Prone to Shenanigans: A Short, Sweet, Steamy Instalove Curvy Girl Romance (Shenanigans & Malarkey Book 1)

by Carly Keene

  I have the disconcerting feeling that this is my Cinderella, leaving the ball. I lean across the bar and touch her arm, gently.

  “Can I be doing anything at all for you?”

  She bites her lip, and my prick sits up and takes notice. “Well, I walked over, but I’m a little leery of walking back at this time of night, carrying a fairly large bill that everybody in the place just saw me receive. Maybe I should call a ride home.”

  “How far?”

  “Highland Avenue, two blocks over.”

  “I’ll take you.” The double meaning shakes me, because I do intend to take her.

  She looks confused, and still adorable. “Oh, but aren’t you still working? Will your boss get mad?”

  I laugh. “I’m the boss. So, no.” I tap Mac on the shoulder and tell him I’m taking a break. He gets his wicked smile on, and I know he’s going to metaphorically kick my embarrassed arse all round the pub when I get back, but I don’t care.

  “So,” she says as we go out into the street, “Shannon, right?”

  “Seanan,” I correct her. “Sounds similar, but the vowels aren’t quite right. It’s a nickname, actually—means, like, ‘Johnny,’ after me grandda.”

  She says it right the second time, while I’m unlocking my car, and the sound of my name in her angel voice gets me hard as stone again.

  We talk more the two blocks to Highland, and she directs me where to park. “Thank you,” she says, “Seanan. Really. You’ve made a world of difference to me tonight.”

  “Will you come back?” I blurt out.

  “To the pub? Yes.”

  Before I can answer, she leans close to my face and presses a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Thank you so much for the ride home.”

  It’s not exactly the ride I want to give her, but for now I’ll take it.

  “And for giving me a good place to be tonight.”

  I nod.

  Then I kiss her.

  This is no peck on the cheek, this is going all-in: right on the lips, until her mouth opens a little and I can press my tongue inside. She makes a muffled moan, and then she’s kissing me back. It’s fierce and fiery, and I’m catching flame myself. She tastes of butterscotch and charred-barrel whiskey and vanilla, and I want to keep drinking her. Consuming her.

  I don’t know how long we keep kissing. Not long enough, but also long enough that a car going past on the street pulls me out of the kiss. I’m panting, she’s panting. My hands are on her glorious tits and she’s got one hand in my hair and the other on my thigh. “I should say goodnight,” she says, breathless. “Goodnight. Goodnight.”

  Then she’s gone inside.

  FOUR

  Ainsley

  My hands are shaking as I unlock my door, and they don’t stop until I’ve hung up my jacket and kicked off my booties. My heart’s still pounding. My breathing doesn’t slow until after I’ve drunk a glass of water and brushed my teeth. In the bathroom mirror, my face is flushed and my eyes glittery; I look like I have a fever.

  Maybe I do.

  Seanan Kelly gives me fever. I can’t imagine why I would have kissed someone I just met like that. I still want to kiss him, as a matter of fact. I shiver, thinking about his kiss so fierce and wanting, and his hands so gentle on my breasts. My panties are damp through and clinging to me, and I think if I touched myself now it would take only seconds for me to finish.

  There are still 86 quizzes to be graded before tomorrow morning.

  My mind’s still full of Seanan, and it takes me nearly half an hour before I can fall into my grading rhythm. It’s almost 2 a.m. when I finish grading, and where usually I’d be conked out at this time of night, now I’m wide awake. I find myself wandering around the apartment in my nightshirt, running over the events of the night in my mind. Before I know quite why, I’ve picked up my phone, found the number, and dialed.

  It rings six times, and I’m about to hang up when someone answers. Male voice, brisk. “Kelly’s Pub. We’re closed.”

  “Seanan?”

  The voice goes soft. “Ainsley? Are ye all right, lass?”

  “I’m fine.” I’m burning up. “I . . . I just wanted to say goodnight.” No, I should have said thanks again.

  “Want to say it in person then?” he asks, very softly. “Shall I come by?”

  My knees go rubbery. “Please.”

  I know this is ridiculous. I’ve just invited a man I only met six hours ago to my place in the middle of the night, and I know it must sound like an invitation for sex.

  That’s probably because it’s an invitation for sex.

  My heart starts pounding again and my hands shake, and I can feel the heat in my lower abdomen. What is it about this man that makes me want to be naked with him?

  “I’ll be there soon as I can, love,” he says, and hangs up.

  I know people in the British Isles call each other “love” and it doesn’t mean anything, but I think he meant it. I nearly swoon, and then three seconds later I’m rushing around the apartment straightening up, turning on the nightlight in my bedroom, and fishing through my dresser drawer for a nightgown that says seduction more than this ancient Baltimore Ravens jersey I’m wearing.

  There’s a knock on the door before I find something better, and for just a moment I agonize. Change, or answer the door?

  Another knock makes up my mind for me.

  When I open the door he’s there, looking so delicious it’s hard not to grab him. He’s changed out of his working shirt into a clean white button-down, and his jeans fit him really well, showing off his muscled thighs. He didn’t look this big from behind the bar, or next to me in the car, but now he seems to loom. Instead of making me nervous, it’s making me think very naughty thoughts, because he’s so solid. “Come in,” I say.

  “Saying goodnight in person?” he says, corners of his mouth turning up.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t say goodnight at all,” I say boldly. “Come in.”

  Then he’s inside, and I’m in his arms, and his mouth is all over mine, his hands on my butt, and I feel like the sexiest woman on earth. He smells so good, like cedar trees and lemons.

  “Ah, Ainsley,” he says into my neck. “Bonny lass. So beautiful.” He kisses me there, and my knees buckle, but he holds me closer and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my belly. I can’t help moaning at the rush of feeling. His hands slide up under my jersey to cup my buttocks, and this time it’s him that moans. “Ah,” he says, breathing hard. “Just so you know, I never do this. You’re special. I’ve wanted you all night.”

  I’m not some naïve little girl who believes everything a man tells her when they’re about to have sex. The thing is, I do believe him.

  “I want you too,” I whisper. “Will you come to my room?” I turn, nearly falling on my shaky knees, and pull him by the hand down the little hall to my girly white-and-pink bedroom. Somehow the femininity of the room makes him look more virile, more masculine, and I’m about to faint from desire. My thighs are sticking together, from the wetness soaking my underwear.

  His blue eyes are hot and feverish on mine in the dim light.

  “I never do this either,” I say. “I haven’t even had sex in a couple of years. Too busy.”

  “Too busy?” he repeats in a silky whisper, and it makes me tell the truth.

  “And there was nobody I wanted to do it with. Until tonight.”

  “You’re bold,” he says, his breathing fast and deep. “I like that. I like you. And I want you so bad.”

  I’m not conscious of moving close to him again, but we’re kissing again, our tongues stroking wildly together and his hands on my ass, pulling me tight against his erection. I unbutton his shirt and run my hands over his substantial chest. He pulls back enough to yank my nightshirt up over my head, and my breasts bounce free. He makes a sound of appreciation and bends to kiss them, hefting them in his hands. I’m almost melted already when he takes a nipple into his mouth and my whole body goes live, electr
ic, juicy. I unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, push them down, eager to get to his cock.

  It’s even bigger than I’d imagined. I tug his boxers down, and it springs out into my hands, as eager to be touched as I’m eager to touch it. “Huge,” I whisper under my breath.

  He laughs a little, switching nipples and making me moan again. “Never worry, it’ll fit.”

  I stroke him, desire making me a little rough. He shifts me until the backs of my knees hit the bed, and then I’m lying on the bed and he’s kicking off shoes and pants to kneel between my thighs. “I want to taste you,” he says, voice rough. For answer to the question he didn’t quite ask, I pull off my lace panties and lie there bare to him. In the low light, I see him shudder a little, his eyes hot and dark. “So lovely you are.” Then his head’s between my thighs and his hands under my buttocks, lifting me to his mouth.

  It’s exquisite, the way he licks me so expertly. It doesn’t take long before I’m moaning, grinding my pussy against his tongue, my fingers clenched in his hair, and then I break like a wave on the beach, pleasure engulfing me.

  “I knew you’d be like this,” he says, and moves back up to cover my body with his, his fingers gently stroking inside me, making my drenched pussy ready. “Do you have birth control? A condom?”

  “I’m on the pill.”

  “I’m clean,” he says.

  “I want you in me,” I say, “nothing between us,” and his hands go tight on me.

  “I want to fill you full,” he says, voice shaky. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” I reach down to guide his long thick cock inside, and we both moan at the feeling of our bodies locking together.

  He kisses me deeply. My hand is still between us, and he whispers, “Touch yourself for me, Ainsley. Rub that lovely clit, so you come on my cock.”

  I love the feeling of my own fingers there, touching my pussy and his cock where we’re joined there. My hips are pumping against him, and our bodies are hot and slick together, and my arousal rises with every stroke, every touch. Because my fingers are on his cock, I feel it when he suddenly gets even harder, as well as inside me, where suddenly his rock-hard cock is rubbing something really sensitive inside me, and my orgasm bursts over me like fireworks. Through my own cries I hear his groans of pleasure, and our bodies are locked and throbbing together.

  He’s panting as hard as I am, but he kisses my cheek twice, and then my mouth, softly. He says my name, and I say his, like we’re naming each other. Like we were just born.

  FIVE

  Seanan

  We lie together in the soft light, and gradually I start to breathe normally. I ease my weight to the side, still holding Ainsley close. We settle ourselves on the pillows, looking into each other’s eyes.

  I’ve never felt like this.

  It occurs to me that she ought to know that, so I say it. “And I’ve never balled around without a rubber before, either, but I don’t think that’s why. I think it’s you, making me feel this way.”

  Her eyes get big. “I’ve never felt like this before either.”

  “Talk to me,” I say, and this is also not like me. It’s not like me when I was younger, spending all my spare time either doing crazy things like trying to get a motorcycle up the stairs to the top floor of the guys’ dorms, or falling into bed with a girl—any girl—I met at a frat party. But it’s also not like me now, because I’ve been spending every spare minute on the pub, without breaks for fun.

  Ainsley is fun, but she’s serious business to me too.

  “About what?”

  “Anything. Your family. Career plans. What you eat for breakfast. All fascinating.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Never doubt me.”

  She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. And then she’s telling me about how great her mother and her three sisters are, and how she’s looking forward to her older sister’s wedding next fall. How her father’s gotten remarried, to a woman who’d like to pretend he didn’t have a family with his first wife, and makes all their visits cold and unpleasant, and how it makes her sad that her father keeps saying he loves her and her sisters, but always lets his second wife freeze them out of his life.

  I tell her how Mam and Da were childhood sweethearts, and how Mam sends me emails saying she misses Mac and me, but that she feels like she needs to be with Da right now. I say he could live a long time with the pacemaker, but he wanted to spend those years with the rest of his family.

  She puts her finger on my shoulder and cranes her head. “Is that a tattoo?”

  “Yes. That one’s my fraternity, and the one on my upper arm is the Kelly crest. That one, Mac and I got at the same time.”

  “Are you two close?”

  I nod. “He’s a bit of a twat, but he’s the best brother I’ve got.”

  She laughs. “Your only brother?”

  “Of course.”

  “He seems nice.”

  I snort. “Of course he does. You’re a pretty girl and you were a customer. He was charming you.”

  “Less charming in reality?”

  I think about that a minute. “Not less charming. It’s just that I know he can talk anybody about of being mad at him even when they have a reason to be. He got both of us out of trouble when we were kids. I’d instigate something ridiculous like setting the garbage bins on fire, and then he’d tell Mam we were doing scientific experiments, and she’d roll her eyes and send us to the library instead of grounding us.” Remembering that and a thousand other incidents, I laugh. “Our parents called us Shenanigans and Malarkey. Sometimes they still do.”

  “And you’re Shenanigans?”

  “Indeed.”

  She rests her head on the pillow, still tracing my tattoo with her finger. “You don’t seem very shenanigan-y to me. Did you grow out of it?”

  I shrug as best I can lying down. “A bit. Mostly. I guess I’ve been too worried about money lately to do anything silly.”

  “What kind of things would you do?”

  Let me think. “Well . . . I love a good practical joke. The thing is with those, you can’t be too mean. Nothing too embarrassing or cruel, and nothing that permanently ruins stuff. I learned my lesson with the garbage bins,” I add as an aside. “Da had to replace those, so he took it out of our allowance.”

  Ainsley laughs, and her breasts jiggle. My willy, despite his recent happy outing, sits up and takes notice.

  “Tell me the last good practical joke you pulled,” she says.

  “Okay, last month I let one roll of toilet paper get a bit low in one of the men’s stalls.”

  “In the pub?”

  “In the pub. And then I unrolled it all the way, really carefully, and wrote, ‘HELP I’M A PRISONER IN A TOILET PAPER FACTORY’ on the cardboard. Then I rerolled it, tight as I could, and put it back in the stall.”

  “So what happened?” Her breasts jiggle again, and my dick twitches a little more this time.

  “Drunk patron found it.” I start laughing. “He raced out of the loo, yelling about prisoners and forced labor, and Mac had to calm him down. Then he came and ripped holy hell out of me for making him deal with it.”

  “Okay, that’s shenanigans,” she says, and kisses me. She makes a good job of it, too.

  “You want shenanigans, you’ve got ‘em,” I say. It’s no time at all that I’ve got her rolled on her back all bare to me, pink and white and gorgeous on her bed in this pink and white room. She’s got such beautiful tits, sweet and pillowy with pink nipples that go tiny and diamond hard when I suck on them, and I know it pleases her too. She thrashes her head back and forth on the pillow, and her hips move, so wanton and sensual. I’m stiff as a girder between her thighs, and I really want to just plunge into that hot delicious pink cunt of hers, but I get enough presence of mind to lick her pussy again.

  She tastes a little different this time, and it takes me just a minute to understand why: I’m tasting myself on her. That is so fecking sexy that
I go at her ferociously, licking her fast and furious until she cries out, her pussy spasming on my fingers. Then I go back up to kiss her mouth, so she can taste us too. “This is us,” I say, breathless with wanting her. “Your juices and my cum, mixed.”

  She grabs my hair and kisses me hard, her tongue everywhere in my mouth. “We taste good,” she whispers. “I want you in me again.”

  “Ride me.” I roll to my back and pull her on top of me.

  “I weigh too much,” she protests, trying to pull back.

  “You do not.” I put her hand on my desperate cock. “You’re perfect. Please.”

  She’s unsure about it, so I let her experiment a bit. She finds a groove—or I do—where her pussy lips are sliding along my hard prick, and it feels good. I think there’s a porny name for it, but I can’t remember and it doesn’t matter because this is us, this is me and Ainsley, and I hold her hips and let her grind on me, and her head falls back, her tits bouncing, when she comes again. And then I can’t wait, I roll her to her back again and slip inside. She’s so wet and so hot, and the sounds she’s making while we fuck are incredible, and I can’t help it, I’m shooting her full of my spunk.

  I notice while I’m figuring out how to breathe again that she’s a little antsy, wiggly underneath me as I catch my breath. “Did you finish?” I whisper.

  “It’s okay,” she says.

  “No, not okay. “I reach for her mound, flicking a finger over her clit rapidly until her back arches and she orgasms again. “Sorry, that was me being too impatient.”

  She sighs, and I know she’s satisfied now. “No, you’ve made up for it.”

  It’s very late now. I don’t want to go home now. Actually, I don’t want to go home ever, unless she’s there with me.