by L. B. Dunbar
“She sucked,” I smirked, but then smiled at the memory. “But we had fun while she learned.”
I explained how I wasn’t sure how it happened, but we became physically involved after I learned that she was to be engaged to a man she didn’t love. I didn’t care to share all the details of her lessons in seduction, or the fact that I had been the one seduced. I didn’t want to share all the details of her family’s convoluted arrangements, either. I said what I could to clarify, that I was sure she did not want to be with the man, yet she felt she had no other choice. I went on to explain that Marshall Dragon was her uncle and he was dead, to which the guys only ‘ah-ed,’ as if they understood the severity of being related to Marshall, and what it meant to my past.
“Turns out the man she’s engaged to is a good friend of her uncle, Marshall, and happens to be my uncle, Mark.”
“What?” Arturo scowled.
“Fuck,” Lansing replied.
“You’re kidding?” Perk laughed without humor.
To which I responded, “I wish I was.” I couldn’t share that I wanted it to all be a joke. I’d rather laugh than continue to feel the ache I’d felt since I saw my uncle pull Ireland under his arm. I’d rather laugh than feel the pain I felt at learning that the man she was going to share herself with was my uncle.
“I had no idea she was Isolde Ireland. She told me only that her name was Ireland. I never thought to dig deeper. I…I just…I really like her…liked her.” I swallowed. “She was so different there.”
“You have to get her back,” Perkins said, hope in his voice.
“You need to break them apart,” Arturo added.
But Lansing remained quiet, his head down, blue eyes cast to the wooden bar floor.
“Anyway, we’re home now, and she’s with Mark. And I’m…I don’t know what I am,” I said, running a hand through my hair.
“You’re in love,” Perk smiled.
“You’re a fool,” Lansing muttered to the floor.
Arturo didn’t respond this time. He scanned my face for a minute.
“You’re…going to play me your new songs,” he said with a tilt of his head. I smiled weakly and we returned to the stage. Arturo remained in the pit.
“Join us,” I called out.
“In time,” Arturo replied. “For now, I just want to hear you play.”
So as we practiced my new song, I sang my lyrics written for Ireland. I lost myself in memories of her: the sun on her face, the water around her body, my hands on her, her touch on me. I closed my eyes as I sang the melody of longing and mistakes, only to feel her lips against mine, despite the regret.
When I finished singing, Lansing hit his last chord, and I opened my eyes to see Guinevere standing next to Kaye in the middle of the open pit. The space was otherwise empty, even in the shadows. Arturo King was gone again.
Chapter 28
[Tristan]
While love uncontrolled demands release
I had been summoned to dinner at my uncle’s home in mid-May. I didn’t want to attend and thought of every excuse I could not to go. I could not be in the same room as Ireland. It had been almost three weeks since our return from the Island. Two weeks since I last saw her, when she told me she hated me. She had stopped texting, which I was both thankful for and regretful of at the same time. I never responded to her call, but I painfully enjoyed the fact she tried to reach out for me.
I was no longer The Heartbreaker. Try as I might, I couldn’t get another girl. Well, I could and I tried, but I couldn’t get into the flavor selected for the night. Dark hair, red hair, olive skin, green eyes, brown eyes, anything but blonde hair and blue eyes. I’d pick a flavor as I hung at the bars, or went to parties that Lansing made me attend, but I never followed through with the girl. I’d lose interest the moment I went to kiss her. I couldn’t get my lips to touch another. Apologizing, I would send the sweet flavor on her way with a kiss on the cheek or sometimes a brief embrace. I never did more. I was broken.
I had no excuse good enough not to attend. It finally came down to a last minute demand that I be present for what Mark considered one of the most important nights of his life. I was assured it would be a private gathering, so I was unprepared for the fifty plus people that crowded Mark’s elaborate and garish living room. As Mark was obsessed with money, he overindulged in items, in order to show off his wealth. It was all too much in my opinion. I knew that Ireland would hate it.
I held my breath, for a while, as I wandered through the crowd of people. I recognized many of the faces and saw several old friends of Mark’s that I hadn’t seen in years. All of them were wealthy colleagues of Mark’s, but none that I could say were true friends. One eerie presence was missing and that was Marshall Dragon. I sighed with relief that Marshall was gone and no longer a threat to Ireland. He was the only one that could possibly tell Mark of my affair with her.
I felt fortunate that I hadn’t seen Ireland yet in the mash of ‘intimate’ friends. I did catch a glimpse of Isa and a man I assumed was Ireland’s father. He didn’t look like Ireland, but I recognized the features Ireland inherited from her mother. Her mother was dark where Ireland was fair, but they were related, there was no doubt. I might have blushed to think what I did to myself, as a young boy, looking at pictures of Isa. I continued to move aimlessly through the gathering only to end up near a long hallway.
I needed a break from those who could only make small talk. Those who felt they knew me and wanted details of my recent escapades splashed in the tabloids. I hadn’t been particularly discrete in leaving bars or parties, night after night, with different women, even if the gossip rags didn’t know the truth of what I did with the women once I disappeared with them. I wandered down the hall, hoping to find an open door to an unoccupied room and possibly a bathroom. Toward the end, I entered such a room that I knew had a bathroom immediately to the left. I headed directly for it.
I was just zipping up when I heard the subtle click of a closing door behind me in the bedroom. The bathroom door opened and closed. I was ready to holler that the bathroom was in use, when I glanced over my shoulder to catch a glimpse in the mirror of Ireland, standing with her forehead pressed against the wood.
I turned quickly to face her as I finished adjusting my pants. The sound of the zipper startled her, and she turned quickly, bumping into the door at her back. Her arms crossed as she traced the length of my body with her eyes before meeting mine. Bright blue sapphire stared at me with an ache that matched my own.
“Tristan,” she swallowed, speaking coldly. “It’s nice to see you again,” she remarked politely.
I nodded without answering her with words.
I stepped forward at the same time as she pushed off the door. We each stopped, still staring at one another. Ireland dropped her hands to her sides, balling her fingers into fists that clenched the skirt of her dress. It was a long soft blue color, and she looked like an angel with her blonde hair and fading tan skin. I pulled my own hands up to rest in my pants’ pockets, as a means to prevent me from reaching for her.
“How are you?” she asked, her voice slightly shaky.
“I’m good. You?”
She shrugged her shoulders and wrinkled her nose.
“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me,” I grumbled to the floor, and she let out a weak laugh. I looked at her, puzzled at first then realized what I’d said. I’d said the same thing to her at times on the Island.
“Are you okay?” I asked full of concern. I knew how Mark could be. I worried that Mark would be the same with her. I remembered Mark’s accusatory voice the night we arrived in the airport. Despite all that happened, I didn’t want Mark to hurt her. I didn’t want Mark to touch her.
“He…he hasn’t touched you…in any way, to hurt you, has he?”
She shrugged her shoulders again, but this time she didn’t laugh.
I took another step toward her.
“What has he done?” I bent forward to look her in the
eyes.
Liquid blue met my mossy green. “Nothing,” she whispered.
“Has he touched you?”
“No,” she said quietly. “Not like that.”
My body was not my own as it reached for her and pulled her into my arms. Holding her tightly, her arms slipped around my waist and she returned the embrace. My hand pressed against her back, feeling the warmth of exposed skin as the other hand held her head into my chest. Her soft hair smelled familiar as I kissed it.
“I don’t want him to touch you,” I growled.
“I don’t want him to touch me,” she muttered into my chest.
I gently pushed her back, so I could look her in the eyes again. Mistake. A tear escaped. My rough fingertips attempted to wipe it clean. I sucked my finger to taste the salty liquid. She gasped, opening pink lips. It was more than I could stand. My hands cupped either side of her head and I kissed her. Hard.
“You. Are. Mine,” I growled between hard kisses that she returned in equal force. We sucked and bit. She yelped; I soothed. I kissed her with enough force that I could eat her whole, as I licked her lips and tugged them gently with my own. My tongue savored the inside of her mouth. I moaned at the burst of her flavor that cascaded over my own tongue as she responded.
I pushed her back against the door, fumbling with the lock to ensure our privacy.
“You. Are. Mine,” I groaned against her mouth as I continued to taste her. A taste I’d missed more than air. A taste I’d never be full from. As I pressed her against the door, I continued to kiss her as my lips travelled to her neck. My hands melted down her body, reacquainting with every curve of her. She whimpered into my mouth as I covered her breasts with my hands, squeezing gently until I felt the hard peak of each nipple under the thin fabric of her dress. My hands continued to mold over her flat stomach and around to her hips, where I began to gently bunch the fabric of her dress upward.
“My Irish Isle, tell me it wasn’t true. Tell me you didn’t mean what you said.”
She pulled back as she paused to consider my meaning.
“Do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you, Tristan. I…I love you,” she whispered.
I froze against her lips. I didn’t think I’d heard her correctly; she was so quiet. She didn’t just say what I thought she said. She couldn’t love me. If she loved me, she would have gone with me. She would have stood up for herself with Mark.
She continued to kiss my neck as if she never said anything. It distracted me, as I moved my lips to the exposed skin between her breasts, hiking more of her skirt up with fisted hands to reveal her long legs. With her back against the door, she lifted a leg to wrap around my hip, and I leaned forward to press my hardness into her soft center.
I had to know. “Are you wet for me, Irish?”
“Yes,” she breathed against my neck. My hand went between her thighs immediately and I palmed her over her underwear. It was thin, lacy, and barely there.
I pulled back to glance at what she was wearing.
“Fuck,” I muttered, as I turned her to face the bathroom mirror. Her back was against my chest. I became a man obsessed. Hands roamed up her stomach and tugged the bodice of her dress to the side exposing her breasts, which stood erect and pink in the mirror.
“These are for me, Irish. Me.”
“Yes,” she moaned, as I smoothed my hands over her sensitive skin. Skimming down her sides to her hips, I pressed her forward to lean on the counter edge. I pulled her skirt upward briskly and exposed her ass, knowing that she wore a thong, which revealed her backside. I hissed again as my hands caressed her bare skin.
“This is only for me, also, my Irish Isle,” I growled, as I looked at her in the mirror. Her hands supported her against the counter. Her eyes closed as her head tilted back, her backside pressed against me. I’d never taken her this way, but I was a man obsessed with having her. The thin edging of her thong ripped as I pulled it to one side. She gasped and I raised one of her thighs to balance on the counter next to her hand. The ribbon of undergarment slid down her opposite leg as I released myself from my pants. There would be no foreplay. She was ready. I slipped into her quickly.
“Ah,” she grunted as I thrust inside, filling her. My hands gripped her hips, tugging her back over me. Her position in the mirror made her look as if she was trying to climb the countertop. She pushed back against me. I thrust forward into her. We developed a rapid rhythm. It wouldn’t take long as I slipped my fingers forward and played with the nub of pleasure that was a trigger for her. I strummed inside her with my hardness as I flicked that tender spot.
She grunted, breathing heavily, and I knew she was close.
“You. Are. Mine.” I emphasized each word with another pulse into her. She broke apart around me. An animalistic groan escaped her throat similar to the first night I gave her an orgasm. She crashed around me. Her sound and the force of her pressing back against me sent me over the edge. I stilled behind her as I released weeks of pent up desire into her.
I wrapped my arms around her stomach; I leaned forward to rest on her back. Her shaky leg slipped off the countertop, but we remained joined as one. Our breathing slowed as our heart rates calmed. Still, I held her, pressing soft kisses on her shoulder blades.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked.
“No,” she whispered, her voice sounded exhausted.
A knock came on the door. We paused, unable to move, still joined as one.
“Isolde, darling, are you in there?”
Her mother’s voice sounded concerned as she knocked softly again. I met Ireland’s eyes in the mirror. Nodding once, I signaled for her to answer.
“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?”
“I feel…fine, Mother.” Her eyes danced as she stared at me through the reflection of the mirror.
“Well, come join the celebration, as soon as you can.”
“Be there in a few.”
I remained with my arms around her stomach, holding her against me, as I finally slipped out of her. With shaky hands, I edged the bodice back over her breasts. Her underwear was a tangle of string on the floor. I bent to pick it up, placing it in my pocket. Her skirt fell back into place. I returned myself to my pants, watching Ireland smooth her hair in the mirror and wipe at a smudge of her makeup. She tried to fix herself. I held my breath knowing she was about to walk away from me.
“What celebration?” I leaned forward and whispered against her ear.
“It’s my birthday. I’m twenty-two today.”
Moss green eyes held her blue ones in the reflection. She didn’t seem so young.
“I didn’t remember. I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was a birthday party.”
“It’s not really,” she said to the sink, as she straightened her dress again. Her eyes were suddenly avoiding mine. I paused for a moment, recalling her words from minutes before we connected.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what, Tristan?” she whispered, looking up at me through the mirror.
I held her reflection as seconds passed. I wanted her to say it again. I wanted it to clearly come from her, not be something I thought I heard. She challenged me to ask.
“You need to go,” I said softly, dropping the subject, when she didn’t respond.
“I know,” she replied, as she quickly turned to place her hands on my chest. She smoothed over my shirt, leaned forward, and smelled me. She inhaled deeply before pulling back. Her eyes remained closed as she blindly placed her hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the cheek, like I was a small child. Then she opened the bathroom door enough to step out and pulled the door closed behind her, leaving me alone again.
I returned to the party after ten minutes, allowing her what I thought was enough time to reenter the crowd. I stood on the fringe of people as Ireland was presented with a cake. The partygoers sang, “Happy Birthday,” despite her claim that this wasn’t a party. As she stood at
the front of the room before the glass doors to the balcony that overlooked the city, I saw her smile tightly at Mark, who was standing at her side. He slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her toward him, like I had seen him do in the airport. I slowly worked my way through the gathering, keeping my eyes focused on Mark’s hand at Ireland’s hip. It was a siren calling to a sailor, drawing me into the depths of the sea. I was ready to break through the surface of partygoers to claim her when Mark spoke.
“Since this is a special occasion, and all of our dear friends are gathered together, I’m taking this as the best time to share some amazing news.”
He turned to smile at Ireland, who looked at him again with a tight smile and a puzzled expression on her face.
“Isolde Ireland is going to be my wife.”
The audience gasped, with a few ‘ahs’ and ‘ohs,’ as they clapped politely at the announcement. Ireland kept her eyes on Mark, like she didn’t quite understand his words. Mark jostled her a little as if to shake her out of her stupor.
“Kiss,” someone chattered from the crowd, and Mark planted a kiss on Ireland’s lips. I saw her body stiffen as Mark kissed her briefly on the lips, pulling her against him to do so. My own body froze. I clenched my fists at my sides. Mark pulled back to look at Ireland momentarily, before his eyes found mine in the crowd.
“Where’s the ring?” someone else shouted. Mark smiled mischievously.
“I plan to give that to her in a special way,” he replied, as he looked at Ireland with a devilish smile, then back at me for a brief second. I had seen that look before. My blood raced through my body. Someone bumped into me hard from behind, as people moved forward to congratulate the newly engaged couple. I lost sight of Ireland as she was embraced by her mother, but the cold hard stare of my uncle remained on me.