When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

59. Emmy

Chapter 59

Emmy

A s we drive through town, I think about how strange it’s been to go home without Granny Sloane there. Her presence was larger than life, and now there's a huge gap where she used to be. But we’re finding our new normal, day by day.

Patrick and I are still living together, and the entire O’Connor family insisted I stay while I look for a job locally, their support wrapping around me, making me feel wanted and valued like never before.

We soon reach Granny Sloane’s neat, quaint house, and Ruby and Nora wave from Ruby’s front yard. The garden is looking in better shape, and they’re rearranging the sculptures as the streetlights go on, bringing back the sense of mystery and wild movement that had characterized their home before the hurricane.

Patrick parks and as we climb out, Ruby calls, “I’ve already walked Stormy! Come around for dinner in about an hour.”

“Thanks,” Patrick replies.

Inside, Stormy jumps around like crazy, so happy to see us. We shed our jackets and feed him, before he settles in his bed in the living room .

We walk into the kitchen, and my eyes fall on the crossword puzzle lying on the table. It’s still there, untouched since the day Granny Sloane left us. Every time I see it, a pang of grief twists inside me.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to complete it yet. It’s an unfinished chapter, a connection to her that I’m not ready to let go of. Maybe we’ll just leave it there a little while longer. Patrick squeezes my hand gently, and for a moment, we both stand in silence.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” I ask.

“I think I need something cold.”

Patrick pours himself a glass of juice and I set the kettle to boil, when Patrick glances at his watch and then at me, a playful glint in his eye. “We have forty-five minutes. That’s plenty of time.”

Before I can respond, he takes several steps forward and he’s kissing me, backing me against the kitchen bench, his lips firm and insistent. The kiss deepens, his hands sliding up my back, while my fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, the world outside fading away.

His kisses trail down my neck and back up, and I gasp as the kettle shrieks. “Patrick,” I murmur against his lips, “we should—” but I’m not even sure what else we should be doing.

Reaching back, switching the kettle off, our bodies still pressed together. At this moment, all that exists is him. Me. And the hot ache starting in my core.

“We have time,” he whispers. “I need you.”

His hands move to my hips, unbuttoning my jeans and tugging them down, before strong arms lift me onto the counter. The sensation of the cool surface against my skin contrasts sharply with the heat of his touch as his fingers skim the lace between my legs, and I moan softly. His mouth finds mine again, the kiss both sweet and urgent, filled with a need that mirrors my own.

His fingers tease at the edge of my panties, slipping underneath to stroke where I’m already slick with need for him. He groans against our connected lips, while my fingers are fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His work pants go down, my hands dipping into his boxers, freeing him, wrapping my hand around his hard length.

The groan that emanates from the back of his throat gets me right in the chest, then lower, heat expanding, filling me with need. He pushes my panties aside, the thick of his fingers running along my entrance, gentle, too gentle, before pushing into me.

Gasping, needing him, my nails dig into his arms as my head tilts back, eyes closed. “Now. I need you.”

Patrick’s hands slide under my sweater, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist. My breath hitches as his thumb grazes the underside of my breast. Tugging at my sweater, he pulls it up over my head, bringing my T-shirt with it, leaving just the lace of my bra between me and his wanting hands.

He’s squeezing and gently pinching my nipples, pebbling them, the heat of his breath on my neck as gentle teeth graze my skin. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

He grins before kissing me hard, his tongue demanding in a way that leaves no room for protest. Not that I would. I need him even more than he needs me.

Taking a step back, his hungry gaze roams over me, perched on the kitchen bench just in my panties and bra, a feral look darkening the blue of his eyes. I whimper softly at the loss of contact and he smiles at me in response—a devilish grin filled with sinful promises.

Then he’s between my legs again, pushing my panties aside, two fingers inside me without any warning. My eyes roll back at the sudden intrusion but it feels so damned good that I just want more.

Patrick starts pumping his fingers inside me slowly at first while using his other hand to rub circles over my sensitive nub. The sensation makes my hips roll against him, craving more. With each thrust of his fingers, he hits a spot inside me that has me almost writhing on the kitchen bench.

“Patrick…please…” I beg in between ragged breaths.

Grabbing hands tug down my panties, lifting me a little as they slide down my legs and get kicked off somewhere on the floor, his large frame completely encompassing mine.

He runs his thumb over my clit, circling rougher than before until I’m begging for him to be inside me. My body arches, muscles tense, skin flushing pink as pleasure courses through me.

He keeps working me, fingers dipping inside me, circling and thrusting, and my eyes close, sparks building behind my eyelids, throbbing in time with his touch, bringing me to the point I’m falling and cracking wide open all at the same time, pleasure exploding inside me, leaving me spent and panting and calling his name.

His hands go to my hips and there’s the briefest of pauses. I open my eyes and he’s staring at me, locking gazes before he plunges inside of me, bottoming out.

I gasp, so full. I’m home, he’s home, our togetherness the only thing that matters.

His thrusts start slow, gradually gaining pace as he explores every inch of me; each stroke lighting me up. The rhythm increases. Groans and gasps and whispered words of longing shared between fevered kisses. Patrick’s strokes become erratic, and he strains against me, driving deeper and harder, one hand sliding between us, the ball of his thumb touching me right there .

His hips slam into mine with delicious precision while one arm holds me in place, the other hand coaxing me over the edge again. Each thrust pushes me closer, pleasure pooling inside, until finally, I tumble over, moaning his name like a mantra.

It’s too much. It’s everything.

He follows a moment later, pulsing inside of me, his body shuddering and then going still before he pulls me close, still inside me, kissing my bare shoulder, my neck, and finally my mouth in a treasuring, gentle, breathless press of his tender lips.

“God, Emmy. I love you so fucking much.”

I want to look at him, see his eyes, the peace that fills them when we’re together. He’s the only man that’s ever made me feel like this, light as a feather, as strong as steel, like nothing can stop us when we’re together.

“I love you, too,” I reply, my legs still wrapped around him, our hearts beating next to one another in sync. The salt of our skin and the wind of our breath merge together, vast and unending like the ocean.

We’ve come so far together. The journey hasn’t been easy, but everything we’ve been through has only deepened my love for him. It’s a profound, enduring love, the kind that only comes around once in a lifetime.

If you’re lucky.