by Cara Dee
None of my friends knew how to play the accordion, so Kellan and Patrick had lured Mick up from behind the bar to play the first couple of songs with us.
Eric left the platform after setting a bottle of Tullamore and several shot glasses on one of the speakers. “To quench the thirst. Have at it, lads.”
“Get ready with your fiddle for later,” I told him.
“Aye.”
It was hotter than Satan’s asshole with the spotlights on us, so I didn’t waste any time pouring a few shots.
“We’re startin’ with ‘An Irish Pub Song’ by The Rumjacks, so.” Colm had left behind his recent Americanisms and returned to Dublin, where then became so and everyone who visited Temple Bar was either dumb as shite or a tourist.
Kellan tuned his guitar. Mick complained that the younger generation had forgotten the awesomeness of the accordion. Meanwhile, no one was bothered that we didn’t have anyone on the bass tonight.
“Finn, we’re waitin’ on ye,” Colm said into the mic.
“Huh?” I paused with a shot glass midair, only to remember the whistle and the mandolin started the song. That would be Pat and me. “Oh, right.” I took a shot and hissed at the smooth burn. I had my whistle ready, my favorite Gen in D, a brass flute with a black mouthpiece. “Okay, gimme the count-in, big brother.”
I set the mouthpiece to my lips, and he tapped his foot against the age-old wood of the floor. Then we started at the same time, the tempo cheerful and folksy, though that only lasted a few seconds. Colm’s rough voice quickened the pace, and he sang of shinty balls and the craic before Conn and Kellan joined in with a bang.
I laughed as Colm fucked up the words, the tempo too quick, the drums raising the roof of the place. Throwing back another shot, I waited for my cue and removed my tie. The chase was on after that. I stood with Kellan and sped up my own playing to be a dick. He laughed, out of breath, and shook his head as his fingers slid along the strings. Conn shot me a cunty look, and what-the-fuck-ever. I had a girl to impress; he was already married.
By the third song, I got to shine and make my princess look sufficiently horny with a Cooley’s Reel medley. I had help from Eric on the violin, Conn on the drums, and Kellan on the guitar, and the best way to describe the tune was to call it a battle between the whistle and the fiddle. The next part was always faster than the previous one. My fingers fucking ached. They’d be stiff and sore by tomorrow, but I couldn’t very well give in.
Around us, people were clapping and stomping their feet. Every time I got a break, my brother was pouring beer down my throat. Sweat trickled down my temples, and it didn’t exactly get any easier from there. Patrick still wanted us to play “Drunken Sailor,” and they had to go with Barleyjuice’s version. I agreed, it was the best one and a good tribute to a local Philly band that knew Irish music, but Christ, it was quick. I wasn’t as skilled with the harmonica as I was with other instruments.
Conn and I took the lead in another chase, this time between the drums and the harmonica. We upped the tempo more and more until Eric came in with the fiddle, Patrick and Kellan on their guitars, and Colm on vocals.
It was my turn to fuck up, and I took a quick break to guzzle half a pint of beer. My chest heaved with each breath so I could finish the last chorus with the others. When Colm shouted hoarsely, “What should do you with the drunken sailor?” the men in the crowd yelled back, “Put ’im in bed with the captain’s daughter!”
Emilia was gloriously tipsy, wearing a huge smile, eyes glassy from an unknown number of ciders she’d inhaled, and she couldn’t stand still. She jumped and shimmied with Sarah and Luna, looking like she was having the time of her life.
I hoped she was.
Eric and I stepped up to the front of the platform with Colm and showed everyone how it was done. Feet tapping along with the pace of the drums, I drew from the holes and changed the pitch of the note when Eric played lower. He responded, sliding the bow perfectly over the strings, and together we let the notes fade until the song was over.
We received hoots and hollers and drinks, and we took a gracious bow and exchanged smirks.
In a brief pause in the pub’s chaos, which undoubtedly Emilia didn’t foresee, everyone heard her comment. “Basically, my man is the master with his fingers and mouth. But I already knew that…um.” She glanced around herself and blushed furiously.
I could not grin wider, and I ate that shit up.
“Okay, what’s next?” Patrick demanded.
“Fuck you, that’s what.” I sucked in a breath and ran a hand through my hair, exhausted. The harmonica ended up on a speaker. “I need a break. You guys can play.”
I grabbed my beer and jumped down from the platform where Emilia immediately met up with me.
“You were fantastic!” She threw her arms around my neck. “Oh, sweaty.”
I chuckled and ushered her to a table in the back, wanting some privacy with her.
“Can I call you my whistler?” she asked and plopped down on my lap.
I smirked and took a kiss. If only she knew the meaning behind that nickname in our family. “Does that make you my whistleblower?”
She paused, lips pursed. “Aren’t you the one blowing the whistle?”
I squinted. The alcohol had gotten to me, and I was getting confused by the innuendos. I supposed it depended on what she was insinuating. Maybe? Fuck.
“Tell you what, you can call me whatever you want, and you can blow my whistle too,” I said, satisfied.
She laughed and straddled me, and that wasn’t her best idea. Less so when she scooted closer and pressed her chest to mine. “Hi.”
“Hey, you.” I chuckled through my nose and set my beer on the table. “How drunk are you?”
The fact that she had to think about it said a lot.
I guess the other guys decided to take a break too, ’cause the live music was replaced by a rock song from the stereo system, and Mick dimmed the lights.
“I’m happy, I can tell you that much.” Emilia rubbed our noses together and smiled wickedly. “I can’t get over how sexy you were up there.”
Fuck me, no. She couldn’t do this to me.
“Don’t tempt me,” I murmured.
“When you think about it, this is your fault.” She leaned in closer and grazed her teeth along my bottom lip. At the same time, she rolled her hips over me, and I closed my eyes briefly. “You knew what you were doing to me up on that stage.”
I groaned inwardly and, against what I knew was smartest, I slipped my hands under her dress and cupped her ass. Not giving a flying fuck if she flashed her ass to half the pub. It was dark enough, and our friends were busy. Tables were moved back to make room for dancing, the alcohol kept flowing freely, and there wasn’t a sober motherfucker in the whole place.
“What did I do to you?” I wanted to hear her say it.
My cock thickened as she dipped down and licked my neck. It elicited a shudder from me, and I clenched my jaw.
How the fuck did the atmosphere change so fast? Gone was the Irish pub feel, and now we were looking at a nightclub where everyone was getting ready to score. Even the music took on a more seductive note, the bass heavy and slow.
She nipped at my earlobe. “You made me wet.”
“Fuck.” Lust flared up inside me, and when she tilted her face toward mine, I was already there. I kissed her impatiently and shifted her over my cock, to which she tried to clench her thighs together. I could fucking feel her, the heat she was radiating.
“Finnegan…” She moaned breathily into the kiss and twisted her fingers into my hair. “I never wanna forget tonight. I need you.”
“I need you too, princess.”
An unforgettable night, she’d asked for.
Chapter 27
Finnegan O’Shea
“What…what happened last night?”
“Why are you yelling?” I groaned and dug my head under my pillow.
“I’m whispering. We have to get up if we
don’t wanna stress before church.”
“Stop screaming, baby, please.” My head couldn’t take it. Everything hurt. Except silence. Silence was my friend. Peace and quiet were the best. Quiet…
“You gotta be quiet, princess.” I hauled in a breath and shuddered. Every thrust between her tits brought me closer to coming, and the girl was driving me fucking crazy with her tongue. Whenever I pushed far enough, she wrapped her soft lips around the head of my cock and licked and sucked at the slit. “Shit.” I bent down a bit more and planted one hand on the wall behind her.
Someone left the bathroom, and if I wasn’t wrong, we were alone now.
“I want it, Finnegan…” She hummed around my cock, and I withdrew, only to fuck her tits faster. She pushed them together harder, and I’d already coated the tight crease with pre-come. “Let me taste it.”
I cursed and licked my lips, tasting her sweetness from a few minutes ago when our positions had been reversed. A hoarse moan left me. She’d looked so fucking sexy, one leg over my shoulder, fingers gripping my hair, gasps falling from her mouth as I fucked her pretty little pussy with my fingers and tongue.
My head snapped up, and I blinked, which fucking hurt. “Did I fuck your tits last night?” I croaked.
“Ohh…that explains why I really wanna take a shower right now.” Emilia tumbled off the bed with a yelp. “Oww.”
I coughed a chuckle, another thing that hurt, and shifted over to her side of the bed. Luckily for her, our bed was kinda low.
“Are you okay?” I couldn’t keep both eyes open. When we arrived home last night, I’d forgotten to close the blinds. The sun was pouring in.
“No,” she whimpered, pouting. She was an adorable mess on the floor. Makeup dusting under her eyes, a sleep line across her cheek, hair goddamn everywhere. She was only in a pair of skimpy black panties. “Help me up?”
“In a minute.” I ogled her with one eye open first.
More memories from last night returned to me. I’d sucked on those perky breasts a lot last night, and quite fucking publicly.
“We gotta get out of here…” She tilted her head back, and I pushed her up against the wall near the kitchen behind the bar. Thank fuck her dress was strapless. I pushed it down, revealing her breasts and nipples that begged to be licked.
“Finnegan!”
“What, yeah, no, on it.” I cleared my throat and dragged myself out of bed. A rugby team of leprechauns kept pounding on the inside of my skull, and I winced as I helped her off the floor. “Painkillers,” I rasped. “I need all of them.”
Emilia grunted and nudged me toward the bathroom.
It was as if seeing the toilet was what I needed to remember I had to take a leak, so I lifted the lid and dropped my boxer briefs, then sat down.
That earned me a cocked brow while she rummaged through the cabinet above the sink. “Really? We’ve reached that stage in our relationship?”
I squinted up at her. “My condition warrants it. If I stand up, you’re gonna have to clean the toilet after.”
She made a face and tossed me a bottle of ibuprofen. “I was more talking about privacy.”
“Ungh.” I rubbed my temples and closed my eyes. “Can we have this conversation later?”
The horrid witch patted me on the head and left me, announcing she was gonna shower downstairs.
“Privacy,” I muttered. “Ridiculous.”
I felt marginally better after a shower, a gallon of water, brushing my teeth, and possibly one too many ibuprofen. Emilia was up to something in the kitchen, so I went there once I’d put on a pair of sweats and returned the towel on the rack where I’d been told it had to go. Otherwise, it could leave spots on the floorboards or some such shit. The girl had rules, and I tried to follow them.
I’d like to say I paused in the doorway to watch her flit around while making breakfast, and it was certainly a bonus to have her there. But the reality was I was dead on my feet. Leaning against the doorway, I yawned and got a good whiff of the coffee brewing.
“I like those.” I jerked my chin at her PJs. She wore them often around the house when we were being lazy. Mostly, I loved how short the shorts where and how her nipples teased the light purple fabric.
It was a shame we had church in an hour and a half.
“Thanks. Sarah gave them to me.” She smiled and reached up to grab two mugs, and it caused her little blouse to ride up, exposing her toned stomach. The running we’d been doing was paying off. “I like the buttons. Aren’t they cute?”
I eyed the little pearls and felt my mouth twist. “Sure, that’s what I was thinking. The buttons.”
She snorted and set the mugs next to the coffeemaker. “Such a guy. Maybe I should go around shirtless and tug at my crotch all the time.”
“I don’t tug.” I left the doorway to make myself useful. “I just…make sure it’s still there.”
She giggled, handing me a cutting board. “Dice some fruit, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We didn’t do this often enough, and it was one of my favorites. Making breakfast side by side, bantering, working together like a well-oiled machine. And…honestly, it was one of the things I looked forward to doing the most when we got married. This domestic shit, seemingly insignificant, was what took me away from the pressure at work. Pressure I thrived on but needed breaks from.
I cut up a couple bananas and divided the pieces into two bowls, and I snuck glances at her and felt I couldn’t really hold it in any longer. She hummed a soft tune and put the creamer in our coffee. Four slices of bread popped up from the toaster, and a lock of hair fell down from her ponytail as she did the it’s-hot-hot-hot dance while putting the toast on a plate.
“Hey.” I abandoned the fruit and walked over to her. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, and her nose. She smiled sweetly. My pulse went through the roof, yet there was a strange calm in me. It was her doing. “I’m gonna tell you something,” I murmured and cupped her face, “and you’re gonna keep your little trap shut afterward. I know you’re not there yet—and maybe you never will be—but I want you to know. I love you.” I kissed her quickly, ignoring my hammering heart and her mouth popping open. “I think I fell in love with you the day you handed me my ass at the contract negotiation.” Nudging her jaw up, I closed her mouth and kissed it again. “And I can’t fucking wait to be your husband.”
“Finn—”
“Nope.” I shook my head and pinched her lips together. I prayed it wasn’t a bad thing that her eyes welled up. There was a warmth in her gaze, a tenderness, and it eased my nerves enough. “Don’t say anything. Just know that I love you.”
“But—”
“I swear, princess,” I chuckled. “Let me have this. All right?”
She pouted. “Okay,” she whispered, and I released her lips.
“Okay.” I dipped down and kissed her once more, softer this time, and contemplated asking her if she’d looked up the Irish words I’d written to her. Then I decided I didn’t want the answer, because chances were she had and she didn’t know how to respond to it. It was better to move on. “Did you nickname me Whistler last night?”
She sighed contentedly and rested her cheek on my chest. “Worst topic change ever.” She hugged my midsection, and I smiled to myself. “But, yes. You were so amazing. You’ll have to play more often.”
“Any time you want.” I kissed the top of her head, and my growling stomach settled our next course of action. I had to get some food in me.
Emilia brought a tray full of stuff to the table outside the kitchen, and I finished dicing up the fruit. Bananas, blueberries, watermelon, and a couple nectarines made it into the bowls before I joined her at the table.
“If I’m to understand this security crap correctly, I’m not allowed to take any unscheduled outings…?” She looked at me questioningly.
I nodded and eyed the headlines in the newspaper. “Correct. I know it sucks, but we gotta be careful. If t
here’s anything you wanna do, let the guys know a day in advance.” If I had my way, she wouldn’t leave the building at all until next Saturday, but then my mother would flip her lid. “All the wedding-related errands are okay. Conn and Colm will pick you up in the garage after getting Ma or whoever you’re going with. They’ll drop you off here after too.”
“Got it.” She nodded once as she spread butter on her toast. “Will you be working much?”
Unfortunately. “I have meetings all week, but I won’t be home late.” Next, I told her that we were taking John and Anne out for dinner on Wednesday, something neither of us was going to enjoy, but it had to be done. The good thing was we’d see Alec and Nessa again, and I could see Emilia brightened at that. “They’ll be staying in our building.” So would a lot of other wedding guests flying in this week. “Which reminds me—you have a decision to make.”
“Oh?”
I took a sip of my coffee. “After the reception on Saturday, do you wanna stay at the hotel or come back here? I ask because we’re not leaving for our honeymoon until Monday, so we’ll have Sunday to ourselves. I figure between packing and leaving the bed as little as possible—stop laughing,” I said, maybe laughing. “I’m serious. I might chain you to the bed.”
She gigglesnorted and forked a piece of watermelon. “I might let you.” Then she shook her head. “Let’s stay here. We just got back, and it’s been a lot of going back and forth.” Certainly true. Additionally, our building was probably the safest residence in Philly right now. Pop and I had guys on watch everywhere, and as soon as Uncle John arrived, so would his own security detail. “Can you tell me where we’re going on our honeymoon?”
“Not even at all.” I tucked into my breakfast and smirked at her cute scowl. “I’m not sure it matters. We’ll barely leave the bed there, either.”
She laughed and shook her head at me. “Promises, promises.”