Read The Wedding of Molly O'Flaherty for Free Online Page A

mouth, where he slowly sucked my taste off of each and every one, our gaze never breaking as he did.
    I took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, and where I expected shame or regret for violating the contract, I found none. And I found that—just a little, just an infinitesimal amount—my other shame had lessened. It was still there, and I wasn’t young or foolish enough to believe it could be wiped out with a single act or a single intention, but it was better.
    Lesser.
    He was right; he had carried my burden, and carried a part of it still, because he had looked the horrible truth of it in the face and still chosen to love me. As if it didn’t matter what I had let Cunningham do to my body or to my mind, because he saw that Molly O’Flaherty was so much more beyond those events, that those events could matter as much or as little as I wanted them to, and that, either way, he would shoulder the load with me while I figured it out.
    We sat in silence for just a minute more, my body languidly unwinding and his face no less intense, but before I could speak to thank him, to explain what gift he’d just given me, he wiped his hand on his pants and then glanced to the clock on the mantel. And like that, the authoritative Silas was gone and my friendly Silas was back in his place, polite smile and all.
    “I should go,” he said ruefully, getting to his feet and giving my hand one final squeeze.
    “Silas…” I stood too, trying to find the words. “I—I want to say thank you but that isn’t quite right. But I don’t know what is quite right.” I stopped when I noticed the formidable erection still tenting the front of his pants. “Silas, you can’t go downstairs like that.”
    “I’ll walk it off,” he said with a faux-cheeriness that vanished the moment I stepped forward and pressed my palm against his rigid length, curling my fingers around it through his trousers. A low hiss escaped his lips, and for a minute, I thought maybe he would finish what he’d started. That maybe my commanding Silas would return and order me to the bed, where he’d satisfy us both.
    But it wasn’t meant to be. He moved backwards, wincing as my hand left his cock.
    “Let me help,” I begged. “We’ll be fast. I promise.”
    He came just close enough to drop a kiss on my forehead and then he straightened his jacket so that it hid the worst of it. “I must go, buttercup. I’ll see you in an hour or two.”
    And then he swept his hat off the floor and left the room.

I’d lied to Molly.
    The moment I closed the door of the rented room, I was searching out another space, one private enough where I could rectify the embarrassing physical situation I found myself in. And the whole time, my mind was screaming why did you leave her, go back go back go back , but I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, we’d violated the contract. Well, I had violated it, despite all of her careful and creative planning last night to find a way for us to share intimacy without breaching the damned thing, and then I’d blown all that work to hell when I’d shoved my fingers inside of her.
    While a sick part of me could justify the breach by saying that my actions had only been to take care of her after her confession, no part of me could justify further violating the agreement simply for my own pleasure.
    And for another thing, there was her confession itself, and all of the rage and concern and tenderness and frustration it inspired within me. I’d wanted to show her that I was there to support her, there to love her, but I also wanted to respect the solemnity of the moment. The seriousness of it.
    Serious and solemn moments, moments filled with tragedy and pain, should only rarely evolve into sticky cum-covered moments.
    I wouldn’t say never. But rarely .
    And the very next door I tried opened to my efforts. It was empty, and with a silent prayer, I locked the door and hoped no one would try to return to the room in the next…well, honestly,