Wicked Wild Fantasies

by Shiloh Walker

  Her head was spinning. Clothes, hair, make-up. Billie had insisted she’d come over with a friend and teach her how to put it on. Make up…every day? It took Alison forever to get it to look right and she was expected to wear it every day?

  Rolling off the couch she made her way to her bedroom and opened the door to the walk-in closet. Flicking on the light, she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror, a tiny grin curving her mouth.

  Still way too skinny. But maybe the weight lifting would help. She still looked uncertain, but not so much now. And that was something she could work on.

  Reaching up, she ran her fingers through her chopped off hair, watched as it drifted down to settle into place.

  An unbidden thought crept into her mind and she wondered, idly, what would Alex think?

  Chapter Six

  July

  Ireland

  The sun shone down warmly on her body but the air around her was cool. The hands moving over her were firm, hard and certain, strong and gentle.

  A year ago, if anybody had told her that she’d not only visit Ireland, but find herself a lover there, she’d thought the person was crazy.

  But now, Alison was the crazy one.

  Crazy from need.

  Niall slid his lips up her belly, paused to tug at one nipple, his teeth coming down just this side of painful and she loved it.

  “Alison,” he murmured, pushing between her thighs.

  He’d pulled on a rubber and when she reached for him, he caught her wrists, pinned her down.

  She whimpered and he laughed.

  Staring up into his impossibly blue eyes, Alison wondered again if she was dreaming. “When ya moan like that, darlin’,” Niall said. “You make me want to just keep teasin’ ya, but I can’t. If I don’t get my cock inside you, I’ll go insane.”

  The low, musical Irish accent was almost as erotic as his words and when he fisted his hand around his cock, Alison caught her breath.

  But he didn’t immediately enter her.

  He teased her clitoris first, using the plump head to rub it over and around, until she was throbbing and whimpering.

  “You’re so wet.”

  “Niall!” Her voice bounced off the stone of the nearby ruin and he laughed.

  “Alright, alright…”

  He came inside her, driving deep and pushing her into a fast, sudden orgasm.

  Then he gave her another before he took his own.

  When it ended, he drew her up against him and hugged her, murmuring in her ear and making her laugh.

  It had been ten days since she’d arrived.

  Eight days since she’d met him in a pub in Kilkenny.

  And seven days since she’d taken him as a lover—or rather, since he’d taken her.

  This was everything her first—and only—other experience with a man hadn’t been. Niall was handsome—screw that, he was almost impossibly beautiful—and he made her laugh. He seemed half-infatuated and even better, he’d instinctively picked up on whatever it was in Alison that made her crave something specific from a man.

  She hadn’t exactly realized what it was right away.

  She’d dated off and on in the past few months, but only a couple had lasted beyond the first date.

  Too many of them were too…hesitant. Alison was too hesitant on her own, but it was more than that.

  Finally, Niall had summed it up for her, just the other day.

  “There are a million names for it, Alison, a million variations of those names and some people insist on labels. Others just go with it. I want to control things when it comes to sex.” He gave her a wicked grin and then crowded her back into the doorway of a closed shop. As a couple dozen people walked by, he kissed her. A few people glanced at them and all they would see, Alison knew, was a man kissing his date.

  But he’d also been sliding his hand inside her jeans, past her panties…and…

  He’d watched her as he stroked her until she was hovering on the edge of orgasm. “You can’t scream,” he told her. “They’ll know.”

  She’d been embarrassed and aroused…

  “You like to be controlled,” he’d continued. “You can call it bondage and submission if you want. If you need to label it, then do it. You’ll never be one to insist on having a master or a contract and all that rot. You just want a man to control…”

  He’d bent down and covered her mouth, whispered, “Come now.”

  And as he kissed her, she’d come, moaning into his mouth.

  “You’ll be leaving soon,” he said, drawing her mind back to the present.

  She rolled onto her back and nodded, staring up at him.

  Reaching up, she touched his lower lip.

  He caught her hand and lifted it, pressed a kiss to her inner palm.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she said.

  “And I, you.”

  Indiana

  “Sorry,” Alex lied into the phone, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers against them. “I can’t, Mike. I’ve got too much going—”

  “Alex, you have to,” Mike insisted. “Lori’s sick. I can’t leave her alone. Her mom’s out of town and I don’t know who the fuck else to call. It’s not like Ali has a whole list of friends to choose from.”

  Grudgingly, and silently, he admitted Mike had a point. “What time is her flight?”

  He jotted the details down. “If Lori gets to feeling better—”

  “She has to stay in bed for the next three days, Alex. Doctor’s orders. And I’ve already called in for personal leave for tomorrow. Her mom will be home to stay with her after that, but she’s not going to be better in the next five hours, bro. It’s not like it’s going to take that long.”

  Mike hesitated and then abruptly, he demanded, “What’s the problem, anyway? It’s just Ali, for crying out loud. You pick up a couple of suitcases and take her home. And she won’t even talk your ear off.”

  “The problem is I had things to do and I don’t feel like picking up your baby sister.” I feel like fucking her every time I even hear her name. Was that a problem? Yeah, in Alex’s mind, it qualified as a big problem. He’d thought staying out of her orbit for a few months would make it better, but it hadn’t.

  He’d just gotten more and more obsessed, and more and more frustrated, because while he definitely wanted sex, he was no longer all that interested in sex with anybody but Alison.

  He grimaced. “Sorry. Look, it’s not a problem. I didn’t sleep well and I’m in a bitch of a mood. I’ll take care of it.”

  Mike hung up on him.

  Alex stood there, swearing silently and feeling his jeans grow tighter as he realized he didn’t have any choice.

  He was going to be picking Alison Ryan up from the airport in a couple of hours. He hadn’t seen her in months, not in the flesh. But he had dreamed of her on a regular basis, and even the thought of seeing her, smelling her, was enough to have his cock standing at attention.

  Okay.

  Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing.

  He’d see her, realize that night was a fluke.

  And he could get on with his life. He’d gone out on a few dates and realized nobody interested him. It was just her. Only her. He needed to get past this, but he couldn’t, not until he faced it.

  Sometimes he saw a dark-haired, skinny woman and his heart squeezed, his cock throbbed and he wondered, he hoped, but it wasn’t her. For a fairly small town, they were doing a good job of never seeing each other.

  Okay.

  So now they would see each other.

  He could apologize and get things back on level ground and get on with his life.

  Yeah, that’s it.

  This could work.

  Alison Ryan would never be right for him anyway.

  All but floating off the airplane, Alison smiled dreamily and toyed with the gold Celtic knot at her throat.

  She’d spent ten days in Ireland and a week of it had been with a lover.

  A lover, n
ot ten sweaty—if glorious—minutes on the floor. A gorgeous, generous man who had whispered sweet things in her ear while they ate dinner—and then did a million dirty and delicious things to her for dessert.

  She had made new friends, had invitations to return to the country and stay with them—as a friend—not a customer.

  Alison had already decided she would return as soon as she could afford it. Her savings had been nearly wiped out by this trip, but the new job she had lined up was at nearly triple what she had been making as an LPN.

  She snorted, knowing full well she wouldn’t be much of anything she hadn’t already known how to do. But those two little letters, RN, made a world of difference when it came to payroll.

  She was so excited. Scared, but excited. The past few months had helped her figure out one thing about fear, too. It wouldn’t stop crippling her unless and until she decided to take the initiative. She could almost even thank that idiot who’d tried to mug her last winter. If it hadn’t been for him, then maybe she never would have figured out how much she hated her life.

  But she was never going back to the shell of the girl she’d been.

  She’d come to love the woman she’d found waiting inside herself—the girl who’d been forced into hiding by a father who hadn’t known how to handle a girl, who couldn’t listen to tears and didn’t want to talk about being afraid, so he’d just told her to be quiet and go to her room.

  She’d done that, mentally and emotionally, since she was a child and it had only gotten worse after he was murdered.

  She was done with it. She’d started speaking for herself and she’d started thinking for herself.

  She’d found more confidence in the karate classes and realized she even enjoyed the weight-lifting. Mostly, she enjoyed the muscles she’d started to see developing and after a while, she started to fantasize about using those newly developed muscles to give Alex O’Malley a black eye.

  But mostly, she just liked seeing the woman in the mirror every morning…a woman, not a mouse.

  ∞

  O’Malley glanced at his watch one more time before studying the throng of people. His eyes caught on a cute brunette with big green eyes and a sexy smile curving her mouth, lingered just a moment, before he continued to look for his best friend’s little sister. Of course, thinking of Alison as his best friend’s little sister was no longer the easiest way to think of her.

  Even if he did force himself to think that way.

  He wanted to think of her the way he had seen her that night—her long brown hair wrapped around his fist as he fucked her tight, sweet vagina, the firm curve of her ass, the hot stab of her nipples burning into his chest. His mouth started to water and his cock swelled just thinking of it.

  Alison. Remember that? Little Alison? You and Mike taught her how to ride her bike?

  So now I can teach her to ride me…

  FUCK!

  Damn it to hell, he didn’t want to be here.

  He didn’t want to see Alison, didn’t want to remember that night. He had been such a fucking coward. He should have at least gone after her and made sure she was all right—apologized.

  Fucked her again.

  Shit.

  No, he didn’t want to be here. But how could he tell his best friend—who was worried about his pregnant wife—that he couldn’t pick Alison up because he’d fucked her brains out, it was the best fuck of his life, and now he was scared to see her again?

  Still no Alison.

  Probably missed her flight.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see the little brunette approaching, and he started to hope Alison had missed the flight. She looked vaguely familiar, especially those green eyes. If Alison had missed her flight, then he could flirt with this much safer brunette with the wide smile. He could push Alison out of his mind temporarily, talk this cute thing into grabbing a bite with him, and he would put dealing with Alison off again.

  He’d been successfully doing just that for months.

  “Alex?”

  His head swung around, his eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. He’d often wondered why God had wasted such a soft, throaty voice on a woman like Alison Ryan. Half the time, she was even afraid to talk, and when she did, it was in stops and starts that made her sound breathless.

  But it wasn’t Alison standing in front of him.

  This long, leggy brunette had sun-streaked brown hair that tumbled and curled around a sweet, elfin face and a laughing smile on her sexy mouth. This sexy thing had big green eyes that met his head-on while Alison preferred to stare past his shoulder, at her feet, or at his butt when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  Long slim legs outlined by form fitting jeans, a beat up pair of Nikes. Slim hips, the glimpse of a tight ass. He dragged his eyes back up the amazing pair of legs, over the mint green sweater tank that molded itself to her sweet little tits—not Alison. Couldn’t be.

  This cute thing had round, mouth-watering little breasts…just like Alison’s. A smooth, slim white neck, a pink mouth…just like Alison’s.

  Oh, hell.

  She arched an eyebrow and he watched as she tucked her tongue against her teeth.

  He’d rather she be doing just that with his cock.

  Son of a bitch.

  It was Alison.

  “I guess Mike couldn’t make it,” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “Hey, Alison.”

  She pursed her lips now…and yeah…she could do that, too. Press that pretty puckered mouth to his cockhead and…

  “Mike?” she said again.

  He grunted and lowered his head, focused on her carryon.

  “Lori’s not feeling good,” he said gruffly.

  “She’s…it’s not the baby, is it?” she asked, the smile fading from her face.

  “I don’t think so,” he said and now he made himself look up. Screw his personal issues. Mike and Lori mattered to both of them. “Mike said it was a stomach bug but the doctor wants her resting.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips and reached up to toy with some bit of gold at her neck. After a second, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Long time, no see,” she said, even though he could tell she was snickering inside.

  Drawing his sunglasses from his pocket, he slid them on and they started to walk toward the tunnel that led to the parking garage.

  Once on the automatic sidewalk, he fell behind her so they could walk around the people standing still. From behind the shield of his dark glasses, he studied her, still unable to believe his eyes. This couldn’t possibly be the girl he had seen fighting in an alley back in February. The girl he’d woken up fucking, his dick buried inside her sweet, sweet body. The girl he’d been too embarrassed to go after.

  But it was. On the back of her right arm, she had a small scar, one he knew she had gotten when she was eight. And on the back of her left shoulder, revealed by her sweater tank, she had a small heart-shaped birthmark.

  But the rest of her…her tight little butt curved into her jeans—jeans that hugged long curvy legs. Had she always been that tall? Most likely. She just always seemed smaller, the way she carried herself. But she stood five-eight in her sneakers and most of it looked like leg. The sleeveless sweater she wore revealed toned, tanned arms and smooth slim shoulders.

  She hadn’t always looked like that, he knew. Skinny. That was what Alison had been. There still wasn’t much to her, but everything was rounded and curved exactly where it should be. That sweet, round ass…

  Swallowing, he had to clear his throat again as he followed her off the moving sidewalk and out into the garage. She asked him something and he frowned. “Sorry?”

  “I asked if you’d ever been to Ireland?”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He waved a hand absently. “Distracted.”

  “Hmmm.” She arched a brow.

  He didn’t look too closely at that hmmm, just answered her question. “Yeah, I’ve been. Once. My folks took me. I was twelve.”

  Alison smiled s
lightly. “Oh, yeah. I remember that. You complained to Mike about it for a month before you left. And when you came back, you didn’t say a thing.”

  “It was beautiful,” he said, remembering the green hills, the ocean, the colorful villages. Mom and Dad had taken him. He hadn’t been back since, and now he had to wonder why. “I didn’t know you had gone on vacation.”

  Her smooth shoulders lifted in an absent shrug and she said, “I finished up my courses and decided to reward myself before I started my new job.”

  “Courses?” he repeated.

  “RN courses. I’m a registered nurse now. I work at University, on the med-surg floor, but next week, I move down to the ER.”

  Dark brown brows rose at that. “You sure you can handle trauma?” he asked. As a cop, he knew what kind of cases you could see in the ER, and he couldn’t quite get a picture of Alison handling them. Gun shots, stab wounds, motor vehicle accidents. Blood, brutality, death.

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” she said. One hand drifted up, toying with a gold charm at her throat, drawing Alex’s eyes as they neared the baggage claim.

  A Celtic knot, he thought, eyeing it. That dreamy smile was back on her face and her green eyes had gone misty and soft. The look a woman got on her face only when she was thinking of a man.

  The punch of jealousy in his gut knocked him off guard and he took a step back, trailing after her and trying to focus. He ended up focusing on her ass again which didn’t help. At all.

  He’d seen this girl running around the backyard in diapers.

  Granted, he’d been in Batman underoos or some shit like that, but that wasn’t the point.

  He had spent months avoiding her, uncertain what to say to her, uncertain what to do.

  A hand, soft and cool, came to rest on his forearm. Opening his eyes, he stared through the tinted lenses down into the concerned green eyes peering up at him. “Are you okay, Alex?”

  Other than a sudden urge to press his hand against hers, to press her tight sexy body up against the wall, to cover her mouth with his? Well, other than that, and this unreal sensation coursing through his body, hell, he was fine.

  He moved his shoulders in a stiff shrug and said, “Late night.” And then, unable to resist, he reached out, slipped a finger under the slim gold chain around her neck, pretending to study the intricate knot. “A gift?”