Unspoken (The Prose Series Book 1)

by Sofia Tate

  I shake my head, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Nothing. Come on. Show this Park Avenue Princess what it’s like to have a real job.”

  He laughs. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  I watch as Aiden plants the hardhat on my head with a huge smile on his face. He pulls out his phone to snap a quick picture. “I promise I won’t send this to Page Six.”

  “I’ll allow it only because I’d sue your Irish ass if you did.”

  “Duly noted.”

  He clicks once, runs his fingers over the screen a few times, then I hear a beep on my own phone. I pull it out, seeing the picture appear. “Not bad. Wait…How did you get my number?”

  “One, thank you. Two, Seb, who else?”

  Of course.

  “Come on. I can’t wait for the crew to meet you.”

  He shoves his phone in his back pocket. Guiding me with his hand on my lower back, he steers me inside.

  The whoops and catcalls from men standing on the beams startle me, but Aiden rubs my back reassuringly. “Don’t worry, they’re all good guys. I’ve got your back, Buzzy.”

  My face turns warm at his comfort, and I give the workers a quick wave. They promptly return the gesture.

  A tall man with a weathered face wearing a hardhat plastered with Union Now. Union Forever stickers lumbers over to us. “Hey there. I’m Joe, the foreman. The kid mentioned you’d be visiting.”

  I’m suddenly touched by this knowledge. I put out my hand in greeting. “Hello. I’m Beatrice Parker. So, you call Aiden ‘the kid,’ then?”

  “Among other things I’d rather not mention in front of a lady.”

  I blush at his comment.

  Aiden grabs my hand, steering me away from the older man. “So let’s not tempt him, shall we? Come on, let’s get you some tea.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Joe,” I yell over my shoulder.

  “Likewise, my lady,” he shouts back in reply, then I hear, “Tommy, what the fuck are you doing?”

  I laugh under my breath as Aiden simply shakes his head. “Welcome to my world.”

  He opens the door to the trailer for me as I step in. Various permits are taped to the wall. Filing cabinets, a desk, and a table where blueprints are laid out occupy the rest of the space.

  “Have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the high stool next to the table. “Coffee? Tea?”

  “I’d love some tea, please.”

  “With two sugars.”

  “Yes, please.”

  My hands freeze on the table. How did he know that?

  I dismiss the question from my head, gently fingering the drawings in front of me, taking in the measurements, the terms, the clean lines, the Dwyer Construction logo stamped at the bottom along with the name of the architectural firm.

  Aiden appears next to me with a steaming mug. “Here you go.”

  I gently take it from him. “Do you know what all this means?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he replies, almost in surprise.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “No worries, Buzzy. Would you like me to explain what you’re looking at?”

  I smile at his easy manner. “Please.”

  As I take a sip of the tea, Aiden steps closer to me and begins to go over everything, from what certain terms mean to what the end result will look like.

  I can’t help but lean more into him, eager to make sure I don’t miss anything he’s saying because I’m genuinely interested. Granted, I was taken aback at first by the size of the site, the noise, the mud, all of the equipment, but when I glance over at Aiden, I glean a sense of pride from how he talks about the building, and before, how he referred to the men on his crew, men that he’s probably known since he was a boy. And suddenly, I’m envious of him, because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that feeling before, that sense of loyalty and family created by a group of men who aren’t related by blood.

  “So, hopefully, nothing will go wrong, and in the end, we’ll have something new and beautiful to contribute to New York City.”

  “It’ll be gorgeous, I’m sure.”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  I do a double-take, my head pivoting to him.

  You’re getting too comfortable. Say no, say no.

  “Where do you suggest? Balthazar or Le Bernardin?”

  He smirks at me. “Well, Buzzy, seeing as I left my dinner jacket at home, I thought I’d take you to Flanagan’s, the best Irish pub in Astoria.”

  “Well, if that’s my only option, I suppose I have no choice. Flanagan’s, it is then. Do we need to call ahead?” I tease him.

  He shakes his head at me. “Buzzy, Buzzy, Buzzy. Why don’t you do me a favor and finish your tea while I go out to check on the men and then make sure the passenger seat in my truck is clean enough for your hoity-toity ass?”

  “That sounds like a fine idea. Please see to that, will you?”

  As I take another sip of my tea, I notice a sudden silence in the room. When I look over at Aiden, his blue eyes are illuminated like an indigo sky, searing into mine. A chill envelops my entire body.

  “Be right back,” he whispers, a husky tone to his voice.

  I watch as he walks out the door. I hold tighter onto the warm mug, desperate to be rid the shivers that have overtaken me.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Aiden grabs my hand as he leads me into Flanagan’s. It’s what I would expect—a huge crowd, lots of noise and dark wood, and Irish flags hanging everywhere.

  “Don’t worry, Buzzy. I’ve got you,” he rasps into my ear.

  Don’t ever let me go.

  I give my head a quick shake to rid that thought from my head, afraid of where such a thought would come from and what it means.

  He elbows his way toward the back of the pub, finally finding a table for two in the corner.

  Aiden pulls back a chair for me. “Thank you,” I whisper, not even sure he can hear me over the cacophony.

  A petite brunette appears at our table, pad in hand. “Hey, Aiden. What can I get you?”

  “Hi, Fiona. Guinness for me. Tanqueray and tonic for the lady, and we’ll have two orders of fish and chips.”

  The woman jots down our order on her pad. “You got it.”

  He knows the gin I prefer, just like he knew how I take my tea.

  The butterflies reappear. I’d give anything for a huge net at this point for my damn stomach.

  “Something interesting there?”

  I glance up from my clasped hands on the table to a quizzical look on Aiden’s face as he gestures to them. “You worried you broke a nail at the site?”

  I smile back. “No. I’m just surprised you knew which gin to ask for.”

  He leans into me, almost too close for my liking. “Buzzy, how long have I known you?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “Exactly. Let’s just say I’ve learned a thing or two about you in that time period.”

  “What else do you know about me?”

  A knowing grin crosses his face. “I’m not telling.”

  With our elbows touching and his breath wafting over my face, Aiden’s blue eyes start doing that thing again—staring into mine so hard that I can sense myself turning wet.

  Without warning, GalwayPlayer’s message pops into my head, how aroused I was by his words, his promises.

  How can two different men have the same effect on me?

  We both jolt in our chairs when Fiona reappears with our food and drinks. “Here you go.”

  I don’t even realize how hungry I am until the smell of the battered fish and crispy chips fills my nose.

  I reach for the bottle of malt vinegar from the condiments sitting on the table and begin to pour it generously over the fish.

  I catch a glimpse of Aiden staring at me again confusedly. “What?”

  “Nothing. I thought you’d reach for the tartar sauce instead of the vinegar.”

  “So I guess you don’t know
everything about me, do you, Aiden Dwyer?”

  “I guess not, Beatrice Parker.” He lifts his beer. “Sláinte.”

  Smiling, I clink my gin and tonic with his glass.

  We dig into our food, Aiden finishing his much faster than me. Once our plates are taken away, I lean back from the table, taking another sip of my drink.

  “Full?” Aiden asks.

  “Yes, actually. I can’t remember the last time I ate that much.”

  “More of a salad woman, right?”

  I shake my head at him in disappointment. “I must be one big stereotype to you if that’s what you really think.”

  Without warning, his large hand clasps my wrist. “Bea, I was only teasing. Come on. You’d usually give it right back to me. What’s going on with you?”

  I swallow. “Have you ever felt trapped?”

  His eyes bore into me worriedly. “What do you mean by ‘trapped’?”

  Don’t tell him. He’ll never understand. He’ll just take pity on me. I don’t need that. And he’s Seb’s best friend.

  I look away from him. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

  Suddenly, his warm left hand envelops my right. “Hey. You know you can tell me anything,” he insists.

  Shit. Why did I say anything at all?

  The feedback of a microphone jolts us both. “Good evening, everyone. We’re ‘A Family of Finians.’ Let’s see how much we can fill up the dance floor with our first song.”

  Perfect. Distract him.

  Hoisting my purse strap over my shoulder, I yank Aiden by the hand. “Come on.”

  Aiden almost topples over from the force of my pull on his hand. “What? Are you fucking serious?”

  “Totally.”

  “But you don’t even know what they’re going to play.”

  “I don’t care.”

  With Aiden’s hand tight in mine, I lead him to the small wooden dance floor. We stand facing each other, both staring at each other helplessly.

  Good job, Bea. You started this. Now what?

  Taking a step to me, Aiden clasps his right arm around my waist and takes my hand. “Okay, Buzzy. Show me what you’ve got.”

  The sounds of a keyboard fill the air. The singer begins to sing something slow. Aiden begins to shift with me slowly in place. “Good song.”

  After a few lines, a female voice joins in. Aiden holds me closer. “Do you know it?”

  “No.”

  He grins wickedly.

  “Just wait.”

  Suddenly, the music picks up and the singers begin to call each other names like “bum,” “punk,” and “scumbag,” my mouth dropping in shock as they sing even worse expletives.

  Aiden laughs heartily at my reaction. “It’s called ‘Fairytale of New York’ by the Pogues and Kirsty McColl, rest her soul.”

  “Thus the mention of the NYPD,” I note.

  “Exactly. The perfect Christmas song.”

  “So you did know it.”

  “It’s the Pogues. I’m Irish. Of course I did.”

  “Then you’re a big liar.”

  “Not about everything, Buzzy.”

  And then I realize where I’m standing and with whom. The warmth of Aiden’s chest permeates the entire front of my body. His arm is strong around me, protecting me. When I glance up at him, his eyes fix on me, not wavering.

  We don’t even notice as the song ends. The band quickly starts up again, this time a slow song. I start to pull away, but Aiden’s hold on me remains firm.

  “Dance with me, Buzzy,” he rasps, his warm breath brushing my face.

  We dance in place, barely moving. He begins to sing along with the band, whispering the words in my ear.

  “What’s this one called?” I ask.

  “‘Irish Heartbeat’ by the one and only Van Morrison.”

  “I like it.”

  “I’m glad.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  Aiden takes our clasped hands and brings them to his chest as I lean closer, shutting my eyes, his male scent of laundered cotton and sweat intoxicating me.

  Enjoy this moment. Remember everything.

  The song begins to wind down, Aiden holding me even tighter now, to the point where I almost can’t breathe, but I’m impervious to it all except for him.

  His face inches closer to me, his lips a mere brush away from mine.

  Moisture begins to gather in my eyes. I force myself to lean away from him. “I can’t.”

  The band starts to play a fast song, giving me the impetus to pull away from Aiden. I elbow my way back to the table, grabbing my coat and rushing as fast as I can out the door.

  Cold winter air punches me in the face as I hurriedly pull on my coat, then grab my phone from my purse. I swipe for the Uber app.

  A strong grip encircles my right upper arm. “Bea, stop! What the fuck is going on? Something happened back there and we have to talk about it.”

  I try to shake him off to no avail while typing in my destination and confirming the ride. “Nothing happened, so there’s nothing to talk about.”

  Suddenly, he turns me around, grabbing me by my shoulders. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Will you fucking look at me?”

  I bite down hard on my lower lip to prevent the tears that I know are seconds from spilling down my face. I look up just as a sedan with the Uber sign in the front window appears at the curb.

  “Please don’t go. I’ll drive you home,” he pleads with me.

  “Goodnight, Aiden,” is all I can manage as I rush to the car, slamming the door hard behind me. I allow myself one look out the window at the sidewalk where Aiden is standing, his hands at his sides, mouthing my name.

  The driver greets me, reciting my address just to confirm the destination.

  I nod silently in reply. Rummaging around in my purse, I pull out my phone once more and begin to type furiously in the Notes app, wiping back my tears with the back of my hand.

  “The Confession”

  I present myself to you completely naked. You are sitting in a desk chair, wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans. Your eyes are dark with hunger and lust, your jaw clenched, your lips tightly drawn together. Your arms grip the armrests tightly, as if you're resisting every urge to jump out of the chair and take me right there.

  “Kneel,” you command me.

  I slowly step toward you and settle on the floor in front of you. My heels dig into my backside. I rest my hands flat on my thighs and I bow my head.

  “Confess, baby,” your voice, low and rumbling, orders me.

  I swallow, gathering saliva because my mouth has gone dry.

  “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been told who to be—what to wear, how to speak, what to eat, where to go to school, who I could have as friends. I’m not exaggerating when I call myself the good girl who never misbehaved because I never did. I never got the sex talk from my parents. I learned about sex from books, TV, and movies, not even from my friends. I only had my first real kiss when I was seventeen. He was a groomsman at my cousin’s wedding where I was a bridesmaid. What can I say—I was a late bloomer.”

  I take a long breath and continue.

  “College was when I really first started exploring my sexuality. But I was still learning. My first time was with a friend of a friend and it sucked. So painful. I hated it. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. Then I met a guy at a mixer and we dated on and off for four years. One night senior year, he drove up to my dorm and I gave him a blow job. I had no idea what I was doing. Once he finger-fucked me in my dorm room, and he told me he was pleasuring me, and it did nothing for me.”

  I sigh. “Anyway, from that point on, after college, my sex life was pretty tame. I can count on one hand the number of men I’ve had sex with. Pretty sad, right?”

  I swallow again.

  “Now I realize what I wanted all along was you. You who always took pleasure in arguing with me, teasing me. It was the equivalent of having a boy pull a girl’s braid in the scho
olyard, that bizarre notion which supposedly means that he likes her.”

  I smile slightly to myself.

  “And then I saw the real you. How hard you work, the pride you take in your company and the buildings you build. I never knew this about you. It was a revelation for me.”

  “When we danced together, I felt so safe, so protected in your arms. The way you looked at me turned my pussy so wet. I saw the lust in your eyes, and I don’t know if you saw the same mirrored in mine, but I want you to know I wanted you as much as you wanted me.”

  “Ever since I started writing out my fantasies, I now own my sexuality. I’ve always known I was a passionate person, and I always thought I’d be good at sex, but never had the chance to explore that…until now. With you.”

  “I pleasure myself several times a day, and I always do it thinking of you. It’s the only outlet I have now.”

  “So, what am I confessing to? Something I would never imagine about myself. I love sex. I crave it. I love having a man’s cock inside me. And I want yours because I desire it, more than I ever thought possible.”

  I pause. “This is my confession.”

  I feel your hand on the top of my head, stroking my hair. “Good girl. That’s what I wanted. You, baby. More of you. Do you want my cock now? Or shall I spank you as a reward for your confession?”

  “Do as you wish, Sir,” I reply quietly. “I’m yours to command.”

  I hear a rumble in your throat right before you speak again. “I’m going to give you my cock twice. First for my pleasure, then for yours in that tight, gorgeous pussy of yours. Now take my cock into your mouth, baby. I want you to suck me good.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I reply obediently.

  I run my hand over your crotch, admiring the bulge in your jeans. I slowly unzip you, gently taking your engorged shaft into my hands, caressing it. I descend with my mouth and give that long vein one sweeping wet lick. I round the crown with my tongue, glancing up quickly at you from below. Your eyes burn as you look at me, your jaw clenched.

  Then I swallow you whole, sucking you, working you, taking you as deep as I can until I hit the back of my throat, breathing steadily through my nose. Your masculine, musky smell intoxicates me. I caress your sac, massaging it as I continue sucking you hard, your hands fisting my hair. I can hear you groaning and I feel your muscles lock, your grasp on my hair tightening. You let out a low growl as your warm cum spills into my mouth and down my throat. I swallow as much as I can until it trickles down my mouth and over my chin, then down my chest onto my breasts.