There’s a moment where everyone stills and a silence falls and I’m worried that I’ve put them on the spot. “Or you can, I mean, it’s up to you,” I add quickly, “I just thought…”
Conor kisses me, cutting off my nervous stammering. “You don’t owe us an explanation, love,” he tells me.
My heart swells and I look at the others, examining and assessing each face carefully, and to my surprise, there’s no hesitation in any of their expressions. Nothing but adoration and desire.
“Well? What are we waiting for, then?” I ask them, beckoning them to me with a finger.
They surge forward until I’m lost in a sea of hands and lips and tongues on my body. I surrender to them once again, letting desire sweep me away. Next thing I know, I’ve dropped down onto my knees on the carpet with the four of them all around me.
Conor kneels behind me, parting my thighs with his hands and running a long finger through my slick folds, making me gasp. I draw Flynn closer and set to work sucking his cock while Conor’s fingers explore between my legs, circling my clit without touching it and driving me crazy with need.
While my head bobs along Flynn’s length and I occupy Noah and Neil with my hands, I’m wriggling under Conor’s touch, trying to shift so he’ll brush against the throbbing bundle of nerves.
The pressure is already coiling inside me, making me ache, but I can’t quite reach the release, and the building need makes my body quake. But still, Conor teases me, pointedly avoiding my clit, and I choke out a growl of frustration.
He plunges a finger inside me, and a low moan rumbles from my chest. And when he slips in a second finger and uses another finger to finally, mercifully, stroke my clit.
My reaction is hair-trigger intense, with an orgasm blazing through me like wildfire in seconds. I can feel the tendrils of flame inside me, all my nerves alight. I writhe and wail in pleasure, and even as the blaze cools, it smolders inside me, ready for more.
Conor pulls his fingers out and grabs the bottle of lube. He pours a trickle into the hand already slick with my juices before running his fingers along the crack of my ass. I tremble in nervous anticipation as he slowly and gently uses his fingers to lube up my ass and prepare me for the strange and intense new sensation.
Flynn pulls out of my mouth and positions himself beneath me so I can take him into my pussy while his brother lays claim to my back door. I take turns sucking off the twins, jerking off whoever I’m not ramming down my throat so no cock goes neglected.
I impale myself on Flynn’s shaft while Conor is slathering his cock in lube, and when I feel the head of his cock at my rear entrance, my nervous first instinct has me tensing up, but Flynn reaches up and strokes my clit while he pumps slowly in and out of me. “Just relax, baby,” he croons,”Let us make you feel good.”
I nod and let out a slow breath, feeling the tension ebb from my body. Conor slowly inches his cock into my ass, and at first, I grit my teeth at the intrusion. Flynn continues to work my clit in an effort to help relax me, and flicks a tongue out across a nipple. “I fucking love having your tits bouncing in my face,” I hear him murmur.
Before I know it, Conor’s cock is buried deep inside me and he slowly begins to roll his hips and thrust in and out. The sensation goes from unpleasant to merely strange before giving way to a unique new pleasure I’ve never felt before.
As I get into it, I start to fall into a rhythm with all four, bouncing on Connor and Flynn’s rods while alternating between hands and mouth on Neil and Noah.
And as I’m awash in pleasure, my mind scatters to the wind and I can’t form a coherent thought. My mind is overwhelmed with pure floods of emotion. Love, and joy, and hope for our futures together.
I love the way they fill me up, body and heart. Ecstasy washes over me as they thrust into me and I cum again and again.
They don’t hold back, pounding me mercilessly, and I’m eager to match pace with them. Conor’s the first one to shoot his load, Noah not long behind him, and I swallow down Noah’s cum while being flooded with Conor’s heat.
I then turn the attentions of my mouth to Neil’s cock while I ride Flynn like a bucking bronco. Neil, already worked up by the careful pumping of my hand, doesn’t last much longer before spurting his seed between my lips as well.
I barely have time to catch my breath after swallowing before Flynn suddenly flips me onto my back and drives into me in a way that draws a scream of ecstasy. He hits some spot deep inside me that makes my eyes roll back in my head. “Oh, fuck, Flynn, right there, again, please,” I beg.
He obliges, his thrusts uneven and ragged, and I can tell he’s holding back his own floodgates of release. “I’m so close,” I whimper, “Fuck, I’m right there, oh, oh!”
My nails dig into Flynn’s back as the climax crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. And I hear his own shout of release as he snaps his hips roughly into mine in a deep, final thrust, his throbbing cock pouring heat into me.
And as the four of us lay in a panting heap on our living room floor, definitely late for the grand opening, all I can think about is what a lucky woman I am.
The future could hold anything, and with these four by my side, we can face anything life may throw at us.
THE END
Just My Luck
Just My Luck
A Second Chance Irish Menage Romance
Luck of the Irish Book 4
Copyright © 2019 by Roxanne Riley
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is completely coincidental and not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews or promotion.
Chapter One
Molly
I know that twenty-five isn’t exactly an exciting birthday, but somehow I expected a little more fun than sitting at home alone babysitting my three stepsons. My husband is off at the bar, leaving me home to watch the boys.
While this certainly isn’t an uncommon occurrence, I guess I just thought maybe my birthday might be different. But Brogan and I have been married about five years now, so I guess I should know better.
For all I know, he might be out at the strip club again. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. I always know because he comes home reeking of cheap perfume and there’s inevitably glitter on his face.
For a man who blusters and boasts about being such a proud Irish Catholic, any sort of rules or morality that would get in the way of his good time are ignored. But I know better than to speak up about it.
The one and only time I had dared to confront Brogan about cheating, I had found another woman’s panties in his car. I’d called him on it, but somehow in all the screaming and arguing, it became my fault. He’d slapped me and split my lip, not for the first time, and that had been accompanied by two broken fingers.
So it’s probably better he’s not home. I might be bored, but at least I’m not getting any new bruises as birthday presents.
I know I should leave. Hell, I never should have married him in the first place. But my father was one of those who believes a woman needs to be settled and popping out babies. It didn’t help that my older brother, Daniel, had met the love of his life when they were kids and he’d married her the second they were out of school.
So, when Da’s friend Brogan expressed interest in me, he shoved me into the match. And stupid little twenty-year-old me went along with it, eager to please Daddy, and fearing that if I didn’t agree to it, I’d end up on the streets.
Brogan was a widower with three sons, and because the boys were so young, it was basically decided that I would stay at home and care for them. So, in an instant, I became a stay-at-home wife and mother, and any aspirations of any kind of life of my own design seemed to vanish.
That’s not to say that I’m totally miserable or anything. I do love the boys, despite the near-constant chaos. They’re the m
ain reason I stay. Plus, I only live about an hour from my brother, Daniel, and his own two boys. Daniel inherited the house I grew up in, so I do have some family and a slightly comforting place to turn to when things get tough or I get lonely.
But that doesn’t mean I’m happy, either.
My brooding thoughts are interrupted when the youngest boy, Seamus, comes bounding in from the backyard where he’s been playing with his brothers, his hands behind his back.
“Mama Molly?”
At six, he’s the only one who uses any sort of maternal name for me. He was only a baby when I came into the picture, so I’m the only mother he’s ever known. Barry was four, and furious with me for replacing his mother, and Cillian, just a year younger, tends to go along with whatever his big brother says or does.
They got over it eventually, and we all get along, but by then they’d gotten so used to my first name that it just stuck. When Seamus had started to talk, he’d sort of half picked up their habit, along with his natural inclination to call a maternal figure some form of “mother,” therefore combining “Mama” and “Molly.”
“Yes, Seamus?”
“I brought you a present!” he says proudly.
A pang of worry niggles at my brain. Knowing these little boys, the “present” in his hands could be anything from a rock he’d found, to a worm. Once, they’d brought in a frog that had gotten loose in the house and took us hours to catch.
But I paste a smile onto my face.
“What did you bring me, love?”
He thrusts his hands at me, and clutched between them is a four-leaf clover.
“Oh, wow, for me?” I ask.
He nods enthusiastically. “For your birthday!”
Tears prick my eyes and I blink them away, forcing myself to smile even harder.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I scoop him into my lap and hug him tight. “Four-leaf clovers are very special to me.”
“Because they’re lucky?” He gazes up at me with wide blue eyes.
“Well, yes, but also because they remind me of some very special friends I made when I was younger. They were these crazy American twins, who were here in Ireland all the way from Texas!”
“Wow! What happened to them, Mama Molly?”
“Oh, they were just visiting,” I said, feeling a twinge of sadness in my gut as I think about them. “They had to go back home to the United States.”
“Oh,” Seamus’ little face falls, “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah,” I choke back the lump in my throat, “It was.”
I shake off the thoughts.
“Let me go put this little guy,” I hold up the clover, “somewhere safe, and then I’ll come out and play with you guys, ok?”
“Ok!” Seamus bounces off my lap and races outside.
I twirl the little clover between my fingers, remembering James and Chris Matthews, the tornado twins from Texas. I’d met them when I was nineteen, before I’d been shackled to Brogan.
I pack the memories back inside my head while I try and figure out where to put this little clover. A vase or even a cup of water seems like too much, but I don’t want it to wilt just yet.
A flash of inspiration strikes, and I fish a thimble out of my sewing kit. I drip a little water into it and rest it in the kitchen window, with the clover standing proud and tall inside.
Later that night, after I’ve put the boys to bed, I’m lying awake and alone in my own bed. Brogan hasn’t called, but that’s no surprise. In the first few years of our marriage, when I was still trying to be a good little wife, I would sit up late at night worrying if he didn’t come home, but now I know better.
And honestly, I’m happier that he’s gone. I’d rather be alone with the boys than facing his treatment of me. Although I’m deeply grateful that that treatment is limited to me. He blusters and yells at the boys, but he’s never laid a hand on them.
No, all of that anger gets funnelled directly at me. Because that’s my duty, as the wife, apparently. I’m supposed to be submissive and smiling, no matter what.
Chapter Two
James
“James! That one wasn’t a weed!” my brother’s voice snaps me out of my daze.
I look down into my hands and see that he’s right, I’ve accidentally pulled up one of our plants. I hastily dig a hole and try to re-plant the poor uprooted thing. Chris sighs in annoyance.
“Where the fuck’s your head?” he asks.
“Sorry, Chris, just thinking about something.”
“If you can’t focus on the weeding, why don’t you go check on the cows?” he suggests.
I get to my feet, brushing dust off my knees.
“Not a bad idea. Lulabelle is due to calf any day now.”
I wander over to the barn. I didn’t dare tell Chris that I was thinking about Molly Donoghue again. The last time I brought her up, he’d gotten pissed and told me to get the fuck over her. It was years ago, he’d said, we’re never going to see her again.
He’s probably right. Over five years had passed since that magical week we’d spent in Ireland. But I still think about Molly every single day. That long, flame-red hair, her pale freckled skin, and those soft, lush curves just begging to be touched.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Plus smart, and sweet, with an edge of sass. The wild Irish girl had stolen my heart the second I laid eyes on her.
I haven’t been able to get her off my mind, all these years later. Of course, it doesn’t help that working on the ranch leaves me far too much time to myself to think. Especially now that it’s just me and Chris.
Our father had died about a year after we went to Ireland, and we’d kept the ranch up with our mother for years. Until about six months ago, when she passed away as well.
Since then, it’s been hard. With just two of us, we haven’t been able to keep up with it the way we used to as a family, and the stress has driven a wedge between us.
And so, I revel in the memories of the one time in my life I felt truly free. Chris and I were twenty, we’d saved up money from part-time side jobs to take a trip before settling into life on the ranch. After all, travel is pretty tough when you’ve got cows to milk and crops to water.
So, we’d gone to Ireland, and our first night there, we’d ventured to a punk club on a recommendation from a local, and it was the best choice we’d ever made. While we hadn’t done quite as much sightseeing as we might have done otherwise, meeting Molly made that week downright magical.
As I meander through the barn, checking to see that everything is as it should be, I can’t help but wonder if Molly still thinks of us, too. And it dawns on me. I still have her address.
Why haven’t I written her?
Well, for all I know, she doesn’t live there anymore.
But what harm could come from trying?
And I think about the inheritance money sitting in the bank.
What if she misses us, too?
Maybe I could use some of that money to fly her out here.
The idea is too appealing to ignore, and I can’t believe I’ve been stupid enough to not think of it before.
I wander back out to find Chris. He’s still sullenly yanking away at the weeds, and I just know this idea will cheer him up. Anything to pull him out of this angry, stressed-out shell he’s developed over the last six months.
“I think we should write to Molly,” I blurt out immediately, not wanting to waste time beating around the bush.
Chris squints up at me, wiping sweat from his brow. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
“I think we should write her a letter. We have her address, right? Why not try and get ahold of her and get her to come visit?”
Chris snorts. “You’re an idiot. It’s been five years. One: She probably doesn’t even remember us or want anything to do with us. Two: She’s probably married with a kid or two by now and it would be disrespectful as all hell to ask a married woman to come stay with us. And three: Even if she isn’t married, she p
robably doesn’t live there anymore.”
“Come on, Chris,” I roll my eyes, “You don’t know any of that.”
“James!” he snaps, rising to his feet in exasperation, “Wake the fuck up. Look around you,” he sweeps his arm at the field around us, “We have a ranch to keep afloat. We have animals to feed and look after, and crops to grow and sell. I don’t have time for you to keep mooning over Molly fucking Donoghue. She was great, yes, and we have a bunch of great memories of our time with her, but writing her would just be a waste of time. You only knew her for a fucking week.”
I take a step towards him.
“She was more than just a fucking fling, Chris, you know that,” I press, “I know you still feel the same way I do about her.”
He throws up his hands in frustration.
“What the fuck does it matter? It’s been five. Fucking. Years. Get over it, James. Get over her. We have lives here to worry about.”
He stalks off towards the house, leaving me seething in the field.
Fine. Fuck him, then. I’ll write Molly and get her here by myself.
Chapter Three
Molly
The ringing of the doorbell starts a stampede. All three boys race to the front door, each of them screaming, “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!”
Barry nearly collides with the door in his attempt to be the first one to answer it, standing on his tip-toes to look through the peephole.
“Who is it, Barr?” I ask him.
“It’s Daniel!” he calls back.
A smile lights across my face. I’m babysitting for my brother’s boys for the night and I’m excited to see them all. And also, I hadn’t told the boys their cousins were coming, as a surprise.
All Our Luck: Complete Irish Reverse Harem Series Page 27