You’re a grade A twat, Paddy O’Keefe.
“Shit, I…” I swipe a hand through my hair, staring at the carpet on my bedroom floor.
“Relax, Paddy.”
I’m not used to Morgan being the one telling me to relax. Usually, it’s me tellingherwhat to do.
Rolling my shoulders back, I give her a smile, keeping my feet firmly on the spot as I watch her look around the room with curious eyes.
“So, this is what Paddy O’Keefe’s room looks like.”
I have to chuckle. “The one and only.”
Sweet Jesus, the way she’s walking around the room like she isn’t shy is refreshing and downright scary. “I thought there’d be more trophies from your footballing days.” There’s a brightness to her that wasn’t there earlier. Like sunshine cracking through the clouds, she seems happier.
I allow myself one step closer to where she’s looking at the shelf at the other end of the room. “I keep the big ones in the loft.”
Morgan looks back at me. “In the loft?” She’s got her arms crossed over her front; one hip popped out as her weight stands on one foot.
If I didn’t know any better, and if this was any other girl, I’d consider such a stance as an invitation to move closer.
Digging in my heels, I say, “Yeah.” I shrug, hands going into my pockets. “Didn’t want the shelf to fall down on my head in the night.”
Morgan smiles, looking back to the trophies. Her eyes roam over the only remaining items from my original bedroom, which has since been a gym and an office before Mum put a bed back in here.
“You sure were good at it, Paddy.”
Don’t step forward. Don’t step forward.
“Still am.”
I see her nodding slowly.
Guiltily, my eyes drop down the curve of her spine to her arse, following the length of her legs right down to her ankles.
“Paddy?” she asks me softly.
Inhaling slowly, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, curly fries.”
Turning on the spot, Morgan faces me, her hands now down by her sides. She slips off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor.
Oh.
My heart literally stops when she curls the bottom of her top in her fingers, seductively peeling it away from her body.
“What are you doing?” I don’t mean to sound as harsh as I do, but she’s got me fighting for air, eyes unable to stop soaking up the way her skin looks so soft in the hazy bedroom light.
Not answering me, she reaches her hands behind her, unclasping her bra and letting it join her top and jacket.
Her tits are every bit as perfect as I imagined.
No.
“Morgan, stop.” I rush closer to her, dick fully erect and aching at the sight of her hard nipples. “You don’t have to do this.”
Her eyes close. “I want to.” Her voice quivers, and it’s then the familiar smell of Vodka and Red Bull hits my nose, explaining the Dutch courage she has tonight.
