That was for sure. Shit. He lifted the second mug, repeated the process, then the third, poured two glasses of Cabernet and one of Chardonnay, popped the caps off of three bottles of Bud, and scanned the crowd for Neve every chance he got.
As he completed the drinks Melissa loaded up her tray.
Rory kept the margarita and called out to Kev, “Be right back.” He turned to Melissa. “I’ll deliver this one.”
“Shit, bro,” Kev yelled. “We’re getting slammed here. Where the hell are you going?”
Heart pounding with anticipation, Rory didn’t answer, didn’t stop. Only for Neve would he push through this press of bodies, allow so many strangers so close, too close, breathing all the air. Shit. He lifted his hand, wet from the condensation on the margarita glass, and wiped the cool moisture over his face. Rory much preferred standing with a big bar barrier between him and the masses.
Melissa stopped, looked around, then leaned in and yelled, “This is where I left her.”
But she wasn’t there now.
With a shrug, Melissa went to deliver her drinks, while Rory stuck around, looking for a short, sexy woman dressed in a body-hugging purple dress. He inhaled, hoping for a whiff of the perfume she’d sprayed on her letters—which he’d kept in a zip lock bag to preserve their scent for as long as possible.
He remembered writing:
I probably shouldn’t tell you I sneak random sniffs of your letters after I go to bed, but what the hell. I do. Not much that smells good over here. So if you want to spray all your letters from here on, that’d be okay.
She’d responded:
So you don’t feel weird about sniffing my letters, I’ll come clean and admit I bought an extra bottle of the body wash I sent you, to keep at my place, so I can breathe it in when I think of you too.
Midsmile, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and Rory went into action, dropping the margarita, twisting out from under the strong grip, fists up, ready to fight. Only to see his dad, in his white T-shirt, white pants, and white chef’s apron stained with unrecognizable remnants of pub grub, and with a pissed-off expression as he looked up from the broken glass at their feet.
And now Rory got angry too. “I warned you not to grab at me, not when I first come home.” He squatted down to pick up the larger chunks of glass. In a combat zone he lived life on alert, ready to fight, to protect himself and his team. Hesitation got soldiers killed. Rory had reacted immediately, without thought, a survival instinct not easy to turn off. It took time—more time than a ten-day leave.
His father knelt down beside him, mopping up the margarita and smaller shards of glass with a cloth he’d whipped out of his pants pocket. “You said you’d work the bar, and I need you behind the damn bar, not standing out here, all by yourself, doing nothing.”
He said it like Rory had been given a choice—work the bar or don’t work the bar. But, no, working the bar was what he did, every time he came home. The McRoy family pub is run by the family, his dad would say. Kids included. Kev and Rory—when he was home—on the bar, nineteen-year-old Derry with Dad in the kitchen, seventeen-year-old Niall busing tables, washing dishes, and sanitizing glasses, every day but Sunday, schoolwork and sickness the only acceptable excuses, no time off for good behavior.
Maybe it was a good thing. The work kept him busy, gave him something to think about besides which of his buddies might not be there when he got back to Afghanistan and whether he’d ever make it home again. Kept him from daydreaming about Neve, for long periods of time anyway, and wondering why she didn’t want to meet up with him.
“Sorry,” he told his dad. What else could he say? Hold on a second, I think my sexy pen pal might be here, and I’m wound so tight, need to see her so bad, want to fuck her so hard and so fast, I’m having trouble concentrating on what I’m supposed to be doing. Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.
“Go on.” Dad jerked his head toward the bar. “I’ll have your mother finish up here.”
Mom worked the tables with Melissa, and on busy nights, like tonight, their upstairs neighbor and family friend Mary pitched in as well.
Back behind the bar Rory pushed Neve out of his mind and got to work, making drinks, keeping the customers happy, and counting the minutes until he could head up to his room, to close his eyes and think about Neve without interruption.
A while later Kev said, “I’m heading back for a case of Bud. Need anything?”
Rory shook his head, then took the opportunity. “I’ll get it. I need a break.”
“Sure thing.” His brother knew firsthand how exhausting working the bar on a weekend night could be, especially considering Rory hadn’t done it in a while.
So happy he would have skipped—if he was a skipping kind of guy, which he wasn’t—Rory headed down the narrow, darkened hallway leading to the storeroom, past the kitchen to the right, his mom’s office to the left, continuing down to the end, leaving the noisy chatter behind, welcoming a few minutes of solitude. He used his key, then pushed inside, holding the door open with a chair they kept within reach for that purpose, so he had enough light to find the string hanging down in the center of the small room to turn on the single overhead bulb.
Alone in the familiar surroundings, Rory was able to relax and take a deep breath for the first time since happy hour began. Leaning against a stack of boxes, he spent a few quiet minutes remembering some of the get-to-know-me trivia Neve had included at the end of her letters and emails.
Bath or shower: Both. Beach or mountains: Mountains. I like the beach, but sitting around on a lounge chair for hours at a time, doing nothing, bores me out of my mind—although I’m a huge fan of the frozen rum and tequila drinks at the tiki bar. Restaurant or home-cooked meal: Home-cooked meal. (I’m a finicky eater.) Go out or stay in: Lately, stay in. Being a party girl has gotten old. Cuddle after sex: No. Spend the night: No.
To which he’d replied:
Bath or shower: Shower. But if you were in the tub I’d happily join you. Beach or mountains: First off, what a sin to deprive the male population of the United States the pleasure of seeing your beautiful body in that tiny purple bikini. Thank you for the full body frontal pic surprise, by the way. HOT.
He’d spent hours fantasizing about her in that bikini.
But I’m sure you already know that. Why did you crop off your face?
Annoying that he knew intimate details of her life and what turned her on, could have picked her beautiful body out of a bikini-clad lineup, but wouldn’t recognize her fully clothed, standing in his pub.
Anyway, back to the topic of beaches. If we ever wind up on one together I promise to keep you entertained while we’re lying in the sun. And I like the beach and the mountains equally. Basically I prefer being outdoors to being indoors. Restaurant or home-cooked meal: I’m easy. I go where the food is, home or out doesn’t matter to me. Go out or stay in: Depends. When I’m back in Boston working at the pub I long for quiet nights at home. But when I’m here I crave being at the bar, drinking and hanging out with my friends. Cuddle after sex: Definitely. I’d make you want to. Stay the night: Depends on the postcoital vibe. With you, good luck getting rid of me.
Right now he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing more than cuddling with Neve after sex, except maybe actually having the sex that preceded the cuddling. God, he wished she’d come to visit—wanted it so much it seemed he’d conjured up the lust-inducing fragrance of her perfume right there in the storeroom, so potent he could almost feel her presence. He stood perfectly still, facing the back wall, eyes closed, barely breathing for fear the slightest movement would make him lose the sensation of having her near.
—
Neve stood in the doorway of the storeroom, watching Rory, like she’d been watching him all night, waiting for this very opportunity, which she’d begun to worry might never come. And yet it had. “Hello, stranger,” she said to his back, using her most seductive voice, alerting him to her presence, not wanting to sneak up on him. “In the
mood for a little company?”
He didn’t startle, didn’t turn to look at her, didn’t move. His only response: “Please don’t be a dream.”
Good answer. She smiled and proceeded inside, moving the chair, allowing the door to click closed behind her. Two more steps and she reached him, pressed her body against his back, her nose barely reaching the top of his shoulder. “I’m real. Feel me.” She took his hands, brought them back, placing them on her ass. “And tonight I’m going to fulfill your sex-with-a-stranger-in-the-storeroom fantasy.”
He squeezed her butt cheeks, pulled her lower body close, and held her there. “You are my fantasy.”
Back atcha. She inhaled. God, he smelled good, the man from her very vivid imagination. “You used the body wash I sent you.”
“As often as I can. Each time I do I think of you.”
Neve’s body warmed. She wanted to kiss his neck, taste his skin, went up on her tiptoes, yet still couldn’t reach above his collar. “Damn it. Sometimes I hate being short.”
“I told you I like to be tallah than my dates, so for me you’re perfect.”
With his Boston accent, “taller” sounded like tallah. “I’ll never get used to your accent. Whenever I imagine you speaking, in my head, you sound like me.”
“That means we have to talk more often.”
Neve took a few seconds to feel all the places their bodies touched, how nicely their parts lined up. Perfect indeed. She slid her hands under his arms, smoothed them over his wide, firm chest, stopping to pinch his nipples. “What, no nipple clamps?”
He laughed. “Not tonight.”
“You feel nice, all muscly.” She slid her hands down, cupped his very impressive erection. “And hard.”
He thrust into her palm. “All for you, baby, only you.”
“You’re ready. And Lord knows after watching you all night I’m ready. So I see no reason to wait.” She got to work unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. “How long before someone comes looking for you?” When he’d told her about this particular fantasy he’d mentioned the fear of getting caught added to the excitement.
“Wait.” He stopped her, then spun around so fast she squealed like an obnoxious girly-girl and tried to jump back. But his firm grip didn’t let her get far. “I want to see you first.”
She turned her head. “You’re going to ruin the stranger aspect of this encounter.”
“Look at me,” he said, his voice deep, pleading, a hint above a whisper. “I’ve tried to imagine your face so many times.”
The moment of truth, a big step, because she’d go from being an anonymous pen pal turned sex partner—for one night only—to being an actual person with a face to go with her name.
“Every second you wait there’s more of a chance someone is going to come looking for me.”
Still so quiet, so controlled, not forceful, giving her time to make the decision on her own. Neve wanted this brief interlude, wanted him, without interruption. So slowly she turned and looked up. Their eyes met. His were a light, Mediterranean blue. The adoration she saw in them made her heart squeeze.
“You’re beautiful.”
She wasn’t. But she appreciated the awe in his voice when he said it.
“More beautiful than I’d ever imagined.” He moved some hair off of her cheek. “Your eyes, they’re a shade of green I’ve never seen before, with gold flecks.”
For this very special occasion she’d accented them with purple liner and shadow and lots of mascara to be “nicely made up,” the way he liked.
“Your little nose.” He kissed the tip. “And these.” He set his lips to hers. “I’ve been dreaming about these.” He threaded his fingers into her hair, angled her head to where he wanted it, and kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue probing for entry, and she welcomed it in, her own tongue greeting him, playing with him, tasting him. Divine.
Her body pulsing with urgent need, panting like she’d just completed her floor routine at a gymnastics competition, she broke away, wanted to stay in control. “Come.” She dragged him over to the chair by the waistband of his pants. Then she stopped, turned, and finished lowering the zipper. “It’s time.” She pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
“I don’t want to do this here, don’t want to rush. I want to see you, all of you, feel your skin—”
She set a finger to his lips. “Next time you can have me naked in a bed,” she lied. “And you can take all the time you want,” she lied again, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time. Doing it in the storeroom worked right into her plans. They’d have great sex, and when he had to go back to work she’d disappear into the crowd. The perfect exit strategy. Neve had plans for the future that did not include Rory McRoy. But she couldn’t resist this one opportunity for them to get together. “Now sit.”
He did.
Neve slid her stretchy tube dress up just enough to be able to straddle his lap.
He set his hands at the indentation of her waist. “I love this dress.” He ran his hands over her abdomen, up to her breasts, into her cleavage. “Purple. You were the one who ordered the margarita.”
She nodded, running her hands through the short hairs at the top of his head.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
She lowered herself onto his lap, rocked her hips, sending her sex up and down along the length of his cotton-covered cock. “I couldn’t very well surprise you in the storeroom if you knew I was here, now could I?”
Rory’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a very flattering sigh of pure ecstasy. “My God, you feel good.”
Since he liked it, she did it again.
Strong hands grabbed her ass, pushing her down, as he thrust up, lifting them both off the chair. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long.”
“So do it.” She reached down, lowering the elastic band of his underwear, caressing his smooth, hot flesh. She leaned back, letting him spring up between them. “You’re the one who’s beautiful, Rory. Look at you.” So big and hard, eager and ready.
Neve stood, shifted her thong to the side, and positioned him at her entrance. Now it was her turn to let out a sigh of pure ecstasy at the feel of him. It’d been a damn long time and she’d been craving him for months.
He held her hips still, lifted his, and dipped inside. “Baby, I’m gonna make you scream.”
She smiled, remembering he’d said that very same thing in one of his letters. “Oh, you think so?” She challenged him, because that’s what she did.
“I know so.” He fumbled in his back pocket. “Need a condom.”
“No,” Neve said. “You’ve never had sex without one.” At least that’s what he’d told her.
Looking up, he shook his head.
“Me neither. I want you to be my first, Rory. And I want to be yours.” She wanted a new experience, something they would both remember forever, so she lowered onto him. “Please, let me.”
“But—”
“Have you been with anyone since you’ve come home?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“And I haven’t been with anyone since we started writing to each other.” For more than eight months. God, she needed him. “It’s okay.” She leaned in and kissed him. “Trust me.” She took him deeper. He actually trembled. “I’m trusting you.” Trust. So important. After all she’d been through, Neve didn’t trust easily. But she trusted Rory and wanted Rory to trust her.
Which he did, apparently, because he surged up, clamping his arms around her waist, hugging her close, resting his cheek against the bare skin above the very low neckline of her trashy dress, a dress she’d bought just for him.
“Give me a minute,” he said. “Please. Don’t move. Not yet.”
She contracted her internal muscles, squeezing him tight.
He groaned.
“Clock’s ticking,” she whispered. “Any second—”
He started to move deep within her, quick, jerky little thrusts. “You’re so fucking
wet, so hot, gripping me tight.”
Feet on the ground, she lifted up, forced the long, deep strokes she wanted, met each of his thrusts with a hard, fast one of her own, moving front to back while Rory moved up and down, but damn, it worked. “You like when I do that?” She squeezed him again. “Does it feel good?”
“Oh yeah. It feels damn good.” He smiled up at her. “You’re a talkah during sex. I knew it.” He kissed her neck. “That’s right, baby. Give me all you got. Make me come.” He had her clamped in the vice of his arms, pressed to his chest as he sucked on her neck. “You taste so good, feel so fucking good. God help me, I’m not going to last.”
With each long plunge of his cock rubbing against her clit, Neve wasn’t going to last long either, their sex as frenzied and fantastic as she’d hoped it’d be.
He brought her head down for a kiss, moved his hands to her breasts, and squeezed her nipples through her dress, triggering fluttering tingles of lust. “You feel so good inside me. So big. So hard.”
Breathing fast and heavy, he said, “All for you, baby…only you.” A few seconds later he called out, “Shit! You ready? Please tell me you’re ready.”
“Let go, Rory. I want to feel you come. Make sure I can feel you.”
He stiffened, strained out his release, and she did feel him coming, for a few seconds, until her orgasm ripped through her, and all she could do was succumb to the unbelievably spectacular sensations pulsing through her body.
Collapsed on top of Rory, her face planted between his shoulder and neck, his arms loosely wrapped around her, an unwelcome noise disturbed Neve’s complete and utter satiation—the door to the storeroom opening. “Uh-oh.”
Seemed Rory hadn’t heard it. “What?”
A histrionic female screamed, “Rory McRoy, how could you?”
Rory reacted in an instant, lifting Neve, putting himself back in his pants, and trying to zip up, moving so fast he almost dumped her on the floor. “Mary. You shouldn’t be in here.”
Neve recognized one of the waitresses, blond, very young—or so she appeared—and pretty in a no-frills, bland, swinging-toward-prude sort of way.
All I Need Is You Page 5