Deserving It

by Angela Quarles

  Soon we’re all laughing and singing along to different tunes. It reminds me of good times at the local pub back home, and homesickness bleeds into me. In Ireland, the lads never batted an eye about singing whenever the bunch of us gathered and needed to be entertaining ourselves.

  My first time at a pub in the States with some other ex-pats, we drew some stares when we broke out into song. Americans can be good craic, but it’s in a different way.

  By now my arms are completely encircling Claire’s waist, snugging her up against my chest, my chin on her shoulder as we finish singing a Simon and Garfunkel song. Talk about an oldie but goodie.

  I turn my face into her neck, inhaling her scent and pressing my lips just below the ear. She shivers.

  I whisper, “Ready to call it a night, yeah?”

  She turns in my lap and looks at me, her eyes searching. She gives me a sensual, but safe for the kiddies, kiss. “Yes.”

  Chapter 13

  Conor

  I follow close behind Claire, watching her backside sway, as we say our goodbyes to the closest hotel guests and head to our room.

  I dig the keycard from my back pocket and swipe us in.

  I’ve just cleared the door, Claire in front of me, when she whirls around and shoves me against the door. Fierce determination lights her eyes. Fuck. She’s pissed off about something, I’m thinking, but then her hands are in my hair and she’s kissing me hard enough to be wearing my face off.

  Much better than fighting.

  Our tongues are tangling, heating me up. I clasp my hands at her waist and switch positions, pushing herself up against the wall. Her kisses grow more frantic, and she hops up, whipping her legs around my waist.

  I manage to tear my mouth away to say, “We have ourselves a bed, yeah. I propose we make some use of it. What do you think?”

  “I’m on board with that plan,” she whispers and kisses me again.

  Somehow I keep a hold of her and keep kissing her, while I’m looking past her head to see where the fuck I’m stumbling. It’s still savage dark in the room without the candles lit. I bump a hip into the kitchen counter, and when I follow it up with a shoulder bump into the bedroom’s door jamb, we start laughing.

  I pull my mouth away as her laugh brushes over my lips. “No more snogging till I get us to the bed, yeah?”

  She laughs again, and it’s making my chest warm to see her so happy.

  I grip her tightly with one arm and slap my other against the wall, feeling my way into the bedroom. When my legs bump the bed, I toss her onto the mattress as if into a pool, a massive grin splitting my face.

  She bounces against the mattress with a startled laugh and splays out, arms out to her sides like a snow angel, which I can barely make out in the storm’s gloom.

  “Let me fetch us some candles. Don’t be going anywhere, yeah.”

  “Okay.” She whips off her shirt and shimmies out of her shorts. I love how uninhibited she is. She has walls around her still, but in this aspect she’s all in, and that’s a huge turn-on.

  I also love how she fights with me for control of the action. I bang around on the nightstand until I find myself a candle and lighter we put there and get it lit. I also duck into the kitchen and snag my tin. I have one condom left and plan to make the best of it.

  A heartbeat later I’m back. Her eyes are on me, and she hooks her thumb into the edges of her white knickers. Before she can wiggle out of those, I grasp her ankles and tug her across the bed toward me. Her eyes widen, and a smile stretches across her face. Her brown hair is fanning out behind her.

  I’m owing her some pleasure, but I’m also wanting to taste her.

  Badly.

  I drop to my knees on the carpeted floor and push her legs apart. I have her where I want her, her pussy at the edge of the bed covered in that white fabric. As I watch, her knickers darken slightly. Fuck me, she’s getting wet.

  I brush my nose across her inner thigh and inhale her incredible scent of arousal.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaks.

  “What would you be thinking, macushla?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  I nudge my nose against the taut fabric covering the prize and rasp the flat of my tongue up the fabric. She gasps.

  I work my tongue up until I find her clit through the knickers and suck it, trying to use the fabric to tease the sensitive skin.

  But it’s not enough. I’m wanting to taste her.

  I’m also wanting to tease her some. Make this last.

  So I tongue her against her knickers, until she’s jerking and gasping. I hold her muscular thighs apart and rub my bearded chin against the softness of her inner thighs.

  She bucks. “Conor!”

  “Yes, macushla?”

  “More, please.”

  “Whatever you wish, loveen.” She’s probably expecting me to do the same action with my tongue, or step it up by removing her knickers, but instead I blow softly against her covered pussy, the wet fabric chilling her a touch. As I’d hoped, she’s closing her legs, but I hold them firm. I look up at herself. Across the smooth expanse of her belly, her head’s thrashing side to side, framed by the perfect V of her cleavage.

  I slip my tongue under the elastic and swipe a taste across her folds. I close my eyes and groan. Fuck, she tastes of pure heaven. Now she’s muttering incoherently, and she’s pulling on my hair.

  Some guys don’t care to lick out their girl, but I think they’re a bunch of pussies, which I know doesn’t make sense, and I’ve never understood why calling someone a pussy is an insult. Pussies are fucking awesome.

  The angle is awkward, and I can’t bring my fingers into play to push aside the cloth or, better yet, take it off her, because my hands are keeping my head from being clamped by her strong thighs.

  I mean, I love licking her gowl like this, but I don’t want to suffocate. Though that’d be one fine way to die.

  I risk removing one hand, and sure enough, wham, that thigh of hers snugs up against me. I ease aside the crotch of her knickers and tease her clit, watching closely, and, yeah, she loves hard tugs, so I flick her clit, and then I’m sucking it into my mouth. She tenses, arches off the bed, chokes out my name, and I’m lapping her up.

  Holy Mother, that was fucking savage.

  I let up as the last of her shudders fade. I could never be getting enough of her taste, her sounds.

  She tugs on my hair, urging me up.

  I spring to my feet and yank off my clothes. God, she looks amazing. Claire is splayed out on the bed, her face looking sated, her limbs loose. And she’s staring up at me with hooded eyes.

  I rip open the condom and roll it on, giving the lad a good stroke. Fuck, it’s going to feel awesome to be inside her again.

  I lean down and smooth my hands up her strong, silken thighs, and she places her palms on my forearms, letting her hands slide up my skin as I move closer.

  We were feverish earlier, so I’m meaning to take my time. I sculpt my hands around her waist and scoot her back a fraction so I can kneel between her legs. Yeah, I’m fucking massive hard.

  I pull off her knickers and cup those plump breasts of hers, flicking her nipples, watching them harden.

  She arches into my hands. “Conor.” She grips my shoulders and yanks me down.

  Since we’re both liking to be in control, I shift and sit back on my ankles. The lad is pointing straight up, eager for her.

  I lace my fingers with hers and pull. “Up here, macushla.”

  She scrambles onto her knees, her hands on my shoulders, and climbs up onto me, ready to ride. This way we’re sharing control. The single candle highlights her cheekbones, the curve of a shoulder, the side of her breast.

  I hold my cock as she lowers herself. She stops as she nudges the tip, and I rub the head through her folds, finding her wet as ever and giving her clit extra attention. When the head of my lad sweeps back to her opening, she groans and
impales herself on me with a shout of, “Oh God, Conor.”

  “You can ‘Oh God’ me all the day long,” I gasp. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw because—Jaysus—the sensation of her hot box tight around my dick squeezing me is quare good. Bless me if I know why any boyo likes feeling our cocks sink into something warm, wet, and snug, but the biological imperative means we love it.

  We also love friction, but I’m letting her set the pace. I clasp her slender waist. Best part about this position? It puts her fantastic diddies in the ideal spot to…I lean forward. Ah, yeah. I lick the top of one of her breasts and circle the tip of my tongue around her nipple, inhaling the scent from her skin.

  “Harder,” she says, and somehow I know she means her diddies, not the action going on below.

  I’m sucking hard now, giving a soft bite here and there, and she jerks, crying out. “God, yes, just like that.”

  She lifts her hips off in a shallow move—I’m betting because she doesn’t want me to be letting go of her breast. I lavish attention on it and circle my hand inward until my thumb reaches her clit. While she slowly rises and falls, I’m working my thumb hard against her.

  Soon she’s gasping and squeezing like a vise around my cock, over and over, as she has a drawn out, almost lazy orgasm. I stare in awe at her face, blissed out and pure beautiful.

  When her last shudders fade, I’m lifting her off me. She looks down, her forehead wrinkling in adorable confusion. “But you haven’t—”

  “Hold on, yeah.”

  I set her down on her knees and scoot around so that perfect arse is facing me. I’ve never been comfortable flipping my bedmates around as if they’re dolls, so I do the moving. She glances at me over her shoulder. I can see her debating the idea of me taking the upper hand, but she lowers herself onto her elbows.

  Fuck, yeah. I know enough about her to know that ceding control to me is massive.

  “You better not be going for the back door, buster.”

  I laugh. “No worries. Maybe later, yeah.” I wink at her. Then I grip her hips and drive hard inside her. I wanted to take it slow, but now I’m a greedy motherfucker.

  She gasps, which turns into a gratifying moan, and I ease out. I look down, and the sight of my cock leaving her, coated in her juices, makes heat coil in my lower back. I’ll not last.

  I adjust her hips and ease myself back inside, looking for that spot.

  I must hit it, because she gasps, “Holy shit,” and clamps down on me hard. Taking care to be hitting that spot again, I ease out and drive back in over and over in controlled thrusts, urgency flushing my skin hot and tightening my bollocks. The pressure continues to build at the base of my spine, and I grit my teeth, trying to hold back spilling into her.

  Claire reaches up and strokes her clit. Her taking charge of her pleasure like that is a huge turn-on, plus it means it’ll be a matter of seconds before she’ll come as I keep pounding into her.

  She cries out with her third, yes, third, orgasm—fuck, yeah!—and she’s milking me hard. I drive into her one more time and shout her name as the heat and power of my orgasm streaks down my spine, and I’m emptying, emptying, emptying myself into her.

  I can feel the lad jerking inside her, the pleasure drawn out because she’s still gripping me. Fucking savage.

  I collapse over her back, and we roll to the side, somehow with me still buried deep.

  I snug her tight up against me, tucking her bum close to me. Our breaths rasp in and out as we work to regain our breathing.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph if that wasn’t the fiercest sex ever. And while part of me is feckin’ delighted, another part is feeling that familiar panic. This girl, I’m starting to fall for her. I want everything with her, but do I have anything to be giving her? In a peculiar way, her directness blunts the panic. She’s not someone who’d string a lad along for years if he wasn’t making her happy.

  And I want to make her happy.

  Chapter 14

  Claire

  Whoa.

  My heartbeats are finally settled, but the sweat’s still cooling on our bodies and already I’m getting antsy again. I’m cuddled up with Conor after receiving some spectacular orgasms, and my mind just has to churn with what-ifs and what-does-all-this-mean?

  “I’ll just be disposing of the condom, yeah.” Conor slips from the bed and pads into the bathroom. When he returns, he tucks back up against me.

  This isn’t just sex. It’s more, and I’m feeling a little unsure of myself, which peeves me. I check my walls, though, and they all still feel in place. No urges to change myself just to please him. No twinges of worry that I don’t have a model-thin body.

  I must have tensed during my mild freak-out—for me—because Conor says, “What has you worrying?”

  He strokes my stomach, and I nestle further into his warm body. He smells delicious, like his own blend of unique and unknown scents, which all add up to a concoction called Conor that I just want to eat up. Wow. This is new.

  “Nothing,” I answer.

  “None of that now, yeah.” He squeezes my hip.

  I turn around and prop my head on my hand. His red hair frolics dark in the candlelight, and a line forms between his brows as he contemplates me.

  “Was thinking about how the hospital couldn’t reach me at first. And our cell phones will be running out of batteries soon.” While not exactly what I was thinking at that exact moment, it does also have me worried. “It’s scarily easy to forget that there’s a hurricane out there.”

  “Am I keeping you distracted?”

  I chuckle. “Yes. And a deadly job you’re after doing, yeah,” I say in a horrible imitation of his accent.

  He gives my butt a light swat, his mouth turned up on one side. “That’s a terrible attempt,” he says in a pretty good American accent.

  I skim a finger around a freckle on his shoulder. “I don’t like being out of touch like that.”

  “You like being in control.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  His face splits into a grin, and he squeezes a butt cheek. “You love being in control when we’re riding.”

  “Riding?”

  “Having sex, yeah.”

  “Noticed that, did you?” But he’s not quite right. “Yeah, I like control there. I know what I want, and that ensures I get it.”

  He envelops me in his strong arms and squeezes tight. “That’s a fine thing. And I’ll be giving it to you, yeah.”

  I smile. “And you do. No, I don’t think I have to be in control with everything in my life, though. The phone-hurricane thing is a general worry.”

  “I’m understanding. It’s humbling being at a storm’s mercy.”

  “That’s it.” I nuzzle my cheek back into his chest and hold him tighter, not wanting to examine more closely how safe he makes me feel.

  He’s quiet for so long I wonder if he’s fallen asleep until he says, “Are you thinking it’s the storm, though, that’s…”

  When he doesn’t finish the thought, I look at him. “The storm that’s what?”

  He runs a finger across my cheek. “That’s providing the glue.” His eyes have gone dark, shuttered.

  “You’re speaking in riddles. The glue to what?” I whisper, aware in some strange way that this is a delicate moment in getting to know him better. I’ve always admired his loyalty and dedication to his team, but in the short time we’ve been holed up in this room, I’m seeing a playful and tender side, and it’s doing strange things to my insides. What if…what if I earned that loyalty too?

  “The glue to us. It’s exciting, yeah, and… Forget it.”

  My heart does a weird squeeze. Holy shit. He’s unsure of himself. This big hunky Irishman. “Conor, what’s this about?”

  “Never you mind.” He gives me another playful swat and a grin, but he’s not fooling me.

  I hitch up higher on his chest so I can hold his face. His embarrassment is coming off him in waves. “I have a confession.”


  He swallows. “What’s that?”

  “I’ve had a crush on you for three years.” God, it feels good to admit that. Scary but good. “The storm might have thrown us together in this room, but it’s not why I’m in this bed with you.”

  Conor flips me over until he’s caging me in, his weight propped on his elbows. His eyes search mine. “You’re being serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Back up a bit. I specifically remember you getting yourself up from a table at the Fado’s in Chicago when I joined you and some others and you walking to the other side of the bar. And staying there.”

  “You remember that? That was last year.”

  “Yeah. I remember. I thought you were a dead feek when first we met—”

  “Dead feek?”

  “Hot as fuck, I believe is the American expression. But you were making it clear you weren’t interested. At least I thought you were.” He looks at me a moment longer. “Well, you’re a hard nut to crack, aren’t ya? I had no idea. And believe me, I was looking for signs ever since I first clapped eyes on ya.”

  An unfamiliar wave of giddiness washes through me. “You were attracted to me even then?”

  “Yeah.”

  I look to the side. “I suck at flirting. I think I assumed you weren’t interested in a tough, non-girly-girl and…” I shrug.

  “Protecting yourself by thinking you’d seen better on top of a wedding cake?”

  I laugh. “Actually, maybe so.”

  “But you’re so direct and open. I figured you’d have no trouble asking for what you want.”

  “With most things, yes. And when it comes to sex. But if I have it bad for someone, the stakes are higher.”

  He winks at me. “So you’re saying you have it bad for me, yeah?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He shifts to his side and brushes a hand across my bare stomach. “That’s brilliant, yeah.”

  “Conor?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why did you ask about the storm being glue?”

  He flops onto his back with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”