Hooked: A Christmas Romance: The Doyles, Boston Irish Mafia Romance Read online

  The sounds of our bodies moving together is a fucking turn-on too. Her tight little body takes my cock so eagerly, and I’m getting too goddamn close. I won’t let her down, though. I hold her hips tightly, controlling how much she can move as I fuck her thoroughly. Her inner walls vibrate. She’s gasping, grabbing the blankets and crying out.

  “I can’t, oh god, Vinny. It’s too much. It’s so good.”

  “Come for me. Come for me, Sia. I want you to come on my cock.”

  That pushes her over the edge, and she’s screaming my name again as her orgasm rips through her. I want to hear that sound for the rest of my life. Her pussy pulsates around me, and I come seconds later, pulling her tight against me. It’s the best orgasm of my life: long, intense, blinding. I see literal stars. I’ve had plenty of sex, but not like this. Not with this kind of connection. She collapses to the bed, exhausted, and I move so we’re both on our sides, my cock still buried inside her.

  “Vinny,” she moans, pulling my arms around her. “I want you to fuck me like that every night.”

  I kiss her hair. “Every night? I might want you to ride me some nights. Or maybe take you up against the shower wall.”

  “Fuck,” she says. “Okay. Yes.”

  I hold her until she falls asleep then pull out of her and dispose of the condom.

  I haven’t had a woman in my bed in years. I watch her sleep before climbing in next to her. She’s already cooled down, so I pull a blanket over her.

  She stirs a few moments later, rolling over to face me. She traces a pattern on my shoulder, down over my chest. She looks up at me, and that vulnerability is back. And it’s terrifying.

  “What is it?”

  Outside of sex, she’s afraid to ask for what she wants. It’s not an easy habit to deal with.

  “What next?” Her voice is soft, small. In that moment I realize how small she actually is, tucked up against me.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  I don’t know if I can be the man she needs. Someone romantic, always open and warm. Reassuring.

  I don’t know if I can convince her that, even when I’m distant, it’s not because she’s not enough.

  And I will be distant sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time. I’m damaged goods, and always will be.

  She can’t fix that with her sunshine.

  What if we date, and then break up? What will that look like? Will that be something else she blames herself for? Something she replays over and over again, trying to pinpoint her mistakes?

  It’s a lot of pressure.

  Pressure I don’t think I can handle.

  I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t want to make it worse by stringing her along if it’s not going to work out.

  It’s not going to work out, is it?

  When has it ever worked out for me?

  “Go to sleep,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “That’s what’s next. It’s been a long day.”

  It’s a cop-out, but she won’t push it, and I’m ashamed that I know that. If she pushes me too much, she knows I’ll shut her out too.

  Right now, I just want to have this, without complications, one last time. I feel her body relax against mine as she falls back to sleep. I press my face into her hair as sleep finds me too.

  17

  Sia

  I’m alone when I wake up. I’d hoped Vinny would still be here, and that we could spend the morning in bed together. Instead my clothes from last night are neatly folded on his dresser, next to what looks like my workout clothes? Did he get those from my uncle’s house?

  Stretching, I feel delightfully sore from the incredible sex we’d had. I need a shower, badly. Vinny’s fish watches as I throw on my yoga pants and top, and it’s super weird. It’s past noon, and I sneak back into my uncle’s house, once again feeling like a naughty teenager.

  After my shower, I toss my dirty clothes into a laundry basket, get dressed, and head downstairs. I go to the ballroom to assess the damage.

  You can imagine my surprise when I find it clean and set up exactly like it had been before the party.

  “He was here early cleaning up,” my uncle says. Does everyone sneak around here? Christ. “Said he had some errands to run before everything shut down.”

  “Oh, shoot. Can I borrow your car?” I’d forgotten about the food order for Christmas dinner and what I’d bought to replace the stock Vinny lost to the power outage.

  “Sure, honey,” he says. “Let me find my keys.”

  He offers to come with me, but I’d rather go alone. Vinny’s disappearance has thrown me off a little and receiving all the food for the Christmas dinner that’s been seriously downsized since I made the order will be tough to bear, especially if I have to hold it together so I don’t upset my uncle.

  Maybe I don’t need to hold it together, but when I’d asked Vinny about next steps last night, he’d dodged my question, leaving me unbalanced. What exactly do I want from him, anyway?

  I don’t know the specifics of his life, but I feel like he’s someone who could see me. Who could be honest with me, even about the hard things. Vinny is someone who understands that life can change on a dime.

  But can he let himself appreciate that change can be good, too?

  The young clerks at the grocery store are lovely and help pile all the food in the back of my uncle’s SUV.

  I’m sad that my cousins won’t be there to celebrate with us tomorrow. I hope Murphy feels well enough to have a good holiday, though. He deserves all the warmth and love his family has to offer.

  When I get back to the inn, Uncle Danny helps unpack the food and thankfully doesn’t say anything about the amount.

  I’d found out from Danny that Vinny likes making fried fish and chips.

  That’s it.

  That’s all he knew after years of living next door. Kristi had told me he only made two things too, but that’s what he sold, not necessarily what he likes to eat.

  I went with an ocean theme and got him some fresh shrimp, scallops, mussels, clams, and red snapper. I’d gotten the basics too—all the condiments he’d probably lost. Butter and milk for making a good batter. I don’t know if Vinny’s a produce guy or not, but I got some anyway, just in case.

  It strikes me that there’s a lot I don’t know about him. There’s a lot that no one knows about him.

  I’m finishing putting the groceries away when I hear the door creak open.

  I peer out of his kitchen into the hall.

  He stares at me, mouth agape.

  He’s the one who leaves his door unlocked.

  He’s got my suitcases.

  What? How?

  “Where did you get those? Kristi told me they hadn’t found them.”

  “Um. Yeah. Oscar wanted it to be a surprise. These ones made it. I had your stuff cleaned up.”

  I don’t know what to say and just walk over to my bags, opening them and touching everything inside. My clothes and shoes are like new, polished and clean. Everything is there, including my jewelry.

  No sign of my leopard print Jimmy Choos. Too bad.

  The second bag has some of my Christmas supplies. I’m not surprised the catalogs didn’t make it. I wish my portfolios had—I’d saved the original files to my laptop, which hadn’t survived the trip. But this is incredible. So thoughtful and kind.

  “I can’t believe it,” I say. “This is so wonderful.”

  “Yeah, well, I know how you feel about your stuff,” he says. It’s not a joke. I can tell by his tone. I thought we were over this? I’m having trouble reading the expression on his face.

  “It’s not the stuff,” I explain. “It’s wonderful that Oscar, and Kristi, and you did this for me.” I walk over and touch his shoulder. “Vinny, what’s going on?”

  I half expect him to jerk away, but he doesn’t. He runs a hand over his beard and under his jaw. “It’s just that it’s no big deal. The hard work was done at the dry cleaners.”

  I feel his muscles tense t
hrough the soft fabric of his shirt. His body is tight, like an overly wound spring. I swallow nervously and move my hand, taking a step back. “I just wish you’d just let me be grateful.” I hate the sound of my own voice right now, laced with quiet pleading. Don’t do this. “I know how you feel about Christmas.”

  He interrupts. “Stop saying that. Stop assuming you know how I feel.” He folds his arms across his chest. Putting up barriers. I take another step back.

  My uncle had said the same thing to me, that I had no idea how he’d felt, when I’d tried to empathize with him over Drew’s death. And maybe I didn’t know exactly, but I do know what pain feels like.

  Why doesn’t anyone understand that?

  Danny had told me yesterday that it was wrong to blame myself for his reaction, but I’m finding that so hard to believe. I’ve spent years analyzing how I could’ve handled that situation better, and a vague sense of panic rises in my throat as I’m faced with something similar here. I don’t want to mess this up.

  “You can tell me?” I offer. “If I don’t know how you feel. You can always tell me?”

  He doesn’t respond. Just stands there like a statue, hard and cold. So different from yesterday. Had I been imagining things? Did he just feel bad for me and decide to give me a pity fuck?

  I don’t know how to give him what he needs in this moment. Just like I hadn’t known what to give Danny. And Drew.

  Tears spring to my eyes and it pisses me off even more. I hate crying in front of people.

  Vinny sighs at my tears and I wipe them away angrily.

  “Look,” he says, pointing at the bags. “You read too much into these gestures. Into making them and receiving them. Sometimes there isn’t a deeper meaning than someone just wanting to be nice. It’s not a validation of you as person.”

  I recoil. That was harsh. I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Why are you being so cold?”

  He raises his voice a little. “You were so certain that you knew how I felt. Okay, then you should know that I’m not overly sentimental about things. That’s all.”

  I hug myself. “Why can’t you see that this isn’t about things? It’s about people. It’s about creating connections.”

  “Don’t know how you do that with tree skirts.”

  And we’re back to the snide jokes now. His armor is fully in place.

  “Don’t freak out just because you let someone get close to you.”

  Something in his posture changes. I can feel the anger radiating from him. He obviously prefers to hand out the hard truths, not receive them.

  He pushes a hand through his hair. “Who do you think you’re fooling here?” he asks, anger compressing his voice. “You’ve never been close to anyone. You’re too scared. You throw these big glitzy parties and pretend to be happy all the time because you think people won’t like you otherwise.”

  Oh fuck no. He doesn’t get to talk to me like this, like he’s got my whole life figured out after just a few days together.

  “Bullshit,” I hiss. “You’re the one who’s afraid. Sure, I’m probably a little vain, and I’m too accommodating, and I try to create a welcoming space to draw people in. But at least I’m doing something. At least I’m trying. You hide up here with your goddamn fish and the second you let someone in, it scares you so much that you close right back up again. You retreat behind your snarky comments and know-it-all façade. And for what, Vinny? Life’s too short to spend it avoiding pain. You never struck me as a coward until now.”

  His face hardens. He doesn’t like what I’ve said and I don’t fucking care.

  “If that’s true then why shut down when your cousins couldn’t get here? You went cold too. Avoiding pain, maybe?”

  His smug fucking tone. I want to slap it out of his mouth.

  “What was I supposed to do, Vinny? Cry and beg my cousins to leave their dying father and spend the holiday with me instead? That would’ve been selfish and shitty. I didn’t go cold; I just understood that what Murphy needed was more important than what I wanted.” He’s so exasperating.

  “Always so noble. Thing is, no one asked you to martyr yourself. And the sacrifices you make come with heavy expectations.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  This is a waste of my time.

  “Must feel great to have everything figured out. Well, you’re right about one thing: I don’t know who you are. But neither do you because you were a different person yesterday. This persona, whoever he is, is holding you back. I wish you all the best in sorting that out.”

  Fuck the bags and fuck him. I go to walk around him, and he grabs my elbow. I snatch it out of his grip and glare at him.

  “You should take your own advice because this isn’t working for you either.” His eyes are devoid of any of the passion he showed me last night. They’re hollow and cold.

  My anger tempers with sadness for him, for the terrorized child who grew up into a lonely man who runs people out of his life to keep from getting hurt again. It doesn’t excuse his behavior right now, but it deflates my righteous indignation.

  “Don’t let your past define you,” I say, quietly. “Don’t give up any more of your life to the people who hurt you.”

  His eyes go wide, and for a brief second I think I’ve reached him. But the flash of vulnerability I see is quickly replaced with a look of pure malice.

  “Oh, come on, Sia.” His voice drips with disdain. “Don’t be a hypocrite. No one is held back by their past more than you. You’re going to spend the rest of your life begging people to love you because you don’t know if Drew, who was obviously one of the few people who actually loved you for who you are, even remembered your fucking name when he died.”

  My vision tunnels as pain knifes its way through my stomach. Bile burns at the back of my throat. I need to get the fuck away from him. Now. I stumble forward, doubled over from the cruelty laced in his words.

  “I’m sorry. Jesus, Sia. I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.” Vinny’s stammering, and he reaches out to steady me.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking come near me.”

  Adrenaline propels me back to my uncle’s house. I run upstairs so my uncle doesn’t have to see me like this and curl into a ball on the bed and cry. Shuddering sobs wrack my body, and it’s agonizing to keep myself from wailing. I don’t want anyone to hear me.

  I cry myself into a dreamless sleep, like a child, and wake up feeling like I have a fever. Someone’s sitting on my bed, a light hand rests on my forehead.

  “You sick, Sia?”

  My eyes feel heavy, but I pry the lids open and try to focus.

  “Molly?” What is Owen’s girlfriend doing here? Am I hallucinating?

  “Yeah, honey,” she says. “You feel warm. Did you catch something on your high sea adventures?”

  I uncurl and sit against the headboard, still confused. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. Nowhere else we’d rather be. Your cousins are all downstairs.” She has a wicked glint in her eye. “When Murphy found out the boys had decided he was too sick to travel, well, he didn’t like that and read them the riot act. Told them he’s not dead yet and to stop hurrying it along. He and Danny are already in a heated cribbage match.”

  “Oh.”

  I do feel sick, but I think I’m just dehydrated.

  And heartbroken.

  “You don’t look good. I’m going to bring up some water, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  I’m still processing this turn of events when Kieran returns with the water instead of Molly. He’s got a bruise forming under his eye.

  He sits on the bed, which creaks angrily under his weight, and hands me the water.

  “Kieran, are you okay?” I ask, setting the water on the nightstand.

  It’s not the first time I’ve seen him with a black eye. Probably won’t be the last, either. He gets beat up more than his brother Owen and Owen’s an MMA fighter.

  I’m sur
e whoever is on the other side of Kieran’s fists fared much worse, but I don’t like seeing him hurt.

  “Fine,” he says. “Molly says you weren’t feeling great? I’m sorry, Sia. I really am. We all love you.”

  “I know you do,” I rasp. I clear my throat and take a sip of water. “I’m okay. Just thirsty.”

  “You’ve put so much work into keeping us all together. You always make everyone feel warm and included, no matter what.”

  Where is this coming from? My eyes well up.

  “He told me what he said.” Anger chokes Kieran’s voice. “I went over to say hi. Thank him for having your back when I thought we couldn’t make it here.”

  Oh. I hug my knees to my chest.

  He clenches his fists.

  “I wanted to fucking kill him, Sia. The only reason I didn’t is because he helped you get off that boat.”

  Kieran’s always so happy, ready with a terrible joke or ridiculous story. Seeing him this angry is unsettling.

  He stares off into space for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

  “Drew loved you even when he was at his most fucked up.” Kieran sighs. “I don’t know if telling you this is the right thing or not, but he was trying to get clean. Said he was tired of seeing that sad look in your eyes. He said if anyone else had made you feel like that, he’d have beaten the shit out of them. Like I just beat the shit out of Vinny.”

  I don’t miss the hint of pride in his voice.

  “My dad had found him a spot in rehab, and he decided to go on one last bender before he got clean. And it was the last one.” Kieran lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Nothing that happened was your fault. Drew made some bad choices and he paid a heavy price for them. But he’d be devastated to know how much you’re paying for them too. He wouldn’t want that for you.”

  I’d told my uncle the same thing. I don’t bother keeping the tears at bay.

  “I don’t think Vinny meant or even believed what he said,” Kieran continues. “But it doesn’t matter. It was a shitty fucking thing to say. If I’m being kind, I think his feelings for you scared him. He’s been through a lot and bottled shit up to survive but didn’t stop that habit even after he was out of the bad situations. That shit festered and exploded the first chance it got. And you were the collateral damage.”