by Gage Grayson
Okay, it’s best I stop there.
“What does an author do all day?”
It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t pick up that last conversational thread where I dropped it.
“Read, write, read, write—and did I mention I read?”
Rebecca shakes her head. “What do you like to read?”
I mull over the question.
“It’s not so much reading what I like to read. I think the trick is to read widely, read out of your comfort zone, and most importantly, read every book like a writer.”
“Wow.”
“But,” I say, leaning into her, “I confess I do like some of the Irish authors. I’m partial to Niall Williams, and who doesn’t like Maeve Binchy?”
Her hair smells of sweetness, desire, and a field of wildflowers in full bloom.
I kiss the top of her head. The silkiness of her hair is like a balm to my soul.
All I can think of is running my fingers through her hair and pulling that face of hers close to mine for a kiss. Before I can act on my impulse, she starts to trip.
It plays out in slow motion.
Arms flail as her upper body bends forward at the hips. Just in time, I manage to grab her arm and shoulder.
But I’m not fast enough.
All I’m able to do is slow the inevitable and soften her landing. Together, as one, we land in the dirt on the side of the road, and she rolls on top of me.
“You okay?” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
For some reason, I’m choked up with emotions, and no words escape my lips.
I nod.
With my right hand, I brush a strand of hair out of her face while my left one caresses her cheek. My thumb finds her lip.
I can feel her breathing become short and shallow.
Finally, my voice obeys me again. “And you?”
“Never better,” she whispers.
I watch as her mouth comes closer. Her lips are parted, and I can see the tip of her tongue poke through between those pearly white teeth.
She comes crushing down on me, and instantly, our tongues are locked in a dance of passion. As we kiss, I let my hand travel up her back and unclasp her bra. With easy access, I move around to her front and push up under the flimsy material to find her tight nipples.
A moan escapes her lips, a moan smothered by our kiss.
Time suddenly stands still.
There’s nothing else but Rebecca’s body, her lips and this kiss.
I wish this moment would last forever.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shooting star, and I make a wish.
I wish for my own happily ever after and for this kiss to go on.
Chapter 27
Rebecca
His lips.
God his lips feel amazing. I can’t deny it.
He’s a damn good kisser. Not too soft and not too aggressive. My face doesn’t feel like it’s being coated in saliva either.
Unlike with some fucking assholes.
The kiss is so good that I moan a little.
He groans in response.
Killian’s muscular arms wrap around me as he continues to kiss me. He pulls me closer to him, and I can feel his arousal against my belly. My body responds with a shiver of pleasure.
I’m starting to feel overheated, and I don’t think it’s because of that coffee I drank. My nipples harden, and liquid heat rises from down below.
My arms seem to have a mind of their own, rising to grip his head and deepen the kiss further.
I pull his hair, and he responds by holding me tighter.
The urge to jump on him and wrap my legs around him overcomes me.
Bad Rebecca. Do not do that.
It drives me freaking crazy, the way he can make me think of nothing but what he’s doing to me—and the way my body is desperate to respond to his touch.
I don’t want to stop kissing him. It feels too good to even consider wanting to stop.
But that thought, the thought of not wanting to stop, is like a bucket of ice water dumped on me. I gasp, and finally push him away.
What the hell am I thinking?
Fuck.
I would’ve never expected my time in Ireland to turn out like this.
The one thing I rationally hoped for, to get some work done on one of my biggest contracts yet, hasn’t really come to pass.
Okay. There’s no way to pretend I’ve even started on that.
But these rolling green meadows have brought me somewhere I never would’ve expected to end up. They’ve brought me here.
I hadn’t been able to predict this, so I should stop pretending to be able to predict anything. But I’m not ready to make any more grand decisions.
Not now.
Killian’s regarding me with tenderness, with concern—and that’s not helping my attempt at keeping a rational goddamn thought process going.
Rationality seems too difficult when he’s right here, underneath this gorgeous night sky.
With the memories of Killian bringing me to new realms of pleasure still so fresh in my mind, my cheeks burn, and I glance away from him, letting out a little cough for emphasis.
Things are moving too fast with him. It’s not fair to Killian either, to lead him on.
I blame the damn night. This beautiful, temperate damn spring night. With air that’s so clean and rich you feel like you’ll live to be a hundred and fifty just by breathing it every day.
I’m not even sure why everyone in Ireland likes to drink so much.
This place is plenty intoxicating as it is.
And just like intoxication with alcohol, intoxication by moonlight, by natural beauty, by the aroma of the green pastures surrounding us, can be a problem.
Intoxication is a crazy bitch that makes you do crazy things.
Killian is standing there waiting for me to say something.
“Uh, maybe we should head back inside. It’s pretty cold out, and the last thing either one of us needs is to catch a cold,” I state.
Killian looks at me.
Assessing me.
Slowly, that damn cocky grin appears on his face.
The nighttime silence is broken with his low chuckle.
“It’s pretty cold out here, love. I’ll walk you back home.”
“Ok. Home. Home is good,” I awkwardly say as we start to walk in the general direction of our cottages.
When we get to my door, I’m going to shake his hand and say goodnight.
Leave him outside of your cottage, Rebecca. Don’t let him in.
My hands twitch at my side as we walk.
Not because I’m nervous, but because I can’t stop thinking of running my hands through his hair again. Then over his well-sculpted chest.
I shake my head.
The heat and arousal has consumed my body again. It’s just the clean, unspoiled Irish air.
Killian moves closer to me and brushes against my arm.
I jump slightly. My skin feels sensitive, and his arm brushing against mine causes a full-body shiver to roll through me.
And it feels so fucking good.
The cottage appears in the distance—the front porch light is on.
Crisp night air fills my lungs. Wisps of grass brushes against our shoes.
Neither one of us says anything, but an odd air of unease fills the air between us.
Finally, we arrive at my front doorstep. Keys clink as I try to unlock the door. I can feel Killian’s presence behind me.
Suddenly, I feel his warm breath brush the back of my neck. But then it starts to feel cold again.
Like he’s backing away. Like he’s leaving.
That should be just fine by me—but I can’t get myself to go inside.
“Are you leaving?” I ask, still facing the door.
“Isn’t that what you’d like?”
His voice sounds like he’s stopped dead in his tracks now, waiting to hear what I have to say next.
I stay facing the door. “Why w
ould you think that, Killian?”
“You’re not even looking at me, Becks. What am I supposed to think?”
One thing I can say about Killian is that he makes valid points when he wants to. I spin around to find him standing ten feet away, half turned towards his cottage, still waiting with baited breath to see what else I have to say.
“Why don’t you just come inside, Killian? We both obviously want that. And we both obviously understand that it’s just...fun.”
“Is that how you really feel?”
“It’s just sex, Killian. No feeling and no emotions. Just pleasure and fun between two adults.”
Killian nods calmly, taking a few tentative steps towards my cottage.
“I can handle that.”
“Okay, then.”
“Rebecca?”
“Yeah?”
Killian stops, the moment he steps on my front porch, smiling impishly as I stare at him.
“Open the door, love, so I can take your sweet ass to bed now.”
Lock clicks.
Feet over the threshold.
Killian moves past me. Front door slams close with us inside. In the next moment, Killian has me pressed against a wall, his lips crash into mine.
I pull on his hair.
Now, I’ve decided to give into the burning desire Killian creates in me every time I’m around him. I’m desperate for everything.
For his kiss. For his skin to be pressed against mine.
For him to be inside me and for the exquisite pleasure I know only he can give me.
Our lips break away. I lift his shirt up, and he helps in pulling it off completely. His hands grip the front of my shirt, and he rips it open.
Buttons go flying.
“Jesus. You’re gorgeous,” Killian states as he stares at me.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I respond staring at his toned and chiseled chest.
Killian grabs me by the hips, lifting me up. My legs immediately wrap around his waist. Rocking my hips against him, I can feel his arousal through his jeans.
He’s definitely well-endowed.
“Killian. I need you. Now!”
He groans. We start moving towards the bedroom.
He throws me down on the mattress. I bounce and let a playful giggle out. I sit up, looking him in the eyes, as I throw my shirt off.
Arms reach back.
Bra clasp unclips. Slowly, I slide the straps off my shoulders.
I know it’s seductive by the way Killian’s breath hitches and his pupils dilate.
“Lie back, love. I’ll be the one to take care of the rest of your clothes,” Killian rasps.
I do as he says. His fingers caress me from my neck, down my chest, over my stomach, and pause at the edge of my jeans.
He stills for a second, gazing at where his fingers graze my skin.
Then, he pops the button on my jeans, and all that’s heard in the room are the deep shallow breaths coming from us and the growl of my zipper being pulled down.
Everything then moves in a whirlwind. Killian yanks my jeans, along with my panties, off.
I lay there naked. I watch in awe as he undresses the rest of the way. He stands there in all his naked glory.
He crawls up the bed and over my body.
“This is going to fun,” he growls.
I smile a cocky grin up at him like the one he has flashed at me on several occasions. An idea forms in my head. I wrap my legs around him, grip his shoulders, and use my body weight to push him onto his back.
Now on top, I wiggle my hips a little and feel him harden even more.
He lets loose a deep groan.
“You’re right. This is going to be fun,” I state.
Chapter 28
Killian
Rebecca’s nails dig into my chest as they slide down over my skin.
Vibrant red trails follow her fingers, claiming me like a wild predator does its prey. The sensation crosses into euphoric realm of where pain and pleasure blend into one entity.
My own hands move up over her enthralling, sylphlike figure. I can feel every muscle in her thighs and stomach flex and flutter at my touch. I slide my hands up over her perky tits and feel her pert nipples against my palms.
They’re rigid and unyielding as I move my thumbs over them.
It draws a low moan from her all the same.
Rebecca’s fiery locks cascade down over her body. Her pale blue eyes are transfixed on mine—just as mine are to hers—in their own lustful embrace. Her hips are grinding into my cock like untamed waves over a sandy shore.
Her thighs flank my own and press against me. I can feel her knees delving into the fabric of the mattress in the want to feel more of my cock throb inside her.
Each slide of Rebecca’s hips bears down into my own with the same intent. My own hips rise up on their own will to meet hers with the same desire—I barely feel in control of my own body and its movements.
The want and desire to feel more of Rebecca is overwhelming. It’s far more intoxicating than any bottle of whiskey, or any case of whiskey for that matter.
It’s a perfect blending of two bodies. The way I feel—and fit—inside her is almost as if we’re matched like a lock and key to the greatest intimate experience that a mortal could dare to comprehend. And even then, it feels as though it’s not enough.
She bears down into me. I rise to meet her.
She moans. I moan.
But as deep as I am into her—it’s not enough for either of us. We’re victims of this unspeakable desire that exists in all of humanity for more.
It’s like sitting at the table and enjoying your favorite dessert.
You’ve had as much as you can handle. You’ve eaten all that you can.
Yet—against your will—you want and need more.
Rebecca is that dessert.
Her thighs tremble and quake uncontrollably. Her nails pierce my skin.
The intense gaze that we had breaks and she tightly closes her eyes.
I know what’s coming. I can even feel her wet cunt tightening around my cock. It’s as if her body refuses to let go of me as she succumbs to the depths of her climax.
The sensation of it all is every bit amazing this time around, as it always is with her. A low groan of ecstasy comes from me as I feel this new surge of her warmth and wetness wash over me. Rebecca’s hair falls between us like a waterfall as she presses her chin down against her body.
Her moans articulate just how intense her climax is better than words ever could. The grip her thighs have me in loosens as she starts to rise to the surface.
Even the grip her nails have of my flesh wanes. But I’m not done with her yet.
I roll the two of us over so that it’s now Rebecca on her back. I prop myself up over her with one hand. My other hand is grabbing her thigh and pulling up toward my waist.
Her eyes look up into mine again. She smiles and laughs softly at the change.
My hips thrust into her.
The sound of our flesh meeting echoes through the cottage bedroom. Her eyes go wide with surprise, and she trembles with a moan. My lips fall to hers—as does my body—while my hands move under hers and cling to her shoulders.
The feral predator that had consumed Rebecca has found a new host in my wants. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her hands fall to my back. My thrusts into her pussy are tumultuous and hungry for her.
Each one pulls a moan from her that fills the cottage with a gorgeous, enraptured tone.
Rebecca’s nails once more find solace in my flesh. I pull my lips away from her.
Her moans grow louder.
My thrusts become an uncontrollable wildfire.
“More,” she pleads.
Rebecca’s hips rise to meet my thrusts. I can feel her breathing faster as her stomach rises and falls against mine. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I can feel them cross at the ankles.
Her hands pull down on my back. My cock twitches and my body stiffens.<
br />
Once again, I know just what’s coming. I can feel myself rising to the summit.
My teeth graze across her flesh where her neck and her shoulder meet. Rebecca’s nails finally fulfill their destiny and pierce deep into my skin—I’m certain she’s drawn blood—and loud groan comes from me.
I like it. How’s that for some writerly fucking prose for ya?
Rebecca’s thighs start to tremble and shake against my sides.
She herself is rising to meet me at the summit of our embrace. She beats me to it. That feeling of her clenching and pulling me in hits me like that first shot of whiskey in the morning.
It fills my body with warmth and excitement.
I join her on the mountaintop.
My body stiffens, and my hips urgently push against her.
I groan as I feel myself explode inside her. Every twitch of my cock is greeted by a clench of her pussy. It threatens to pull my soul from my body. It feels so wondrous.
We remain locked in our embrace for a moment, just long enough to let our minds return from their journey through the seas and mountains of elated delirium.
I roll off to the side and collapse against my mattress.
I feel so light that it’s almost as if I’ve landed upon a cloud rather than my bed.
“Well that was rather...intense,” she muses.
‘Intense’ doesn’t even begin to describe it, lass.
I turn my head to the side, and I see her looking back at me with a smile on her face that makes her look all the more angelic. Even without the after-sex glow, she looks as though she was handmade by God himself as his perfect creation.
There’s a swell of enchantment that churns within my core.
I quickly sit up and step up from the bed.
In only a couple long steps, I’m standing at my dresser and wrapping my hands around the bottle of Bushmills.
I upturn the bottle and threaten to drown myself in its delicious blend.
But it’s that swell of feels inside that I hope to drown instead.
“How did I never not notice these before?”
Turning to face her, I pull the bottle from lips, and see her looking at a vase of flowers on my nightstand.
It’s a small glass vase that I acquired years ago—though I don’t remember from whom—filled with a mix of wood anemone, bloody crane’s-bill, and tufted forget-me-nots. I don’t even remember filling the vase with them either, but I do give myself credit for their beautiful arrangement.
