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
Book Two - Not Over You
Chapter One
Fiona
"I'd vote for her in a heartbeat. I mean, she has all the qualifications."
"How?"
"She's compassionate. Driven. She's independent but isn't afraid to commit to her relationship. She isn't intimidated by men, at all. She has everything this country needs."
Esme walks up to the breakroom table where Robert and I are sitting, settling into the chair beside me and popping open her plastic salad container.
"Who are we talking about? Oprah? Because that's a woman I could get behind."
"Barbie."
Her hand drops to the table, a piece of spinach impaled on the end of her fork. Her coffee-colored eyes are impatient and full of disbelief.
"Barbie?"
"Yes," I say emphatically. "Barbie. The world needs her now more than ever. She's always positive. Her eyeliner game is on point. And what school did homegirl go to? She can do everything. She can pilot a plane while teaching algebra, grooming your poodle, and making you a crepe." I take a bite of my apple. "In heels."
* * *
Later that evening…
"I don't know, Grammie," I reply as I hold my phone between my shoulder and ear while performing my evening duel between my keys and the lock to my apartment. "I just feel like something's off lately."
"What do you mean 'off'?" my grandmother asks.
The lock finally gives in for the night, and the door opens. I let out a sigh of relief as the chilled air inside cuts through the dense heat around me, instantly cooling the sweat on my skin. This is the moment I look forward to all day – and the reason I schedule my air conditioner to resume operating at Arctic temperatures the second I get home from work. My electric bill sometimes means that I have to forsake good toilet paper to stick to the budget I impose on myself, but it's worth these few moments of sheer pleasure when I first walk in from the blistering summer heat.
"I'm not sure," I say as I close the door behind me. "I feel like I'm not connecting with anything. Nothing excites me anymore." I pry off my heels and carry them toward my bedroom. "Someone asked me the other day what I do for a living. And you know what I said? I said… 'work.' Just like that. Just…'work.' Who says that?"
She chuckles on the other end of the line. "You, apparently."
I resume holding my phone in place with my shoulder, so I can unzip my skirt and shimmy out of it. The pantyhose, which I hate with a fiery, burning passion, but wouldn't be caught dead in the office without, are next. Finally, I'm in nothing but my blouse and feeling awkward standing half-naked in the middle of my bedroom. At least I'm not hot anymore.
"I just wish I could find that spark that made me leave home four years ago. When I did that, I had so much... hope. I was sure there was something out there for me, waiting to give me the incredible, glamorous life I always envisioned."
"I'm still not sure why you thought you would find glamour in an insurance firm. I know when I think about a glitzy and sparkly life, my mind doesn't go straight to insurance adjuster."
"I think that's it, though. Working at the firm was supposed to be a band-aid job."
"A band-aid job?"
"Yeah. You know, a bridge. It was something that was available, and that I had the qualifications to do. Starting as a secretary meant I didn't need a lot of training or education, and I could earn money while looking for whatever was going to give my life that sparkle. Then it turned out I was actually good at my job."
"Damn it," Grammie groans in solidarity.
"I know," I say. "Then they offered me a promotion. Who says no to that? And the little bit of time I planned on staying at the firm became a little bit longer, and then another promotion came along, and I pushed it back even longer. And now, four years later, I'm spinning around in my swivel desk chair, bored out of my wits, trying to figure out why a man called to discuss the specifics of purchasing life insurance policies for all nine of his Rottweiler puppies. The worst part is – it was only after I explained to him, in painstaking detail, that our company doesn't offer that type of insurance, that he mentioned his wife needed a policy, too."
"That's kind of glamorous."
I've managed to unbutton my blouse and wriggle out of it, and now I'm trying to replace my work clothes with a pair of black cotton shorts and a comfy tank.
"That's not glamorous. That's weird. Not even close to the same thing."
"So, what are you thinking about doing?"
"I don't know," I say, dropping down to sit on the edge of my bed.
I bounce and nearly slip off the luxury Italian comforter I thought fit my vision of a trendy urban lifestyle. Buying this bedding was supposed to be a way to will that lifestyle into reality. It is also one of the reasons I put myself on a budget.
"Well, you obviously can't keep going like this. You sound miserable."
I immediately feel guilty for saying anything at all. I know Grammie has been worried about me since the day I left the home where she and my grandfather raised me and set out to make a life for myself. Since then, I've done everything I can to reassure her that I made the right choice, and that I've been doing well. Not my best decision. Now I'm making her worry about me because my joyful façade has
started to crack, and my unhappiness is seeping through.
"I wouldn't say I'm miserable." Because that would definitely upset you. "I'm just not finding as much… fulfillment in my life as I thought I would at this point."
"You should have listened to me when I told you not to go off chasing some man and changing your life for him."
"I didn't go off chasing some man," I argue as I cross to the refrigerator to pull out the half a salad I shoved in there last night. "I didn't meet Ellis until a year after I moved out here."
"Well, at least you didn't marry him. That would have been a disaster."
I sigh and squeeze far too much Thousand Island dressing into the middle of the somewhat wilted pile of spring mix, cucumbers, and tomatoes.
"As you've made sure I'm aware of every day since I told you I was engaged."
"You weren't engaged. You didn't even have a ring."
"He asked me to marry him. I said yes. I was engaged. And I did have a ring."
"You had a piece of copper wire he braided and shoved a piece of charcoal into. That doesn't count."
"He made that," I say. "It was meaningful and poetic. At least he dipped the charcoal in acrylic."
"Nothing screams bridal like a ring you could use to roast a hot dog."
"I really don’t want to talk about Ellis right now. It's over. It's behind me. I honestly don't think that has anything to do with how I'm feeling."
No one has ever made a scrapbook page about how much they enjoyed their spring vacation breaking up with their fiancé, but the end of my engagement was particularly messy. Fortunately, watching Ellis grip the edge of a bridge and sob that I had ripped out his soul and fed it to the crocodiles, so he was going to sacrifice the rest of himself to them, too, had been enough to nip my sadness right in the bud. I certainly hadn't mourned myself into this funk. It's something more than that.
"You can always come home, you know," she says. "Your room is still here."
Unexpected Daddies Page 25
