Straight Up Irish
Page 17
“Do…do…do you really want me to do this while you’re driving and on a public golf course?” I stuttered, my mouth the only part of me not tingling.
His lips quirked in a half smile. “First off, this isn’t a public course. It’s private to the hotel, and how can you even ask me if I want you touching my cock or not?”
“Good point. Still, it doesn’t mean I’m trading sexual favors.” It took everything I had to move my hand back to my lap.
“You’re sexy when you’re trying hard to be tough.”
“I am tough. Who else would keep you in line?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
He smirked and drove to the first hole where an older couple in their polos and white hair had just got their clubs off their cart.
“Why don’t I show you how to do a few swings with the club while we wait?” he asked, a permanent smile on his face that I knew spelled trouble.
“Um, I’m not swinging your club,” I grumbled.
He shook his head, getting out of the cart and adjusting himself. “You have your own. Come on, pinky.”
He put his hand out, and I took it gingerly, wondering where the hell all of this was going.
He led me to the back of the cart and the two golf bags. With his free hand, he pulled a shiny silver club from the pack.
“This is called a wood, or a driver,” he said, turning it over so the large, rounded bottom was in the grass.
“That sounds like something you made up, since clearly it’s made of metal.” I scoffed.
“That’s because they used to be made of wood, but enough of a history lesson…” His words trailed off as he let go of my hand and spun me around so my back pressed to his front. Or more importantly, my ass was firmly planted on his bulge.
I wiggled a little for good measure. If he was going to tease, I was going to throw it right back at him. His abs constricted against me before he wrapped both arms around my waist, handing me the club.
“Careful, pinky, it’s your first lesson. Wouldn’t want to slip up,” he whispered, his fingertips trailing to the waistband of my shorts.
“What are you doing?” I hiss-whispered. I may have been agitated, but that didn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat from his small touch.
“Showing you how to do a proper swing,” he said with a laugh that vibrated against my back. “We’ll start with your stance. Now, your feet need to face the ball with your legs spread slightly and a little bit of a bend in your knees,” he said, putting one hand between my legs, his fingers brushing against my core through my shorts as he separated my thighs.
My legs shook from his brief touch, and I licked my lips in anticipation of where his expert fingers would go next.
“Now, let’s talk about the grip,” he murmured, one hand on my waist and the other slowly sliding down my shorts.
“Connor,” I gasped, looking to see the old couple hadn’t even swung yet.
“I love it when you say my name like that, mo chroí, but we haven’t finished your golf lesson,” he whispered. “Now, you’re going to hold the club like you would a baseball bat, your left hand on the bottom, curving your fingers over the club so they grip securely,” he said in a low voice, pushing my panties aside before he curled a finger inside of me.
I bit down on my bottom lip, as ripples of pleasure bubbled in my core.
“Make sure the club is resting right where your thumb meets your fingers. Your left thumb should be pointed straight down the club to the head,” he murmured, pulling his crooked finger in and out of me while moving his thumb to my clit, circling the hardened bud. I gripped tightly onto the club, trying not to topple over as electric sparks zinged through my body.
“You’re so close to getting it down, mo grá. Now bring your pinky finger so it’s comfortably touching your left index finger then tighten so the right portion of your palm rests on top of the left palm.” He continued talking, but all I could think about was the pressure of him adding another hooked finger while continuing to circle his thumb over my sensitive clit, and the little earthquake bubbling to the surface.
“Close, pinky,” he whispered, his ragged breath against my ear.
I clenched around his fingers, riding out my orgasm as I bucked my hips against him.
My vision blurred, and my body exploded, forgetting that we were in a very public place until I heard the old lady, only a few yards away, yell as her ball went through the lawn.
“I think we’re up next, unless you need a lesson on swinging first,” Connor whispered, moving his fingers in a circle inside of me.
Before I could respond, the older man whooped, and his ball sailed through the air. He turned toward us then walked toward the back of the cart. Quickly I stood up, pulling Connor’s hand away, and tried not to look like I just had an orgasm on a golf course.
“Sorry about the wait, lads. It’s all yours,” the man said, tipping his hat.
“No trouble at all. Just gave my girlfriend a little lesson,” Connor said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. If my nerves weren’t already hypersensitive, now every single one of them was on fire.
The man nodded again before he and his wife took their cart and headed another few yards away.
“Do you actually plan on golfing, or should we head up to the room?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Connor smiled. “I know you’re eager, and as much as I’d rather take you up to our room and have you, I figure you need to still cross this off your bucket list and sticky notes.”
“I’m sure I could use lots of lessons,” I replied. “Lots.”
I wanted to feel more of my sexy Irishman.
I was going to hell. At least it would be fun getting there.
Chapter Twenty-One
Connor
It may have been my worst score ever, but it was the most fun I’d ever had golfing.
After eating lunch at the restaurant in the hotel and then showering, it was time to get ready for the celebration at the Murphy’s Pub on Quay Street.
I always thought Fallon was beautiful, even in her worn-out dresses or old, faded blue jeans. But when she emerged from the bedroom in the form-fitting jumpsuit, all the air whooshed from my lungs, and I couldn’t do anything but stare.
Fallon’s long blond hair fell in loose waves onto her bare shoulders, framing her smiling face. She must have brought contact lenses because the glasses were gone, and she had the tiniest trace of some eye makeup and lip gloss. It took everything I had not to kiss her, touch her, or forget everything and just have her.
What was this girl doing to me? I needed to get a grip.
“Ready?” she asked with a bright smile.
“Let’s go, beautiful,” I said, taking her hand and trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest.
Quay Street was an animated corner of Galway filled with pubs and live music. Right at the top of the road, there was a little jewelry store, one I’d only walked by, but never paid attention to.
I’d never bought a woman jewelry or clothes. Without a mam or a serious girlfriend, there was never a need. But I couldn’t help it. I loved buying Fallon things. Seeing her eyes light up with genuine gratitude made my heart swell with pride.
“Wanna stop and do some shopping, pinky?” I asked, nodding toward the shop.
“Didn’t I say no gifts?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Well, these are local craftsmen. I just thought you might like to have a look. What if we pick up a little something for your nana? You haven’t sent her any souvenirs yet from Ireland,” I said with a smile.
“We can look…” she said hesitantly.
“I’ll take that,” I replied, leading her into the shop.
A bell rang over the door as we walked into the small room with a few display cases that were all filled with Claddagh jewelry. I guess the giant Claddagh sign hanging over the door should have been a sign.
“We can go somewhere else if you don’t want something Claddagh,” I whispered so the old
man behind the counter didn’t hear it.
“Is that how it’s pronounced? Klad-uh?” Fallon asked in a bad fake Irish brogue.
“Ah, girl, first time to Ireland?” The old man pulled up a stool and sat down at the counter, rubbing his long white beard.
“It is,” she said, giving the old man her sweetest smile. “I live in Dublin for work. Visiting for a long weekend and looking for something for my nana.”
My chest swelled in a mixture of pride and something else, watching her. She never met a stranger, and even though she gave me hell, she was kind to everyone she met, never making anyone feel like they were any better or worse off than she was. The girl was remarkable.
The old man gave me a knowing smile. “Not getting something for your girl?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” I replied, putting my arm around Fallon which garnered a glare from her.
The man unlocked the case and pulled out a white gold locket with a Claddagh engraved on the front. “Do you know the meaning of the Claddagh?” the man asked, his focus on Fallon.
She shook her head. “No. Does that make me a dumb American?”
The old man laughed. “Naw, it just means I get to talk some more.”
He pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and held the locket up. “The crown on top here means loyalty. The hands holding the heart mean friendship, and the heart, well, that says, ‘with this heart I give you mine.’”
“That’s beautiful,” Fallon murmured, taking the necklace and running her finger over the heart.
“I think it’s perfect for you,” I said, taking the chain and unclasping it. She turned her back to me, and I put it around her neck, letting it fall just above her bust line.
A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard, trying to bury it deep.
This is for the company. This is for our futures.
I repeated the mantra in my head over and over, trying to push away the butterflies soaring through me.
“A beautiful necklace for a beautiful girl,” the old man said with a laugh.
“Can’t argue with you there,” I said, not looking at the man but at Fallon’s parted lips, which, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop staring at.
“We said no gifts,” she whispered.
“What if we get another one for your nana? Then you can both keep each other close to your hearts?” My chest constricted, and each word was a careful thought.
She finally smiled. “I think I can maybe agree to that.”
…
After paying for the necklaces, we headed farther down the street toward the pub. We couldn’t miss it, with the large anniversary banner and the crowd outside gathered around a fiddler.
“Do you think the guy can play ‘Whiskey in the Jar’?” Fallon asked, leaning close so I could hear her over the music.
“Metallica or the original?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Always the original.” She flashed a bright smile that lit up not just her face, but mine, as well.
“Wait right here,” I said, squeezing her hand before I headed toward the fiddler.
He finished playing “The Blarney’s Pilgrim,” and the crowd around him clapped and clinked their glasses together.
I leaned toward the middle-aged musician.
“Would you mind playing ‘Whiskey in the Jar’?” I asked as I pulled out a large note.
He looked from the money to me. Then he snatched the bill, stuffing it in his front pocket. “I think I can manage that.”
“Thanks, sir,” I said with a nod before returning to Fallon’s side.
“Did you just pay off the fiddler?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Before I could respond, the fiddler started the opening notes, and her smile turned into an all-out grin.
My heart beat wildly as I put my hand out to her. She took my palm and let me lead her to the middle of the crowd where some older couples were already dancing.
“You know, I’m still not much of a dancer. And since we’re doing this sober, this could get interesting.”
“Well, we’re about to kick it up a notch.” I smiled.
“What are we doing?” she yelled over the music.
“It’s a two-hand dancing down style,” I replied. Then spun Fallon around a few times. She laughed as I pulled her close, taking one of her hands in mine and putting my other hand on her lower back, still moving in step.
I could only resist holding her for so long. Being close to her was like coming home after a long trip, and I relaxed against her.
“You amaze me, you know that?” she said, the bright smile lighting up her entire face.
“I know,” I replied, spinning her around a few more times before repeating the two-hand steps, spinning her, and finally pulling her close again.
As the song came to an end, I spun her one last time then put both hands on her back. I dipped her slowly, brushing my lips against hers, which caused a cheer to erupt from the crowd. I didn’t know if it was for us or the music, but at that moment all I could focus on was Fallon’s flushed face and the taste of her mouth.
Every alarm bell went off in my head, but my beating heart drowned all that out, looking at the beautiful woman in my arms.
“Connor Murphy, always making an entrance.” A deep voice bellowed through the crowd, knocking me out of my trance.
I pulled Fallon up, keeping one hand around her waist as we approached the man in the doorway.
Noah O’Donnell had been with Murphy’s since my da first founded the company. For the past twenty-five years, the larger than life man with a booming presence and bright red hair headed the Galway location.
“Noah, good to see you!” I said, briskly shaking his hand before his gaze wandered to Fallon.
“And who is this? I can’t remember you ever bringing a girl along on your travels. Why are you hanging with this fool?” Noah laughed, taking her hand in his.
Before she could answer, I pulled her close, squeezing her side, a need to claim her taking over and making my heart thump. “Noah, this is my girlfriend, Fallon. Fallon, this is Noah, a longtime Murphy employee and owner of this location.”
The smile broadened on Noah’s face as he nodded. “This must be a special occasion if you’re bringing your girlfriend to meet me.”
“Anytime we have an excuse to celebrate is a special occasion,” I said, not able to stop my own smile.
“Then let’s celebrate. Come in. There’s plenty of whiskey and food to go around.” Noah ushered us inside to the wood-paneled room, packed with people standing or sitting at little tables. That is if they weren’t standing at the bar, waiting for one of the few bartenders to get them a pint.
“Looks like you could use some help,” I yelled to Noah over the music of a band jammed into the corner.
“One of our busiest days and two of my bartenders called in sick, as well as two waitresses. Had to have my boy, Ben, and my daughter, Anna, fill in,” Noah said, nodding toward the bumbling redheaded boy behind the counter that had to be barely twenty-one. The girl next to him had matching hair, and she rolled her eyes, holding out an empty plate.
“We can help out,” I offered.
Noah shook his head. “No, no. You’re a guest and technically my boss. I couldn’t ask you to do it.”
I clapped his shoulder. “I practically ran the Boston pub when I was at uni. I know when a busy location needs a hand. You didn’t have to ask.” I glanced at Fallon. “Ever waitressed?”
“Uh, briefly one summer at a diner,” she stammered.
I nodded. “That works. Let’s get some aprons.”
…
Within a few minutes, Fallon and I were donning green aprons and taking orders. She grabbed a tray and immediately went at it like a pro, getting drink orders while I stood behind the bar, pouring pint after pint.
“That’s one hell of a girl you got there if she’s willing to help out a guy she doesn’t even know,” Noah yelled over the music.
She was the best of the lot. But watching everyone else be charmed by her had a new sense of pride taking over me.
“I met my wife when I worked at the pub near Trinity. One look at the way she talked to customers, treating everyone from a big CEO to a smashed local the same, made me realize I didn’t want to be without her. Two kids later, we’re still together. When you find the one, you don’t let go, lad,” Noah said, clasping my shoulder before he headed toward the front of the pub to greet some more customers.
A twinge of guilt burrowed deep in my gut. There was no problem making people believe I was falling for her. But when our six months was up, I’d have to be the arsehole who dropped the girl everyone loved.
Fallon approached the bar. Instead of standing in front of the counter like the other waitresses did, she made her way behind it. Her hip bumped against mine, sending a surge of energy to my groin.
“What are you doing?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She held out the little notepad. “It’s a big order, so I thought I’d help out. Okay, okay… I was a bartender at a strip club. But I didn’t strip. I just served drinks and quit after a month because half the girls had bullet-hole scars, and when the lights came on at that place…” She shook her whole body.
“Okay. I get the picture, pinky. But really, I got this,” I said, putting my hands up.
She smiled and leaned over, and her breasts pushed against the thin fabric of her top. I sucked in a breath as she pressed against me, grabbing two bottles from the trough.
“No bra, pinky?” I growled low, unable to tear my eyes away from her, all the heat of my body rushing below the belt. I couldn’t think about the pub or drinks; all I could think about was what I wanted to do to her.
“I didn’t pack a strapless one,” she murmured, standing up and pouring two shots.