Lucky Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by L. A. Boruff

  “Yes!” I screamed, the fuse sparking into a full out explosion. His hips paused, though through the tremors rocking my vagina I could feel his cock savoring the ride. My ankles remained locked around his ass, Conall’s one hand digging into my hip while the other cupped my cheek almost chastely. In that position, he rode out the orgasm trembling down my legs and up into my chest.

  His green eyes stared where he joined with me as if in shock to find his cock found its way there. When he didn’t begin thrusting again, I reached out between us, fingers fumbling apart his hair. “You are,” Conall sighed, his hot tongue tapping against his lip. Boring his sight into mine, I stared deep into the gold flecks that seemed to be increasing by the kitchen’s overhead light.

  “I’m what?” I asked, feeling more foolish by the second.

  The fingers curling over my cheek swept lower, Conall parting his thumbprint against my lip. Slowly, he tugged my bottom lip open and placed that half kissed thumb to his own mouth. Pulling in a deep breath, he declared, “Impossible.”

  Hips rocketed forward, driving the pound of his cock back through my ever-hungry core. Sweat percolated across his swath of creamy skin like dawn’s dew upon a white rose. Fists slammed to the table astride me, rock hard forearms pinning against my hips. Conall tugged me tighter to his rolling pelvis and thumping cock, even as he placed his lips to mine.

  The heat of a fire burned not only through my body but in my nose. It smelled of a hearth with a fresh catch popping in the fireplace, warm arms wrapped around me as an Irish rain beat against the windows. It felt of home, of safety and belonging.

  “Sweet Mary,” Conall cried against my lips, breaking the spell. His head tipped back to the ceiling, his hands digging into my hips as he came. Still, he kept on thrusting, as if wanting to keep the magic going even as the wand sputtered to a rest. Sadly, all good things and so forth. After wiping his forehead and shaking his head as if he downed a shot, he pulled himself free of me.

  “That,” he gulped, a giddy chuckle rolling off his lips.

  That was not supposed to happen.

  I struggled to sit up, the table’s hard edge digging into my bare skin. Guilty, my eyes darted to the empty bowls still waiting for dinner. Conall followed my gaze and he smiled, “That’s one way to work up an appetite.”

  “I, uh…” The full situation punctured through my post-coital, rainbow haze. Shame gurgled in my empty gut, and my eyes darted from the fully naked man back to the door. “I don’t usually do that,” I sputtered out.

  “No?” Conall spoke, rising off me to his feet to gather up the scattered clothing. “That’s a shame,” he said, his green eyes winking at me, “because you’re quite talented at it.”

  A laugh rolled in my chest evaporating the tension. Without a care, he crammed one foot down his pants leg and said, “Now if you don’t mind, I believe it’s uncouth for a gentleman to dine in the presence of a lady while in the buff.”

  I watched in awe as he hid away his muscled thighs, the hips vanishing with the tug of his waistband. He took care tucking that yet rigid member into the fly while buttoning it away. A thought struck me, foolish and perhaps childish, but I plucked up his lost shirt and threw it over my own body before he could.

  Green eyes watched me struggle to slide my arms through the sleeves, the long cuffs hiding away my hands. My breath held as I waited for Conall to yank his shirt back, call me on the far too intimate move, and kick me out. But those eyes drifted down across my breasts just before they too slipped below his shirt.

  A sigh of regret lingered upon his lips, his fingers stuck upon his waistband as if he forgot what he was doing. I rummaged through my hair, trying to fluff up the mess, which was when I realized my toes were yet skimming above the floor. Hard to eat supper while I was sitting on the damn table.

  When I hopped off, my eyes drifted across that acre of flesh I didn’t want him to hide away. The tuft of red chest hair was slicked up by sweat and smashed to and fro. It reminded me of a herd of deer scattering through a field. My fingers reached for it, as if I had to adjust his body hair, when the glint of the coin caught the last rays of the sun.

  Without the temptation of a naked man thrusting upon me, I was able to focus on the curiosity. Instead of being a perfect circle, the edges were blobby and misshapen, like it was pulled from a museum. There was a relief upon the top but I couldn’t make it out. The letters circling the outside looked too random to form words to me.

  “You’ve gone into your head,” Conall whispered, his voice tumbling like waves against a cliff.

  “Sorry, I was…your coin?” My palm swept up his dewy skin to reach for the golden coin. Just before I could touch it, Conall jerked his neck back, his body taking a full step away from mine.

  “It’s, I’ve never, um,” my lips kept talking, my foolish hand hanging in the air while the man that just fucked me hard glared. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Oh?” That surprised him, his eyes opening wide. With a tender caress, he cupped the coin and held it up to his face. “It’s me treasure.”

  “Like,” I tried to find a laugh at the serious words, but he stared at the coin as if there was nothing else in the room. Nothing else in the world. “A treasure like an old coin you unearthed at a construction site?”

  The golden question tumbled back to his pecs, my eyes drawn to not only its metronome swing but the body below. Conall rifled through his hair, his stance shifting open. “Something like that. You’re probably hungry.” He pointed to the long-forgotten stew before dashing to its side.

  “Famished,” I admitted, my foot sliding over the top of the other. The scent of amber and clover smothered my body in a tight hug. Wanting to smell more off his shirt, I rubbed at my stomach.

  “Looks that way, Lass.”

  I whipped my head up to find emerald eyes smirking at me caressing my own body. After another wink, he pointed at the two bowls. “Incidentally, is there a moniker you prefer?” Conall spoke as I handed him the means to passing out dinner. “Jess, Jessica, Jessie?”

  God, in that thigh-trembling Irish brogue I’d let him get away with calling me Jessie.

  Accepting the stew, I smiled. “Jess is fine. And for you?”

  “Conall’s all I know. Least all that’s served me well,” he spoke breezily while falling into the head of the household’s place at the table. I tugged back the chair beside only to discover where my panties wound up. The dark green taunted me, reminding and scolding me over what I did. With a lightning quick speed, I snatched them up into my fist and dropped to the chair.

  “Caith siar,” Conall said in that same tongue he whispered against my neck. Before I could ask what he meant, he dug into the dinner. I caught the gist and followed suit. God all mighty the man could cook. It wasn’t Instagram pretty, but the spicy lamb broth drove straight to my stomach and warmed my bones. I found myself licking my spoon clean even before diving back for another taste.

  My skin prickled and I looked up into green eyes devouring my every move. Guilty, I wiped the back of my knuckles over both sides of my mouth for fear there was a mess left behind. Conall cupped his cheek in his hand, elbow planted to the table, as he mused, “You are not what I expected to find.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re so young and álainn.” He sounded truly gobsmacked at such a fact as if he expected me to be some rickety geriatric. I glared in confusion. How could he have expected me to be anything? He sent that tree through my window accidentally, right?

  “I mean,” Conall gulped, his eyes opening wide, “given the makeup of the area…I’d first feared I’d given some poor old lady a heart attack.”

  That made sense.

  He leaned across the table and caught my fingers. Slowly, he smoothed his index finger up and down the middle of my palm. Conall’s voice purred, “I am eternally grateful I did not.”

  A blush burned on my cheeks which I fanned with my free hand. The other was content to be in his. “It
…it used to be my grandmother’s house. When she grew too frail to easily get around, I moved in to help look after her.”

  “Generous too.” Conall lifted the glass of water as if toasting me. “Should I be inviting her over for a meal as well?”

  My face blanched bone white at the thought of my grandmother knowing anything about what occurred in this kitchen. Gulping in air, I shook my head. “No, no, she…passed in her sleep a year or so back. She didn’t have much, but she left me the house.”

  “I am sorry,” he whispered as if he could have had anything to do with an old woman’s peaceful death.

  Shrugging, I admitted, “It was probably the only bit of luck to happen after a tragedy for me. Things haven’t been…easy in my life.” I hated to admit that I believed in curses, or even say it aloud. But watching my life fall apart on an endless loop, it became difficult to ignore. And that was not post-coital dinner talk to dredge up. What was exactly?

  “The window. You wanted to…agreed to fix the window you broke.” My brain snapped back to action as if it’d been waiting with spreadsheets.

  Conall’s hand slid to his side of the table. “Aye, I will require a key from you as I’ll have to be slippin’ in and out of your bedroom to install it.”

  That thought made me blush from my thighs up to my chest. I’d certainly love to have him slipping and sliding in my bedroom. “Oh, Tir will try to run the second you open the door. I’ll have to put him in his kennel. God, he hates that.”

  “Yes, your wee kitty. What is he called exactly? Tiry? Tirami?”

  My flush of lust shifted to embarrassment as I had to face telling the sexy Irishman my cat’s full name. “Tiramisu. He’s mostly black except for a strip of white and brown along his belly. Also, it’s my favorite dessert.”

  I hadn’t planned to adopt a kitten, much less the ball of energy Tir turned into. But I stumbled across him in an alley, mud-splattered to his ebony fur and I couldn’t turn away. “The most unlucky girl in the world with a black cat,” I said shrugging, “it seemed almost comical.”

  “You think yourself unlucky?” Conall asked, his fingers tenting like a supervillain planning to launch a nuclear bomb.

  “I just had a tree smash through my bedroom window. My bed is literally covered in glass and debris. If that’s not unlucky…” Though it did introduce me to him, and then I got really lucky. “Not that, I mean…” Oh shit, that was bad.

  But Conall chuckled. “I understand entirely. It does have the makings for a rather unpleasant day.”

  “It’s gotten much better,” I raced to smooth over feathers that didn’t even seem ruffled. If anything, he was a man with the least amount of ego I’d ever met.

  “Glad I am to hear that, Lass. There is another question I hoped to pose to you.” He scooted his chair closer, emerald eyes boring into me.

  “Oh?” I perked up, my heart in my throat.

  “Given the state of your bed, I cannot in good conscience allow a woman to risk herself upon such glass. Would you consider sleeping in mine for the evening?”

  He lay both his hands open upon the table as if trying to show he had no cards up his sleeves. Leaning closer, my fingers curled over his palms and up his wrists. I kept rising off the chair until my breath could whisper in his ear, “Will you be sharing it?”

  Ravishing green eyes turned to me and winked.

  * * *

  For two weeks my days were filled with unprecedented scores at work, while my nights with scoring an Irishman. I’d never had such a fantastic run at both my job and in his bedroom. God help me, Conall didn’t even snore, the man sleeping like an angel. Though, I’d wake each morning to his body cupped around mine, a hand tossed over my stomach as if he didn’t wish me to leave.

  Part of me didn’t want him to finish with the window. The throbbing parts protested loudest. But another was excited to finally be able to sleep in my own bed and not have to suffer the indignant growls of a preternaturally angry cat.

  After sliding in from work, a bounce in my step, Conall grabbed both my hands and tugged me towards my once under-construction bedroom. He didn’t drape a palm over my eyes but did step in the way of the closed door. “You ready, Lass?”

  Nodding my head, I shuffled on my toes causing my A-line skirt to ride up. It drew a flicker of those green eyes to my exposed lower thigh, but he shook it off. With a dramatic toss, he cracked open the door to reveal golden light shining through a crystal clear pane.

  I stumbled inward, gawping at the not just brushed off but laundered and remade bed. The spic and span carpet. And, most amazing of all, the durable window revealing a beautiful garden just outside my bedroom. How had I not known it was so green out there?

  “Double paned, to help with any cold drafts,” Conall spoke, his hands slotting over the exposed forearms that put all that glass in place. “Energy efficient, because they all bloody are now. Heavy-duty vinyl in the frame that shouldn’t yellow and stain the way the old ones did. And best of all…” He reached past me to unhook the pane. It slid inward, allowing the crisp scent of snow melting through the grass to waft into my bedroom. “Easy cleaning if you don’t want to bother heading out to the garden.”

  “This is…beautiful, amazing. I never thought. It had to be expensive.”

  “Only the best for you, Lass,” Conall smiled so brightly my stomach churned. When he told me he’d be done soon a chasm opened in my guts. He wasn’t here forever and soon he’d find whatever he was looking for.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, both my hands slotted inside his grip. “For breaking my old, shitty window and replacing it with this marvel.” I laid it on as if he’d built me a stained glass one by hand, but this was the nicest thing a near-stranger had ever done for me.

  Conall’s palm scooped against my cheek, lifting my overwhelmed eyes to his. “Tá fáilte romhat,” he whispered before pulling my lips to his. Heat swirled through my body, my mouth greedily melting into his strong sway. But before our tongues could resume the familiar dance, he pulled away.

  Rustling a hand through his hair, he said, “Ah, one other matter. When the men were clearing out that rotten tree, they found this.”

  From his pocket, he pulled a flask rusted and dingy with dirt clinging to the screw-cap top. I stared in confusion at it, then darted up to his eyes. Conall seemed out of sorts holding it, his gaze dancing away from mine. “Sounded as if it was buried at its roots.”

  “That’s odd.” I picked up the flask from his fingers which was when it rattled. “There’s something in here.”

  “So the gardeners presumed,” Conall spoke, his body lingering close to mine as I reached to unscrew the cap and solve this mystery.

  Wrapping my palm over the muddy top, I gritted my teeth for the force necessary to unleash what time and decay had sealed away. Conall’s eyes burned into the flask, no doubt his own curiosity rising, but his hands kept almost touching mine.

  Suddenly, one enveloped my forearm, pausing my grunting attempt to free this treasure. I assumed he’d offer to take over, but he smiled and said, “There was one other surprise I had for you.” He leaned directly to my ear and whispered, “In the kitchen.”

  “Oh?” I asked when he blew a gentle breeze against my earlobe. “That sounds…interesting.”

  “I pray so. If you wouldn’t mind?” Conall jutted out his elbow to me. Trying to not feel silly, as if I were some maiden taking a dashing Duke’s arm, I wrapped my forearm around his. Before we exited the bedroom I left the curious flask upon the dresser to be opened later.

  While walking down the hall, a streak of black dashed from the linen closet to the bathroom. “Tir will never forgive me,” I sighed, trying to not think about all the surprise attacks I suffered for wounding his pride.

  “Once he slumbers upon your bed warmed by the sun, I suspect all will be forgotten,” Conall purred in my ear.

  I chuckled. “You’ve never had cats, have you?”

  My kitchen was nowhere near as imp
ressive as what we’d been enjoying ourselves in for the past fourteen days. Formica counters and cupboards still painted an olive green dated the place. The old wooden table broke some years back so I’d been relying upon a card one, which was where I left my purse. And, I finally noticed there was a white box sitting right beside it.

  I glanced at the eight-inch sized box while asking, “No stew, then?”

  Conall laughed, “Afraid not.” His arms swept around the side of my stomach, hands curling over my hip as he pressed his nose to my hair. “Though it warms my heart to know you ask for it.”

  “So…” I prompted even while running my fingers through those red locks. Reaching forward, Conall slid the box into his one palm while the other remained wrapped around me. Into my hands he placed it, enraptured as I began to open the lid.

  “As we already did dinner, many times over, I thought it time for…”

  The heavenly aroma of chocolate and coffee hit me first, my eyes opening wide as my brain realized what I held in my hands. “Tiramisu?” I cried, staring in wonder at the gift.

  The box’s sides fell apart, revealing the creamy layers of chocolate and lady fingers entwined with mascarpone and espresso. “You didn’t? You did!” In shock, I placed the treasure upon the table and rummaged for my phone.

  “I thought,” Conall began, before flinching as I aimed my camera at the dessert. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a picture to commemorate the…” The nicest thing a man had ever done for me. I shook off the depressing thought and said, “The beautiful tiramisu.” That brought a warming smile to his lips, which plunged to mine for a sweet kiss. With the proof taken so I couldn’t forget, and after sending the picture to Abby, I dropped my phone on the table and turned fully to the generous man.

  Hoisting the treat up in my hands, the small cardboard circle pressed to both palms, I tried to not drool or dive forward, mouth unhinged to devour it whole. “You look as if you require a fork,” Conall chuckled and, from nowhere, produced the utensil.