by Lena Loneson
Eamon guided her ankles into the shackles near the floor and clasped them tightly. Metal scraped on metal as he closed the restraints.
“There you go, little one. No leaving me this time.”
“I have no desire to.” And he was right—she couldn’t. With her legs and arms spread and shackled, she was opened up to him against the wall and unable to move. She trembled at the thought of it. She wasn’t cold anymore. The heat of lust rushed from her core, warming her body.
He remained kneeling before her, a supplicant to her chained figure. The side of his face pressed against her thigh. He touched one of her bare feet with a finger.
Panic doused her stomach with cold. She jerked the foot, forgetting the shackle. He held it tight before she could scrape her ankle on the metal. “Don’t hurt yourself, Nora.”
“You don’t want to touch my feet.” She’d meant it to sound like a threat, but her voice rose at the end, questioning him. He couldn’t want to touch her feet. She tried to bury them in the rug, to hide the webbing between her toes. The shackles wouldn’t let her.
“I’ve already seen your hands,” he chided her. “I want to touch every part of you.”
“Not there.”
“You’ve already said yes, though, haven’t you? Unless you want me to unchain you.”
He would if she asked. She had no doubt of that.
“I can unchain you completely and you can run away. Or you can let me do what I want with you.” His voice was confident. He already knew what she would choose. She wanted him too much to say no. So she said nothing and let him stroke her feet. He picked the left one up lightly in both hands, shifting it just enough in the shackle that he could hold it off the rug. He massaged her foot with strong fingers. Nora moaned, leaning back hard against the wall as he worked the kinks out of her foot. No man had ever touched her like this before. No man had dared. He spread her toes, feeling the tight skin between them.
“I’ve heard the rumors about you.” His voice was light, matter-of-fact, as he lowered one foot and picked up the other. “They say these are the mark of the child of a selkie.” He said the word without judgment. It was strange to hear the word selkie spoken out loud to her, rather than hissed in accusation or whispered behind her back. Part of her still wanted to run.
“That’s what they say,” she admitted. Her voice shook. “That my da was a selkie.”
“Were you looking for him?”
She pretended not to understand. “What do you mean?”
“The night I found you. Were you looking for him?” He placed her foot back on the ground and leaned back on his heels, looking up at her in the dark.
She was fully exposed, her legs and arms stretched wide, her flaws caressed by his gaze. She couldn’t run away from him, out of the castle, down to the beach—she was shackled tightly to the wall. Her stomach turned over on itself and she gasped for air. Eamon watched her. She wanted him to touch her again.
Oh, hell. He’d seen enough of her. Why not be honest about her desire? “Touch me.”
“Not yet,” he said. “This might be the only time I have you trapped like this. What were you doing the night I found you?”
She moaned with frustration. Every part of her body cried out for his touch. The small hairs on her legs and arms stood up at attention. Her knickers were filled with the cream of her desire. With his head nearly between her legs, he must be able to smell her. How could he stand it? Why wouldn’t he just lean forward, lift her skirt and brush her knickers aside to taste her?
Fine. If that was the only way he would touch her, she’d answer him. The air she gasped into her lungs gave her strength. Or maybe it was her anger. She was too angry to be scared anymore.
“I wasn’t looking for my father. I know he’s gone, he’s never coming back. I just want to know what’s out there.”
“In the water?”
“Yes.” How could she explain it to him when she barely could to herself?
“What’s out there that you can’t find here?”
In the darkness she couldn’t see the expression on his face, just the shadows of his strong cheekbones and the strength of his aquiline nose. His hair tickled the sides of her legs. She thought of how it had felt between her fingers the first night they’d met—wet and smelling of seawater, just like in her dreams. “I think I was looking for you.”
“I’m right here.” He pushed her skirt higher on her thighs and bent his mouth to her skin, kissing the top of the knee. The touch of him was water after a drought. She was lightheaded. Her wrists ached in the shackles but it was a good ache, the cold metal reminding her that she was here, alive, the stone against her back holding her deep within the earth, away from the ocean.
“Keep me here,” she begged. He kissed and nipped his way up her inner thigh. She shivered beneath each touch. When he pulled her patchwork skirt up around her waist and dragged his tongue along the cleft between her thigh and her hip, she heard a sudden burst of laughter from the stage outside and thought briefly of what it would look like if someone walked in—Nora the mutant spread open in public—but then his tongue moved over the fabric of her knickers and her mind went elsewhere.
Blast it, why had she bothered to wear knickers?
He sucked the fabric into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue over silk. Then he moved them aside with a deft finger. She ground her ass against the stone when his tongue touched the outer lips of her pussy, flicking lightly over the black curls that protected her. Oh yes, this man might just hold her to the world. Flutters of pleasure filled her as he licked at her clit. When he made her come, she might melt into the stone wall forever. His tongue spread her folds of skin. She waited breathlessly for his tongue to plunge deep into her.
But he pulled back.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped.
“Nothing to worry about, little one.” There was laughter in his voice. What was he going to do to her? It had better involve his mouth. Or his fingers. Or his cock. She wasn’t picky.
He was shuffling around for something in the bag he’d left on the floor beside him. A pleased sound told her he’d found what he’d been looking for.
“Eamon, I thought we were in the middle of something here.”
He turned back to her. “I know. But I found an item you were looking for.”
What did he have in his hand? The room was too dark to tell. Oh, and then he raised his mouth to her again, tracing her clit with his tongue, teasing her. He nipped at her clit, lightly, making her cry out.
“You taste like the sea, did you know that?” he asked, his voice muffled as he sucked on her. It didn’t require an answer but she couldn’t have answered anyway, as he had her moaning as he parted her nether lips with his fingers.
Something cold touched the canal of her pussy. Her hands jerked against her restraints. Eamon pushed it farther inside her, a metal finger as cold as the shackles that held her. She strained her thighs, spreading them farther apart, letting him have better access. When she realized what it was she laughed out loud.
“I hope you…washed all of the sand…out of my whistle.” She said it in three bursts, gasps between breaths. The metal instrument was thin but long. He pushed it farther inside her, the contrast of the cold tube in her pussy stark against the heat of his mouth still working at her clit. “Thank you.” For finding the pennywhistle, or for what he was doing now. Her body shook. She clutched at the whistle with the walls of her pussy. He sucked her clit farther into his mouth and moved the whistle in short flickering movements against her insides.
She came hard and fast, crying out, leaning against the stone wall, held upright only by the shackles around her wrists and Eamon’s arm supporting her waist as he pulled the instrument out of her.
He rose to his full height, letting her skirts drop. She strained forward to meet him and they shared a short kiss, Nora tasting her own juices, until it was broken by another couple moving, whispering gleefully, into the dungeon.
&
nbsp; Who were they—anyone she knew? Had they seen her? “Uncuff me.” She couldn’t keep the desperation from her voice. Being a joke hadn’t seemed that bad when she’d been wicked turned-on, but now the idea shattered the afterglow from her orgasm.
“It’s okay,” Eamon said. But it wasn’t. He didn’t understand—why had he put her in a situation like this, where anyone could walk in on them? Why had she let him? She struggled against the shackles.
“It’s fine,” he said more insistently. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He held her still, pressing her shoulder against the wall. She glared at him. The couple who had entered the dungeon laughed and pushed each other into a pile of pillows, less than five meters from Eamon and Nora.
“It’s not fine.” Nora was fuming.
“Hold still,” he said. He was stronger than she. It was sexy but also infuriating. She obeyed, but only so she could work up the strength to struggle harder.
Then the shackles around her wrists popped open easily under his fingers.
“How did you do that?” There was no way he’d picked the locks that quickly.
“Little one, they’re not going to keep real torture devices in a luxury hotel. It would be a nightmare for the insurance.”
Oh. Right. Just for ambiance then? Well, and sex. She felt a bit foolish as she shook her arms, realizing that the couple near them was so enamored of each other that they hadn’t spared Nora and her lover a glance. She heard the unzipping of a fly. Yikes, they were going to go at it right on that pile of pillows.
Eamon bent down and freed her ankles. She sighed with pleasure as she moved them clear of the shackles.
“Can I rub them for you?” he asked. Right, now that he’d released her he was finally asking permission.
“No,” she replied obstinately.
“You have to learn to trust someone. It might as well be me.” His voice was full of irritation. Good. He deserved it.
“No,” she said. “That’s not why I said no.” It was her turn to take charge. She grasped him under his arms with her nearly numb hands. There was no way she could have pulled him to his feet if he hadn’t chosen to cooperate, but it was more fun to pretend she’d done it.
She pressed him against the wall and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Look.” His earlobe was soft beneath her mouth. Eamon’s chest rose against hers as he sucked in a breath, realizing what they were watching. The couple in front of them had moved into a sixty-nine position and were frantically sucking at each other, the woman’s dress pushed above her waist, and the man’s cock free from his trousers. No fair, the new woman had beaten Nora to her plan.
Nora moved her hand to Eamon’s waist. Good, he was still hard. She cupped him in her hand through his jeans. Rock-hard, in fact. Nice to know the taste of her was that much of a turn-on.
She undid his jeans slowly, keeping the noise to a minimum. Had the new couple seen them and not cared? Perhaps they liked being watched. Best not to distract them. She was too happy here, pressed against Eamon’s chest.
Nora reached her hand down, slipping under the waistband of Eamon’s boxers. His cock was hot and hard but also silky-soft, her hand sliding down the skin easily. She ran a thumb over the head, picking up pre-cum to lubricate her fingers.
She squeezed him lightly in her fist. “Now, what should I ask you?”
“What?” His gasped response was confused.
“You tortured me into a reply before you got me off. Shouldn’t I do the same to you?”
“That’s not fair. You weren’t this turned-on. I’m about three seconds away from coming, little one.”
She didn’t think he was lying. His cock jerked in her hand. “Just one question?”
He moaned in frustration. “What is it, then?”
“Have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“That’s it?” He was panting louder, drowning out the other couple.
“Yes, that’s it.” Maybe she could get him to come before the others did. A race. Nora smiled at the thought.
“Of course,” he said. “Where?”
She jerked him faster, pleased by his response. “Your choice.” Had she really thought he’d say no? Maybe. She was used to rejection. The opposite felt nice. She closed her hand even more tightly around him as he came, delighting in the feel of his cum spurting out, dripping down the sides of her fist, sticking to her skin.
The two strangers sharing the room with them came just afterward, and Nora giggled into Eamon’s chest. She zipped him up and slipped her clogs back onto her feet, wiping his cum on her skirt. Eamon picked up his bag and they stepped around the couple as the other woman licked cum off the man’s cock.
“Nice job,” Nora laughed as she passed. Eamon squeezed her hand and the couple called out muffled goodbyes as she and Eamon left the dungeon.
Chapter Twelve
When had he last had a night like that?
Back at his hotel room, alone, Eamon pulled off his clothes and ran the shower. His shirt was soaked with sweat. After their encounter in the dungeon, he and Nora had returned to the céilí for more music. They’d played, drunk and danced until their feet and fingers were sore. It was near to 3.00 a.m. and he was exhausted.
He stepped into the shower, letting hot water work on his sore muscles. It was one of Tullamore’s many charms—fully modern, extravagant plumbing in oversized showers and tubs, rivaling those of any European luxury hotel, juxtaposed with the rustic castle exterior. He’d toyed with the idea of a bath, but as tired as he was, Eamon didn’t know if he could manage to get out of the tub once he’d lain down in it.
This girl was going to wear him out, no question. And it wasn’t just the age difference. She had a vibrancy to her that was infectious. When she laughed, he laughed louder. When her cheeks flushed, his cock grew hard. When she was sad or scared, he wanted to hold her close and protect her.
He scrubbed his body down with soap, feeling the ripples of his muscles under his hands. How much better it would be to have her hands washing him clean. For all that he’d known of her tonight—the taste of her pussy, the inside of the canal between her legs, the small whimpers she made as she came—he still hadn’t touched her fully naked body, nor she his.
Well, that should be rectified soon. He’d already programmed her number into his cell and he had the perfect date taking shape in his mind. That was what he wanted—a real date. While he’d never say no to a second round in the castle dungeon, he needed to see Nora in the light of day, and he knew now that he wanted more than sex. How that would coexist with his leaving for Canada as soon as his article was finished and the smoke-filled skies cleared enough to fly home, he didn’t know. For now he didn’t care. He would take his attraction to her one day at a time.
Where would he take her tomorrow? He wanted to find the right spot, but really it could be anywhere. She wanted his cock inside her as much as he did. Their physical connection was too strong to deny, even if she wouldn’t admit their emotional one.
Eamon cupped his hands under the shower’s stream, bringing the water to his mouth. The beer had left him a bit dehydrated.
The perfect date. Hmm. She loved the water, but he wouldn’t take her to the sea. There were too many memories there, for both of them. A picnic on the beach would be romantic in any other situation, but not theirs. Not yet, anyway.
What about Griffin’s Lough? Away from the beach, there wouldn’t be memories of the shore. It was a beautiful spot with clear blue water—on the right days, in the right weather—and vibrant green fields stretching out beyond. He’d hiked by that lough some twenty years ago with Keelin.
Keelin.
This couldn’t be the first time he’d thought of her since seeing Nora on the stage. She was normally in his mind constantly, had been even since her death. She was always a part of him.
He closed his eyes, leaning back to let the water rush over his face. It was nearly hot enough to scald. It was always Keelin he saw in his mind’s eye, no matter who shared his bed f
or a night or two. It was always Keelin he imagined sharing the shower with him, her playful grin as she soaped up his cock, her dark hair dripping water onto his skin.
Yellow hair. Keelin was blonde. Not brunette.
He opened his eyes, letting the soap sting them. What had gotten into him? Keelin was his wife. Yes, she was gone, but she would always be first in his heart. Nora was…what? A distraction.
Was she truly? The previous women he’d buried his cock inside for a night had known it wasn’t permanent. He never let them think it was. He was a nomad, always traveling. Sure, he’d lived in St. John’s, Newfoundland, for over five years now, his longest stay anywhere, but his townhouse was only a home base as he scoured the world for new stories to tell. He’d never dated a local woman, though not for lack of invitations. He’d never stayed in a location for long enough to develop a relationship. That was how he preferred it.
Brrr. The water chilled suddenly. Very unusual for Tullamore. Could everyone in the hotel be using hot water at three in the morning? It was ice on his skin. He stepped out of the shower and rubbed himself down with the thick, luxurious towel.
How could he be falling for a woman he’d known for less than a week? Whatever his heart thought it felt, there was no future for them. Was there?
Nora would love St. John’s, with its rocky shores and tempestuous ocean, the friendly people and the local folk music scene.
No. He had to make it clear to Nora that this was a temporary thing, before she got the wrong idea.
If he did, would she refuse to see him again, before he’d ever had the chance to slide his cock deep inside her, following the path he’d tested with the pennywhistle tonight?
It was implied. She knew he was leaving. Ireland hadn’t been his home in twenty years.
