Whiskey Rebellion

by Toni Aleo

  “It was right?”

  “Yeah, it felt right. Us. I, um, I felt it.”

  His words knock the air out of me. I love how unsure but simultaneously confident his gaze is. When I look up at him, my heart is knocking the shite out of my ribs, and I’m itching to touch him. Jaysus, I want to touch him. So feckin’ bad. Breathlessly, I whisper, “I thought I was cracked.”

  “That’s crazy, right? Fiona says that a lot.”

  I nod, smiling wide at him. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, well, you weren’t,” he said, stepping toward me. “I felt it too, and it was all good until I got stupid.”

  I giggle a bit as I nod. “Yeah, true. You’s a feckin’ eejit.”

  He smiles, but when he captures his lip between his teeth, my pussy clenches. “Either way, e-ejit, did I say that right?”

  I’m full-on smiling at this point. “Eejit, it flows fast.”

  He shakes his head, but he’s still grinning. “Yeah, um, eejit—”

  “Better.”

  His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, and it feels like he’s getting closer to me. “Me being an eejit and all, it was real.”

  I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking, or even what the hell I’m doing, but I can’t help the sensation. This overwhelming need for him…I’ve never experienced anything like it. Never.

  I don’t care. I just want him. “Was?”

  His eyes widen a bit as he gazes down at me, his whole body only inches from mine as he nods. “I thought I ruined my chances.”

  “Ya didn’t.”

  “I didn’t?”

  He moves toward me, but I hold my hand up. “No, but I’m no hoor.”

  He fights back a smile, pushing his chest into my hand, sending heat straight up my arm. “Please say that again.”

  “What? I’m not!”

  “I know. Say that again, though.”

  “Why, ya freak?”

  He doesn’t answer me, but his eyes burn into mine, and when he reaches out, taking my face in his hands, I hold my breath. “Because even though it’s a really shitty word and no woman should be called it, when it comes from your sweet lips, it’s the hottest fucking word I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  I gulp. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he says before he drops his mouth to mine, capturing it zealously with undeniable need. He pushes me into the side of the pub, and my fingers grasp his hair as he holds me in his hands, our mouths crashing together passionately. I gasp against his mouth when I feel how hard he is when he presses into me. Everything inside me burns molten hot, and I can’t believe I went without him for so long. I was obviously craving him. Needing him. My hands lower between us, and I undo his pants. He tears his mouth away from me, his gaze meeting mine as he whispers, “I don’t have a condom, and we don’t have your Costco supply drawer.”

  My brows rise while I unleash his cock, gathering it in my hands. He hisses out a breath as I ask, “What is Costco?”

  “Warehouse store. Fuck, you drive me wild.”

  Moving my hand down his silky cock, I whisper, “Do they have a lot of stuff there? Load of condoms and such?”

  “Everything is in bulk,” he bites out, leaning his head into mine. “You can get it stupid cheap too. My mom loves it.”

  “Talking about yer ma when yer cock is in my hand in a bit tacky, yeah?”

  He closes his eyes as he chuckles, his lashes kissing his cheeks before his mouth parts delectably. He is absolutely beautiful. “Some would say so.”

  I grin as I take his jaw in my hand, guiding his mouth back to mine. “But not me.”

  He opens his eyes slowly, meeting mine. “Not you.”

  “No, ’cause I don’t judge.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Fuck me, Jacks.”

  “Yes, madam,” he says almost on a moan before we are tearing at my jeans and pushing them down. Lifting me up, he presses me into the wall as he enters me in one hard thrust. Our groans mingle, our mouths meeting sloppily as we kiss desperately. Pulling out to the tip, he slams back into me over and over again. His mouth moves away from mine, nibbling at my jaw, my neck, as he pushes into me, holding me tightly against him.

  Pulling back, he looks at me as he stills inside of me. His eyes are so beautiful and dark as he moves his nose along mine, pressing his lips ever so softly against my top lip. I’ve never seen eyes like his and never felt like this under a man’s gaze. I’ve been told I was gorgeous, mesmerizing, and every other compliment in the book, but I never felt it. Under Jackson’s gaze, though, I feel it.

  And that’s fucking terrifying.

  Tightening his arms around me, he arches back a little, and soon he is jackhammering inside of me. He is so big and he is going so deep that soon my release is imminent. Clenching around him with my thighs, I cry out as he slams hard into me. With a loud grunt that I feel in my soul, he jerks once, twice, then a third time before he leans into me, crushing me with his massive body.

  But I love it.

  I feel safe.

  He trails kisses along my forehead, and I close my eyes as I kiss his neck and his jaw before our mouths meet once more. Drawing the sweetest kisses from him, I squeeze my arms around his neck as he squeezes my waist.

  But when a crash comes from behind me, I jump and he holds me tighter.

  “It’s fine. It was just the kitchen.”

  I look around, making sure as his thumb moves soothingly along the small of my back. I take a deep breath. “We should probably get back.”

  “Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t put me down yet. I look up at him, my fingers tracing his lips before he kisses each of my fingertips. Kissing my palm next, he smiles before pressing his lips to mine. “I don’t want to.”

  I quirk my lips as I nod. “They’ll start to suspect at any moment.”

  “Yeah,” he said, pulling out of me and setting me to my feet. I don’t want to let him go, but I do as he steps back, watching me with a grin on his face.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  “You. All of you.”

  I blush a bit as I reach for my pants and panties. I almost have them on when I hear my name.

  “Have you seen my sister? Lena?”

  “Fuck,” I gasp, fastening my pants, and when I look at Jackson, his eyes are wild not with fear, but uneasiness.

  When the door opens, Declan looks at me, and I look back at him, confused. “Hey.”

  He glances around, and when I do the same, I don’t see Jackson. “What are you doing?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m tired of Mrs. K. She’s an old bat that gets on my last nerve.”

  “She is. But come on.” He holds the door open for me, and I step inside, taking one last look behind me, but I don’t see Jackson. What the hell? “We’ll get through this together.”

  I smile sweetly as I nod. “Thanks.”

  “But, really, Lena, ya gotta be a lady out here. You gotta watch yer tongue. You know how Ma does it. In the house, no cares. But outside of the estate, we have to put on our best faces.”

  I roll my eyes. “I hear ya.”

  “Just please be the lady you were raised to be. You don’t have to dress the part, but act it, please.”

  I do hear him.

  But I’m pretty sure a lady wouldn’t have come running down the inside of her thighs.

  So, am I really a lady?

  Too bad I don’t care.

  Well, that was unexpected.

  I mean, I wanted it. I wanted it badly, but I honestly didn’t think I’d be hiding behind a door with my dick out. Tucking it into my jeans and buttoning my pants, I listen as Declan talks to his sister about being a lady. It makes me grin. I’m pretty sure it’s against all the rules of being a lady to have sex with someone outside of a pub. Especially to let said someone come inside of you.

  I pause mid-stride.

  Shit, should I have done that? What if she gets pregnant? Wait, she isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t let me do that if she we
ren’t on birth control. She doesn’t need to trap me, she has a fucking castle! Man, I don’t know what it is about that girl, but she makes it hard for me to think. Any other time, I would have said no, sorry, no condom. But with her, I couldn’t.

  I had to have her.

  According to anyone who was talking about Lena today, I should probably go to a doctor. But then, I know I don’t have to. I trust her. I don’t think she is what they say. Has she been wild? I’m sure, but what’s wrong with that? Everyone gets to be wild at some point, especially someone who has apparently been a lady her whole life.

  Shit, am I making excuses for her?

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Crap.

  Opening the door, I check to see if they’re gone, and thankfully, they are. I head to the bathroom. I don’t know why, I know it’s pointless, but I check my dick. For what? Who knows. But I check it anyway. When I’m satisfied with my dick, I look at myself in the mirror as I redo my pants. I’m grinning like a fool. Shaking my head, I wash my hands quickly and head out into the kitchen, where some plates are waiting on the counter. I look at the receipts and realize Fiona has been running the bar in my absence.

  Taking them, I head out into the pub to deliver them to the bar. When Fiona sees me, she glares. “I hired ya to do a job.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “Where were ya?”

  “In the bathroom. The food around here isn’t agreeing with me, I think.”

  I hear Lena snicker as Mrs. Maclaster says, “Ah, yeah, our food is rich, ya know.”

  “I didn’t, but I do now.”

  I send Fiona a sheepish smile as I refill the mug she’s holding. She doesn’t say anything, but I see her looking at me before she glances over at Lena. Handing Fiona the mug, I shrug. “Really, won’t happen again.”

  “Mm-hm,” is all she says as she heads to the table, and when I glance to Lena, she is eating happily, a kittenish grin on her face.

  Oh, I’m in over my head with this one.

  I work the bar as they all finish their dinner, but my heart doesn’t stop pounding in my chest. Even working, I can’t help but gaze at Lena. She steals every bit of my attention. But it’s not only that. It’s the big difference between the girl who is sitting at the table and the one in the painting. She’s absolutely stunning either way, but I’m curious to know what happened to the girl in the portrait to become the woman who let me do her up against the side of the pub. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m pretty sure the girl in the picture would have had me killed if I even messed up her hair.

  “Can I have a wee bit of OC on the rocks? Only a bit. Can’t come home pissy again. The missus’ll kill me dead.”

  I smile at the older gentlemen as I reach for a glass and then the OC. Holding them both up, I say, “Tell me when.”

  Apparently, we have very different versions of a wee bit. “When,” he says when I get about halfway up the cup. I send him a grin, and he sends me one back, which is a lot more toothless than mine before I set the glass before him. “Start me a tab, Yank.”

  “Yank?” I ask, and he smiles.

  “Yer American, yeah?”

  “Nope, Canadian.”

  He thinks that over. “What the fuck do we call Canadians?”

  His buddy beside him looks confused. “I don’t know. Do we ever have Canadians in Mayo?”

  The man on the other side of him shrugs. “I think maybe in 1947 when Ivor had that girl come in. Wasn’t she Canadian?”

  “No, Romanian.”

  “That’s not the same thing?”

  I am having a field day listening to these three. They go back and forth, and finally, I say, “How about you guys call me Jackson?”

  Their bushy brows hit their receding hairlines. “Jackson?”

  “Yeah, that’s my name.”

  “Jackson, it is. I’m Trip, that’s Ribby, and that old arse on the end is Mickey.”

  I nod, holding my hand out to shake each of their hands. “It’s a pleasure.”

  They hold their drinks up to me, and I smile as I turn to put some money in the till.

  “Heya, Jackson, can you come get these plates?”

  I look where Fiona has called me to, and I do as she asks. As I reach the table, everyone holds their plates out to me. When I get to Lena, her eyes are positively sinful as she says, “Thank you.”

  Which is code for “Please take me again,” I swear it. Or, at least, that’s what I hear when she says it.

  Begging my dick to behave, I head to the back to put the dishes in the sink. As I’m there, though, I wonder when I’ll see her next. She has to want to see me. She was looking at me like she wanted to see me, but how? I should have gotten her number. Shit.

  As I head back out, I grab a napkin and write my number on it. Holding it in my palm, I look to where she is sitting, sipping on a glass of Cathmor on the rocks. I’m unsure how to get it to her without anyone seeing it. She didn’t have to tell me we were on the down low for me to know it. She obviously has some standards she has to uphold, and having the bartender at the pub give her his number probably wouldn’t go over well.

  But then, by the tip of her chin, I really don’t think she cares.

  But I do.

  I don’t want to embarrass her if, for some reason, she does.

  Or myself if she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

  No, I’ll let her make the next move.

  I’m about to find something to do, when I see that she is getting up, throwing back the rest of her drink. “We’re staying a bit, yeah? I’m gonna get a refill.”

  “Lass, yer knocking them back, aren’t ya?” Mrs. K asks, and Lena nods.

  “Yeah, I have to if I’m gonna stay with you lot,” she teases, but I can see Declan is annoyed by that.

  “Do you really need another?”

  “Yes, brother, I do,” she answers before walking toward me. I can see the annoyance in her eyes, and I’m unsure what is going on there. But I really don’t know anything about her.

  That probably needs to change.

  When she reaches the bar, she slides the glass toward me. “Just a bit.”

  “A bit?”

  “Yeah, I don’t want it. I just needed an excuse to come up here.”

  “Oh,” I say, filling it only a little, and she takes it before cheersing it at me.

  “When can I see ya again?” she asks around the cup.

  Oh, thank God.

  “I don’t know, but I wrote down my number,” I answer, not really making eye contact as I slide it to her.

  She takes it before taking a sip of her drink. “Grand, I’ll text you.”

  “Great.” I don’t know why, I don’t even know what I’m thinking, but before she walks away, I ask, “Hey, you’re good, right?

  Her brows pull together, her eyes locking with mine. “I’m grand, are you not?”

  “No, no, no, I promise, I am really great, but I mean—” My voice drops to a whisper as I lean toward her. “We got kinda wild back there.”

  “I know. That’s the point, yeah?”

  “Yeah, but, um, you’re on birth control, right?”

  She leans back, her eyes wide. “I am. I’ve told ya that.”

  Did she? Either way, relief floods me. “And I don’t need to go—” I stop mid-sentence because there is no reason in hell to ask that. There really isn’t. I’m good, she’s grand, things are fine. I need to stop being an idiot and trust my gut.

  “Go where?” she asks, and her eyes narrow.

  “Nowhere, I’m just nervous around you.”

  She doesn’t buy it a bit. Leaning on the bar, her eyes are in slits as she whispers, “Were ya gonna ask me if ya needed to go to the feckin’ clinic?”

  Yup, this is about to go sideways. My heart jumps into my throat, and I can’t lie to her. “Yes, but let me explain—”

  That is the last thing she’s going to do, and I knew that from the moment I said anything. What I did
n’t expect, though, was the balled-up napkin to come smacking me dead in the nose. I deserved that.

  With her face still close to mine and her eyes wild with anger, she whisper-yells, “Fuck off with ya, then.”

  “Lena, I’m sorry. Listen, I just wanted to be sure. People talk—”

  “Well, fuck them too. And fuck ya for listening. I thought you were different,” she growls before throwing back her drink and slamming the glass so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t break. “I told ya, I’m no hoor.”

  I want to enjoy that word, I really do love it when she says it, but there is no point. I know that. I even know there is also no point in trying to stop her, but I try anyway. “Lena, please. I know, but—”

  She doesn’t give me time to say anything before she’s storming out of the pub. “I’ll be in the car.”

  Everyone looks to where she is rushing out, and when they look to me, I’m cleaning up the mess she left behind.

  Because I’m just the stupid bartender from Canada who doesn’t know how to keep his fucking mouth shut.

  I didn’t sleep well last night.

  Though, I haven’t been sleeping well for the last week.

  It wasn’t because I was cold. I am getting used to that, and the new heat pads I ordered are working seamlessly. It was because I couldn’t shake a certain heiress out of my head. I could still see the pain in her eyes, the betrayal, and I don’t know why I even asked her that stupid question. But in all reality, she blew up for no reason. I was just trying to watch out for myself. Is that too much to ask?

  It’s still bothering me. I know I need to let it go, let Lena go, but I’m having a hard time with that.

  Walking through the market that is about three miles from the pub, I gather the things Mrs. Maclaster had sent me to get. She said if I was going to sleep on her land like a phanny, I could run errands for her so she can watch her grandbaby. Since I really like said grandbaby, I decided why the hell not. I had nothing to do, and it was my off day from the stables. Which is great since every time I am there, I’m looking up at the high towers, trying to see if I could see Lena.

  Just a little look.

  But nothing. It’s been radio silence. No one had seen or heard from her in seven days. As I walk around the market, I hear all the reasons why.