by Lena Loneson
She hoisted her shoulder bag, making sure the freshly baked muffins she’d made with her ma didn’t get crushed by the bottle of white wine. There was one thing she’d added to the bag after her ma had left the house—a small bottle of lubricant. Just in case they needed it.
Was she getting too cocky now? Would he be there when she arrived?
Of course. He’d invited her. Where was this ridiculous self-doubt coming from?
Nora tried to put it out of her mind as she drank in the day. She walked slowly, sliding her only pair of open-toed sandals against the moist earthen floor of the forest surrounding the lough. They weren’t her most attractive footwear, beaten-up old leather things that she normally only wore to keep cool during practice with the O’Mailles. But Eamon seemed to like her feet. It was nice to wear them out and about for a change.
Sun glinted through holes in the tree canopy. She stopped in one such spot, raising her face to the sky. It was shortly after noon, so the sun’s rays struck her skin directly. The warmth on her skin and the quiet summer birdcalls lulled her into a peaceful trance.
When she reached the edge of the forest as it opened up into fields before the lough, she wasn’t as calm. Eamon had arrived first. He was sitting on a bright-blue tartan blanket that echoed the blue of the calm lough behind him. The water stretched out on either side of the long green fields. Sunlight rippled off the small lake, light reflecting on the mirrored surface, and the small islands that dotted the lake shone like emeralds. She turned her attention back to Eamon. His red hair blazed beneath the rays.
It was an area by the lough that few of the tourists knew about, deserted aside from the two of them. Nora quickened her pace toward him. Her heart fluttered against her ribcage.
He turned and saw her, waving his arms wildly. A smile caught on her lips. As if she wouldn’t be able to pick him out, the only person on a wide expanse of green grass. Nora waved back.
When she was close enough to see the old-fashioned picnic basket he’d brought, she called out a greeting. “What have you got in there?”
“Let’s see.” He opened the wicker basket as she sat on the blanket next to him. Nora felt very conspicuous, choosing a spot just close enough to feel his body heat but not so close that they touched. How ridiculous to feel this self-conscious with him after last night, when he’d buried his fingers inside her.
She peered in the basket with him and they pulled out plates and cutlery, then chicken, dark bread with orange cheese and greens.
“This looks delicious.” Nora greedily broke off a piece of the bread as she helped him to unpack.
“I can’t take credit. Áiné had one of the castle cooks put together the basket for me.”
Her mouth twitched. Was that a twinge of jealousy? Áiné was closer to his age. It made sense. She pulled her own picnic supplies out of her bag and Eamon uncorked the wine bottle, pouring it into the glasses she’d brought. Nora avoided eye contact as they worked. “Do you know her well?” She kept her voice as flat as she could. Nice and casual. The idea of prim, no-nonsense Áiné bedding down with Eamon made her stomach clench. They’d probably be guaranteed red-haired children too. She loaded her plate with food but let it sit there.
“I’ve known Áiné for over twenty years. Her father helped me out when I was starting in travel writing, and my piece about Tullamore was one of my first that brought me real success.” He took a sip of wine and smiled, not seeming to notice her jealousy. “Their family was a godsend after Keelin drowned.”
Right. His wife. Her jealousy of the hotel owner suddenly seemed petty. “Is it hard being back here?” she asked.
Tension filled his face, his jaw clenching and lines crinkling around his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, it’s fine.” His intake of breath was audible. “It’s strange. I thought it would be heartbreaking being back here. I fought coming and only did because they couldn’t get anyone else out here with the planes grounded. I didn’t want to turn down one of my first assignments with The Antitourist. It was hard at first.” He paused. “This might sound ridiculous.”
“Try me.”
“I thought I heard her, in the night. The first night I saw you, when you—” His voice broke off.
“When I nearly drowned myself, like an idiot?” She kept her tone light and wry.
He nodded. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes, I could almost swear she led me to you. I heard your pennywhistle and that was why I found my way to you on the beach, but once I hit the water it continued long after you had finished playing.”
Was it possible? She’d wondered how he’d found her in the ocean that first night. “It could have been the wind,” she said automatically. The blue skies above their heads didn’t offer any answers. The mirror-flat surface of the lough was changing, though, rippling as the wind picked up. “But you might be right. It might have been something else.” Nora laughed at herself. “Of course, I’m the subject of my own little mysteries, so perhaps I’m more willing to believe these days. Or it might just be the curse of the Irish girl. Aren’t we more prone to superstition?”
“One thing I’ve learned in traveling is that everyone wants a little piece of the unknown. Every culture has its myths. Harnessing them is great for tourism, but it’s also about experiencing something beyond the shallow flashiness of visiting landmarks and taking photos. In Iceland, they build small houses for the fair folk. You can see them scattered through the countryside.”
“So perhaps we’re not so crazy, then.”
They shared a grin. “Perhaps not,” he said. Then his voice fell to a whisper. “It’s not the only crazy thing I’ve felt.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard my wife’s voice here. Ever since I came back to Tullamore.”
Nora’s breath caught. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Was he worried she’d be jealous? Or that he wouldn’t believe her?
She swallowed. Her throat felt full of sand. “It wouldn’t be the only strange thing to have been heard on these shores, Eamon,” she said. He nodded.
A light breeze blew a strand of hair across her face. Eamon brushed it back with his fingers. His touch lingered until she lowered her eyes. A smile tugged at her lips and when she looked up again he was smiling back at her.
They ate in silence together for a few minutes. The chicken was still warm and tender and the cheese pleasantly sharp. Perhaps Nora would bring back a basket from Tullamore for her ma someday. Though Mary Catherine never believed anyone could cook as well as she did, she would still enjoy it. Nora wouldn’t have to tell her she’d gotten the idea from Eamon.
She wanted to know more about him, this man who believed in mystery, traveled the world and rescued young women from the sea. It was a good thing his guitar-playing wasn’t close to virtuoso level, or she wouldn’t be able to believe that level of perfection could exist.
“So what else have you learned in your travels?”
“Ah, I won’t bore you with lectures about the wonders of the world.”
But what if she wanted him to? There was no way he could be boring. “Fine, then. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve done for an article?”
“Ahhh, now that’s a difficult one.” The emerald in his eyes twinkled. “Hmmm.” He pursed his lips, making a show of thinking hard. Nora laughed lightly because she knew he’d intended her to, but she couldn’t stop staring at his full lips. Why hadn’t she kissed him yet today?
She put down the plate with her half-finished meal. As he opened his mouth to speak, she leaned forward, capturing it with her own. He tasted like wine. She drank him in. Though she’d intended it as a quick kiss, it deepened and he leaned in to her, probing with his tongue. Nora sighed with happiness. When they broke apart, he planted a quick kiss on her nose.
“The weirdest thing I’ve done for a story…” he said, his hand roving up her bare arm. Nora let him pull her closer, savoring hi
s touch as she listened to him speak. “Well, they have the world’s highest bungee jump in New Zealand. And a bonus—if you jump naked, you get to go for free.”
She laughed, picturing it. “You didn’t!”
“I was on a fledgling journalist’s budget, writing a spec piece—that means no money from a mag up front. You’d better believe I did it. Cock flapping in the wind and everything.”
She covered her breasts, miming an ache. “That sounds right painful. All that bouncing? I’d never be so glad of my small chest.” His eyes moved to her bosom, and her face flushed. Maybe he was admiring them rather than agreeing with her about their size. She hoped so.
She held her breath as his hand moved from her shoulder down her chest. He pulled her close, pressing their bodies together.
“Let’s see,” he continued. “There was also the time I got into a boxing match with a kangaroo just outside Canberra.”
“Now you’re lying.”
“Please forgive me. I’m finding it hard to remember much about my life at the moment.” His mouth on her neck sent thoughts flying from her mind too. She arched her back as he slid the strap of her dress from her shoulder and kissed his way lower. When he revealed her small breasts, the tip of his tongue hovered between his lips. Good. He liked what he saw. She moved closer, urging him to taste them.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What?” Their conversation had flown entirely out of her head. When he spoke, the warm air he exhaled onto her breasts made her nipples stand at attention. Funny, they normally only did that in the cold.
“Your travel stories.” He took her left nipple in his mouth, sucking it softly. Too softly. She wanted more.
“Travel stories?” She thought out loud, pressing her chest against him. His tousled red hair tickled her neck. When he scraped the nipple with his teeth, she let out a small gasp. “Oh, goodness, you know, I’ve never actually been off the islands.” She ran her hands down his back. The sun beat down on them, and even with the strengthening breeze, his white shirt clung to his back with sweat. His tongue flicked at her breast as she tried to remember what she was saying. “Right. I’ve toured with the band, but we were mostly playing the nights, driving through the days, sleeping when we could, eating what the pubs would give us for our work. Not much actual tourism.”
The skin of her breast vibrated with his murmured nonresponse. Was he disappointed? It was a mite awkward, the difference in their experience levels. “And of course I can’t be gone too long. I have to take care of Ma.” It sounded like an excuse. How to rescue this conversation?
She smiled mischievously, then turned her face deadpan, pulling him up by his hair to look at her. When she caught his eye, she kissed him slowly. When they broke apart, she went with a bold lie. “I did see the monster of Lough Ness once, however.” The words came out in a rush. It was hard to catch her breath.
“No way.”
She nodded, widening her eyes innocently. “Cross my heart. Nessie in the flesh. Or at least a mighty large shadow.”
“More mysteries,” he said. Then his strong hands were on her bare chest, pressing her to the blanket beneath them. The breeze was cool on her breasts where the skin was still moist from his mouth. He held her down, his hands on hers, stretching them out beside her, mimicking the shackles he’d used on her the day before. The heaviness of his body weighed on hers. His eyes flicked to the left and she followed his gaze. He was staring at where his fingers were intertwined with hers. Ah yes, the mystery that so fascinated him.
Right then she didn’t want to be a mystery. Or something that needed saving. She wanted to be just a normal girl. She caught a sigh before it escaped her lips. Woman. That was what she meant. A normal woman, and preferably one with a cock inside her. She arched her back, pushing her hips against his. She hadn’t even seen him fully nude yet. It was long past time. “Let me go—I want to get this shirt off you.”
He acquiesced. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Once she’d stripped it off him, she pressed a finger to his chest. He obediently hovered above her. She traced the sweat-moistened hairs that curled delicately across his pecs. “Nice.”
“Glad you approve, little one.” His endearment came out muffled with pleasure as she licked across his chest, tasting the salt on his skin. She frowned, not at the taste but at the term he used. She might be small physically but she could take charge too.
She flipped him quickly, savoring the surprise on his face. He landed softly with his back against the blanket, sprawled on the ground. Nora swiveled herself on top of him, straddling his legs. She let the smile of triumph show before she leaned down to part his teeth with her tongue, sliding her waist up over his erection. Their bare chests slipped against each other, both slick with sweat. Using her light body to her advantage, Nora rose to her knees, keeping him pinned between her legs—artificially, since he could throw her off at any time. She reached down and unzipped his fly. She performed a deft feat of acrobatics, sliding her legs to one side for long enough to slip her knickers off them. Or rather it was supposed to be a deft feat of acrobatics.
“Help?” she squawked, tangled in the skirt fabric of her red dress. Screw embarrassment, she wanted to fuck him now. If he had to assist, that was fine.
“Let’s get these off you.” His voice was low and husky, just the way she liked it.
“Rip them if you have to.”
He obliged, tearing one side of the lacy black knickers. Nora’s greedy hands grasped at his cock, liberating it from his boxers. It sprang to attention, liquid leaking from the top in celebration of its freedom. Eamon handed her a condom from his pocket. She opened the packet with her teeth and rolled it onto him.
Nora swung a leg over him again and guided him into her sheath, fortunately keeping things graceful this time. “There we go.” She was wet enough that he filled her almost immediately, gravity pulling her down on top of him. When he hit the tip of her cervix, a cry escaped her lips.
“You all right, little one?” His voice came out in gasps as she rocked her hips, riding him on the lawn by the lough.
“Oh yes.” Their breathing and the slap of her skin against his were the only noises she could hear. Even the birds seemed to have drifted away, or their song had left her consciousness. She watched his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes traveled to her breasts. They bounced as she moved. “Like the view?”
His eyes flicked back to hers and he grinned. “Very much—” His last word was cut off with a groan that she matched with her own. One of her knees had strayed off the blanket. It rubbed against the grass. She’d be left with a stain on her skin or her dress, or perhaps both. The earth was leaving its mark on her.
“I want you on top now,” she said. He nodded. Oh, her pussy was bereft when he left it for a moment as they repositioned. She moved the blanket. He opened his mouth and before he could ask, she said, “I want to feel the dirt on my back.” Whether or not he understood, he nodded.
The combination of grass and dirt was cool on her bare back. When he entered her again, his thrust nearly buried her in the ground, it seemed. The pain of his cock hitting her cervix steadied her, bringing everything into focus around her. The darkening gray of the sky, the lush green of trees in the distance—it all seemed more vibrant. When had she last felt this connected to the earth? Never. It was he who did it. “Harder,” she gasped, pulling his chest close to hers. He thrust into her again and again.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
He thrust harder, shutting his eyes. She cried out with pain. From his quickening breaths, it wouldn’t be long before he came. She wanted more. This felt too good to stop. She wanted him to take her completely, grind her into the earth until her spirit joined it. She wanted to be convinced that this was where she belonged—here on the grass by the lough, with him inside her. Not out in the ocean all alone. “Eamon?”
His reply was an affirmative grunt.
>
“Please stop.”
His eyes flew open. The confusion and disappointment on his face was comical, but he stopped moving immediately. “Right, okay.” His cock was still half-buried in her body.
She leaned up to him, touching his ear with her lips. “I want you,” she nibbled the lobe, “to take me in the arse. Will you?”
“Oh little one, I’d do anything you ask right now.”
Her smile split her face in two. She let him slide out of her. “I want you to push me into the ground and ride me until it hurts.” Her pussy voiced its complaint silently, with a pulsing, near-orgasmic shudder at the suction as his cock left her. “There’s lube in my bag.”
“Ah, you come prepared. Wine, muffins and lube—I can’t ask for more. You’d be an excellent travel companion, you know that? I’ll take you to see Canada, you’ll love the music in Newfoundland.” He seemed to be speaking absently, conversationally, as he dug in the bag for the lube. But she didn’t want to think about travel now, or the future. For a few minutes as they’d made love, she’d forgotten about all that. “Then maybe the rest of the world—the north, the deserts, like nothing you’d find on the isles.”
Her stomach rolled at the idea of the desert, kilometers of sand stretching to the horizon, so far away from the briny scent of the ocean that filled her lungs each morning. She couldn’t leave it. She couldn’t. She turned her head, letting her hair, now escaping her braid, hide the reaction that must show on her face.
“Have you done this before?” he asked.
For a moment she thought he meant had she ever left the sea. But no. She shook her head. He guided her body until she was lying on the blanket again. Her dress was gathered in a bunch at her waist, pushed down over her breasts and up around her waist. “Looks as if I’ve ruined another dress.” She hoped the joke would help to keep her voice light and belie the tension she was feeling.
