by Zeia Jameson
“Then, all is forgotten?”
“Yes. All of the bad things, anyway.” I wink. He winks back.
As I take another sip of my beer, I hear the horn of a boat pulling up to the docks. I turn in my chair with excitement. Through the glass storefront of Wedge, I can see the top of the shipping barge peeking over the buildings of River Street.
I grab Padraig’s hand and tug for him to stand. “Come with me.” He looks at me, confused. “Morty, we’re going up to the roof! We’ll be back!” I yell.
“Sure thing.”
I climb up the three flights of stairs to the door of the roof, dragging Padraig behind me. On the roof, you can see almost the entire barge. “Look at it! It’s gorgeous!”
“It’s a barge.”
“Don’t you think it’s fascinating? How something so large can float around in the water and pull up to these tiny docks, with no issue? The size of them excites me and freaks me out at the same time. Have you ever seen one while standing on River Street?”
“Lots of times.”
“It’s like looking up at a floating Empire State building.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does.”
He pulls his phone out of his pants pockets and holds it up to the sky. He snaps a few photos of the barge from different angles. He then looks at his phone and flips through the pictures he took. He quickly returns his phone back to his pocket.
Padraig comes to my side and wraps an arm around me. “I’ve never thought much about them before.” He turns to me and turns me to face him. “But seeing how excited it gets you makes me want to buy you a barge just so you can look at it every day.”
He places his hands on my face and kisses me, gently at first. But as I wrap my arms around him, we pick up the pace until we’re both panting and grabbing at each other’s clothes. I break our connection and stare into Padraig’s eyes for a few long seconds. “You want to see the view from the roof of my building?”
“I certainly do.”
“Food to go?”
“Let’s go.”
We rush downstairs and ask Morty for take-out boxes, chug our beers, and make our way to my place, barely able to keep our hands and lips off each other along the way.
No more than a second after I have the access door to my building open, Padraig nudges me inside and shuts the door behind me. He encases my face with his hands and kisses me, pressing me against the wall. I let out a small groan, and he growls in response. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, using them to pull him into me as close as physically possible. Another growl escapes him as he turns and carries me up the stairs. No words are exchanged, just reciprocating sounds of lust and pleasure. He presses me up against my apartment door. He removes my hands from his hair and lifts them above my head, pinning them with one hand. The other hand finds the edge of my shirt and explores the skin underneath while he ravenously kisses my neck and down my chest. His fingers pry underneath my bra, and I let out a cry of ecstasy upon impact. His lips go immediately back to mine, and he grins into our kiss. He removes his hand from my shirt and jiggles my doorknob.
“Locked,” is all I can get out.
He lets go of my hands, ceases the kiss, and backs up to release me. I begin eagerly rummaging through my bag, in search of my keys.
“You have five seconds to find those keys, or I’m having my way with you right here on this landing,” Padraig says in a low, serious voice. My heartbeat elevates at the thought of him ravishing me right here, but I find and pull out my keys just a few moments later. We enter the apartment, and I close and lock the door behind us. I drop my bag and keys onto the floor. We stand there, a foot from each other, staring silently for a moment. He reaches his hand out to me, and I take it in mine. He pulls me closer, slowly. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“I’d really like to take you to bed right now.”
His eyes are intense, waiting on my response. I nod only once, and his lips are on mine again. I push him backward toward the bedroom. On the way, I manage to kick off my shoes, as does he. Then he reaches for the back of his T-shirt and pulls it off in one fluid movement, breaking our kiss. I take a moment to look at his perfectly sculpted chest and abs. I touch his bare skin and rub my hand down the length of his torso to the edge of his jeans, which I grab and use to pull him close to me. I look up into his eyes and proceed to remove my top, never breaking our gaze. Then I pull him closer to me, our heated skin connecting, kiss him, and guide him the rest of the way to the bedroom. We unbutton and unzip each other’s jeans in a fevered rush. After only a few seconds, we are standing before each other in nothing but our underwear. I try not to appear affected when my eyes travel down to his black boxer briefs and see the impressive site.
“Are you sizing me up? Do you approve?”
I take a deep breath. He watches my breasts heave. “Indeed. You sizing me up, too? Approve?”
He answers me with a kiss, wrapping his arms around me, taking us both to the bed. He hovers over me, giving me a smoldering look. Then he leans and moves his arm down toward the floor. I stop him. “Pill. Clean,” is all I’m able to provide in the moment, my thoughts swirling with anticipation.
He moves back over me. “Clean, too,” he replies, placing his forehead against mine, maintaining eye contact. I make a small nod of approval to proceed, and his mouth engulfs mine in a searing kiss.
“I cannot wait to be inside you.” He kisses me everywhere, undressing me the rest of the way in the process. Only when I’m writhing to the point I think I am going burst from his touch and his lips, does he finally enter me, slowly at first. We stare at each other for a moment, panting heavily, finding a rhythm. He kisses me hard on the lips. I moan. He moves to my ear and whispers, “Aoibhinn. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times. You have no idea how happy this makes me right now.”
I moan again.
He bites my earlobe, kisses down my neck and chest, and teases my breasts. I cannot control the moaning coming from my throat His pace picks up, and he bites and kisses and drags his tongue over parts of my skin. I pull on his hair. I lift my hips from the bed in an effort to feel more of him. I scratch my nails down his back as he tortures me with more pleasure than I’ve ever felt from anyone. He lifts me up and sits back on his knees. I wrap my legs around him. He thrusts into me hard, and I moan even more as he pulls my hair and bites my collarbone. I run my hands up his chest and tighten my legs around him. He grabs my hips and thrusts harder. I explode and scream his name. He thrusts again and again, harder still.
“Stella,” he whispers as he stills us and rests his head on my shoulder. I run my fingers through his hair, unable to move any other body part. We stay there like that for some time. After a while, we hop in the shower, where he takes me again, hard and fast, underneath the steamy spray. A hastier version of what we’d done earlier, but mind-blowing just the same. We dress, warm up our leftovers, crack open a couple of beers, and head up to the roof.
I’m in the ballroom of the Mansion on Forsyth Park, attempting to arrange a seating chart for the St Patrick’s Day party. Kerry is meeting with a string quartet auditioning for the same occasion. Padraig suggested that we hire a harpist for most of the music of the evening, which I did. We are looking for a string quartet to accompany her for portions of her set. We also hired an actual folk band that Padraig knows, rather than the apparent fake one we hired last year, for a few hours to end the evening in dancing. The more Padraig involves himself in the planning of this party, the more excited I get about it.
“Stella,” Victoria enters the room, flipping through a set of papers inside of a folder. “Why are we hiring a harpist? That seems quite stuffy.”
“I think it will be nice background music during dinner and as guests arrive. She has an entire set of Celtic music that she’s put together for us.” I clasp my hands together in excitement. “She plays beautifully.”
“I don’t think that is
a good idea. Who wants to listen to a harp at a St. Patrick’s Day party?”
“People who are friends with your husband,” I answer boldly.
She gives me a scowl, and for a moment, I think she is going to yell at me. “Mrs. MacNamara, I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do believe that the direction I am going with the planning is going to be elegant and beautiful, and most importantly, fun. Please, please trust me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and thinks for a beat. “Okay, but I am going to get in touch with Rachel. I want to make sure the two of you are on the same page with this. I never see her here. Is she making any decisions with this event?”
“I keep her up to date on everything we are planning. She has final approval on all of it. If you feel you need to call her, please do. I don’t mind. If you’d like, I’ll tell her to give you a call this afternoon when I see her.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She pauses. “Continue on with the harpist. I’m watching you closely, Stella. Details are important.”
“I understand.”
Victoria leaves the room, and I give the seating chart another once-over. I write, erase, and write again. I spend another good fifteen minutes adjusting guests until I think I have it just right. I’ll show it to Rachel this afternoon and have Victoria sign off on it tomorrow if everything looks good with Rachel.
“Psssst.” I hear someone say, I think. I lift my head and look around. I don’t see anyone. I chalk it up to imagination. I make more notes of things I want to address with Rachel before I pack up and head back to the office.
“Psssst.” I hear it again. My head shoots up and around the room again. I see nothing. “What the hell?” I say to myself. I toss my notebook and pencil into my bag.
“Psssst.”
“Who is doing that?” I yell. I hear light laughter coming from the kitchen. I look in that direction, and I see Padraig’s face peeping through the circular window in the swinging door.
I chuckle and approach him. I look around for Victoria. God forbid she sees me talking to Padraig. She’d have my head and serve it on a platter during the St. Patrick’s Day party. I sneak through the kitchen door. Padraig snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me close, kissing me. I giggle and groan simultaneously. After a few minutes of lip-lock, I pull away. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“I wanted to see you. I knew you’d be here.”
“But, Victoria . . .”
“Fuck her.”
“Fuck her? Then, why are you hiding out in the kitchen?”
He shrugs. “It was fun watching you talk to her. When you set her straight about the harpist, it was pretty hot.”
I tap his chest with the back of my hand. “Stop. Why are you spying on me?”
“Not. Dad asked me to come by to make sure the whore bitch with no brains wasn’t getting too crazy with spending money.”
“We have a budget. We’re sticking to it,” I assure him.
“I know. I didn’t really come to see her.” He kisses me again. I lean into him and kiss him back. Kissing him is so delicious. And last night? Whew. Last night is completely unexplainable. I blush at the thought of it.
“Why are you blushing?”
“Not.”
“Are.” He places a few kisses down my neck, ending on my collarbone. “Were you thinking of last night?”
“No.”
“Yes,” he says, sneaking a hand under the back of my shirt, the warmth of it blazing a trail up my spine. My breathing intensifies.
He gently nibbles my earlobe and then whispers, “Tonight? Dinner on the water? And then . . .”
“And then,” I let out breathlessly, my heart at a heavy staccato.
He places one more swift kiss on my lips and runs a hand through my hair. “Can I pick you up at your place? Seven o’clock?”
My eyes still closed, I simply nod. His face is still close, and he laughs against the side of my face. “See you then,” he whispers. I shudder. When I open my eyes, he is gone, the kitchen door swinging in and out very slightly. He is so stealthy. I right myself and head back out to the ballroom to gather my things. I am hoping for a quick meeting with Rachel so I can have maximum time to get ready for tonight. Thinking of Padraig makes me tingle all over and puts a huge grin on my face. When I reenter the ballroom, I see Victoria standing by my bag, arms crossed over her crisp white shirt, foot tapping rapidly.
Why the hell does she look so pissed?
Oh shit.
Oh shit, oh shit.
Oh. Fuck.
“Are you fooling around with my stepson, Stella?”
I’m frozen. Petrified. Mortified. I can’t speak.
“I. Um.” I point a thumb over my shoulder. I’m busted. She’s going to find out about everything. Everything will be ruined. My breathing quickens again, but out of panic rather than lust. I can’t say anything. Nothing.
“Yes. We are seeing each other. What of it?” Padraig says, reappearing out of thin air. He is so fucking quick and quiet. And…wait…what did he just say to her? I feel him come up behind me, and he places a hand softly on my shoulder.
“I cannot believe this. Stella, I thought better of you than this.” She makes a face of disgust. “This is absolutely unacceptable. I can’t have my help mingling with my tramp of a stepson. How can you stand to be around him for more than a minute, Stella? He’s vile.” She leans close to me and whispers, “He hangs out with the panhandlers, Stella.”
Something begins to bubble within me, and I refrain from hitting this woman speaking so abhorrently about Padraig. How could she say things like that . . . about anyone? My stomach turns. And then I remember she fucking called me the help again. I raise my hand and point my finger in her face. “Victoria, I have had about enough of your—”
Victoria’s eyes grow wide. “You do not address me by my first name!” she interrupts.
Padraig grabs me by the waist and puts himself in front of me, stopping me from replying.
“You do not get to insult her. Ever. If you know what is best for you, you need to apologize to her, preferably now,” Padraig barks.
“I will do no such thing!” She looks around Padraig to me. “I am calling Rachel right now. I will not tolerate this one bit.” She pulls her cell phone from a small pocket of her fitted suit top.
“Do. Not. Make. That. Call.” Padraig seethes at Victoria. “Apologize to Stella.”
Victoria raises the phone to her ear. Her expression turns from vengeful to delightful in a matter of seconds. “Rachel! It’s Vicky! Hi! Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Stella. Um-hmm.” She nods and begins to walk away.
Padraig clenches and unclenches his hands repeatedly. He turns to me. “Stella.”
I don’t have time to worry about Padraig right now. I begin to panic.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “I promise. Stella?”
I snap out of my spinning thoughts.
“Oh shit,” I say out loud. I think. I was right. She is going to ruin everything. Everything I’ve worked so hard to put together. My heart sinks and splashes into a pool of despair. And then I think how this will affect Kerry. Fuck. This might get her fired. Just on principle of Rachel’s current vindictive warpath.
Oh. Fuck.
I have to go intervene. I have to get to the office before Kerry. I walk around Padraig and pick up all of my things in one swoop. “I have to go,” I say to Padraig over my shoulder while running out of the ballroom. I think I hear him call my name, but Kerry is all I can think about right now.
“What the fuck are you doing to me? How could you get involved with him, of all people? I cannot believe you talked to Mrs. MacNamara that way. You have been so unprofessional. How is this happening?”
My thoughts exactly. How is this happening? Rachel is screaming at the top of her lungs at me. Thankfully, Kerry isn’t here to be abused as well. I waited outside of our office building, with my phone incessantly blowing up with calls from Rachel,
while I waited for Kerry to show up. Once she did, I told her to leave. I gave her a brief account of what had happened, her eyes going wide, tears pricking them. She insisted on staying and backing me up, but I refused. I didn’t want her to catch any debris in this storm Rachel and I were about to brew.
“Rachel, I’m sorry. I had no intention of her finding out about Padraig before the party. None at all. I mean, I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, but I knew it would be an issue. I am sorry for that.”
“Sorry? You’re fucking sorry? Mrs. MacNamara threatened to fire me if I didn’t take you off of the account. I have to take you off and finish this myself.”
“What? Are you serious? No! The party is so close, and I have almost everything in place. You can’t take me off.”
“Yes, I can, and yes, I am. Otherwise, I lose this account completely. I can’t afford . . .” Rachel stops and presses her lips together tightly.
“You can’t afford what, Rachel? You can’t afford to lose her business? I know it would be bad, but how bad? How bad, Rachel?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not discussing this with you. It’s none of your business. All you need to know is that you are off the St Patrick’s Day ball.”
“Rachel!” I yell, pushing back tears.
“You should go. I’ll call you when I need you to come back in.”
“Rachel. Stop.”
“Go! I am so angry at you, Stella! You have let me down! I trusted you, and now I’m all alone! I have to finish this ball all by myself, plus I have other parties to plan, too, you know?”
“What other parties?” I know what’s on our calendar in the next few weeks. All of the events are being handled by Kerry and me. “You don’t have any other parties on the calendar that Kerry and I aren’t involved with, and most of those are already completely planned out. So tell me, what other parties, Rachel? What the fuck do you do all day?”
“You know what? You’re fired! Get out!”
“Rachel, no.”
“Out!” she screams, walking into her office and slamming the door. I stand there, for more minutes than I know, in awe. Tears of anger and hurt trickle down my face. I cannot believe this is happening. I can’t believe she won’t even hear me out. I let out one shaky breath and then another and another. I turn and walk out the door. In a pure daze, I put one foot in front of the other, my brain not knowing where my legs are taking me.