by Madison Faye
Her Irish Twins
Advance Review Copy
Madison Faye
Copyright © 2020 Madison Faye
Cover: Coverlüv
Photography: Wander Aguiar
Models: Dane De Bruin, Ivenise Ruiz, Pat Tanski
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Contents
Advanced Review Copy
Her Irish Twins
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Sneak Peek - Get Lucky
Sneak Peek - Claiming Candy
Also by Madison Faye
Mailing List
About the Author
Copyright Notice
Advanced Review Copy
This copy of this book has been provided for review and promotional consideration only. It has not gone through a final proofing.
Thanks for reading!
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-Madison Faye
Her Irish Twins
Being with them is dangerous.
Picking between them is impossible.
Lucky for me, this St. Patrick’s Day, I don’t think I’ll have to.
…Because I’ll have two.
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My sister is missing, and the Irish Syndicate might be involved. But when I start poking around where I shouldn’t, they’re sent to keep an eye on me.
Rough, dominant, gorgeous, and there’s two of them—twins. Well, Irish twins, technically. But trust me, they’re exactly the same.
Every inch of them.
Straight from the dangerous streets of Dublin, the two enforcers are supposed to watch me, to keep tabs on me, and to take me if need be.
But there’re far more dangerous monsters out there. And when the Russian Bratva comes after me, it’s my twin Irish alphas that come barging in to save me. Save me, take me, and steal my breath away.
The two huge, gorgeous Irishmen are impossible to deny, impossible to say no to, and impossible to choose between. Luckily, I don’t think I’ll have to…
Brothers should “share” like this. Good girls shouldn’t give in like this.
…But maybe I’m less of a good girl than I think I am.
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This mfm romance is all about her – no m/m. As with all my books, this standalone novella is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
Author’s Note
Dear reader,
Her Irish Twins is 100% it’s own standalone story. That said, it does include references to and appearances by characters from another Irish mafia MFM book of mine, Get Lucky. Again, you absolutely do not need to have read Get Lucky to enjoy this book! You could also read this book first and then that book, if you wanted to.
If you’re curious though, either before or after you read this book, you can peep a preview chapter of Get Lucky at the end of this book.
Happy reading, Happy St. Patrick’s Day, and thanks for your support!
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Slainté,
Madison
Chapter One
Gavin
She undoes the top button of her blouse, and my pulse starts to quicken. The next one follows suit, and my jaw tightens. I watch as her delicate fingers trace lower, popping button after button until she peels the shirt off her smooth shoulders and arms, and lets it drop to the floor, revealing her lacy white bra. Fuck me, and the damn thing is so thin and sheer that I can see her fucking nipples through the lace.
Shit, this is going to be a problem.
Next to me, Ben growls, and I glance at my brother to see the same tight look of raw heat and lust etched on his own face before I look back to her. On the screen, she stretches, raising her hands above her pretty blonde head and arching her back, which only makes those full breasts of hers strain against the bra. She rolls her neck before she puts her hands behind her, and the bra drops away.
Ben groans.
So do I.
Fuck, those nipples are goddamn perfection—soft, pink, puffy, and fucking begging for my mouth around one of them. And hell, Ben’s around the other. Charlotte stretches again before she walks out of view, and through the speakers, we can hear the sound of the shower running. She steps back into the room, and her hands move to her jeans. She pops the button and tugs down her zipper, and this time both of us groan at the same time as she peels the skin-tight denim down her long, creamy legs.
She kicks and steps out of them, and then without any hesitation, she slips her thumbs into her lacy white panties and slips them down as well.
Aww fuck.
I suck in a breath of air at the sight of her smooth little pussy nestled between her thighs. Ben groans deeply, and when I glance at him again, I can see his body tightening and muscles clenching just like mine.
Yeah, this is a big, big problem.
On the surface, this should be easy: keep an eye on the target, monitor movements, make note of any outside contacts, and then react accordingly. Obviously, the job is slightly more complex than that—more nuanced, I guess—or else any old goons from this side of the pond could have done it. But instead, the Kings shipped Ben and I over for it.
Like I said, this job is nuanced, which is why it’s us two over here direct from the Irish Kings in Dublin to monitor the situation. And the situation is this: three weeks ago, one of our men over here, Ash Delancey, disappeared. Ash is a Dublin lad too and was over here overseeing a transition of power in some of the crime circles who operate under our banner here in Boston. Normally, the Kings and the council back in Ireland stay the fuck out of the way things are run over here. But sometimes, things need correcting.
A year ago, two other mates of ours came over to do the same thing. Eamon and Clay were here on council orders to take out an underboss who’d way, way overstepped his bounds. The fucker had started running girls, which we as an organization do not do, and young ones at that. Too young. It needed dealing with, which is where Clay and Eamon stepped in.
As it happens, they also stepped into a world of shit getting mixed up with a girl they met during the whole thing—one who ended up being a fuckin’ CIA agent, at that. But somehow in all of that, they hung on to Phoebe—both of them. In fact, here we are a year later, and she’s back in Dublin with them.
Life is some crazy shit sometimes, isn’t it?
On the screen, our mark pads naked and gorgeous back into the bathroom. I don’t even have to say a thing before Ben growls and reaches for the remote. He flicks to another camera angle, this one right in the shower, and we both groan deeply as we watch her step in under the soft spray of water. Soapy hands slide over her body, cupping her full breasts before sliding down between her legs. I hiss, and my already rock-hard cock pulses and throbs in my jeans as she runs a hand over that pretty little cunt.
“Fuckin’ hell,” my brother groans.
I glance at him again, and grin when I
see his hand rubbing his thick cock through the pair of boxers he’s wearing. Yeah, we’re cut from the same cloth, Ben and me. At times, we’ve been mistaken for twins, but in truth, Ben’s older by ten months.
…What can I say, our parents knew how to get busy. You can insert your own Irish Catholic joke here.
So, we’re not twins, just “Irish twins” that happen to look pretty damn identical. Identical enough that we used to have fun messing with our teachers at school, and later, even more fun showing up to dates with each other’s girlfriends and seeing how long it took them at the door to realize they were getting had. Of course, later, we found out there were girls out there who were only too happy to have the mostly identical brother show up, and happier still to keep him there once they figured it out.
…And then there were the girls who wanted us both, and well, that made for some interesting tales.
And yet, here we are, both getting closer to thirty than we care to think about, and nothing’s ever stuck. There’ve been girls, of course, and some we’ve shared. But nothing that ever took hold. There’s never been girls we wanted to stay with forever, nor have there been any girls who wanted us for more than a wild story.
But life is life, I guess. And working in the line of work we work in, doing dirty jobs for the Irish Crime Syndicate, it’s not like we’re about to find our fairytale happy ever afters anytime soon.
“Fuck me,” Ben groans, shaking me from my thoughts. I look back to the screen, and my jaw tightens as I watch her run her soapy hands all over her body.
I growl, mesmerized by the fucking goddess on our screen, who in actuality is only ten or fifteen feet away in the next room over from ours in the seedy Southie hotel.
Her name is Charlotte Halsting, and it’s our job to watch her every fucking move.
She doesn’t know she’s being watched, of course, even if we’re pretty sure she’s a pro. See, the reason we’re here isn’t just Ash disappearing. It’s Ash disappearing and then her immediately being seen prying into all manner of Syndicate business here in Boston. She’s been poking around a lot of our fronts and asking people in the know a lot of questions. And she’s been doing so much of it, that it’s been brought to the attention of the Kings back in Dublin. And really, there’s only one place all of these threads lead: her being law enforcement.
She’s not CIA, Clay and Eamon had Phoebe check. She’s not the state or city cops, because we’ve got enough guys on the take on the inside to know if she was. Which just leaves one option: FBI. And that’s a big, big fuckin’ problem.
Local cops, state cops? Yeah, we can grease palms and talk to who we need to talk to in order to keep things running smoothly. But you don’t even try to bride the FBI. Even dumb-shit low-level criminals know that. And her poking around can only mean that the FBI is looking to do some crack downs. The thought is also that this is why Ash is missing—that he’s been yanked into some sort of black-site interrogation shit by these cocksuckers to be pressed for details ahead of an impending crackdown.
So, yeah, that’s why we’re here—to watch her watching us and do something about it. Except right now, the only things I can even think about doing is either barging next door, waltzing into that bathroom, and taking her in my arms as I slide my fat cock deep in her pretty pussy, or else just pulling it out right here, because one way or another, I’m about to burst.
On the screen, Charlotte suddenly moans softly, which pricks my ears. I turn the volume up a little, and I groan when I realize what she’s doing.
“Oh, fuck me,” Ben hisses. “I can take a lot, brother, but this?”
“Yeah, fuck,” I grunt.
Because sure enough, there on the screen, Charlotte is fucking moaning as she rubs her hand over her slippery pink pussy. The girl—our mark—is fucking touching herself, with one of our hidden surveillance cameras watching the whole damn thing in high definition. My cock aches for release, my balls swelling with cum as I watch the blonde goddess on the screen. And all I fucking want is to feel her against me. All I want is to taste those lips—the ones on her pretty face and the ones between her thighs.
All I want to do is feel her come with my cock balls-deep in that little cunt.
I’m already shirtless from the shower I took earlier, and my muscles coil as I reach down to cup my cock through my jeans. Next to me, my brother’s also shirtless, in just a pair of boxers. We’ve been cooped up in this room for a few days watching her, and the restlessness is getting to both of us. Ben tried to push it aside by doing a bunch of pushups and crunches earlier.
He groans, and when I look again, I chuckle when I see his hand in his boxers, stroking his cock. I grunt, sliding my own hand into my jeans to do the same, but it’s too damn constricting.
Fuck this.
“Fuck this,” I mutter out loud before popping my jeans open and yanking the zipper down. On the screen, Charlotte is moaning eagerly as she rubs her pussy, and there’s no fucking way I can take another second of this without jerking my cock.
Ben chuckles, glancing at me as I shove my jeans down and let my thick cock spring free.
“You got no self-control, you know that?”
“Speak for yourself, fuckin’ wanker,” I mutter back. I mean the guy’s doing the same shit as me, just in his boxers. I pay him no mind as I wrap my hand around my swollen cock and hiss in pleasure as I start to stroke. Fuck it, there’s nothing hidden between us. Hell, we’ve shared enough girls, and we’re fucking brothers for shit’s sake.
“Alright, prick,” Ben finally mutters as he starts to yank his boxers down. “Fuck it.”
His big cock springs free against his abs, and he growls as he wraps a hand around his shaft and starts to stroke. I kick my jeans the rest of the way off, sitting back on the single bed with my eyes fixed on Charlotte as I stroke myself. In the single bed next to mine, Ben does the same, his muscles rippling as he jerks his erection while we both watch the gorgeous blonde goddess touch her little pussy on the screen.
FBI agent or not, I know we’re both hooked. And I do mean hooked. This isn’t just raw lust, or us being cooped up for too long. No, watching Charlotte these last few days has fuckin’ awoken something in both of us. It’s ignited a fire and kindled a hunger neither of us have ever really known. She leans against the tiled wall of the shower, her fingers rolling her clit while her other hand teases a nipple. And I can see she’s getting close—I can see she’s about to fucking come right in front of us.
My cock swells, my balls tightening. Ben grunts, and I glance over to see he’s fuckin’ close too. My eyes slide back to Charlotte as I feel the cum boiling in my heavy balls, and I can feel the imminent release about to explode through me.
And then, all fuckin’ hell breaks loose.
Though the wall, we hear the crashing sound of a wood being wretched from hinges, yanking us right out of our lust-filled stupor. Ben jams the remote, flicking back to the camera in her hotel room, and we’re both lunging out of bed instantly at the sight of three men with guns charging into her room.
Charlotte screams and goes to slam the bathroom door shut, but my heart clenches as I see her slip and crash to the floor instead, and the men are charging right for her.
I have no idea who these fuckers are. I know we need to stay the fuck out of this. But I also know that after three days of watching her, Charlotte doesn’t just feel like a mark.
…She feels like mine. Like ours. And there’s no way we’re letting these fuckers, whoever they are, even touch her.
We move with practiced precision—Ben tossing me the gun, and me catching it, chambering it, flicking the safety off in one motion. We’re both still bare-assed naked, and shit, we’re both still mostly hard. But fuck it, there’s no time for modesty, not when they’re about one second away from breaking through the bathroom door to Charlotte.
We bolt for the locked connecting door between our room and hers, and without even breaking stride, Ben’s shoulder slams into it. The door on
our side, and the one on hers go exploding into her room as we come charging through—guns blazing, cocks out, and one thought and one thought only in our heads:
Charlotte is ours, and we’ll do anything to protect her.
Chapter Two
Charlotte
My panties drop to the ground, and I stretch again as I kick them aside, feeling the air over my bare body.
Fuck has it been a day. It’s been a week, actually. No, really, it’s been three weeks. What I should be doing, if life were in any way normal right now, is the shit we all do day-to-day. I should be at work at the hospital, or grocery shopping for dinner. Maybe online, shopping for new shit for my apartment I don’t actually need or cleaning my bedroom or something.
You know, since it sees so much action these days.
Not.
But instead of being home in Nashville, here I am in Boston, in quite possibly one of the shittiest hotels in Southie, looking for Keily, my little sister. Keliy’s always been the wild child, versus me who’s always been the one hitting the books and trying to stay on the most narrow path possible. But this is beyond anything she’s ever done before, by a mile or three.
Four weeks ago, Keily said some guys kept coming into the Irish bar she bartends at to harass her. Three and a half weeks ago, she said it was getting bad. Three weeks ago, she sent me super random text in the middle of one of my nursing rotations at work that just said “going away for a little bit. Love you.”