The Irresistible Irishman: For St. Patricks Day (A Holiday Springs novel)

by MJ Fields

  Her eyes are laced with desperation, begging me to do more.

  Against her lips, I lay a promise. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to make sure you feel so fucking good tonight. All. Night.”

  Her legs are shaking. I can feel the vibration around my hips. I set her down, so I can undress her fully. Her breath audibly leaves her when I take a knee, pulling her jeans down and exposing green underwear that says, ‘I’m Not Irish, kiss me anyway.’

  “You’re about to be Irish by injection, Lass.”

  “Wha-wha-what?” She looks down and lets out a tiny laugh like she finally remembers what undergarments she chose today. Her voice quivers as she smashes her eyes shut and whispers, “Faith. Freaking Faith.”

  “Aye, well, we’ll both be thanking her later.”

  I run my nose along the thin cotton inhaling her musky, needy desire. Her body tenses as she gasps a sharp surprised breath.

  “My cock is like Cloigtheach, sweet Sarah,” I groan before nipping at the fabric, pulling it away from her mound, causing her to gasp again. “You’ll be as close to Ireland as a woman could be in no time. But first, I’m going to make you come.”

  Her answering moan has my dick twitching with anticipation, and I haven’t even bared her flesh completely.

  Leaning back on my heels, I pull down her knickers, her legs still visibly shaking. “Step out,” I instruct, and she does so without hesitation, giving me further hope she’ll be as submissive as an all-natural, nude bra-wearing woman can be.

  Submissive, yes, but up for kinky fucking? An Irishman can only hope the luck of his ancestors are upon him.

  I stand, discard my jacket, and make quick work of unbuttoning my shirt. Her eyes widen as she unabashedly takes her fill. I quickly rid her of her bra and totally do the same. Her tits are fucking perfect. So perfect I wish the lighting in this room weren’t so soft. I want it bright enough to see every single inch of her.

  Her hands go in my hair as I lower my head, licking the perky tips of her breasts. When I draw her ripe, pink nipple in my mouth, her legs threaten to buckle. I don’t remember the last time I was with a woman so responsive and eager, but for the record—I feckin’ love it. I mold my hands around her tiny waist before trailing one to her pussy. Her soft, trimmed curls are another reminder that she doesn’t do this often. I give it a light tug before exploring her gently with eager fingers in an effort to tease. She’s shaking in earnest now. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she fists my hair like she might crumble if she doesn’t hold on.

  Hypocritical as it may be, I rarely ever eat a woman’s pussy, one of the reasons being, most of the women I indulge with are overly promiscuous, like myself. But I have a keen sense that Sarah isn’t like that. I lift her up again, pressing her against the wall, and rub my hard, still clothed cock against her—dry fucking her like a teenage boy grinding against a girl for the first time.

  In response, she writhes against me like a virgin who’s never been touched as my cock begins to weep due to impatience.

  What I wouldn’t give to dress her in fine lingerie, silk, lace…maybe leather.

  Next time…

  I press my open mouth to her neck, running my tongue against her pulse, tasting her skin, inhaling her scent—she’s pure vanilla. Her first lengthy moan swallows my amusement and replaces it with animalistic lust. I groan as she moans and grinds against me. I press in harder, increasing the pressure, thrusting against her as her nails scrape my back.

  When her head falls back against the wall, I pull my nose from her neck, watch her eyes screw shut, and I know that if I keep this up, she will definitely be coming due to friction and not on my tongue or better, my cock.

  Fuck it. I push against her harder, grinding into her pussy until I’ve got her screaming out. Breathless and limp, she comes down from her orgasm, cheeks red and eyes glassy.

  Fucking beautiful.

  I kiss her mouth, her cheek, her neck as she murmurs to me incoherently.

  God, she’s sweet.

  This vanilla is delicious.

  Stepping back, I unbutton my pants and kick them off before crowding her where she stands panting, in wait. “I’m so hard right now.” Her eyes are saucers as she stares at my cock. “God, damn. Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out.”

  She’s still trembling, and I realize we’ve got to get to steady ground before she collapses. Hooking her leg around my waist, I slide my fingers inside as I lift her and am rewarded with her gasp. I lay her down and move to hover, never taking my fingers out of her. I finger her slow and deep, stretching her, readying her, while loving the feel of the desire coating my fingers. When I finally curl them upward, the pulse around them…unmistakable.

  I slide to the edge of the bed, lift her legs over my shoulder, and suction my mouth to her pussy.

  Bloody hell, she tastes delicious. I eat her like I’ve been starved my entire life, and I feel as if maybe I have been.

  I plunge my tongue deep inside her sweet cunt and lick every drop of her previous orgasm clean, rewarding her sweet aftertaste with another.

  “Holy shiiiiiiiiiii—”

  It’s a good thing this room doesn’t share a wall with Nathaniel because she’s extremely vocal, and there’s no way on God’s earth I want to hinder that.

  She grinds against my face, and I don’t stop until she moans my name like a prayer.

  Sitting back on my heels, my cock in hand, I stroke myself. Stopping below my head, I rub my thumb across its tip and smear the precum away. I watch intently as her tits rise and fall, nipples still in tight buds, as she tries to catch her breath. “You all right?”

  She nods her head, and I make my way back up her body. Leaning onto the bedside, I pull out a condom, quickly pull it on, and settle between her slim legs.

  I rub the head of my cock between her folds and groan at the feeling of heat and wet.

  “Oh, Beckett.” She looks near tears, messy and glorious, a smile tugging at those lips, and all I want to do is kiss her and make her come again.

  My lips crash against hers as my cock pushes into her heat.

  She cries out against my lips, and I push my tongue inside her sweet hot mouth. Kissing her, licking her like I just did her pussy. Both taste exquisite.

  Her hands fist my hair, and she deepens our kiss, tasting me now and moaning as she does.

  Pushing in inch by inch, feeling her lips—both upper and lower—quiver against my mouth, my cock. Fully seated, I push up and pull my lips from her, giving us both a reprieve so we can breathe, feel, and see each other. “You taste delicious, Sarah. Feel even better.”

  “You feel.” I thrust as deep as I can, taking her breath away. “Incredible.” She cries. “Your tits.” I lean forward and lick my way from the base of her neck down her cleavage, using more restraint than I ever have before. I want to mark her as mine for days. I inhale the swell of her breasts as I pull out and bury myself to the hilt inside her, sliding my tongue deeper into her cleavage.

  “Fucking perfect.” I sink into her slick heat and groan, over and over and over again.

  “Oh, God,” she cries against my shoulders as she wraps her legs around me. “Oh. God.”

  “Take it,” I hiss and pound into her faster. “It’s all yours, Sarah. Take it, and then you’ll take it again.”

  Her body trembles and she comes…again.

  I study her as we both come down from our last round. Gone is the anxiety-ridden face of the woman I met earlier. I take in her heavy eyes, her beautiful, satisfied smile, much softer due to exhaustion. The scent of sex—of us—lingers heavy inside the four walls of the small room, and I have to adjust myself.

  Still hard.

  I wish I could have her my way. Just once. She lays with her head on my shoulder, her tits bare and exposed. I lick my fingers and rub her nipple between them. Her eyes shut, and she softly moans in response.

  “I don’t remember a night I didn’t want
to leave a bed after fucking.” Her eyes widen in a bit of surprise, not meeting mine and I realize how that could have come across. “My apologies, Lass, I shouldn’t be comparing apples to diamonds, aye?”

  “It’s okay, Beckett. I’m pretty sure neither you nor I were virgins before tonight.” She looks up for just a second and away just as quickly.

  “Aye, but I will tell you, sweet Sarah with the spectacular tits, of all my sexual encounters from back in the days when I couldn’t last more than five minutes until tonight, with you, none have made me feel more so.”

  She giggles silently. “I bet you say that to all your—”

  “Swear it on all that’s sacred. My tastes in the bedroom are much less.” I squeeze her tit again. “Soft.”

  She rolls over and looks at me. “Care to elaborate?”

  I narrow my eyes and look her over, wondering just how much I should divulge. “Tell me your wildest sexual fantasy.”

  She buries her face in the blanket and shakes her head no.

  “Now you must.” I lift her chin, her face blushing again. “An Irishman is like a lucky charm. Tell me, and I’ll see what I can do to make it a reality.”

  She closes her eyes and smiles. “Maybe you already have.”

  “Surely it can’t be fucking an Irishman on Paddy’s Day. If so, you’re letting me off too easily.”

  “I can promise you—there’s nothing easy about making me feel like a woman again.”

  “Again?”

  She opens her eyes and answers with a nod.

  “Bad breakup?”

  “You could say that.” She bites her lower lip. “Well, no, it was more like a good breakup. A second chance.”

  “Were your new tits your reward for getting through it? Or maybe a ‘fuck you’ to the arsehole who didn’t appreciate you to begin with?”

  She licks her lips and nods. “Something like that. And how about you? What’s your wildest sexual fantasy?”

  This time, it’s my turn to shake my head. I’m enjoying this moment and don’t need to have her running.

  “I call bull. All men have them. A threesome? Public sex? Tying a woman up?”

  Again, I shake my head, trying not to laugh at how spot-on she is. “Can’t be considered a fantasy if you’ve already—”

  “You’ve had a threesome?” Her voice cracks, her eyes growing larger.

  “Aye, but that’s not something I crave.” I grip the sheets, trying not to make her feel badly over her innocence. If she only knew…

  “Tell me!” she exclaims, giggling. “What is something you crave?”

  While trying to decide exactly what I should divulge, she sits up and looks at me, pulling the sheet around her chest. “It’s not like we’re going to see each other again. I mean, you’ll be heading back to England and—”

  “Dublin, tomorrow.”

  “Then what’s the harm in sharing your dirty little secrets? It’s not like you’re gonna get unlaid if it’s something—”

  Before I can think about it again, I start talking. “I have a dominant personality in business, and that attribute doesn’t stop outside the bedroom door, if you know what I mean.” I sit up, grab her, and pin her to the bed, her eyes widening with fear and mixing with excitement. “My trysts aren’t typically hookups or introductions. I don’t use dating apps. I fuck women who give up power, women who will drop to their knees and suck my cock with just a look telling them that’s what I want. I get off on bringing women to almost orgasm and making them beg for me to make them come. In short, Sarah, I like power, with no strings.”

  “Then tonight must have been rather disappointing, huh?” Her eyes dance in amusement as if I’m joking. To a girl this innocent, I’m sure she can’t even imagine fucking in the way I’m used to.

  Looking down at her, and after the things she’s shared, I decide to play along, not wanting her to think I didn’t thoroughly enjoy her company. “Absolutely not. Tonight was amazing.” I reach over and grab a condom off the nightstand and rip it open with my teeth. “And it’s not over yet.”

  When I wake up in the morning, the spot beside me is empty, but there’s a note on the pillow.

  Irishman,

  If you’re ever in town again and would like to fulfill another fantasy... 1-970-236-1916.

  Just one request. I dreamt about a man in a kilt while I slept beside you…

  Safe travels,

  Sarah

  Chapter Five

  Live Well. It’s the greatest revenge.

  -The Talmud

  Sarah

  A few months later…

  There is definitely some truth to the old saying, ‘The Luck of the Irish.’

  Since my hookup with Beckett on Saint Patrick’s Day, my life has done a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.

  Old Sarah would feel guilty over everything that felt good in life.

  Also, old Sarah would never hook up with some random hot guy or be fucked six ways to the Sabbath.

  Old Sarah would have believed the phantom pain between her legs that she experienced, for days, was a harsh lesson and not a pleasant reminder.

  Old Sarah would not have dared slip out of a man’s bed, written a note opening a door to another tryst, and leave without even so much as a goodbye. Nope, she would have waited for him to wake up, hoping he’d profess his love and promise a happily ever after.

  Old Sarah would have never quit the dead-end job she had, working the front desk on overnight shifts for one of her father’s friends, making barely enough to get by with horrible health insurance and benefits, but flexible for treatments.

  That Old Sarah would have never finally applied to one of the positions, Julia—her BFF from college—kept sending links to when an opening came up.

  Old Sarah wouldn’t be considering moving back to Holiday Springs before the holidays, so she could enjoy the spirit of Christmastime after celebrating Chanukah for its religious and spiritual purpose.

  Old Sarah wouldn’t smile at the hordes of people walking in and out of a fancy hotel during the day, answering calls, and considering heading back to Holiday Springs this weekend to hang out with Faith and have some drinks at Blizzards. Also, to stock up on books from the Bookland Book Shop that are waaaayyyy kinkier than she read before… but is totally addicted to now.

  Luckily, old Sarah is officially gone.

  Julia walks out of the back office and slides the paperback copy of Bared to You in front of me. I exhale, relieved that my baby is back in my care. I reluctantly let her borrow it, but not until she signed a contract giving me her second-born if she left a single smudge on one page or dared dog-ear the book.

  “Happy now?” She chuckles. “Your baby is home. Now let’s have our lunch. I had breakfast two hours ago, and my stomach is already growling. I’m starting that diet tomorrow—end of story.”

  “Which is it this time? Keto?”

  “Nope. I tried that last month. This time I’m doing Paleo.”

  I slide the book into my bag tucked under the front desk, kicking off my navy flip-flops beneath and putting my black Cole Haan heels back on. Grabbing my purse filled with my paperback and lunch, I follow her out.

  Once outside the building, we head toward our favorite lunch spot. As soon as I sit down on the wooden bench nestled beneath a green willow tree, Julia puts her hand over my forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  I bat her arm away. “What do you mean, do I feel okay? I feel great. The sun is shining. I’m breathing—”

  She interrupts me with a smirk, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Your missionary position loving ass is reading books about dominant billionaires, who wear suits and ties. You’ve thrown out those hideous stretchy pants you used to have in four colors from Target and switched to form-fitting dresses and skirts. You’ve been smiling for months. Even your hair is shining!”

  I pull my salad out of my lunch bag, pop the lid off, and shrug. “Tastes change.”

  “You’ve never ch
anged,” she huffs, pulling out her turkey club sandwich. “I’ve been trying to figure it out over the last few months, and I’ve finally decided to just ask.” She takes a bite and closes her eyes, moaning. “I love cheat day. But I need to know the truth from you. Stat.” She opens her eyes, swallows, and pouts.

  I laugh at the fact that Julia is pouting. Julia never pouts. Ever since college, she’s been the one to live free and always look on the bright side of things, whereas I was always the more predictable and calculated one.

  “So not true. I’ve changed a lot in my life.” I avert my eyes—the lie is just too blatant.

  She elbows me lightly. “Tell me what happened to cause the hundred pounds of invisible weight to lift off your shoulders so that you’re no longer caving into yourself trying to hide from… life. Tell me now, or I swear to God, I’ll snap your bra.”

  Leaning back against the bench, I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun. “You really wanna know?”

  “Oh my God, yes, or I wouldn’t have asked.” She throws her dark hair into a high ponytail like she’s getting ready for something big.

  “I had a one-night stand.” I smile smugly to myself.

  She takes another bite of her sandwich. “You’re so full of...” She stops, and I hear her gasp, her big blue eyes widening in shock. “Holy shit.” She swallows hard. “You totally did. You little hussy! And when? Why haven’t you told me? Spill it. And I mean every last detail.”

  I tell her about Faith introducing us at the bar. A friend of her brother-in-law. I tell her about the room above Blizzards, and I tell her about the many orgasms. The tattoos. The suit. I tell her everything…except his name and the fact he’s Irish. Those things I keep to myself for no reason other than I want to. I treasure that night…my reawakening.