by Gage Grayson
In the old days, this is how people traveled everywhere, unless they were walking themselves. What a gentler world we’d live in now if this were our only mode of transport, along with our own two feet.
Sometimes progress seems highly overrated.
It doesn’t take long for Killian to find a little dirt track and steer off the main road. Rolling green hills stretch out in front of me, as far as the eye can see. It’s so breathtakingly beautiful my eyes are starting to get misty.
“Like it?” Killian asks behind me, and I can only nod.
Up in the distance, I can see a grove of trees and a field of heather. I’ve read a lot about the Irish landscape with its heather. And now that I’m here, I can clearly see that the most descriptive guidebook in the world simply couldn’t do it justice.
I don’t know for how long we ride atop Ida, but eventually Killian tells the horse to stop near some trees.
He jumps off easily and raises his arms to help me down.
His hands grab my waist, and I fly through the air. He holds me a little longer than necessary.
A warm tingling spreads from my chest, and my skin feels flushed for a brief, strange moment.
When he puts me down, I almost feel empty.
I must be totally yearning for more of his touch, right?
I’m barely able to hold in a laugh at that silly bit of Harlequin novel prose my mind just invented.
It must be the scenery.
After taking in the lush, verdant landscape for a few seconds, maybe, I notice Killian has a picnic blanket spread out on the grass, and he’s gesturing for me to sit down.
For the first time, I notice his large backpack.
Wow.
Maybe he isn’t suffering from as big a hangover as I’m assuming. This was quite a production for him to get together in the few minutes I was getting ready, assuming he didn’t have this all ready to go before that.
Maybe he has a hobby of packing elaborate picnics after staggering home from the pub.
“What about her?” I motion to Ida.
Killian laughs. “She won’t go anywhere. No such luck.”
Ida must take issue with the statement, because she decides at that moment to turn around and walk off.
“We all know you’re just being a drama queen,” calls Killian, but the horse just keeps on walking.
Hell, I’m about to jump up to go after her, but Killian shoots me an amused look, which tells me there’s no reason to worry.
“Trust me.” He grins. “She won’t go far.”
His words hit a raw nerve.
Trust—it’s such a small word, but such a powerful one.
Trust.
It seems like I should’ve learned my lesson about that concept by now.
“Come on, Rebecca.” His fingers trace an invisible line in the back of my neck. I shiver a bit. “You must try one of these.”
Killian holds out a dark-purple grape.
It looks fucking delicious, so I grab it with my teeth.
He lies down on the blanket and pats the spot beside him.
All I can think about is getting another one of those goddamn grapes. They taste way better than the grapes they sell at Ralph’s.
And Killian looks so freaking comfortable just lying on his back on top of the blanket, staring up at the sky…
Stretching out my arms, I tumble comfortably down onto my spot on the blanket.
Just as I suspected—it’s fucking comfortable. It feels luxurious, in the middle of fucking nature.
Killian absentmindedly holds out a grape, and I don’t think twice before taking it with my teeth and into my hungry maw.
It’s crisp, juicy, and to reiterate, fucking delicious.
“This is going to be good,” Killian says, popping a grape into his own mouth.
“Eating grapes? That’s happening already.”
He shakes his head, laughing.
“No, you and me. And this business arrangement. Because we’re both actually being smart about it, and we’re not letting any of the, you know, the usual bullshit get in the way.”
Slowly, I nod.
“Of course, we’re being smart about it,” I echo.
“I don’t know why more people don’t take up this idea. I mean, we’re entering into this arrangement with our eyes wide open. We know what we’re getting into. Any problem we strike we’ll be able to talk about it like two rational adults without all the bullshit attached.”
It does makes sense.
“Much better than falling head over heels in love. Once the honeymoon period ends, and it does end, we’d be arguing over everything. We’d be emotionally attached to decisions and positions.”
Killian laughs.
“You’re right. Imagine if we were doing it for real. I’d have to impress you, take you on fancy dates, and prove my fucking manliness or whatever shite to you.”
I nod and laugh. And Killian laughs. And I laugh really fucking hard when the image of myself, actually fucking dating someone, pops into my head.
“I’d have to get all dolled up and impress you and make sure I stroked your ego every second of the day.”
“You can still do that,” Killian points out with a twinkle in his eyes.
Not bad. It’s nice to be able to appreciate someone’s sense of humor without worrying about what impression you’re giving off.
I mean, he’s been funnier, but I still appreciate the moment. In fact, another wave of laughter is crashing over both of us now.
We’re screaming laughs into the sky like mythological Irish creatures of some sort. Maybe from some obscure corner of local mythology not famous enough to end up on cereal boxes the world over.
As the laughter slowly fades, my eyes glide over the heather. It’s soft on the eyes and soothing to the soul.
“But you know…” I turn to him as he offers another grape, taking it with my teeth.
I don’t finish the thought. I can’t.
For a minute or so, neither of us speak.
This is not the shit I want to talk about or think about.
Not with the whole Dickhead debacle still so fresh in my memory.
Damn it.
It’s a feeling I’m getting used to these days: I don’t know, and I can’t convince myself I do, either.
“This is for the best,” he murmurs.
I take it for granted that he seems to be responding to my thoughts.
Words fail me, and so I just nod.
Killian feeds me another grape.
“It’ll be fucking perfect,” he adds.
“It will,” I affirm.
And I wonder why I’m not feeling more enthusiastic.
Chapter 20
Killian
“Watch your step. It’s an old house, and I’m pretty sure these stairs have been here since time immemorial,” Rebecca says, giving me a furtive glance.
“Are you sure we should be up here?” I ask.
Rebecca’s back is turned to me, but I can sense the smile that plays on her lips.
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Of course not.”
“Follow me,” she replies, taking a step further.
Of all the things we could’ve been doing, Rebecca insisted on this ridiculous idea.
We’re standing on the stairs leading up to the attic. It’s an old wooden staircase, and a slight carpet of dust rises with every step we take.
I want to stop her, but Rebecca is too stubborn. When she gets an idea in her mind, no one can change it.
It’s not long before we find ourselves in the attic.
I half expected to find a dark and dingy crawl space, but to my surprise, everything about the space is beautiful.
There’s an old stone fireplace in the corner, circa early 1920s.
A dark blue-colored throw rug covers the floors and a leather couch. A pale-blue light streams through the large window.
“So, what do you think?” she asks, turning to me.
“It’s surprising. I assumed that there’d be a ghost up here, but it looks almost good enough to live in,” I remark.
Rebecca smiles.
“You know, since you’re here, we could…”
Her voice trails off.
She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. It’s as if the atmosphere of the room has taken hold of us. And in the silence, I can hear her thoughts as clearly as my own.
The slight crimson color rises on her neck and cheeks. I can tell that behind the cool facade, she’s in heat. She drops her gaze as if she’s afraid to meet my eyes.
She bites her bottom lip. As if compelled by the invisible force that binds us, I move toward her, pulling her into my arms.
Her breasts push up against my chest. Her lips trembles mildly.
I bend my head slightly, burying my lips in the nape of her neck, smelling her perfume. I trace my mouth there, biting and nibbling on the skin, before moving to the base of her throat.
She pants softly. The air rises out of her throat in a slow movement.
“You were saying,” I mumble before continuing to kiss and caress her lips with mine.
She moves her hands up, forcing me slightly away from her. She doesn’t say a word and simply takes my hands and guides me toward the couch.
Sitting on the ancient, surprisingly soft piece of furniture, I study her for a moment. My eyes penetrate hers as I take in her rare beauty.
I feel her hand brush against the front of my jeans. My dick, which is already hard, almost surges straight out of the denim.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, does she have to let her hand just linger there? Even though I didn’t think I could be any fucking harder, there’s still blood rushing to the tip of my cock.
I swear to God, if I don’t fuck this woman now…
The soft, slow gait of my earlier movements turns into a fury. We’re impassioned and mutually crippled with a desire that we can’t control.
“Come here,” I growl, suddenly pushing her down toward to couch.
She lands gently as if taken by surprise.
“Killian,” she whispers.
“By the time I’m finished, my name is the only word that you’ll be able to speak,” I say in my best husky tone.
I lean over her, running my hands over her body. As if reuniting with the essence of a fading yet beloved memory, my fingers seem to thrill at every curve, slope, and crevice.
I open the front of her shirt; her breasts nearly spring out of their holding cell, and her nipples are firmly erect.
“No bra,” I remark, already slipping my hands around her hips so I can remove her jeans.
“No panties either,” she says, her lips curving into a naughty little smile.
“You did come prepared,” I say.
“Of course. Now let’s see if you can finish me off,” she says.
“At your service, lass,” I say.
I pull her jeans down, exposing her bare pussy.
I regard it as a thing of beauty—something that men have fought and died for centuries over.
I want to take it apart, to see it deconstructed to its essence, to shove the entirety of my throbbing dick into her cunt, but I restrain myself.
As much as I want her, I also need to ensure she gets every single molecule of enjoyment and pleasure from this experience that she deserves.
I won’t let her down.
Her madly soaked pussy is inviting me in. She spreads her legs apart, exposing her clit. I kneel down, pulling my mouth onto the open bud that continues to beckon every part of my body and soul.
I can tell from the scent that ovulation is more than just on the horizon.
The time has come for some procreational magic.
I smile at the thought that pretty soon my dick will work its charm, and we’ll soon have a little bit of combined DNA.
I run my tongue down the centerfold of her pussy, starting at the top and then meeting her in the middle. Rebecca gives a slight moan, so faint that I can barely hear it. I watch her legs spread apart, goading me on.
I dip my tongue in between her pussy lips, rotating it across the tip. In a circular motion, I move my mouth, sucking and biting on that tiny patch of bliss.
She’s moaning now, panting. She reaches her hands around my neck, pulling me into her.
“God, Killian,” she moans.
I continue the slow impetus of pleasure directed at her pussy, this time slipping my fingers into her hole.
Feminine juice and the mix of my saliva seems to bring her to full life.
Her hips rock back and forth on my face, gyrating against the touch of my mouth.
Time seems to disappear, molding into the unending compendium of ecstasy that exists between her body and mine.
Even though I’m raw with need, there’s something that makes me want to please her. With every flick of my tongue, I feel her legs tighten and then relax. Her hands grip my neck with force, fingers digging into my skin.
“Shit,” she says, moaning the next time my mouth descends between the walls of her pussy.
I take one last movement, increase the speed of my tongue, and pummel my fingers into her.
“Shit!”
She screams and throws her head back, her muscles convulsing over and over again as the orgasm rips through her.
And then she’s still, eyes closed, panting like’s she swam all the way here, starting from the Pacific and going through the Panama Canal and all the way across the North Atlantic.
I reach over to kiss her.
“Oh my god, where did you learn to do that?” she asks.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to put you under again.”
“I’m game. I can handle it.”
“You sure about that?”
“A better question is, can you handle me?”
“Listen, Aengus has been known to plow through a woman for hours,” I say, rubbing my hand over my cock.
“Aengus, huh?” she says, sitting up. “We’ll see about that.”
She reaches up toward my belt, unstrapping the clasp from its hold. My jeans slide to the floor, leaving me in a pair of boxers. I watch her eyes widen as my cock nearly springs out of the front.
“Come here, big boy,” she says to my cock.
She slides her hand around my dick, stroking it slowly and squeezing my balls between her hands.
Holy fuck. Can this woman make me any harder?
I close my eyes, allowing myself to surrender to the sensation of her hands. She moves them up and down, stroking me from base to tip, and I swear my mind absolves into nothing.
Usually, there’s no way any man could get as hard as I am after consuming as much whiskey as I have recently, but Rebecca’s intoxicating in a different way—a way that vastly overpowers the strongest liquor.
My mind is lucid, body aflame where my skin meets her touch.
Then I feel it—her mouth descending on my shaft. It’s warm and luscious.
I jerk forward. The vein in my head feels like it’ll burst in an explosion of energy.
Her tongue dances on my cock, her hands squeezing my arse.
I thrust into her mouth, every part of me coming unhinged at the mercy of her hands, her mouth, her everything.
I’m a bullet train on speed. I rock to the motion, my hands reaching up to cup her breasts.
“Damn, I want you so bad,” I say, barely able to get the words out from behind gritted teeth.
She doesn’t stop and continuously takes me in like she can never run out of steam.
I feel it—the explosion of heat ripping through me. My erection fuses with every sensation of my body and into the uncontrollable roar of my orgasm.
It seizes my body. A hot stream of cum fills her cavern, leaving my mouth dripping with the clear liquid of everything that I’m trying to hold in.
I groan, my eyes shutting down, unable to speak.
She leans in to kiss me and whispers in my ear, “Ready for round two?�
��
I give her a lazy smile.
“Thought you’d never ask,” I say, pulling her to meet my mouth in an extended kiss.
Chapter 21
Rebecca
We’re lying on the couch. Killian’s body is spread underneath mine. His eyes are closed as if he’s in the deepest sleep.
In my several decades on earth, I’ve never experienced anything like this—the way he can seem so fucking knowledgeable and in control but then still make me feel like I’m the most powerful woman alive.
I wonder how I’ll ever go back to my regular life after this.
I think of my ex-husband and how moments like this were few and far between. In fact, I don’t remember DH ever trying to please me or focus on my needs.
Usually, he would just finish in four seconds and leave me in want.
With Killian, it’s different…the way he touches me and takes the time to kiss me.
He allows moments to linger and lets everything play out to its fullest potential.
It’s true that there’s a ferocity about Killian, but he still makes me feel like what I need and what I want is of the utmost importance. Even after the first time we made love, I kept finding myself thinking of the experience.
I never forgot how good I felt next to him. It’s why, despite fighting against my own heart, it was so easy to climb in bed with this man.
I feel him underneath me. His body writhes as if moving of its own accord.
We’re lying on the couch. It’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. I press my head against his bare skin, burrowing my face into the sculpted muscle of his chest, and feel his heartbeat.
His breaths are deep and reticent. They seem to spiral with mine so that we’re in unison. I can still feel the warm sensation traveling from the where his hands had been just moments before.
Then, Killian looks at me, his eyes full of ravenous hunger.
My heart races, and my body trembles as I run my hands across his skin. He gives me that little half smile before raising his hand to brush a loose strand of hair out of my eyes.
“Damn, you’re beautiful.”
He draws his face closer to mine until we meet in a gentle kiss that only hints at the oceans of want that are coming to a boil just under the surface of the moment.
The electrical impulses of desire are almost visible as they transit in the shrinking gaps of air between us.