by L. A. Casey
“So were my brothers and I growing up.” I chuckled. “We still are.”
“Oh, I know,” my wife answered. “I do the cookin’. I know how much your fat self can gobble up.”
I stepped closer to her, pressing my body against hers and sliding my arms around her tiny waist.
“You think I’m fat?” I teased. “My body fat percentage would disagree with you.”
“Ye’ have the appetite of a fat person and so do your kids. Well, except Georgie, but she used to eat just as much.” Bronagh shook her head. “I don’t know how we afford it. Ye’ know, it costs me nearly three hundred and fifty euros a week on just food? I don’t even shop in Dunnes anymore because it’ll easily reach over four hundred in price if I go in there.”
I leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Why are you worrying about this?” I questioned. “I make more than enough to cover our bills. We own the house since Branna signed it over to you, and the cars are brand new since we traded in our others for a steal. We have a fantastic policy on our family health insurance and both of our life insurance policies. You set aside money each month to pay our bills on time. You’re worrying yourself over nothing.”
“I know.” She sighed, her body relaxing. “It’s just with the football season startin’ back up, and the lads all bein’ taller with bigger feet, it means we have to buy all new team uniforms and tracksuits, and new football boots, which are over one hundred euros each in their sizes, and new clothes since they’ve no summer clothes that fit. I only realised this when they got dressed this mornin’ because everythin’ was a little tight on all of them. Don’t even get me started on Georgie’s art supplies. She goes through them so fast that we need to replenish every—”
“Sweetheart,” I cut Bronagh off. “We have savings for a reason. This kind of reason.”
She tensed all over again as she placed a large pancake on top of four others next to the large omelette that I assumed was for me.
“Heat the eggs up,” she grumbled. “They’ve been coolin’ while I made the pancakes.”
I watched her as she moved around me.
“Bronagh, honey—”
“I’m goin’ to get a shower,” she cut me off, leaving the room. “I won’t be long.”
I stared after her, frowning. I had no idea why she was so worried about our finances all of a sudden. Ten years ago, I got a loan from my older brother Kane and bought a broken-down old building in the city centre and demolished it. After rebuilding it from the ground up, I opened Slater’s 24/7 Fitness. Every month since it opened nine years ago, it’d turned a considerable profit. I was even considering opening a second gym in Tallaght because the main one was doing so well. I had paid Kane back and had no debt whatsoever.
Bronagh knew all of this, so I had no idea why she was worrying about paying for our children’s sports gear or art supplies. I had enough to buy hundreds of football cleats. Hell, we could buy another house if we wanted to. My instinct was to follow her and find out what was truly bothering her, but over the years, I’d learned that she needed her space when she got upset. Normally, I invaded her space and didn’t give her a chance to run away when an argument got her going, but right now, something else was bothering her. I had to time when I chose to talk to her about it.
With a sigh, I turned to my plate of food and put it into the microwave as instructed. While it heated, I went to the refrigerator with the intention of pouring myself a large glass of orange juice, but when I lifted the carton and found it was empty, I scowled and shut the door with a little force before I turned to my sons.
“Which one of you morons put the empty OJ carton back in the refrigerator?”
Quinn and Griffin pointed at one another, but when Quinn scowled and slapped Griffin’s hand, Griffin yelped, most likely thinking Quinn was going to pound on him for lying, which I knew he had done.
“Griffin?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes still on his older brother. “I forgot.”
“How do you forget the carton is empty when you can feel it’s fucking empty?”
Quinn glanced around me, looking for his mom, but when he saw she wasn’t there, he kept his mouth shut about my cussing. I rarely cussed in front of my kids, and especially not to them, but sometimes, they irritated the life out of me when they did dumb shit, and it just slipped out. Putting an empty carton of orange juice back into the refrigerator was a dumb shit thing to do.
“I’m sorry, Da.”
I sighed. “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
“And I’m sorry for cussing.”
Griffin’s lips twitched. “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”
Quinn laughed but muffled it with his hand while I smirked.
“You’ll tattle on me to your mom otherwise?”
“Well, duh, I’m hardly gonna try to fight you.”
I snorted. “You’ll be as big as me someday. You both will.”
“In height, yeah, probably, but ye’ work out a lot. I don’t think I’d be into that. I’m lazy.”
Griffin was lazy.
If you gave him the choice to go outside to play and get fresh air, or stay inside and play video games all day, his games would win every single time. He was on the soccer team purely out of parental force. Bronagh and I ran out of ideas to entice him to leave the house, so we had to resort to giving him an ultimatum. He either joined the soccer team or picked a different sport or activity to participate in, or all his gaming consoles, his computer, and his phone were going in the trash.
He signed up for the soccer team the next day.
Beau, at fourteen, played for the sixteen and under soccer team, Quinn and Griffin, who were twelve and eleven, played for the under thirteen team, and Axel had just joined the under eight team. Griffin tolerated the soccer team, but damn, the kid was good. Luckily, Beau and Quinn were awesome too, but they lived and breathed the sport. It wasn’t punishment to make them go to practice or to games; it was punishment to stop them from attending. Axel’s team wasn’t competitive because of the age group, so his games were just for fun, but he loved it.
Then there was Georgie, who was fifteen. My eldest, my only girl ... the only girl out of the twenty-five children my brothers and I have fathered.
Sports were out of the question for her because her passion lay with sketching, painting, and, recently, sculpting. The many years of being in her aunt Alannah’s company had rubbed off on her. She started drawing when she was young, and with Alannah’s guidance and her own talent, she could draw a lifelike portrait of someone by the time she was thirteen. She loved art; it was her form of self-expression. She attended a local art class on the weekends to gain more experience for the rare time when she wasn’t around her aunt. Alannah and Bronagh were always joined at the hip but even more so since she started dating my twin brother, Damien, many years ago.
“You’re always gonna be lazy if you don’t get your head out of the video games you play all the time.”
Griffin rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’, Da,” he grunted. “I just don’t wanna hear ye’ givin’ out to me about playin’ on me games again. You and Ma always get on me case about it.”
“Because you’re always playing a console or on your phone.”
“I joined the football team like ye’ both said I had to do,” he protested. “Isn’t that enough?”
“For now, yeah.”
He relaxed, then went back to eating his breakfast.
“What time is your game?”
“Eleven,” Quinn and Griffin replied in unison.
“Is Mom taking you guys?”
Quinn’s lips twitched. “She said you could either take us, or ye’ could go and get the shoppin’ instead.”
I paused. “Grocery shopping?”
Quinn nodded, then smiled at my horrified expression. I never did t
he grocery shopping. The one and only time I’d done it in the past was an utter disaster. I apparently got the wrong brand of half of the groceries on Bronagh’s list and forgot the rest. She had to go back to the store and get the correct stuff, which put her in a pissy mood for that entire day. It was a horrible experience from start to finish, and I’d do just about anything to get out of it. My kids and my wife knew that.
“I’m taking you guys to the game.”
Griffin snickered. “Thought so.”
Quinn chuckled along with him before inhaling one of his pancakes. I joined them at the table with my food, and we talked about school, sports, and girls while we ate. Recently, both boys had taken a mild interest in girls. It was nothing explicit; they had just started to develop crushes now that they no longer found girls gross.
“Griffin’s got two girlfriends,” Quinn announced as we all finished our food. “They fight over ‘im.”
Griffin’s cheeks burned. “Shut up, Q!”
I frowned at Griffin. “Is that true, Griff?”
“No,” he insisted. “They just like me or somethin’. They follow me around at school and get mad when I talk to one girl and not the other. They aren’t me girlfriends, though. I don’t have one, let alone two.”
“Good,” I said, firmly. “That’s disrespectful to play two girls like that.”
“I know.” Griffin nodded. “We have to be nice to girls and treat them like we’d want a lad to treat Georgie, or you to treat Mom. I remember our talk.”
“Ye’ said Mom.” Quinn snickered.
Griffin scowled at him. “It’s only ‘cause I was talkin’ to Da! You say words like ‘im sometimes, too.”
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s not a bad thing to say words how I say them. I know you guys are Irish, but you’re American, too. That’s half of my blood flowing through your veins, and I told you it’s important to know your heritage.”
“Ma said we don’t really have an American heritage ‘cause the country was stolen like forever ago.”
I paused. “Okay, that is true but—”
“We’re Irish, but because of you, we have American heritage,” Quinn cut me off. “We know. Please don’t tell us about it again. I feel like we’re in school when ye’ do.”
I had to keep from smiling. He looked pained at the thought of me lecturing him about my homeland.
“Put your dishes in the dishwasher and go upstairs and clean your rooms,” I said. “Mom won’t let you go to your game if you don’t do your chores.”
Griffin perked up at the prospect of getting out of a soccer game, so I added, “She’ll also confiscate your Xbox, desktop, and phone if she has to keep you home from soccer.”
Griffin grunted as he got to his feet. “She’s evil.”
I snorted as they left the room after taking care of their dishes and mine. I relaxed at the table for a moment, then turned my head when Georgie entered the room, fully dressed in jeans, ankle boots, and a sweater.
“You’ll be too warm wearing a sweater and boots today, baby. It’s warm outside.”
Georgie glanced at me and snorted.
“I’m always freezin’, Da. There’s no such thing as too hot for me. Not in this country, anyway.”
My lips quirked as she moved around the kitchen, cleaning up after Bronagh had made everyone breakfast. That was one of Georgie’s chores; she preferred cleaning the kitchen to the bathrooms. The boys would flip a coin to see who got stuck with toilet duty.
“What are you doing today, sweetheart?”
“I have class at the centre at half ten,” she answered. “Auntie Alannah is collectin’ me on ‘er way. Alex and Joey are comin’ with me.”
“And here I thought you would come to the boys’ game with me to keep me company. Some of your uncles will be there with your cousins, too.”
The look of horror Georgie shot my way cracked me up. Her lips twitched when she realised I was teasing her.
“Will ye’ go and get dressed?” she asked, her brow wrinkled. “You’re too old to be walkin’ around in your boxers like the lads.”
“Too old?” I repeated in outrage. “I’m thirty-eight, you little shit.”
Georgie smirked. “That’s only two years away from forty.”
I scowled. “Evil child.”
“I’m gonna be twenty in five years, does that make you feel worse?”
Pain clutched at my chest.
“Yes,” I answered, rubbing the spot. “It does. You’re my baby.”
“D’ye hear that, Axel?” Georgie hollered. “Daddy just called me a baby!”
I heard movement, then quick paced little footsteps as my youngest son barrelled into the room. Wrapping his arms around Georgie’s hips, he crashed into her, making her laugh.
“I told ye’!” Axel said to her. “I told ye’ they think we’re all babies.”
“Ye’ did.” Georgie nodded down at him. “I think Mammy and Daddy are goin’ crazy.”
“Super crazy!”
“Hey,” I teased. “You’re all my babies.”
“He’s lost his mind,” Axel said with a shake of his head. “We should put ‘im in the old people’s home ye’ said he and Mammy are gonna go to someday.”
My jaw dropped, and Georgie burst into laughter.
“Ye’ aren’t supposed to tell them what I said,” she tittered, hugging her brother to her side. “They get upset when we call them old.”
“Ohhh.” Axel nodded. “It’s a secret.”
“A super secret.”
Everything was super to Axel when it was being stressed.
“A super secret.” He nodded and looked like he’d accepted a mission of some kind. “I got it.”
“A nursing home?” I blinked at my daughter. “Really?”
She smiled wide, and it warmed my heart.
She was the picture of her mother, and apart from my dimples, no one would ever guess she was my daughter. Bronagh got all the genetic rights to our firstborn; she got those rights with Quinn, too. He was the only one of my sons who resembled his mother more than me. He had her green eyes, her perfect complexion, her nose, her mouth. Everything. The rest of our boys got my genetics, which meant they looked the Slater part. Beau was the spitting image of Damien’s firstborn son, and since they were close in age, people often thought they were twins, which amused them greatly.
“I’m only teasin’,” Georgie assured me with a wink. “I’d never put you in an old folk’s home. I wouldn’t be able to carry ye’.”
I snorted. “Watch your brother while I go shower.”
Georgie saluted me, then ducked out of my reach with Axel, both screaming with laughter when I fake dived for them. A big smile stretched across my face as I left the room and jogged upstairs. I heard music blaring from the bedroom in the attic that we’d converted a few years before Axel was born. It was Beau’s room, and ever since he hit his teenage years, I was considering soundproofing the damn thing because Beau only understood one volume, and that was loud.
“Beau!” I yelled and banged on the rail of the spiral stairs that led up to his room. “Boy, you better answer me.”
The music switched off, and the door to his room opened ever so slightly.
“What, Da?”
“Turn that garbage down!” I warned. “We have neighbours, you know?”
“Sorry,” Beau said, popping his head out just enough for me to see he was red faced and sweating. “I’ll keep it low.”
His door clicked then, and just as I was about to walk up the stairs to see what he was doing, I paused. The last time I walked into his room unannounced, I got an eyeful of my teenager jerking off like there was no tomorrow. He couldn’t look me in the eye for a week after that happened, and since it only occurred a few months ago, I had to keep boundaries and respect his privacy. I remembered what it was like to be fourteen and hormonal. You got wood from something as simple as sniffing fucking flowers.
The only difference between me
and my son was that I didn’t have to jerk off. I had paid escorts to take care of my needs. I was sure that was a perk from my past life that Beau would desperately love to avail of. With a grin, I shook my head and walked into my bedroom. I glanced at the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running. I quickly closed the bedroom door, kicked off my boxers, and tiptoed my way into the bathroom.
I hadn’t had shower sex with my wife in months, and there was no way I was going to miss the opportunity of loving her while she was dripping wet. When I stepped into the room, steam slapped me in the face. I could barely see a thing, but that was typical Bronagh. She had to have her shower water run so damn hot before she’d even consider stepping under the spray. The room was like our own personal sauna.
“Hey, mama.”
Bronagh jumped when I entered the shower behind her, but she didn’t spin to face me.
“You’re so predictable,” she said with a snort. “I knew ye’d come up ‘ere.”
I reached out and palmed her ass when I was close enough to do so.
“Can you blame me?” I asked, leaning down and swiping my tongue over her earlobe. “Your ass makes my cock ache.”
“After all this time?” She wiggled her butt against me. “I’ve still got it, fuckface.”
My lips twitched as I looked down and watched as I shifted my hips and began to slowly thrust back and forth. My cock fitted snugly between Bronagh’s ass cheeks felt like heaven. I bit down on my lower lip when she clenched her cheeks together, and it sent a wave of bliss riveting straight to my balls.
“Fu...ck.”
“Ye’ want me arse?”
I pressed my mouth against Bronagh’s sopping wet hair.
“Yes,” I rasped. “Yes, please, baby.”
She rarely let me fuck her ass, so when she did, it felt like all my Christmases came at once.
“Get me ready.”
Those words sent blood rushing to my already throbbing cock. I dropped to my knees behind her, then when I leaned forward, biting her ass, she sucked in a sharp breath, then laughed.
“Bastard.”
I smiled as I slid my tongue over the flesh I bit. Without warning, I spread her wide and plunged my tongue into her asshole. Bronagh’s hands flattened against the tiled walls. My arm wrapped around her, flattening against her stomach in an effort to support her in case she slipped and fell. I groaned when Bronagh’s hand ran over mine before she pushed it down to her pussy, showing me what she wanted me to do. My fingers found her clit, and hearing the first long moan come from her caused my balls to tighten.