As he got mobile and started crawling and then running around (the little snapper seemed to totally skip that whole walking stage), I started to feel somewhat melancholy about being so far away from Dublin. I constantly shared everything with my family through Skype, texting photos, Facebook… just about every social media I could get my hands on. My nanny even got a Facebook profile of her very own. And her comments and responses to my photos always made my heart ache just a little.
Fliss did what she could to keep the Irish in our home. She made bacon and cabbage, coddle, and seafood chowder (although she was never happy with the chowder because seafood in Montana was not anywhere close to seafood in Ireland). She played Irish folk music, which Eoghan seemed to really get into, almost as much as when the Mofos played.
Almost. My kid was a rocker at heart like his da.
But, eventually, around the time of our second anniversary, Fliss suggested that we go back to Dublin.
For a second, I was elated.
And then I was terrified. That old fear still harbored inside me that, if I went back to Ireland, I wouldn’t be able to come home to Montana.
“Denny,” Fliss laughed at the look of panic on my face. “You’re legal now. In a few more years, you can even go through naturalization. They’re not going to make you stay.”
So, I mentioned to my da on Skype that we were thinking of flying over for a visit.
“Probably better to do it sooner than later. Your nanny has been making a few comments about not feeling well.”
“Oh jeez,” I murmured.
“Personally, though,” he added, “I think the old wan is just setting the stage for another near-death situation to get you back here.”
And after talking to my nanny, I kind of agreed.
“Hey, nanny,” I said over the phone, “da says you’ve not been feeling too great.”
“Ooh, gossún,” she sadly replied, “I’m just getting up there. The cold is starting to settle into me bones.”
She sounded right ragged. Not entirely believable, but she was definitely putting on a good show. “Well, Fliss and I were thinking of bringing Eoghan over to ya for a visit.”
“Well, ya better hurry,” she replied without missing a beat. “Who knows how much longer I’ve got left in me.”
So, here we were, halfway over the Atlantic.
Eoghan was crashed on my lap, Fliss was curled up to my side with her head on my shoulder.
“So, what all are ya wanting to go do while we’re in Dublin?” I asked quietly.
I felt her smile, then she lifted her head to reveal a fierce naughty glint in her eye. I looked at her suspiciously.
“You’re makin’ me nervous looking at me like that,” I mused.
“There is one thing I really want to do in Ireland.”
“Only one?” I grinned.
“Okay, a few things,” she replied. “Most are innocent. One… not so much.”
She watched as her fingertips traced along the tats on my arm, then looked up at me through her lashes. The way she gazed up at me, the way she touched me, was making my mouth go dry. Making my body temperature rise. Making my jeans feel a bit too tight.
“So, what’s that one thing?”
“One thing… with one man.” Her fingertips moved from my arm to my stomach, scraping down the soft cotton of my t-shirt.
“Well, it bloody hell better be me,” I growled quietly, suddenly wishing I wasn’t holding our son. Her hand reached the rough denim of my jeans, and everything in me wanted to bend her over and shag her like there was no tomorrow. To slap her fine arse while she exploded around my cock.
Cupping my junk with a gentle squeeze, she whispered up to me. “I want you to take me dogging.”
“Feckin’ hell…” I trailed off with a breathless gasp.
“Windows up,” she continued. “Nobody touches me but you.”
“Ya better believe it,” I replied into her hair.
She turned her face up towards mine, her eyes liquid with desire, her lips soft and tempting. “I want you to fuck me into next week, right there for all those other tossers to see.”
My mouth was beginning to water, and my cock throbbed.
“Jaysus, Fliss,” I groaned, my lips a breath away from hers. “You’ve about got me ripping right out of my jeans.”
She faintly touched her mouth to mine, a breathless little feathery sensation that tingled throughout my body until I was ragin’ hard.
Right about then, Eoghan shifted and lifted his sleepy little head. Fliss shifted back into mother mode, getting him settled, while I tried to talk my dick down. Not an easy task, mind you. That flight seemed bleedin’ eternal.
But Fliss made it all worthwhile in the end.
We landed in Dublin where my family met us at the airport. My ma, da, nanny, and sister barely spared us a glance as they fussed over Eoghan. We arrived at my folks’ place, and they took turns carrying him around, feeding him, taking him for walks down the footpath where they could show him off to the neighbors. They barely noticed when I asked me da if I could use his car to take Fliss out for a bit. He just kind of waved me off and continued to speak gibberish to my son.
While Fliss had been busy with Eoghan during the flight, I had combed the internet (thank God for wifi on the plane, although it did nothing to help ease the rock on I had going) until I managed to connect with some fellas on the Dublin dogging scene. When I got a text later that evening, I couldn’t get her out the door fast enough.
I banged her on the way there, thrilled she had left her knickers at home, and had her so hot and ready to go she damn near attacked me when I finally pulled into the car park. Her lips closed over my cock and I about blew down her throat at the first touch, then again with every little nudge of her tongue against my piercings.
“God, Denny,” she groaned as she climbed onto my lap. “I need you inside me.”
I lowered the back of the seat to allow a little more space as she lifted her skirt just enough to take me inside, slowly in the tight confines of the car, working her way over my ladder until I was enveloped in her warm, slick pussy. My fingertips slipped under her clothing to grip her bare arse as she rode me sweet and then savage. A number of wankers peered through the glass to watch, but the windows stayed up. The doors stayed closed.
She was all mine.
But we gave them one hell of a show.
The End
Look for Cody’s book
scheduled for release in the Summer of 2015
Available on Spotify: *Wild Irish Envy ~ Sibylla Matilde
Give Me Love – Ed Sheeran
Short Change Hero – The Heavy
Sugar – Maroon 5
Dream – Imagine Dragons
You Will Become – Glen Hansard
Want You Bad – The Offspring
Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked – Cage the Elephant
I’m So Sorry – Imagine Dragons
Teardrop – Newton Faulkner
Taking You There – Broods
Foreigner’s God – Hozier
She Will Be Loved – Maroon 5
Memories – Within Temptation
Dancin Queen – ABBA
Ace of Spades – Motorhead
I Love It Loud – KISS
Top of the World – Carpenters
Whatever Happened To My Rock ‘N’ Roll – Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Longview – Green Day
Whisky In the Jar/The Gravel Walk – Calath
Whiskey In The Jar – Metallica
I’m Shipping Up To Boston – Dropkick Murphys
I Will Survive – Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
Cold Hard Bitch – Jet
Saints & Sinners – Flogging Molly
I’m Gonna Show You Crazy – Bebe Rexha
Fucking Bitches In The Hood – Death Team
Wicked Game – Gemma Hayes
I’m Not Okay (I Promise)
Friction – Imagine Dragons
<
br /> Sedated – Hozier
The Freshman – The Verve Pipe
Let It Be – Labrinth
Love Out Of Lust – Lykke Li
Jenny Don’t Be Hasty – Paolo Nutini
Slainte – The Tossers
Ghost – Mystery Skulls
Paralyzed – Mystery Skulls
Hold You In My Arms – Ray Lamontagne
Can’t Take My Eyes Off You – Cary Brothers
Blue Moon – Beck
It Will Come Back – Hozier
Trouble – P!nk
Quiet Little Voices – We Were Promised Jetpacks
Young And Beautiful – Lana Del Ray
I Can’t Make You Love Me – Bon Iver
The Thaw – Biffy Clyro
Don’t – Ed Sheeran
Up In The Air – Thirty Seconds To Mars
Animals – Maroon 5
Unkiss Me – Maroon 5
Afraid of Ghosts – Butch Walker
Angels – The xx
The Greatest Bastard – Damien Rice
Whisky – The Dirges
It Must Have Been Love – Kathleen Edwards
The Storm, It’s Coming – Glen Hansard
Human – Christina Perri
Wake Me Up – Ed Sheeran
Have I Always Loved You? – Copeland
Six Degrees Of Separation – The Script
Doll – Foo Fighters
Kaleidoscope – The Script
Love Me Like You Do – Ellie Goulding
Runaway – The Corrs
Wherever Is Your Heart – Brandi Carlile
Dreams – The Cranberries
Top of the World – Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
Paint the Town Green – The Script
First and foremost, I have to thank whoever was cheesed off enough at Denny to let the world know he was a wanker. This story had an odd origin, you see. When Pimp Shell and I were in Dublin in the summer of 2014, we saw some graffiti scribbled on the Summer House in St. Stephen's Green that said “Denny is a wanker” and we laughed our cacks off. Denny immediately became the bane of our existence. If anything bad happened, we decided it was because Denny was a wanker. If I forgot about an appointment, it was because Denny was a wanker. If I spilled my coffee, it was because Denny was a wanker. If I burned dinner (on the rare occasion that I’d cook), it was because Denny was a wanker. So then something weird happened… Denny became lovable in his wankeryness. I was gobsmacked, but he was suddenly kinda hot, and I had to write him as a lead character. I’ll always wonder, though, what Denny did to make someone immortalize wankerosity in the Summer House like that.
I also must thank my family – my husband, my kids, my parents, and my brothers, who put up with my weird moods and my ‘shhh….let me write this down before I forget it’ sort of shite. You guys love me even though I suck arse at cleaning and cooking and am just sort of in another zone half the time. I love you dearly, even though I’m shite at showing it.
And thanks to the ladies who helped me find the sound to write Denny by. Music is such a big part of my writing process, so I appreciate every suggestion, even if they don’t all make it in the final playlist (I have to limit it to 69 songs because I’m all mature and shite). So thank you to Clare Flack, Emily Smith-Kidman, Jane Baron, Niki Gray, Shell Campbell, and Odette Bowes. LEZZY KISSES TO YOU ALL!
Thanks to everyone who suggested Irish shows to get Denny’s voice in my head. Some were truly awesome. Some needed a little playback. Some just needed an interpreter. Thank you Heather Leigh, Kathy Bergmann, LA Casey, Lily Wallis, Lisa Hines, Nicole Baylor, Niki Gray, Shell Campbell, Philomena Callan, Ruth Foley, and Tammy McGowan (I’m sorry if I missed some of you, but I accidentally deleted one of the posts for this *sob* – bad Siby!).
And thank you to my Irish experts – Dympna Nolan, Ruth Foley, LA Casey, and Krissy V. Basing a main character on a Dub was right terrifying, but the four of you answered my endless questions, didn’t laugh at me (too much) when I didn’t understand a feckin’ thing you said, and didn’t even have me drawn and quartered when I went all eejit and spelled St. Paddy’s wrong (FYI to every non-Irish person ever, it is St. PaDDy’s.) I could have easily gotten it all arseways, but I really wanted to make you proud. I loved every minute spent research (some of it had me laughing me cacks off) and you were pure savage teachers. (FYI again to non-Irish peeps, that’s actually a good thing.)
Thank you to some phenomenal women who read through my rough versions and have the courage to tell me when something is pure shite. I write in a very funky and disjointed manner, so it means the world to me that you read through my jumbled early versions and asked me some tough questions. You make me look like I kinda know what I’m doing, and I cannot even begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help. So, thank you to my Pimp Shell Campbell (who bagsied Denny, the wanker himself) and my Brit Ho Beth Ashworth (who bagsied Cody) who have to listen to me drone on forever and ever about what I’m planning to do in the book, and then they get the first alpha versions with massive typos (apparently autocorrect thinks Fliss should either be floss or Phyllis). Thanks to those who provided me with brilliant beta feedback and to those who let me know about the occasional missing ‘a’ or ‘s’ all those little slips and errors – Her Royal Highness Princess Dawn Edwards, my amazing Goddess Diane Buckner, Erica Duvall (Eeep! Can’t wait to see you in Hershey!), Lily Maverick Wallis (who bagsied Brannon), Laura Scranage (who I’ll even go to Walmart for), Her Royal Highness Queen Jane Baron, Michelle Pryor Amos (JAMMF forever!), Nicole Baylor (who bagsied Justin – dirty girl), Ruth Foley (who’s been giving me Irish lessons on Goodreads for a couple years now), Sarah Rau Peterson (my Butte buddy… long ‘u’ people, long ‘u’), Tammy McGowan (who wanted Fliss to get fucked the good way), Tara from Two Unruly Girls (lanky = no go), Taylor Bellitto (so glad you messaged me), Teri Maxwell (that that that that that) and her sister Tritia (feckin’ hell, I didn’t get your last name O.o), and, of course, Terri Thomas (super beta reader extraordinaire).
And my Smut Sisters – Adriane, Alexis, Amy, Beth, Dympna, Jill, Joan, Kadene, Kelly, Teri, and Terri. I would have likely never released my first book without you.
Of course, a HUUUUUUUUUUGE thank you to my Flannel Squad – my lovely street team that pimps me out like the scrubber I am. I totally lezzy love you – Amy Rachiele, Angela Osborne, Arabella Brai, Ashley Sutton, Beth Ashworth, Carrie Osborne, Catherine Ashley, Chantel Cervantes, Cherry Hurtado, Chris Finizio, Danni Oxtoby, Dawn Edwards, Diane Buckner, Ecaterina Modoveanu, Erica Duvall, Jane Barron, Janina Steves, Jen O’Grady, Jen Sully, Jennifer Gaudet Lubow, Laura Scranage, Lily Maverick Wallis, Lisa Walker, Lynn Booth, Shell Campbell, Nicole Baylor, Nikki Edgar, Pamela Patrick McGuire, Rhian Jones, Sam Lomax, Stacy Wilkerson, Teri Maxwell, Tina Haynes Marshall, and Tracy McKay. I’ve met some of you in real life and only know some of you online. I talk to some of you almost every day, and others a bit less often. But all of you have contributed to make me the Siby I am today. Thank you!
And finally, to the readers. I’m just a little speck in the book world, but all of you with your emails and PMs and tweets and comments… you feed my soul. You give me a small sense of worth that really pulls me through some days when it’s easy to just beat myself up. I love your feedback and I treasure your friendships. I wouldn’t be doing any of this without you.
Conversations
Little Conversations
Littler Conversations
Snowcreek
In the Firelight
Bitterroot
Because of Kian
Always Conall
Copperline
Post Breakup Sex
Wild Irish Envy
Sibylla Matilde grew up in the mountain valleys of Southwest Montana, and grew up exploring the alfalfa fields on the back of a horse. She attended a two-room schoolhouse 1st through 6th grade where she had same teacher the whole time. Beginning at about age 12, Sibylla discovered historical romance, feeding off of work
of Jude Devereaux, Lisa Kleypas, and Karen Robards. She loves a book that can make the reader run the gamut of emotions, from the sweet glow of new love to gut-wrenching heartache. She always has stories floating around in her head, living in some fantasyland until she writes them down to free them. She is a true romantic, a bit of a Pollyanna, and a deeply emotional soul.
Music is her emotional trigger. Growing up with a Wagnarian-opera-loving mother, Sibylla grew up with music that digs deep into her soul and pulls out emotion. The soundtrack to her life includes different genres and generations. She looooooooves Thirty Seconds to Mars (rather obsessively, actually) with a little Kings of Leon to mix things up, and pimps them out regularly to all her friends through Spotify. She also enjoys watching Met Opera HD broadcasts at her local movie theater, and hopes (listening Met?) to someday see Diana Damrau reprise her role as Mozart’s Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflöte – The Magic Flute.
Sibylla lives with her husband, Mike, a man who she firmly believes saved her from her self-destructive, hot mess self. He makes her laugh every day, even when things seem to be falling apart around them, and has proved to her that love really can heal a shattered soul. In almost 21 years, they have never had a fight, but argue regularly with their two teenage kids who have, unfortunately, inherited their father’s quick wit (unfortunate as it is a quick wit that Sibylla, herself, definitely does not possess – there is a reason she is a writer and not a stand-up comedian), and live a quiet life with their two weird little rescued Chiweenies. Wait… teenagers and little yap-dogs? Okay, maybe not so quiet. :)
She kinda likes it. And, if you enjoyed Post Breakup Sex, be sure to let others know. Reviews mean the world to indie authors!
Website:
www.SibyllaMatilde.com
Email:
[email protected]
Facebook:
Friend me https://www.facebook.com/sibylla.matilde.5
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