Irish Kiss

by Sienna Blake

  I entered the boxing gym, early for once, my eyes seeking out his familiar figure.

  He was in a corner, beating his wrapped fists into a boxing bag. His shirt stuck to every muscle, his ink like art down his muscular arms, shifting and ebbing with each movement.

  God, he was beautiful. Moving like brutal lightning, somehow managing to be both graceful and fierce at the same time. A shiver went down my spine.

  He spotted me and my breath caught in my throat at the click that seemed to fall in place when our eyes met. He straightened, brushing sweat from his forehead before dropping his fists to his side.

  He nodded to someone across the room and strode towards me, unwrapping his black boxing wraps from his fists.

  He stopped before me and I had to lift my chin to maintain eye contact with him. Once again, I had to admire how tall and broad he was.

  “You’re early,” he said, his deep voice sounding even better than in my memories.

  “Would you rather I be late?” The low seductive voice that came out of me didn’t sound like me at all.

  “This is Tadhg,” Diarmuid said, pronouncing his name like Tiger without the r. “He’s one of the regulars here.”

  Only then did I pay attention to the man standing next to him. He was handsome in more of a pretty way, clean-shaven, strong jaw and a cheeky twinkle in his hazel eyes.

  “Tadhg’s going to be taking you through a boxing session.”

  I flinched, my gaze snapping back to Diarmuid. “What about you?”

  “I have…some other stuff I have to take care of,” Diarmuid said before he left me alone with the pretty boy.

  “Okay, Saoirse…” Tadhg began, a half-grin on his face, one I was sure made most girls weak at the knees.

  I almost rolled my eyes. Most girls. But not me. I was immune to all things except for Diarmuid. “Just shut up and train me.”

  Tadhg shrugged and led us over to a corner of the gym. He walked me through some basic self-defense and ways to get out of various holds.

  He was a good teacher, his touch firm but never painful. He was patient even when it was clear I wasn’t giving him my full attention. I kept glancing over to Diarmuid, every cell of my body aware of his exact location.

  “He’s a good guy.”

  I snapped my attention back to Tadhg. “What?”

  Tadhg nodded towards where Diarmuid was standing, chatting to an older man, a weather-beaten, thick-set bloke with a full head of hair, the owner of this gym, I presumed. “You keep looking at him.”

  I flushed. “I do not.”

  “Sure you don’t.”

  I frowned and turned my back on Diarmuid. Tadhg chuckled but he said nothing further. Good, I wouldn’t have wanted to break his pretty straight nose.

  At the end of the hour I was thoroughly worn out. Tadhg nodded at me, approaching me with a small towel. “You look sweaty. Let me.”

  I flinched as he got near. “What are you doing?”

  Tadhg did not back off, the grin on his face widening. “You want his attention?” Tadhg asked in a low voice.

  I didn’t have to ask who. I didn’t even have to respond, I could feel the eagerness pouring out from my features.

  I let Tadhg stand right near me, his breath cool against the dampness on my forehead.

  “You look wet,” he said, loud enough to carry across the gym. He used the small towel to wipe at my face first, then my neck, then dipping lower—

  It was snatched out of his hand.

  “Get out of here, Tadhg.”

  I spun at the presence at my side, the familiar rumble of a voice.

  Diarmuid glared at Tadhg like he was seconds away from punching him.

  Oh shit. I hadn’t wanted to start anything.

  Tadhg wasn’t fazed. In fact, his grin widened.

  “She’s all yours.” He patted Diarmuid on his arm as he strode away, winking at me over his shoulder.

  Diarmuid and I were left alone.

  His eyes darted to me, and he wrung the small towel in his hands, as if he just realised what he’d done and was embarrassed at his behaviour.

  He cleared his throat. “Good session?”

  I nodded, my body flushed, half from the workout, half from having him close to me again. I kept watching his mouth moving as he spoke and remembering how it felt on my lips. His body radiated warmth that rolled over me, calling me like a siren to get closer.

  “Tadhg behave himself?”

  I nodded again.

  Jesus, what was wrong with me? I’d never had any problem talking around Diarmuid. Until he kissed me. And now I felt like a giddy little girl.

  The irony.

  “Good,” he said.

  There was a pause.

  “Well, okay then.” He turned to walk away.

  “Diarmuid,” I called after him, finally finding my voice.

  “See ye next week, Saoirse.”

  Goddammit. He’d ignored me this whole session and now he was just going to walk away from me? I chased after him.

  “Diarmuid.”

  He didn’t stop.

  “Goddammit, Diarmuid, stop.” I grabbed his upper arm, trying to get him to look at me. His bicep was hard and warm and smooth under my palm. “Are you just going to ignore me from now on? Is that it?”

  “I’m not ignoring you.” He tugged his arm free of me and my insides wailed at the loss of him.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m talking right to you.”

  I let out a noise of frustration. “You’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m…not.” But he didn’t sound so sure.

  “You’re just going to pretend that the kiss didn’t happen?” I hissed, lowering my voice.

  He rubbed his face, a curse slipping out between his fingers. When he removed his hands, strain left creases around the corners of his beautiful eyes.

  “I don’t know what more you want from me, Saoirse.” He sounded tired. So damn tired.

  I was such an idiot. Rejection tore through the old wound, exposing the raw nerve ends.

  “Nothing,” I cried, hating that I sounded close to tears. “I don’t want anything more from you.”

  I turned and practically ran out of the gym.

  I never wanted to see him again.

  It was only after I tumbled out of the gym into the dying light that I realised I had no way home.

  “Saoirse,” Diarmuid called after me. “Wait.”

  Damn him. I did not want to see his face anymore.

  I strode down the street as fast as I could. Maybe I’d be lucky and stumble across a cab. Dammit, I’d walk home if I had to.

  I heard my name being called again from behind me. Shit. He sounded closer, his footsteps coming up fast behind me. Damn him and his long legs.

  “Saoirse, stop.”

  “Go away.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.”

  “Dammit, you can’t just walk home.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Stop right now.”

  “No.”

  “Selkie,” he warned.

  My nickname cut through my anger like hot water through ice. “Don’t call me that,” I near shrieked, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

  I pumped my arms and legs faster. It didn’t help, though. He was upon me in a second, tackling me around the waist and throwing me across the shoulder.

  I let out a shriek that echoed into the night.

  “You stubborn woman,” he muttered. “If you just stopped when I bloody asked you to, you would have made it easier on yourself.”

  “Put me down,” I demanded as I beat at his back, which felt like granite under my fists.

  “If I put you down, will you behave yourself?”

  “No.”

  He let out a snort and kept walking, jostling me on his shoulder with each step. The sound of his heels on the smooth sidewalk changed to the crunch of the parking lot gravel under his feet.

/>   “Stop treating me like a child.”

  “Stop acting like one.”

  “Screw you, Diarmuid.”

  I yelped as he hauled me back down his shoulder. I slid down on my front until my feet touched the ground and I was standing between him and the passenger door of his truck.

  We were so close I could feel the heat radiating off him, the anger vibrating off him, causing all sorts of breath-clenching, knee-shaking sensations throughout my body. Mutinous, traitorous body.

  His dark eyes were dilated, looking almost black. His nostrils flared as he leaned right in. I took a step back but went nowhere, my back banging up against the passenger door. I was trapped. And yet, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

  “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to act tough even though my knees were shaking. “So, you ignore me, then you demand that I sit in a confined space with you. No thanks.”

  He leaned in even closer, the width of him feeling like it was closing around me. I swear I heard a low growl coming from his throat.

  “I’m not asking you. Get in the truck.”

  “And if I refuse?” So stubborn. And yet my pride wouldn’t let me be any other way.

  “I will tie you onto the roof of my truck and take you home that way.”

  I gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He tilted his head, a challenge. Try me, his eyes seemed to dare.

  I swallowed. I knew when I was beat. I patted the door behind me, searching for the door handle. I found it and pulled it open into my back, forcing me forward until my front was pressed up against his chest. I might have died right then and gone to heaven. The softness of me and the hardness of him. I may have even mewled.

  The sternness in his face dissolved and the creases on his forehead softened. The sweet tenderness that had always been there underneath rose up to the surface. I decided right then that this look of his, this one right here, was his most dangerous. This look could have me losing everything to him. My body, my soul, even the pieces of my heart he’d shattered.

  “You need to move so I can open the door,” I said, my voice coming out a mere whisper. I licked at my lips, as dry as desert sands.

  His gaze dropped to my mouth, watching that tiny movement. He licked his own lips, mirroring me. For a second I thought he was going to kiss me again.

  Kiss me. Please, kiss me.

  Instead he backed up, a single step, cold air rushing between us. I felt unsteady, as if he’d kicked the ground out from underneath me.

  His eyes burned into me as I turned and fell clumsily into the passenger seat. He, the bastard, was as graceful as ever when he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Just because I’m letting you take me home, doesn’t mean I’m not still angry with you.”

  Diarmuid let out a snort. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

  The tension in the truck was thick and ropey. We drove for maybe ten minutes before Diarmuid leaned over and turned on the radio. The chords of a guitar wafted out from the speakers, some generic rock band. The low music did little to cover up everything unsaid.

  I stared out the window at the passing houses, a distinct feeling of being stuck, of déjà vu, gripping my body. I felt like all I was doing was beating up against a wall, a wall that Diarmuid had put up between us. I didn’t know how to get through to him. I didn’t know how to get over the wall. Only he could tear it down.

  I wasn’t sure he wanted to. Even if he wanted to, I wasn’t sure he could.

  The music changed and I recognised instantly the sound of The Dubliners.

  I loved the song.

  I reached for the volume dial to turn it up. His fingers brushed mine as he reached for it too.

  I snatched my hand away, the feeling of his touch burning up my arm like a fever.

  Diarmuid cleared his throat. “I seem to remember that this was your favourite.”

  He turned up the volume. I hated that he knew me this well.

  I clenched my jaw shut and stared out the window. I couldn’t even seem to bring myself to enjoy the song right now.

  Diarmuid pulled up in front of my house. As usual, all the lights were off, indicating my da wasn’t home. Big surprise there.

  “Where’s your da?”

  Of course, Diarmuid noticed. Why did he have to notice everything I wanted to hide?

  “It’s late,” Diarmuid said, “when’s he coming home?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want to leave you on your own.”

  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with that three years ago.”

  I felt Diarmuid tense beside me. I almost regretted saying that. Almost.

  He let out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Who’s fighting?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Fine. See you next Friday.”

  Inside, I fought the growing swell of inevitability. Diarmuid and I could never be anything. The longer I tried, the harder I tried, the harder my heart would smash when he finally broke it again.

  I didn’t think my heart could take being shattered twice.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I said, fighting back tears. “I can’t be around you when everything screams at me that we are meant to be something. And you…you with your fucking cool logic and detached emotion. You’re like a zombie. You don’t feel anything.”

  “I feel.” He grabbed my arm, causing my gaze to snap to his. “God dammit, Saoirse, I feel. Too much.”

  “Then why don’t you—”

  “Feeling something and choosing not to act on it for the greater good, that’s what being an adult is about. Being an adult is not about age, it’s about how you act.”

  “Are you’re saying I’m not an adult?”

  “No, I’m saying what we want and what we should do are two different things.”

  “That’s shit.”

  “That’s life.”

  I shoved his hand off me, all the old cracks in my heart reappearing. “Leave me alone. You hurt me too much, Diarmuid. You hurt too fucking much.”

  I shoved open his door and tumbled out onto the sidewalk. Running for the house, fumbling for my keys, I tried to get some distance from him. I heard him behind me, calling for me to stop.

  Why did he have to keep chasing me? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?

  This time I couldn’t let him catch me. I would break if he did.

  I tumbled in through the front door.

  “Saoirse, stop.”

  I did not. He followed me into the house, his footsteps crashing across the old wooden floors. If I could just get to my room, it had a lock inside the door. He grabbed me right as I turned the corner into the short corridor before the stairs.

  His hands gripped me around my waist as he slammed me against the wall. His other hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look right into his tortured, burning eyes.

  “You think I don’t feel? Dear God, Saoirse,” he sounded furious, “the things I want to do to you… It kills me that I’m not allowed to touch you the way I want. It fucking tears me apart to hold myself back from stripping you naked and worshipping every single fucking inch of you with my tongue. It’s like I’ve become a savage inside. A beast.”

  I felt every single one of his words in every single one of my cells, ringing out like bells.

  His fingers on my chin became soft, tracing my cheek, his eyes growing tender. “This is what you do to me. No one else. No one. Ever.”

  I sucked in a breath and let out a moan. His words were like hands all over my body.

  “Please,” I breathed,” touch me.”

  “I…can’t.” He was fighting himself. I could see it. The moral man trying to hold back the beast inside with feeble chains. Chains that were cracking.

  He couldn’t touch me. But I needed to be touched.

  “Let me show you,” I whispered, my breath sucking in and out of me, “how I wan
t you.”

  I moved my hands up my stomach, towards my heavy breasts, across my diamond-hard nipples. I let out a moan, shocked at my own boldness. My other hand found my waistband and dipped inside, his eyes widening as he followed my hand with his eyes.

  He swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”

  “I ache for you. Right here.” I let out a cry as my fingers found my wet sex and slid inside easily.

  He let out a groan too.

  His fingers tightened around my waist, his other hand now gripping at the back of my neck as if he’d be blown away if he let go.

  I stared right at him, my need for him, for release, overriding any embarrassment.

  “Tell me what you want to do to me,” I whispered.

  He warred with himself. How he warred. Conflicting emotions flashed in his eyes.

  “Selkie, please,” he begged.

  “You’re not touching me, I am,” I panted, as my fingers worked against my body, dragging me closer and closer to the edge. “They’re just words.”

  His gaze hardened. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  “I do.”

  “Damn you.” He yanked his hand from around my waist and slammed his fist into the wall above my head. I jolted from surprise, not fear. I could never be afraid of him.

  He leaned in, his body pressing against mine, his mouth going above my ear. “I can feel your nipples like two little pebbles nestled in the softness of your breasts.”

  I swear they got harder, painfully hard as he spoke.

  “I want to suck on them, take them into my mouth.”

  I sucked in a breath, my fingers moving faster. His hand slid down the wall, down my arm and gripped my wrist, forcing me to stop moving my fingers, my pussy aching at the sudden cruel halt.

  “Slow,” he said. “It’d take it slow with you.”

  He held my wrist for a second longer as if to make a point.

  Slow. Okay. I nodded. He released me.

  It was painful and frustrating to move slowly, but I did just as he asked, my head going lightheaded.

  “I’d kiss every inch of your body. Every inch, Saoirse. Twice. Then I’d go back over you with my tongue.” Goosebumps rose along my arms. This was slow, sweet torture.

  I heard him sucking in breath through his nose, inhaling me, smelling me. “I bet you smell this good every-fucking-where.”

  His lips brushed against my neck. “I’ve dreamed about how your sweet pussy would taste. Wondered how hard your back would bow the first time I dipped inside you. What noises you’d make when I sucked that pretty little clit in between my lips.”