When Irish Eyes Are Sparkling

by Tom Collins

  I didn’t comprehend the reaction he was having, but I had encountered it before with nervous girls. I knew what he needed from me was to slow down and go easy until he felt comfortable again. Thinking that if I placed myself in a less dominant position, he might feel less—well, vulnerable was what I would have said of someone else, I crawled up and straddled his lap, taking extra care of his bad leg. He seemed surprised, but grasped my hips just as he would normally and seemed to relax a little. I took my time, going for the slow build instead of my usual kerosene-on-the-fire technique with him. I gave him butterfly kisses until he demanded more by cupping the back of my head and pulling me in determinedly.

  I gave him the deep kissing he wanted, letting my hands begin to comb through his hair and drift across his bare shoulders. His hands roamed as they pleased, caressing my back, ruffling the hair on my chest and stomach, slipping into the leg of my cutoff scrubs to trace circles on my sensitive flesh. What he was doing to me as pure, delicious torture; here I was, determined to walk on eggshells for him and he felt no compunction about touching every part of me.

  I kept telling myself there was no rush, that we had more than just the rest of the night, or even tomorrow. We had the whole rest of our lives, but that was no consolation for Mister Impulse, who craved nothing more than to lay Oliver out and consume him like a rare t-bone. I started drifting lower, leaving a trail of moisture from his lips to his collarbone. Without warning, he cupped both of my glutes with his strong hands and pulled me up higher so he could latch his talented mouth onto my nipple. He kneaded my cheeks, pulling them apart then squeezing them together. I ground my cock against his hard chest moaning to let him know he shouldn’t stop.

  My pleasure must have embolden him because he gathered the back of my shorts and pulled up, wedging the material into my crack to rub against my sensitized pucker. The final straw was his fingers teasing my throbbing hole through the thin material. I needed him hot because I needed him inside me.

  In scrambling lower, I jarred his bad knee. He hissed reaching for it for instinctively then tried to play it off. My ardor cooled instantly. I kissed him and caressed his cheek to apologize before carefully climbing to my feet and heading for the bathroom.

  “What’re you doing?” he called as I opened the medicine cabinet.

  Finding what I was looking for, ibuprofen, I shook a couple caplets into my palm and brought them to him; stopping along the way to collect a bottle of Astroglide from the nightstand drawer. I placed the pills in his palm and handed him his glass of juice.

  “Liam, I’m fine. I don’t need—” he tried to demure, but cut himself off when I planted my fists on my hips and gave him the hairy-eyeball; what Brendan and I called the look our mom would give us when we were kids and didn’t want our medicine.

  I don’t know how effective the look was, considering my shorts were tented and spotted with moisture, but he popped the pills into his mouth and chased them with the juice; certainly, there was a telltale curl at the corners of his mouth that suggested amusement. I set the lube on the coffee table next to the remains of our desert and crawled back into his lap, straddling his good leg this time.

  Kissing him, I tasted cranberry-grape juice, sweet and tart on his warm tongue. He was reaching for my ass again, but I slid down out of his reach to lave his taut, caramel nipples, plucking at them with my lips and teeth. I lifted his arm and buried my face in his pit, lapping and swirling my tongue to plaster the sparse--when compared to mine--hair to his hot, salty skin. He groaned and ground his erection against my hipbone as I skittered my teeth around the edges of the patch. I afforded his other underarm the same handling, making love to him every way I knew how. When I came back to the center of his chest to tease the meager plot of hair there, he finally gave me the signal I’d been waiting for.

  His hands alighted on my shoulders, placing a subtle, yet definite downward pressure. I made my way south, pausing to tickle the inside of his navel with the tip of my tongue, but moved on quickly. Ducking beneath his kilt, I nosed under nuts the same color as his nipples and inhaled the virile bouquet of sweat, musk and male arousal. Feeling his hands on my head through the faux leather of the kilt, I kissed his taint before lapping my way up the crease between his thigh and hip. I paused half way up to leave a large, purple oval in my wake, causing him to gasp and twitch. I nipped his hipbone before skating my tongue across to his other hip, swiping his slick, mushroom head in passing.

  He tried to deny me passage past his cock, but I wouldn’t be deprived. Right now, he was lopsided, and my artistic sensibilities couldn’t let it be. It nibbled on my brain like a tiny fish. I needed to return him to symmetry before I could think of anything else. I made the second hickey as close to identical as I could manage in positioning and depth of color. By the time I finished he was whimpering and I was sweating from the cumulative heat of the two of us trapped under his heavy garment.

  I flipped the kilt up and out of the way, taking a deep breath of what felt like almost cold air, smiling at him as I did. I knelt there between his spread legs, having calmed down myself, but now he was in the state I’d been in just a bit ago. His bare chest glistened in the lamp light with his every bellows-like breath. There was nothing but fire in his eyes now and I felt my smile broaden. He reached for me and I leaned in to suck his right ball into my mouth. He grunted through clenched teeth and pulled at my hair, bringing me up to where he wanted me.

  I let him, actually enjoying the feel of his rough fingers tangled in my hair. Electric pulses originating in my scalp streamed down my spine and exploded into tiny, chill sparks along my fissure. Starting at the base, I mouthed the length of his shaft, lapping the silken skin and sucking at the distended veins. I used my tongue to lift the head enough to slip my lips over it, sucking him all the way into my hungry mouth.

  He watched me with liquid amber eyes and I watched him watching me.

  Down I glided, far enough to wash the scar of his circumcision. Up, I crept, working my tongue tip into his slit. Down, I prowled, far enough for his pubes to tickle my nose. Up, I drifted, to circumnavigate his knob with the keel of my tongue. He kneaded my shoulders like a cat, unsheathing and retracting his claws as he purred and groaned over how well I petted him.

  I came up off him with a wet, popping sound, almost like someone opening a jar, making myself laugh. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and draped myself over his hips. I kept off to the side so I could stroke and mouth him without trouble. His hands and eyes kept telling me he wanted more, but I needed a small break, so I determined to distract him.

  “Have I told you how much I love your dick?” I asked, smiling, but still serious.

  Surprise, possibly even as much as amazement, banked the raging furnace of his gaze in the blink of an eye, literally. One second he was glassy and unfocused and the next he was there with me, completely. He smiled, warm and—something, bashful maybe?—and his cajoling fingers relaxed, wandering once more into my hair with an unexpected tenderness.

  “No,” he said through his grin, “I can’t say that you have.”

  Seeing questions in his expression he was hesitant to ask, I elaborated.

  “Well, I do. Besides its exceptional esthetic appeal,” I said, looking from his face to his shaft, which I cupped in my palm, “it’s simply, yet beautifully crafted for its purpose.”

  “And what would that be?” There was something in his voice that I couldn’t identify so I looked back up to him to answer.

  “Giving me more pleasure than my tiny mind can handle,” I cheeked. He chuckled as I went on, “I love how silky the skin is and how slick it feels in my mouth.”

  I returned my gaze to his hard-on. Spotting a bead welling from his slit, I lifted the head and swabbed it up with my tongue before saying, “I love how fat it is. It makes me feel so full, like you’re filling my entire body when you’re inside of me. I love how empty feeling it leaves me afterward, too, because in a way I can still feel you, like a ho
llow that’s always filled by the phantom of you.”

  Looking back to him once more, I saw that whatever strangeness had been there a moment ago was gone now; replaced with a fire I’d seen many times before—except it wasn’t the same. There was passion, yes, but more there was warmth of devotion that I could only call love. I’d seen it before when Jillian would look at Brendan, but no one had ever looked at me this way.

  My heart stopped and my breath hitched. I glanced down; thinking to return my attention to his cock because I feared my reaction might freak him out. I’d been searching for this very thing since my other self found it for himself, and now here I was—here it was, in Oliver—and I didn’t know what to do with it. I don’t think, until this moment, that I’d truly believed he loved me the way I hoped.

  I mouthed his shaft, not daring to wipe my eyes because then he would know, but not wiping my tears let one drip from my nose and onto his hypersensitive flesh. He twitched as if I’d slapped him and cupped my chin, compelling me to show him my face. Forcing a laugh, I dashed at the tears with the heels of my hands, trying to erase the concern I saw in his face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft as Egyptian cotton sheets.

  “Nothing,” I laughed again. “I’m fine. I’m just being stupid is all.”

  He caught me under the arms and used his amazing upper body strength to pull me up into his lap. I straddled him, offering no resistance. Right then I needed him to hold me more than I needed my dignity. He wrapped me in his arms and I was safe, more than safe, I was free to be. Just be me, and that was all I’d ever really wanted from anyone. The tears had already passed, but I snuggled my wet face against his neck in any case.

  “Tell me,” he insisted, “please?” almost pleading.

  “Nothing is wrong, Oliver, honestly. Just the opposite; I’m so happy I can’t hold it all. I’m sorry I’m such a big, fat puss-baby.”

  “A what!?” he demanded with a laugh that sounded part amusement and part relief.

  “A puss-baby…my Granda’s term for men who cry for stupid reasons,” I grinned into his shoulder.

  “Hmm…nothing to apologize for. I was worried I’d done something wrong again.”

  “No, nothing. Just hold me a minute and I’ll be fine.”

  Cuddling me, he stroked my back. I could feel the love in his hands. He touched me with such tenderness it bordered on reverence. I also felt his banked desire pressed against my abs. I stirred as he fondled my buttocks, rekindling the fire in my own loins. I murmured encouragement as my hips rolled against his and swished my tongue over his ear before nibbling the lobe. My semi was coming back to full mast in rapid pulses as my heart speed up.

  Taking his cues from my responses, he let his fingers graze the length of my crevasse. Moaning, I bucked against his hand and caught his mouth for an ardent dueling of tongues. I’m not sure how, but he got me out of my raggedy cutoffs and lifted me up to a fully kneeling position over his lap, while slouching down himself, so he could wrap his lips around the head of my cock.

  An explosive, “Ha!” sort of sound escaped me when he eased his tongue under my foreskin and I clutched his head as well as the back of the couch to steady myself. I loved it when he did that, and couldn’t come close to explaining how incredible it felt. I controlled myself long enough to give him the chance to swipe around the full circumference then slid my length in further. I watched him as he let me slow fuck his mouth, relishing the heat and suction, and he watched me watching him as we’d done earlier while I was sucking him.

  He pushed me back to reach around me for the lube. His arms weren’t long enough, but mine were so I snagged it. He held his palm out and I flipped the cap and squirted a large blob onto his fingers. He took me back into his hot mouth just as he slathered the cold jelly on my hole. I gasped in reaction to the duel sensations and he actually made a tiny gagging sound—unprecedented—when my cock jumped in his throat. His eyes watered and he pulled back as one of his thick fingers slid into my body.

  Gripping the back of the love seat, I rocked back onto his finger. He was taking care in stretching me, almost too much, for his gentle approach set me to burning inside even more than his tempestuous method. When he finally gave me the third finger, I pulled out of his mouth to free myself to ride his hand as my body demanded. He scooted up and I lowered myself so we met in the middle in a kiss.

  When he pulled his fingers from my slick body I almost cried, but then I felt him positioning himself at my panting opening and I tilted my hips to allow him better access. I took his head eagerly, and he grasped my hips, keeping me from dropping down the way I wanted. I couldn’t understand why he was restraining me until I realized this was the first time for me to ride him. He’d always been on top before so maybe he worried I wouldn’t do it right, or would hurt us.

  I let him guide me with his hands just as I would if I were sucking his cock, riding him slow and easy. It went on for an eternity, galaxies formed and merged, stars coalesced and collapsed, while I glided on his pole, bringing us repeatedly to the brink only to stop and let the precipice recede. It wasn’t until he got me to lean back, bracing myself on his thighs that I couldn’t put it off any longer. I think he’d known that angle would make his fat helmet press harder than ever against my prostate.

  I moved from a steady walking pace to a trot. My groin and stomach muscles tightened and I sped from a trot to a canter. I heard our cries of pleasure sync in a harmony of tenor and bass groans, moans and wails. His hand touching my cock triggered an explosion unlike any I’d known; even the first time he’d made love to me hadn’t had this powerful a culmination. The lights strobed for a second before going out altogether and the world, including me, disappeared in a wash of black.

  When my awareness returned, I was still in his lap, sprawled and limp in every part of my body. My muscles refused to respond, but then I didn’t try too hard.

  “Wow,” he said softly against my neck.

  “You took the words right outta my mouth,” I returned with a smile.

  Chapter Fifteen

  *Oliver*

  Liam didn’t have to work Sunday, for which I was grateful, as I’d overtaxed my knee on Saturday, to the point where I could hardly leave the bed that morning.

  “Oh, Lover, I’m sorry!” Liam bemoaned on seeing my healing knee looking all hot and swollen.

  “Hey,” I said, drawing him to me. We were naked among the tangled bed sheets. It had been wonderful, more than wonderful, to sleep with Liam in my arms again. “Don’t go all puss-baby on me.”

  That drew a snort from him, and he found a spot under my arm to snuggle in, right where he ought to be.

  I’m not giving him up, I thought to the universe at large. Never again!

  If nothing else had decided me, what happened last night would have. I hadn’t understood it at the time, while Liam was torturing me with feathery kisses and surprise bites to my hips, or when he was tonguing my cock so lovingly that I nearly exploded with pleasure.

  I’d only swayed between the heat of lust and waves of delight while he did that to me, the beast within rising to prowl and hunt. But then came that extraordinary moment when Liam had backed off and explained how much he loved feeling me within him. His expression had gone dreamy as usual, and then—then it had seemed to soar off, only this time I felt like I was traveling with him in his starship.

  When his tears splashed on my skin, I’d been worried, but not like usual. Not panicked or feeling out of my depth. He was Liam, and he was mine, and whatever I’d done, I could fix it. He said that his tears were because he was happy, and that’s when I’d finally felt it, and understood what I was feeling.

  Liam, I realized, had gotten me more right than he knew in that warrior painting. From childhood, I’d created a thick armor to protect myself, first from the hurt my father had inflicted on me, then from Tim, who’d mocked my need to take care of him, and Marcos who had made me afraid of my own desires. Finally, I’d pro
tected myself from men in general, and their careless lust. There was no point in being genuine or vulnerable when cruising.

  Liam, however, had instinctively known how to lure me from that carefully crafted shell. He hadn’t tried to cajole me or break it open, he’d simply knocked at the steel door and, with that guileless, green gaze of his, asked if I wanted to come out and play.

  No one had ever thought to do that before. The starved kid inside of me hadn’t been able to resist.

  Again and again, Liam had invited me to have fun with him, and each time I’d stayed out longer, trusted him more, and put aside yet another piece of armor, until, finally, on that rainy Saturday afternoon, I’d stripped off the last of it. Liam had used that afternoon to prove to me that I wouldn’t hurt him, but that Saturday night, I’d proved to myself that he wouldn’t hurt me either.

  I had, for the first time in my life, made love to someone and, naked to my soul, I’d felt, fully and completely, how they’d made love to me.

  It was a shattering, freeing revelation to love and be loved like that. One that had me as much on the edge of being a puss-baby as Liam.

  That Sunday morning he nursed me in much the way I’d envisioned he might while in the hospital. He put ice into plastic bags and cared for my knee, made us a huge pancake breakfast, which we ravenously devoured, then he sat on the bed and read to me. I napped some, while he worked on finishing the rough pencil sketch of what he was calling “our painting.”

  “Like it so far?” he asked, bringing it over to show me. There were our two shapes, he lean and me broad, back to back near the face of a cliff. There were all kinds of creatures, but many were dead and, as requested, we were clearly winning.