by Frankie Love
Conor brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, smiling at me. “I’m pointing out the fact that you’re American because you’re giving me a hard time tonight. You weren’t making things easy on me. But then, in a flash, you have a change of heart.”
“And Irish girls, they never have a change of heart?”
“Aye, they have a heart, but not like yours. You have a heart that’s willing to sway with your emotions. Going up and down, up and down.”
“And that doesn’t scare you?”
Conor laughs again, this time a belly laugh, the sort of belly laugh Patrick and Sean shared back at the bar.
“If you had known my mam, you’d know that I’m used to a woman whose emotions are like that of a roller coaster.”
Maybe it’s the way he says ‘mam’. How he remembers his mother so tenderly, or maybe it’s the way he laughs; a laugh that makes me feel as if he could swallow me whole. In a good way. In the sort of way I need. In a way that could wash away my bad luck forever. But all I want is this moment to be frozen in time. I want to forever remember the moment I stood outside a bar and felt so damn good in the arms of a stranger.
I lift my chin and look into Conor’s eyes, and then I kiss him.
Maybe that’s an American girl thing too, kissing first, but I don’t care. Because our kiss, it can’t be contained on one continent. The kiss is otherworldly.
His lips press against mine and it’s like the moment I give him my mouth, he has no more hesitation. Conor slips a hand around the base of my neck, pulling me closer, then closer still.
He pulls me close enough, that I know we will be very intimate, very soon. I can feel all of him pressed against my belly, and my eyelids flutter with anticipation ... all that will be inside of me.
A sigh escapes my mouth, a sigh I wasn’t planning. But you can’t plan a kiss like this.
Conor’s mouth opens, his tongue finds mine, and in that moment, with our eyes closed, the dark night sky surrounding us and the loud bar behind us, it feels like I am the only girl he has ever kissed. And even though I logically know this is something he has done a million times before, right now, it feels singular.
Conor pulls back, the electricity still pulsing. “We need to go now, lassie. Things are going to get quite indecent, quite quick.”
I just nod; his words are enough. They say everything that needs to be said.
We walk down the street, stopping at a beat-up truck, exactly the kind of vehicle I imagined he would drive. Rugged, and rusty, like he doesn’t give a shit. Because, why would he? It appears he already has everything he wants.
“You good to drive?” I ask, remembering that we just came from the bar.
“I wouldn’t drive you if I didn’t stop drinking a ways back there. And I certainly wouldn’t let you get in the car with those two any day. Sober or not.” He closes the door for me, and as he walks away, I hear him toss my pack in the bed of the truck.
Then he gets in the truck driver's seat, flashes me a quick grin, and starts driving us out of the city.
As we drive further up the motorway and take an exit toward the mountains, the roads become quieter and wider, until they are completely empty. Conor wasn’t joking when he said we’re going to the woods.
The energy in the car is alive, we keep stealing glances at one another, but the truck is silent, and I hate being in my head so much... I can’t help but wonder why he’s in his head so much too.
Suddenly I can’t help it, the silence is killing me.
“So, what do you do for fun?” I ask, immediately shaking my head at the ridiculous question that I chose. Who gives a fuck about fun? Right now, we’re two strangers who met at a bar who plan on having sex all night.
“I’m guessing the way tonight has gone gives you a good idea, no? It’s sort of a loaded question, Clover.”
Oh. Right. This is what Conor does for fun. He takes home girls he meets at bars and of course I’m no different. I don’t know why, when we stood outside the bar, there was a moment where I thought maybe... maybe this was more.
But right now, I don’t need more. This is enough. Being here with him is plenty. My thighs press together and my body awakens from a lifelong slumber. I want him.
“I guess you have a point, Conor. But do you want to know what I do for fun?” He cocks a brow at me, keeping one eye on the road.
“I’d love to know what you do for fun, lassie.”
I take his hand and press it between my legs. His hand belongs there, and my jeans are suddenly much too tight, the cab of the truck much too small. I want out of this truck, out of these clothes, and into this man's lap.
“Understood.” Conor's fingers rub over my jeans, pressing against me, and he leans over, practically growling, blowing hot air in my ear.
I whimper.
I can easily count the number of times I’ve whimpered for a man... a man who wasn’t even touching my skin... just hinting at what was to come.
It is zero times, in case you were wondering.
If I completely let my guard down right now, I’ll be a puddle in his front seat. His fingers continue to press against the fabric of my jeans, and it’s like we’re in high school all over again... except I never had anyone touch me like this in high school.
Or college for that matter.
I look at the clock on the dash; how the heck did twenty minutes just fly by? I guess I need this more than I initially thought.
He presses three fingers hard against me; my clit is on fire, my panties soaked. I close my eyes.
“Keep your eyes on the road, Conor,” I say, through gritted, is-it-possible-to-orgasm-from-a-man-barely-touching-me, teeth.
“We’re home, though, lassie.”
“Oh?” I open my eyes, realizing the truck is in park. That we are stationary in a dark driveway.
“Now, get out of the truck so I can strip you down properly.”
5
The girl is melting at my touch. All night I’ve thought of her as fiery and alive, but after touching her for a few minutes, it’s clear she’s repressed, needy and wanting.
My brother may have done a thousand shitty things over the years, but this one thing he got exactly right.
“Come on, Clover, let’s get you out of these clothes,” I say, taking her hand and leading her from the truck, grabbing her bag from the boot of the truck and slinging it over my shoulder.
She laces her fingers through mine and holds onto my arm. She isn’t going anywhere.
Which is good on two accounts. First: my cock is fucking hard as hell, and secondly, there’s a bet I’m to win.
By the time I’ve kicked open the front door, she’s practically melting against me. Maybe she put up a fight for far too long, and after that kiss outside the pub she gave me an idea of what might be in store with her... and well, hell, I’m a lucky bastard.
“This is your place?” she asks as I pull the door shut behind us. Her eyes scan the small interior. I don’t move to turn on a light.
“You want the tour now or later?” I ask, wrapping her back in my arms, pressing my hardened cock against her belly, wanting to delay the inevitable.
And wanting to finish what we’ve started.
I fuck girls on their way out of town. I don’t screw women who might start looking at my house in a more critical fashion.
Because calling this place a house is a wee bit of a stretch.
A cabin, maybe. But a four-by-four, roof-over-my-head hovel is probably most accurate. I haven’t exactly made a fortune living life the way I do. Taking people on hiking tours isn’t quite trading stocks.
Which is the reason I do it. Because it means I’m free of any man, any woman, staking a claim on me. This lifestyle works, so long as I let it.
There won’t be vacations in Thailand like my brother plans, but why would I need such a thing? Why would I go abroad when I already live in the greatest country in the world?
Still, a woman who is as full of personality
as Clover is might have a few choice words to say about this barn. Words I don’t want to hear quite yet. Right now, I’m most interested in stripping her of those American clothes and filling her with my Irish cock.
“What is it?” she asks, and I realize now it’s me, lost in my head.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, wanting only to be in this moment.
“Nothing, lassie. Now let’s see what’s under those clothes.”
At this, she smiles, throws her head back again as if she’s shocked to hear such a request. As if the request itself is foolhardy. But it isn’t. Any man with any sense in his head would be tugging up her jumper the way I am now. They’d be pulling it over her head, tossing it aside, and taking in the view of her beautiful breasts.
Her tits are so fucking full, so fucking big. And I grin like a schoolboy getting a piece of candy. “God, woman, where on earth did ya come from?”
“I don’t think it matters, Conor. I’m mostly interested in seeing where you plan to take me.”
I laugh, loving the way she jests, the way she tosses her words around like pebbles. They’re not going to hurt anyone, but get one stuck in your shoe, and it’s going to drive you mad.
“Oh, I have plenty of places I’d like to take you.”
“Figuratively or... physically?”
I shake my head at her. “I’m going to take you in my bed right now, lassie. And I’m going to fill you with my cock, and be warned: it’s a cock you’ve only dreamt about. I’m going to take you good and proper. This time, at least.”
“Oh, you already have plans for seconds?” she asks, her cheeks red, blush rising everywhere, and I press my palms against her full tits, reaching back for the clasp of her bra, so I can undo it, granting me access to see them in all their glory.
When the bra is on the floor and her hard nipples between my thumb and forefinger, I answer, “I plan on seconds and thirds. I’m an Irishman, lassie. I was born with an appetite.”
She smirks, reaching for my pants, unfastening the button, tugging down the zipper. “For meat pies?”
I shake my head, laughing again, “Right now there is only one thing I crave.”
“And what’s that, Conor?” she asks, my pants falling to the floor, her hands unbuttoning my flannel shirt.
“I want your pussy. I want to know if it’s as sweet as clover.”
“Guess you’ll have to let me know, won’t you?” She raises a brow, her fingers wrapping around my stiff cock.
I grab her ass then, lifting her from the floor and carrying her to my bed. The barn is small, only this one room, but I’m grateful the bed is clean, sheets washed, ready for her to ruin.
I pull off her socks and leave her in nothing but her panties. I want to take my time. Her skin is soft and creamy, her thighs practically asking to be pushed apart. I may want to savor this moment, but my cock wants to get to business.
“You need to lie back, lassie. And I need you to stay still.”
“You know most men don’t talk this way, don’t you?”
“I’m not most men, Clover. The Irish do things differently. How many times will I have to explain this to you?”
“No explaining,” she says. “No more talking. Just––” She adjusts herself on the bed, her dark hair spilling over the pillow and the window letting in the light from the crescent-shaped moon. “––let me know if I’m sweet.”
“Oh, I think we’ve already determined you’re not a sweet one.”
She laughs, the lilt of her voice filling the dark room. When she laughs, the room feels bright.
I spread her legs apart, lower my head to her thighs––the only place I want to go.
I run my fingers over her panties, remembering how I touched her so innocently in the truck. I have no doubt her body is going to respond to this tease too.
“Oh, Conor...”
Clover’s body relaxes, giving into this moment. And for that, I’m fucking grateful. I have had my fair share of uptight tourists who want the thrill ride with an Irishman, but often it’s women who don’t want their bodies to be really touched; really felt.
They’re women who say they want to be fucked, but these women have no idea what it means to have a man make love to them.
I rip off her panties, tossing the shredded lace to the floor. And then my tongue runs along her creamy slit. Her cunt is already nice and wet, ready in the same way my cock is rock hard.
My tongue moves up and down, tasting the sweetness as I dart inside her pussy. And I was right. She does taste like clover. Like green grass, fresh air, and sweet honey.
My tongue deepens, and I’m sucking her lips and licking her hard, getting her ready to come. I want more of her, I want her to pour over my face, but I know her body is still tight, needs to be loosened up a bit more.
And so I press a finger inside of her, her pussy practically begging to be fucked this way, she is so fucking tight, I can only guess she’s never been with a man who was blessed with a cock entire continents would be jealous of.
I flick a finger over her clit, and hell, it’s pulsing and wanting more. I move a finger in and out of her, moving my mouth to her thighs and planting kisses up and down them, then wrapping her thighs around my neck, and devouring her once more.
I let my fingers fuck her harder, banging her until her release covers my hand and I feel her body tighten and then relax as she comes on my face. Without pause, I lick up all her creamy come.
Her back is arched in the air and I run my hands over her stomach, then reaching higher, I fill my palms with both of her tits. My mouth sucks hard against her cunt as she continues to orgasm against me.
She’s panting, overcome, and that’s the sweet spot I’m looking for. It gets my cock harder than fuck. How the hell did I get so lucky? Clover’s pussy is so wet and willing, her body so alive. And her heart––so fucking full.
“I need you in me, Conor. I need more than you fucking me with your mouth, your fingers. Now, I need you to fuck me with that cock.”
I grunt, unable to manage anything more. Her words are like fire, consuming me with desire. I pull on a condom and slap her ass, encouraging her to turn over, to get on all fours. I need to fuck her pussy nice and hard, I want her tits to bounce as I thrust inside of her.
Deeper, harder, nice and good.
She’s on all fours on the edge of the bed, and I stand behind her, edging my cock closer to her slick pussy. As I slide into her tight entrance, I’m glad I worked her pussy over––finger fucked and mouth fucked––all in preparation for this grand fucking finale.
“It’s too big, Conor,” she says, and instantly my mouth is on her ear, whispering the words she needs to hear.
“Hush now, lassie, it’s going to fit, but I will warn you, it’s going to ruin you. Once this Irishman fucks you, no other cock will ever do.”
“Show me, show me what you mean. Fuck me, Conor. Don’t make me wait.”
And so, I don’t. I press myself inside of her, filling her up completely.
I don’t inch myself in nice and slowly, no. She said she wants it now––and so I’ll give her what she wants.
My cock slams into her core and she screams out, “Oh, God, oh, my God, the...” Then Clover is unable to speak. Her elbows drop to the bed, she’s still on all fours, and I hold her at her waist, both hands on her hips, and I plow into her.
I thrust into her so fucking hard and she loves it. Her tits are bouncing, and every time they hit one another, my cock grows harder still. I’m holding onto her, and I swear I won’t let go.
Her nice round ass is in the air, she’s got the perfect pair of bouncing tits and her hips were made to hold onto––Clover is a fucking dream come true.
My cock is on fire, so close to exploding. I wish I didn’t have a condom on. I want my seed to fill her cunt. I want to fill her up so bad.
“I’m going to fuck you all night,” I growl in her ear, pushing her hair away, making sure she hears every syllable.
/>
“Good,” she pants. “I need you too. My pussy needs that so fucking bad.”
I thrust against her, my cock releasing hot come deep inside her cunt. She comes again, too, her body quivering, shaking as I finish.
“You were right,” she manages. “You said we were going to get lucky,”
She collapses on the bed, a laugh escaping her as if this entire thing was a lark.
I roll her over so I can see the exhilaration on her face. With a hand on either side of her, I lean over and say, “Clover, what just happened here, that wasn’t just luck.”
A flash of darkness crosses her face. “No?”
I shake my head, grinning. “It wasn’t luck, lassie. That was perfection.”
6
The next morning I wake up, my body sticky sweet and very naked. I cover my face realizing where I am, and what I’ve done.
I’ve pretty much had the best sex of my life and it came out of nowhere.
Maybe I had hit rock bottom. Maybe this was the start of something new. A new version of Clover––the girl with the shittiest luck in the world.
I drop my hands and realize there is a smile pasted on my face, and I’m not a morning person so this means something.
Maybe this was going to be the day everything changed––the day I came to this country for in the first place.
The day I find my rainbow.
I look over and see the bed is empty. Sitting up, I wrap the sheet around myself and try to get my bearings.
When we came here last night, it was dark and there was only one thing on our minds––to let loose the sexual energy pulsing between us.
Now that we have that out of the way, for now at least, there’s something new on my mind: Getting food in my belly.
I’m starved. That meat pie seems like a lifetime ago, and let’s just say I worked up an appetite last night. Now all I want is to be filled with carbs.
Any carb will do. Pancakes. Scones. Biscuits. A slice of week old bread. I’m not a picky eater.
