It's times like this I feel powerless; it's not a feeling I'm accustomed to, and it's bewildering.
When someone that you love is hurting, you want to fix it, make things better, put a band-aid on it or kiss it better. Sometimes it's just not possible.
It fascinates me how closely women form friendships. I have my mates, I'd be gutted to lose any of them, but I can't quite get my head around how close they were and the effect this loss has had on her.
I find her sad brown eyes gazing longingly at her phone, expecting a silly message on Whatsapp that's never going to arrive. Hell, I miss that, and the giggling that would follow from whatever crazy conversation those two were having at that particular time. I was usually too scared to ask and just hoped it revolved around Megan's husband and not me.
Or internet shopping which seemed to be a frequent discussion. Those two did put the SHOP in shopping.
I grin as I get up, pulling on my boxers and remembering the matching Arsenal onesies Megan's husband John and I got for Valentines Day. Crazy minx's laughing as we were made to model them as they exchanged photos on their phones. A Gooner has to have his limits mind, and I'm not wearing that onesie ever again; unless she is naked and tied to our bed so she can't take snapshots and post them on Twitter.
Mmmmm naked and tied. My cock twitches at the thought.
I've given her time and space to grieve; she needed it. She's been so damn strong keeping it together, but I have a severe case of blue balls, and it's only getting worse the longer I go without plunging deep inside her; I fucking need her.
I adjust my semi as I hit the stairs on the way to the kitchen and fight a groan at how good it feels.
I also feel the unavoidable anger stir at our situation. Being the son of abusive alcoholics, I have no tolerance for them when they fail to acknowledge their addiction; people only suffer if they don't, I know that first hand and now so do we all. One arsehole, the usual few drinks too many, gets in his car and now one of the most beautiful souls with the most radiant smile has been taken from us while the arsehole responsible, gets his license taken away and a few years spent sober in jail, tops. Where is the Justice?
The girls were like combining chalk and cheese; you wouldn't put those two things together. One blonde one dark. Reality tv versus Game of Thrones but they were inseparable in every way. I've never seen two women love each other more. If I could have ten minutes in a room with the drunken arsehole who ploughed his car into Megan's taking that from the woman I love, I would be doing time for life and doing it willingly.
I take a deep calming breath as I walk through the living room and head towards the kitchen. I can hear her in there singing, well singing is stretching it. The woman can't sing for shit, I've never listened to a worse version of Twenty-one pilots, but I will take anything right now that comes remotely close to normal even if it is painful to the ears.
I stifle a laugh as I enter, there's my Kiera, tone deaf in all her glory. Hands dipped in the soapy water washing dishes, arse wriggling to the beat - hmmm jean skirt.
Ouch! Some tortured line about a rocket ship. Sounds like nails on a chalkboard. I subconsciously rub my ears.
"Morning, baby," I chuckle.
She keeps singing, oblivious to me. Her headphones are obviously cranked right up.
Her hands fly up in the air and bubbles fly everywhere as she spins around and starts rocking to the song. She may not be able to carry a tune any more than I can lift a submarine, but boy can she dance. My dick agrees as I watch her shaking her stuff to Stressed Out, unaware of my presence or damage to my eardrums.
She swings back round and resumes the washing up with vigour to the music while howling out about blurry faces, and I can resist that arse no longer. I move closer to her and place my hands on her gyrating hips.
"WISH WE COULD -" She jumps and stops singing, for which my eardrums are eternally grateful. She turns her head up and smiles as she reaches to pull a headphone from her ear getting soap suds over her cheek; I want to kiss them away.
"Good Morning, Jack," she beams, though her smile still doesn't quite meet her gorgeous eyes. I can tell she's still thinking about Megan; she loved Twenty-one pilots too.
"Good Morning, Kiera." Eyes narrowed, I watch her, closely assessing her mood. She's just been so sad.
"Twenty-one pilots, huh?" I tease. "What would Muse think?"
She reaches into the sink and flicks me with water. I wipe it off grinning. I lean forward to kiss her lips, hang on a minute, she's kissing me back. Well, that's new.
She pulls back. Damn it; she doesn't want to.
"Muse would think that it's perfectly acceptable for me to listen to music by a band almost as impressive as they are, they're most gracious like that." She turns her cute button nose up at me and returns to the dishes. I love it when she's playful; I miss that, I miss her.
"Is that so?" My hand brushes her hair from her shoulders as my other arm reaches around to circle her stomach bringing us closer together and my dick in closer proximity to her arse.
Was that a sigh?
She tilts her head, and her silky dark hair falls to give me access to her delectable neck.
Did she just push her arse into me?
My dick gives a silent groan; it's been so long.
"Yes, that is so." She sniffs indignantly and resumes washing dishes that don't need washing, her feigned nonchalance isn't lost on me, God, I want her. I need her, but I have to be sure.
I rest my chin on her head and pull her closer. "I believe you," I breathe as I kiss her hair
"Good." more of the condescending tone and hip wriggling.
Do I imagine this? I must have been a Saint in a former life or an Eunuch. I shudder at the thought and still her hips. If my cock could scream, it would right now, but I do it anyway. I stop.
She looks up at me frowning, and I gently grip her chin.
"You seem happier today," I offer.
She smiles and nods, but I see it in her eyes, the pain she feels inside. I'd give anything to take that away. I pull her close, and she comes willingly, soaking wet hands and all. I hold her tight.
"I'm sorry I've been -" she starts.
I lift her head and put my fingers to her lips to shush her then kiss them softly to soften the blow. I guess this will have to do for now. I can't push her.
"You lost your best friend. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about," I say honestly, even my dick reluctantly agrees by softening a little, not much mind.
Her adorable face looks up at me, the wetness in her eyes enough to destroy any man.
"I've been neglecting you." she whispers.
The famous words of Bon Jovi's Shot through the heart comes to mind, and my chest hurts, so I rub it.
"Kiera, you haven't been neglecting me. You've been grieving, and helping John and the kids with their grief. I miss her too. We are all grieving." I kiss her nose for emphasis.
"I don't want to feel this way anymore." Her lips tremble.
"I know, baby, but it's going to take time." Please not the lip trembling.
She takes a long deep breath and pulls back, no more lip trembling, thank you, God, and her eyes have a determined look as she stares into mine.
"Megan would totally kick my arse if she was here," she giggles sheepishly.
I can't disagree with that; Megan was a force to be reckoned with. She could be downright scary at times, like Kiera's singing.
"I miss you. I miss us, Jack." She steps closer and places her hand on my chest.
"I miss that too, Kiera, but we don't need to rush anything. You need -" She stops me with her lips.
"Shhh. Just kiss me," she whispers against my mouth.
And I do, So help me I do. I can't not. My arm pulls her more firmly against me, wrapping around her. My other hand finds the back of her neck, tilting her so I can deepen our kiss, which is electric.
With every nerve ending on fire and my dick roaring at me in protest, I pull back one last time.
"Please be sure, Kiera, I won't be able to stop, baby."
"I'm sure," she gasps.
You fucking beauty!
Breathless from our kiss, she pulls my head back down to her needy lips, which is all the affirmation I need. I said I must have been a saint, not that I was one.
I grip her hips and lift her up onto the kitchen counter, perfect position in my humble opinion for what I have in mind.