Irish Kiss: A Second Chance, Age Taboo Romance (An Irish Kiss Novel Book 1)

by Sienna Blake

  Diarmuid shook his head, raising his hand to stop me. “I don’t need you to explain the details, selkie. I’m just glad that you’re okay. And that you called me.”

  I sank back in my seat and tried my best to hide the tears forming in my eyes.

  “Thank you for picking me up.”

  He glanced over and shot me a smile. “Anything for you.”

  He drove us to his house instead of mine. I sat up in my seat when I realised where he was taking me.

  “I, er…” he cleared his throat, “don’t feel comfortable with you in that house of yours alone.”

  I didn’t have the heart to explain that I was mostly alone anyway.

  My heart began to pound in my chest as he pulled up in his driveway. When he turned off his engine, I swear it was so loud he could hear it.

  Diarmuid and I would be in his house when I turned eighteen.

  Alone.

  “Stay there,” he said, getting out of his truck.

  Diarmuid came around to my side, opened the door for me and held out a hand. I was about to chastise him—I wasn’t thirteen anymore and could get out my-damn-self, when he spoke, sounding bashful.

  “Saw you were wearing heels. Didn’t want you to trip getting out.”

  God, why did he have to be so fucking perfect?

  I slid my hand into his, electricity crackling up my arm and down my body, as he helped me down.

  For a brief second, we just stood there, holding hands. Facing each other. Studying each other in the glow of his porch light, trying to see if the months apart had changed each other.

  His eyes traced the lines of my body, heat flaring in them. With that one look, he stripped me.

  Diarmuid pulled his hand from mine and locked up the truck. I followed him, my legs shaking up the short path to his door.

  “You…okay?” he called back to me. It was like he could sense I was near to passing out.

  “Fine,” I lied.

  We entered his house and I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress. I jolted when he locked the door behind me. Oh God. Was this really happening? Was I really here?

  I turned to face him. His eyes locked onto mine and he chewed on his bottom lip.

  Alone.

  We were alone.

  “What were you doing when I called?” I blurted out. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

  “Just watching TV. About to have a shower.”

  I nodded. “You do stink.”

  “Hey,” Diarmuid cried out, then took a sniff of his armpit. “I don’t smell that bad.”

  I let out a small smile. “No, not that bad.”

  He could never smell bad. Even sweaty and dirty he still smelled amazing to me.

  “You want a shower first?” he asked.

  I nodded. I wanted to get out of this dress and to wash off the splashes of rum now sticky on my legs.

  “Let’s get you set up.”

  I followed him through his house to his bathroom; he left and came back with a towel, a set of sweatpants and a shirt.

  “These are the smallest things I own. They’re not going to fit you at all,” he said apologetically.

  “That’s okay. Anything is better than sleeping in this dress,” I said, waving down at myself.

  I looked up in time to catch his eyes roaming over me again. He quickly looked away when he found I’d caught him.

  “I’ll leave you to it.”

  He brushed past me in the tiny bathroom. The touch of his warm skin made my head spin. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop myself from passing out.

  “Hey, so,” he tapped on the door frame, making me turn to face him. “You look,” he swallowed hard, “incredible, by the way.” He looked almost bashful as he spoke. “Just thought you should know that.”

  “Like a woman?” I asked, my voice a near whisper.

  He sucked in a breath. Nodded. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I could have died happy right there.

  The smile that broke out on my face hurt my cheeks.

  A woman.

  Finally.

  Diarmuid Brennan saw me as a woman.

  60

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  What the hell was I doing?

  I should have just dropped her off at home.

  I shouldn’t have made that dumb excuse about her not being home alone.

  I just wanted her in my bed again. Was that so bad? I’d missed her so much these last few months, I just wanted her near me.

  I didn’t even have to touch her. I just wanted to feel her warmth beside me. To know that she was safe, right next to me. That the world could no longer hurt her as it wished, it would have to go through me first.

  I swear. I wanted nothing else. Just to be near her.

  I glanced at the clock. Just past ten p.m. In less than two hours, my little selkie would be eighteen.

  She would be eighteen and…

  Even if I did touch her as she lay in my bed, it would be okay.

  Right?

  If she leaned into my touch, if she spread her legs and opened her mouth for me, that would be okay.

  Right?

  And if I gave her body every single pleasure it deserved, that would be okay.

  Right?

  I rubbed my face. No. No no no. Can’t think like that. No.

  She was still ten years younger than me. She was still one of my kids.

  How could I return to work and look at my supervisor if I touched her? If I…?

  “I’m finished.” Saoirse’s soft voice floated to me from the corridor that led into the living room.

  I turned my head, ready to tease her. “Leave any hot water for—”

  My mind blanked.

  She was wearing my Nirvana shirt. It was huge on her, falling to the top of her thighs. But it was all she was wearing.

  “W-what are you wearing?” I stuttered.

  She looked confused, then looked down at herself.

  “It looks like your old Nirvana t-shirt.” She stretched the hem of the shirt, making the material tighten across her breasts.

  Holy shit. She had no bra on under that shirt.

  She looked up and caught me ogling her. My cheeks burned. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  I was going to hell for this.

  “B-but…p-pants…” I muttered.

  “Oh. I’m not wearing your sweatpants. They were wayyy too big for me. Even with the drawstring at its tightest they just fell right off me.” She made a motion with her hands indicating pants falling off her. The movement caught my eye, drawing them to her creamy trim legs.

  Legs that only a few weeks ago were wrapped around my waist as I kissed her on the bonnet of my car.

  Legs that I’d love to wrap around my neck as I kissed her sweet little—

  Holy shit.

  Shower.

  A cold shower.

  A motherfucking cold shower right now.

  Right now. Before she realised that bulge down there was my raging hard on. Before I pushed her up against a wall and found out if she was wearing anything under my shirt.

  I pushed past her, mumbling something, incoherent probably, and practically ran into the shower, slamming the door and locking it behind me. I sagged against the door. That was fucking close.

  A knock sounded from the other side, making me jolt.

  “Diarmuid? Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Yes, fine. Just…having a shower.” I tore off my clothes and jumped into the shower, turning it on, yelping when the cold water froze me.

  “Diarmuid?”

  “Fine. All fine,” I lied.

  A cold shower. That was what I needed to calm the fuck down. To get my willpower under control. Right?

  61

  ____________

  Saoirse

  I must have nodded off sitting on the couch because when I came to the shower had been turned off. I loved Diarmuid’s home, his couch covered in a sheepskin rug, a sing
le side lamp on giving the living room a warm glow.

  I stood up, listening out for Diarmuid. I walked softly down the short corridor towards his room, pausing as I reached the slightly open door.

  He was in there. He must have just gotten out of the shower because he stood there, hair tied back into a bun, dampness touching the edges of his hairline, the only thing on was a pair of grey briefs that clung to his round ass.

  I remembered standing just like this three years ago watching him undress. He looked as he did then. Except he had more ink now, my eyes tracing the additional dark art spreading across his body.

  He picked up a pair of grey sweatpants and tugged them on, turning his body so I could see his front.

  Oh God. I stared at that bulge in his briefs before it was covered up by his pants as he straightened.

  Now he was just shirtless. His firm muscular chest and ripped abs on display. Familiar ink across his arms and shoulders and—

  There was a tattoo on his chest.

  It hadn’t been there before.

  He was saving that spot. He hadn’t found anything that meant enough to him to ink over his heart.

  Jealousy surged through me. Who was it for? What was it?

  I only realised I’d stepped into his room, drawn in by my raging curiosity, when he looked up.

  “Saoirse,” he exclaimed, then took a step back as if he were scared of me. “What are you doing?”

  “I just…” I edged closer and closer. Just one more step and I could make out the tattoo.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  It was half seal, half woman done in black ink.

  A selkie.

  My eyes traced the delicate lines, the long wavy hair trailing over the selkie’s shoulder.

  “You got a heart piece,” I said, my words shaking out through my teeth.

  He blinked, then slammed a hand over his heart, hiding her.

  I stared at him, my head spinning, my heart swelling at the meaning of this revelation. “That’s me. You put me over your heart.”

  “That’s…ridiculous.”

  I took hold of his hand and pulled it from his chest. He let me, a large breath releasing from his lungs as if he’d just taken a heavy burden off his shoulders. Our fingers twisted together as they hung from our sides. My breath turned to lead lumps in my lungs.

  I lifted my free hand and placed my fingertips on the selkie’s face. He sucked in a breath and his chest tensed under my touch, wincing as if it pained him. But he didn’t move to stop me. I traced the selkie from her head down to her tail.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  It all became clear now. Diarmuid’s sturdy resistance. He wasn’t worried that he was still technically married. It wasn’t about my age. Or my being one of his assignments. Not really.

  He had placed me over his heart. But he was terrified to let me in.

  Once I got in I could never be torn out.

  Once he let me in he’d never be free of me.

  I’d be part of his lungs, using me to breathe. I’d be part of his heart, needing me to keep it pumping.

  Like everyone he’d ever loved in his life, I could be torn away.

  I’ve always been yours. And I will never leave you. I am as permanent as the ink over your heart, as the blood in your veins.

  As I gazed into his eyes—his beautiful soft eyes, eyes that studied me like I was a constellation among the stars, eyes that placed me in the centre like the sun—I whispered these things.

  I saw his eyes rim with love, watched as his walls began to crumble. And like two stars in the same orbit, we crashed together.

  Our lips collided. Melding. Melting. Tongues meshing. Dancing. Playing. Our bodies pressed up together as if we were one, the heat of his bare chest radiating through my thin cotton shirt, crushing my breasts between us in the most erotic way, making my body feel like a jar full of fireflies.

  His arms wrapped around my back, holding me there against his heart. My fingers tugged the band out of his small bun so I could tangle my fingers in his silky locks.

  It felt like breathing after being held down underwater. My heart pounded against the cage of my ribs as if trying to get to his. I knew then that everything that made up me would be a traitor if it could find a way to leave my body and join his.

  I needed to get closer.

  As if he heard me, his hands slid down my back, cupping over my ass. Not close enough. I leapt up, wrapping my legs around him. I must have surprised him because he took a step back and fell, his bed catching him so he was sitting on the edge, me straddled across his strong thighs.

  Still… I needed to be closer.

  I tore my lips off him, avoiding him as he chased me with his mouth.

  “Wait,” I said, “let me…” I pulled away just enough so I could tug the shirt over my head, so I was straddled across his lap just in my white cotton panties. I pressed my bare torso against his.

  We groaned in unison, our mouths finding each other, pouring our moans onto each other’s tongue like wine.

  He trailed his hands up and down my body sending heat waves through me, his thumbs brushing the swell of my breasts, the curve of my ass, wrapping around my neck to grip my head to him.

  I wanted to know what every inch of him felt like. I wanted to own his skin.

  My hands adventured across his muscles, across the artwork inked onto him. But it seemed no matter how much I touched him, it only fed my hunger instead of satiating it.

  I rocked my hips against him, feeling the hardness waiting for me, and shivered.

  He let out a groan, then his hands went to my hips.

  For a second I thought he was going to stop me, to push me off. But then his fingers dug into my skin and pulled me hard against him.

  He tilted his head, demanding more of me. All of me. All that I was prepared to give. All that I was aching to give.

  I slid my hand between us to find his hardness, his sign of wanting me. Years I’d wanted him to want me like this, like a woman. Now he did. Now he was truly mine.

  God, I could cry with the sweet agony of relief.

  He pulled my hand from him.

  Shit. Too much, too fast. I scared him off.

  “Wait…” he breathed, placing his forehead on mine.

  I gritted my teeth. “If you tell me we have to stop, I will kill you.”

  He chuckled, his fingers tracing my sides. “Impatient girl. I didn’t say stop, I said wait.” His features turned serious as he glanced at the clock. “It’s only just eleven o’clock. You’re still…”

  Seventeen.

  I brushed his hair out of his face. “I don’t care.” I’ve never cared. But now I understood why he did. “But we can wait an hour if you want to. Until I turn eighteen, if that makes you feel better.”

  He chewed his lip. God, I wanted to taste his mouth again.

  Then he shook his head and said the words I was praying for. “What difference will one hour make?”

  Thank God.

  An hour was eternity. I’d been waiting for him for five years. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  His lip lifted up in a half-smirk as his fingers ran over the chaste trim of white lace on the leg of my panties. “Damn. This makes me feel really bad.”

  “I don’t think you’re being bad enough,” I dared to say.

  Our eyes locked. Hunger flared in his, dilating his pupils so they were black pools. Black pools I was falling into.

  “How bad do you want me to be?” His voice was the low rumble of thunder on the horizon, warning of a storm coming. I say, let it fucking rain. I wanted to dance in it.

  “Do your worst.”

  His thumb brushed over the front of my panties, causing me to suck in breath.

  He hissed. “You’re soaking.”

  I was wet from the moment I laid eyes on his beautiful strong body. Soaked from the second he kissed me. His from the moment we met.

/>   He traced his thumb on the edge of my panties, his other hand caressing my breast, brushing my nipple, teasing me, torturing me. God, he was cruel.

  “Badder,” I begged.

  His thumb slid under the panties and found my clit.

  “Oh,” I gasped.

  I’d never been touched there before. Not there. I mean, I had sex, technically, for less than a minute, but Kian had never put his hands on me.

  It hadn’t felt like this with Kian. It hadn’t felt like this at all. I hadn’t ached for him. Burned for him.

  Not like I burned now.

  Diarmuid began to rub the sensitive nub in tiny circles with the rough pad of his thumb, kneading my nipple between his other thumb and finger, everywhere he touched me radiating with waves of pleasure.

  My head knocked back and I let out soft cries. I found my hips bucking towards him, trying to give him more access. I had to grip onto his muscular shoulders so I didn’t collapse back.

  He groaned as he watched me, his gaze burning across my bare skin. “I’m barely touching you and… God, you are so sensitive. So uninhibited. So fucking fresh.”

  With one hand around my ribs, he pulled me up along his torso so I was kneeling. Before I could ask what he was doing, he latched his mouth around my nipple. The thumb of his other hand slid farther back, finding my entrance, playing with me. The ache in me intensified.

  He rolled my nipple between his teeth and his tongue and I let out a long moan.

  My nipple slipped from his mouth with a pop. “Selkie, I regret so much that day I found you with that boy.”

  Oh God.

  I regretted it too. I burned at the shame of the memory. Even as my body shook for more as his thumb ran up and down the wet length of me.

  “Have you…? Since then…?”

  I forced my eyes open to look at him. He was asking me if I’d had sex since Kian.

  I shook my head.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, “you’re practically a virgin.”

  I chewed my lip. Shit. Did he think me a girl again? Had I stopped being a woman in his eyes?

  He slid one hand around my back and up to grip the back of my neck. “As much as I want to get real savage on you, let’s go slow, okay?”

  I didn’t want to go slow. We’d been going slow for five years. I wanted him to go savage on me, to fill me, to tear me apart. To fuck me hard and deep and to make me moan like they did in porn videos. But I nodded anyway. I didn’t want to scare him off.