“Believe me, throwing up all that food is something I want to stop doing.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“You want this? You want me still, even after the way I treated you? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you so much. I was so angry before. Mills made me see that I was so used to fighting my feelings for you and I didn’t know what it was like to fight for you instead of against you.”
I lift my brows at Camilla. She isn't looking at us. Instead, she keeps flipping through her magazine. “You’re welcome,” she says, still not looking in our direction.
Always so sure of herself. That’s Mills.
“I love ye, too, Gwenie. Always have. Always will.”
Epilogue
Gwendolyn
Eighteen months later…
My first pregnancy was perfect, and our son, Ronan, is healthy. He’s sleeping at the moment. And a sleeping kid means the adults can play.
“We are so lucky that kid stays asleep all night once he's put down," Reilly says as he comes into our bedroom, shirtless, with two glasses of red wine.
I bite my lip when I see the indentations on his hips. They narrow into a perfect ‘v’. It’s a part of him I love to lick. He’s been working out more lately. His pecs are more defined, and instead of a six-pack, he has an eight-pack. No one should look that good, especially a dad. Where is his dad bod? All the women look at him, but he only ever sees me.
“Ye keep looking at me like that and ye going to be pregnant again in two minutes.”
“Two minutes? You better give me at least five," I tease, taking off my grey Lodge shirt and tossing it onto the hardwood floors. Oh yeah, that’s another thing. We’ve been living in the new and improved Gredence Place for about a year, and it’s perfect. I stay at home with the baby and have even been thinking about going back to work in a few years, once the kids start school. I want us to grow our family before I teach classes again, though. I want to be able to take care of our children and spend time with them. I’ve been blessed with a supportive spouse, and Reilly loves the idea of me being a stay-at-home mom. We’ve been trying to get pregnant for the last few months, after the doctor gave us the all-clear.
Most women get pregnant right away because their hormones are so high and out of whack, but not me. Reilly and I have to work on it over time, but he doesn't mind at all.
Not. At. All.
He strips off his pants and that wide shaft of his stares at me with its winking eye. A bead of pre-come dribbles out of it, and Reilly catches it with his hand, using it as lube while he strokes himself. “Christ. I love ye tits. They have gotten so much bigger.”
They have grown two cup sizes from being pregnant with Ronan and breastfeeding him. Reilly loves playing with them and tweaking my nipples. He can get me off just by teasing my breasts now. Everything has become more sensitive, and when I get off, he gets off. The first time he got me off from nipple play had shocked him so much that he came all over my stomach. He was so pissed when it happened because he had wasted an entire fertile load.
His words, not mine.
He strips the blankets off me, revealing my naked body. He growls, watching my nipples tighten from the nip in the air.
“No one should be this fucking beautiful,” he says, moving his hands from my shoulders, down my breasts, to my heated slit, and back up again. He covers my body and one of his hands cups my neck, controlling how I move my head. “Yer mine, Gwen.” He skims his fingers over my ribs, making me pant. He nips my chin with his teeth and then licks the outline of my lips. “I love ye so much. Yer everything.”
My body burns from his touch, searing me from the outside in. I grip his beard, yanking his mouth to mine and plundering my tongue between his lips. He groans as he controls the movements of our kiss. His erection pokes my thigh, coating my skin with his gloss. My hands grip his back, digging into his skin and feeling the tendons of his muscles flex beneath my touch. I gasp into his mouth as he rolls a nipple between his fingers.
“Fucking love how responsive ye are to my touch. It turns me on," he whispers.
“Do something about it then.”
He squeezes his hand a bit tighter around my throat, but not to the point of pain−just a little tease of added pressure. “I will when I’m ready.”
I whine, wiggling under him. “What about me? I’m ready.”
His fingers trace every vein he can see on my body, even going as low as my feet. He migrates his way up, swirling his finger in my pubes before dipping into my navel and kneading my breasts. “Ye want me cock, love?” He layers on his accent a bit more so that it sounds harsh. He knows how much I love it.
“Yes!” I shout. His hand covers my mouth, silencing my noises.
He brings his lips to my ear, puffing his warm breath against my skin and making it bead. “Don’t wake the little one. I need to be inside ye and I can’t do that if ye holding little Ronan. Understand?”
I nod, watching the intensity take over his eyes. His hazel irises have disappeared, leaving nothing but pupil. He looks frazzled and high, like he needs a hit of something before he goes insane. He smirks and flops onto his back, lacing his hands behind his head. I get so excited that I squeal. I love it when he lets me ride him. It always makes me come multiple times.
He laughs, grabbing my hips and setting me on top. “I know this position works best for ye.”
I nod, taking his wide, long cock in my hand and holding it steady as I sink down to the root, not wasting any time.
We both moan in unison as he touches the deepest parts of me, raw and unhinged, begging to be let loose. I lay my palms on his chest, gripping the hard muscle for leverage as I rock my hips forward.
“Ye feel so good. So fucking perfect. Ye feel better every time. How is that possible?” He thrusts up, but I push his chest down and tell him to lie still. He lifts a brow at me but doesn’t say another word as I pick up my rhythm, using him to chase my first orgasm of the night.
* * *
Reilly
It’s St. Patrick’s Day at Lucky’s, and I’m slinging drinks for the locals, having the time of my life. Everything has gotten better.
Anthony is back at the firm, practicing law, and he never misses a chance to tell the story about how he survived after being shot in the head. Apparently, the ladies eat it up.
Turns out the client he’d met with that night was tied up with the mob somehow. They had a hit out on Anthony’s client, and he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The cops are still searching for who actually pulled the trigger, but all of the evidence is long gone.
Grant has been sober for one year. He stopped coming into the bar, and instead, he just stands outside of it, playing with the chip in his hands. He told me once that he wasn't sure if he could resist the temptation yet, but I believe he can. Even though he stands outside the bar most nights, he never comes in, and that’s impressive.
Camilla got a better job, one that pays enough for her to take over the haunted apartment by herself even if Gwen no longer lives there. She’s been hanging out a lot with Anthony lately. Neither of them will admit to anything, but I have a sneaking suspicion…
Grayson had tried to open a firm in town, but it failed badly because he can’t compare to Anthony’s firm. He went back to the big city, which is where he belongs, if you ask me. Good fucking riddance.
Ma is having the time of her life back home in Ireland. When Ronan’s a bit older, I plan to take him and Gwen to the old country and see all the sights. She can’t wait to introduce them to the entire O’Hara clan.
The door opens to the pub and the cook walks in. “Hey ya, Gary,” I greet him, tossing him a can of Coke. He likes starting every shift off with one. He says the bubbles made him feel more energized. I don’t care as long as he cooks the burgers and the fries.
“Thanks, boss.” He waves at me, just like every other night. I probably won’t see him for the rest of his shift. He’s a good lad. A
very quiet fellow.
Brock walks in next, carrying a little pink bundle of joy. My eyes light up. Shite, he finally brought the little gal. “Oh my. Is this your little angel?”
“This is her.” He bounces her on his hip. She is adorable and all smiles. She has a pink bow in her hair and bright blue eyes with thick lashes.
“She is going to be a heartbreaker, that one.”
He groans. “Don’t remind me. I’m glad I have some time before I need to worry about that. I swear the thought is already giving me grey hairs.”
“Come on, ye can put her with Ronan in the daycare.” Well, it isn’t really a daycare. We had built a soundproof room in the back and Gwen stays in there with Ronan during the day.
“Oh, you hear that, little lady? You might make a new friend,” Brock croons at her and she sneezes, sending snot all over his face.
“So gross. I love her so much, but she is disgusting.” He takes one of her pink rags and wipes his face.
“Aye, they are, but they are worth it, aren’t they?” I comment, opening the door to the room Gwen is in. Ronan is building something with blocks, or Gwen is trying to help him build something, but either way, he keeps chewing on the darned blocks.
“Look who we have here. Ronan has a new friend.” At the sound of my voice, Ronan turns around, his eyes locking on Emma Lynn. He lifts his arms and clenches his hands together. It’s his way of saying ‘up’ or ‘mine'.
Christ, I hope it isn’t the latter. Brock sits Emma Lynn down on the ground and she tumbles right over to Ronan. She is about a year older than Ronan, but he is still nearly as big as her. I want to puff my chest out with pride. He has the good ole Irish genes. “Ronan, say hello.” I squat down, watching them checking each other out.
Ronan leans over and gives Emma Lynn a kiss on the cheek. A wet one, at that.
“Oh, none of that, little man. No way.” Brock leans down and picks up Emma Lynn.
I holler, laughter taking me over. The kids start to cry. Emma Lynn has big fat tears rolling down her face and Ronan copies the lip tremble that Gwen always does. “Oh, for Christ's sake, put her down. They are babies. They aren’t going to do anything.”
“I think it’s cute. What if they grow up to be in love?” Gwen sighs. She’s already planning their wedding. I see it in her eyes.
“Don’t even think about it," Brock and I say at the same time.
He places Emma Lynn back down and she crawls over to Ronan, blabbering baby gibberish. She kisses Ronan on the cheek this time, and he yawns. He lies down and closes his eyes, and Emma Lynn follows suit, laying down right next to him.
Brock scratches his beard and we share a knowing look. “Hopefully they grow up to be friends.”
“They are just babies. Let them be," Gwen says, throwing a cover over them. “We should be glad they aren’t pulling each other’s hair out.” She grabs the baby monitor and we all walk out of the door, locking it behind us. They won’t be alone for too long. Just long enough so Gwen can get something to eat and drink. She can never stay away from Ronan for too long.
I pour Gwen, Brock, Anthony, Camilla, and myself a pickle-back shot. It really has become my favorite drink. I can’t get enough of them, which is bad, because pickle juice and whiskey coming back up is not a good taste. I have learned my lesson.
Everyone is wearing green and four-leaf clovers in celebration of the Irish. Lucky always did love to have a big party at the pub, and it looks like the whole town came out for the day. I lift my shot glass and clear my throat.
“It’s been one hell of a year!" I announce, silencing the entire bar as everyone stares at me. “It’s brought a lot of things. Fear, love, sadness, hope, life... The list goes on. I’m thankful for all of ye. I wouldn’t be here without Gwen and my family. This is to Lucky for bringing all of us together in the first place. Cheers.”
“Cheers!” everyone yells, taking a shot or a sip of their drink.
“Woo!” I slap my hand on the table as the pickle juice gets the best of me. Damn, it’s sour. I notice that Gwen hasn’t taken her shot. “Love, ye going to take ye shot?”
“No. Someone else can have it.”
“Ye want a different one? I’ll make ye anything ye want.”
“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You know, with another baby on the way and all,” she says with a smile.
“No!" I gasp and jump over the bar. “Ye serious?”
“Deadly.”
A wide grin takes over my face until my cheeks hurt. “I’m going to be a father again!” I shout.
“−Aye!”
“−Cheers to that!”
“−Congrats lad!”
“I’m one lucky guy,” I say to her, staring into her eyes.
She leans back and her hair tickles my hands. “Must be the luck of the Irish.”
I dive in for a kiss, thanking all the four-leaf clovers in the building.
THE END
Married To The Enemy (Sample)
An Amazon Top 50 Bestseller
*142 Customer Reviews – 4.5 Stars
Waking up hungover next to your brother's best friend?
I can recover from this.
Add a ring to the equation?
Alright... I'm going need something stronger than tequila.
I'm just your average girl.
Stumbling my way in the world.
My life was simple, waitress by day.
Activist by night...
That is till the stuck-up suit walked into my life.
Arrogant in his demeanor, cold, and unfeeling.
Exactly how I thought a billionaire would be.
It should have been so easy to hate him.
But my every desire to punch him came with a greater desire to kiss him.
Losing my v-card to that sexy jerk shouldn't have been so complicated.
But little did I know my life was going to be far from simple.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
This Valentine's Day I'm carrying a baby too.
Chapter One
Whitley
The alarm rattles me awake, signaling doomsday.
I groan, rolling over my alternative down-feather mattress topper, alternative because animals don’t deserve to be hurt for our sake. I slap my hand on my alarm, rolling back over to the spot that was still warm from where I slept all night. My eyes flutter shut. In the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but the pull of sweet slumber is too strong.
I wake with a gasp. "I'm going to be late! Crap! No, no, no!" I try to crawl my way off the bed, but my body is wrapped like a burrito. I’m pinned inside the blanket, and I can't get my arms free.
Thud.
"Ow," I whine, staring at the ceiling from my bedroom floor.
"You need to find a better way to wake up, or you're going to hit your head one too many times. You can only fall off the bed so many times…"
I roll from side to side, trying to free my arms from the mummification wrap I seem to have put myself in. “You don’t think I know that? I can’t help how I sleep!”
My roommate Charlise, or ‘Charlie’ as she likes to go by, stands over me, spooning cereal into her mouth. “This is just so enjoyable.”
“Charlie! It isn’t funny. Unwrap me.”
“Nope.”
“Charlie…”
“I’m not doing it.”
I start kicking and bending my body off the ground, trying to get myself out of this cocoon, but suddenly, milk sprays all over my face. I stop moving, feeling the cold drips of liquid on my face.
"Oh my god. I am so sorry, Whit. You— you looked like you were doing the worm. I can’t—breathe,” Charlie gasps, holding her stomach in laughter. She sets her bowl down on my dresser, falling to the floor in a fit of laughter.
I don’t say anything because I’m afraid if I open my mouth, the droplets of milk will dribble between my lips, and I can’t handle that right now. That’s too gross for me.
&nb
sp; "Okay, I'm coming. Don't get your body in a twist." She laughs as she unwraps my mummified body.
After a few minutes, I am free. I wipe my face on my comforter, not caring that I just washed it. I needed that milk off of me. “Was it necessary to spray milk?”
"I'm sorry, but you were laying there, bundled up, and you started to do the worm. I couldn't resist. I didn't mean to spew my Cheerios on you… again."
Again, because this happens too many times a week. I need to find a different way to sleep, because this morning routine is getting too old.
“I’m going to be late.”
"You're always late, Whit. You better be glad Tops likes you, or he would have fired you a long time ago."
"I know. I know." I start walking, but my foot tangles in the sheet, making me slip. Charlie steps out of the way just in time to see me fall. "Ow. What a friend you are! You could have caught me!”
“I had my cereal in my hand. That would have been a mess,” Charlie chuckles, speaking through a mouthful of Cheerios.
I grunt, pushing myself off the floor and past my best friend. I flip on the light in the bathroom and cringe when I see my appearance. I don’t have time for a shower, but I need to take one. My long, red hair is wet with milk, there is a cheerio stuck to my forehead, and I have sheet marks on the side of my face from sleeping so hard. I look wrecked.
“Stop staring at yourself and get ready.”
I roll my eyes, shutting the door in my friend’s face. I know that when I open it again, she will be there. This is our routine every morning, no matter how hard I try to change.
I spray a little dry shampoo in my hair and massage it in with my fingers. "Eh, a little more," I tell myself before flipping my hair over and going a little crazy with it. When I flip my hair back over, it looks like Christmas came early this year and snowed. I massage it through my hair again, and before I know it, I have salon-quality hair. A girl can never have too much dry shampoo, ever.
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