Lucky Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by L. A. Boruff

  Impish green eyes darted up over the pitch black cauldron. He held the spoon between us, his tongue lapping over his lips in thought. “Oh?”

  “Don’t see a lot of cast iron cauldrons around outside of Halloween.” I tried to laugh it off, but that ringing silence returned.

  Conall glanced at his ancient pot as if seeing it for the first time. With a slow shrug, he said, “Only way I know to make a proper Irish stew. Here, give it a taste.”

  He extended the spoon towards me, the thick brown liquid reflecting his famished gaze. It could be poisoned. My brain tried to rescue me, or at least throw a pail of cold sense on the problem, but it was too late. Leaning forward at my waist, my lips suckered around the wooden spoon. Slowly, I pulled in the stew and my instant noodle honed tastebuds erupted in joy.

  “This is good,” I gasped, tilting my head up. The move surprised Conall, as I foolishly bonked my cheek into the stew-coated spoon. Stupid. I tried to turn away and blot the accident off when warm fingers curled over my jaw like a meadow breeze.

  Gently, he swiped his thumb over the spot, soaking the stain onto his own skin. With a smile, his green eyes burning into mine, he placed his thumb into his mouth and licked it off. I burned at the tender lap of his tongue around the thick thumb, my eyes drawn to the gentle pucker in his mouth. How it caressed his finger, holding it in his warm kiss.

  How sweet…

  How soft…

  Hot hot…

  I dove for him, plunging to his lips before my brain or body had a chance to call a retreat. Conall’s hand barely slipped from his mouth before I claimed it.

  At first stone hard in shock, his lips melted against mine. Heat danced off his lips pressing as tenderly as a daisy’s petals. Fingers swept across my cheek until burrowing at the nape of my neck. Digging into my hair, Conall pulled me deeper into the kiss. His tongue slicked between the narrow gap of mine, begging for an invitation. Greedy for a taste, I parted mine. He delved in, his hand rustling apart my ponytail while he tipped my head to fit him.

  Spring rains tumbling off a crystal mountain stream. Verdant grass wafting in the sea air. The bleat of sheep standing upon the unassailable cliffs. My mind, my senses, my very being filled with not just the images but the scents and touch of those and more.

  I gasped, breaking the kiss. The soul of Ireland fled from my mind, but the agony didn’t leave my body. I gulped in air to shake away the illusion, but the earthy scent of lamb stew didn’t help. “You,” I sputtered, my hands splayed out over his chest. Conall froze, his fingers tousled in my hair but not gripping. I could easily push him away, his back to the counter, mine the exit.

  Taking another breath, I stared up from his flushed lips glistening from my kiss, into his eyes. “You broke my window,” I said slowly.

  “Yes,” he responded solemnly.

  I launched for him, my arms locking around the back of his neck, my hand pulling him into my kiss. Our tongues lapped against one another, mine tugging his bottom lip into my mouth. When I sucked upon it, my teeth barely grazing the fragile skin, his hands enveloped the small of my back. So large, they overlaid one another, Conall’s fingertips reaching up my spine as he pulsed and kneaded against me.

  “And,” I broke again, my body flush to his. Straining on my tiptoes, as I stared deep into his eyes, my hips glided against his. A moan rolled off his tongue from my lower belly excising the rising bulge.

  The guttural groan of pleasure caught me so by surprise, I fell forward. Lashing a hand out to grip the cupboard, I kept myself from crushing him, but our foreheads softly knocked. His arms wrapped around my waist, tucking me into his embrace as if as much to protect himself as well as me.

  With our noses burrowing into each other’s cheeks, our eyes filled only with the other’s pupils, I asked, “And you will fix it?”

  Pulling in a slow breath, the side of his lips rose and he rustled the tip of his tongue against the smattering of red scruff. “Yes,” he repeated. The fingers locked around the nape of my neck, Conall submerging himself into my lips. My body tumbled, not to the ground, not off a counter, but in his arms.

  As if he was dipping me at the end of a ballroom waltz, he tipped me nearly horizontal. Fingers pulsed into the small of my back, reminding me that I was safe in his arms, while the others tugged on my hair. A gasping moan rolled off my tongue, Conall quick to ravish his own response in the throes of our kiss.

  Just as I drank more of the Irish whiskey, his lips left mine. I blinked, expecting him to put up his own questions, when a scorching kiss nibbled on the edge of my collarbone. Tipping my head back, I heard a grateful chuckle from the man more than happy to take advantage. With his strong lips, he pursed and nipped along the thin skin at the side of my throat. I wanted to giggle, but instead of feeling ticklish each tender touch drove straight to my sparking core.

  Switching to the other side, his little nibbles canvassed across my exposed décolletage. Both hands dug into the small of my back, the heels cupping the top of my ass. I laughed, shaking my downed hair back. Conall’s scorching tongue lapped along the hem of my lacy camisole. Slowly, he curled it further inward, his lips sucking on the edge of my breasts.

  I ached to rip my blazer off, the camisole, every damn stitch of clothing in the way. But at the same time, I was hypnotized by the tender kisses the Irishman drew between my less-than-ample cleavage.

  “Mmm,” Conall moaned, his fingers gliding higher. It tugged my blazer up, revealing my skin to his warm touch. His palm slipped under every layer, alighting my body as he reached ever higher up my spine. At the bra strap, he notched his fingers around one end, rolling it in his grip as if he could rip it open with his bare hand. Suddenly, he paused, his fingers sliding away.

  The exploring palm landed almost chastely upon my hip, though his fingers kept gliding around to curl over my ass. With almost no strain, Conall tugged me back to my steady feet, cautious green eyes staring into mine as if he feared crossing a dangerous boundary.

  Which he probably did. Inviting a woman over for dinner, because he broke her window, then ravishing her before the main course was even served.

  Would there be ravishing?

  He paused with our chests so tight together pulling in air slid my breasts across his pecs. My eyes drifted from his unreadable thoughts to his lips. Spicy red from every kiss he placed to my body, I could feel the heat off of them even at a distance.

  You’re here for a reason, remember.

  Another ragged breath punctured through his glistening lips, Conall smearing a hand through his hair.

  To get him to fix the window.

  My hands dropped from where they’d dug into his back. The spread of muscles that tightened to keep me aloft, hard as stone even when he put me on my feet, began to soften. His hair rubbing paused, the palm remaining on his forehead, while he gazed almost sheepishly from below it.

  So, hammer out the details, then fuck him.

  I leapt for him, pinning the man back to his counter. While my lips begged for sanctuary upon his, my hands were anything but chaste. Curling my palms over his shirt, I rustled against the hearty fabric piled into his straining waistband. Conall was quick to assist. Even while kissing me he snatched onto the back of his shirt and gifted me with a miracle.

  Skin pale as cream, brown-red freckles dashed from the pop of his shoulders down into his mop of auburn chest hair. A single coin dangled off a chain around his neck, its color more ochre than gold. It caught my attention for a second when Conall wadded up his shirt, pulling his naked chest into stark relief. I lapped my lips while gazing from his pillowed pecs down the long line of an 8-pack. The strip of red hair pointed me like a beacon towards his lower hips prodding over the trousers.

  “So,” I snapped my jaws as if I couldn’t wait to get a taste of his taut bicep, rolling hills of abs, or what was clearly bulging for strumming below the woolen trousers. My eyes bored into his, both the hunger and certainty in the emeralds bringing a smile to me. “How lo
ng will it take?”

  “Depends upon your preferences, Lass,” he whispered in my ear, my body trembling at the lust punctuating his breath. His fingers curled down my cheek and landed upon the edge of my askew blazer.

  Boldness blazed in my veins and I wrapped my hand around the back of his. “No,” I said, his eyes opening in surprise. Slowly, I placed his hand to the top of my blazer’s buttons. “I meant how long until you fix my window.”

  A cocky smile flitted about his lips, his eyes burning into my kissed cleavage. “Well,” Conall chuckled, undoing the first button. “That rests upon,” he broke open the second, the tips of his fingers swiping against the silk clinging to my belly, “the frame and availability of a pane that fits.”

  When the last button popped, I shrugged off my jacket. The unforgiving light of the stove glanced upon my shoulders, nearly sending a shiver up my spine. Warm hands enveloped my stomach, both sliding upward. The satiny glide of my camisole lit awake my skin as Conall’s lips plunged to mine. His questing hands circled under my breasts, hoisting them higher as his palms easily outflanked both.

  Losing all sense, I scratched my fingers from the tuft of red belly hair around his back. He gasped into my mouth, his open lips dancing against mine. Our eyes met and I said, “Sounds like it’ll require…days.”

  My palm swung forward, cupping around the cock begging for ministrations. “Jaysus!” Conall cried, his hips thrusting forward to lay that vital part of himself in my hand. Rolling my tongue across my teeth, I inched my fingers up to find the pesky fly. At first, he widened his stance, gifting me an easier tug, when suddenly he grabbed both my hands by the wrist.

  “Nah, no chance will I let a stunner strip me down.” Conall shook his head, his emerald eyes staring through space. He extended my hands wide as if I were to be hoisted upon a cross. I stared at his right palm, the fingers so long they easily enclosed my wrist like a bangle. My mind spun in a circle.

  Did I read all that flirting wrong? Was he not into me? Oh god, how could I even face him again after…

  Eyes green as spring’s clover burned into mine. He released my wrists, my arms dangling helplessly to the side. Curling his palm over my jaw, he held my face as he breathed, “Not until I get you in the buff first.”

  Pink silk flew over my face, the lace tickling my lips as Conall ripped off the camisole. I pulled in a breath, dancing on my naked toes as the drop-dead gorgeous Irishman turned his emerald eyes straight to my boobs. A string of what sounded like guttural curses escaped his lips, though judging by the joy on his face it could be prayer.

  His mouth glanced across mine, the hot tongue once again dipping in. At the same time, his hands swept around my back, both targeting in on the bra’s hooks. While kissing me with such force I stumbled, he struggled with the first of three clasps. When the second refused to budge, he did curse, “Shite,” against my cheek.

  “I thought you were supposed to be a handyman? Good with your hands?” I purred, catching his eye.

  That wily tongue rolled over his teeth and he chuckled. “Aye Lass, wait 'til you see what I can do with my nimble fingers.”

  “Then.” I reached behind to grip the tricky bra myself. Conall’s hands fell to the wayside, his eyes widening with a view only of me. A blush burned across my chest and rose for my cheeks from a man’s attention narrowed upon me. The clasps gave way under my practiced hand. Slowly, I pulled both straps down, releasing my breasts from their tether.

  “Mother Eire herself,” Conall gulped. He didn’t even wait for the bra straps to move past my elbows. Tugging the damn undergarment free himself, my bra flew through the sterile kitchen. His lips pressed to mine while his hands — those warm, tender hands — swept against the thin, naked skin he worked so hard to free. “Oh you’re beyond a stunner, me beaut,” he cried, his hot breath twirling in my ear while his fingers performed magic.

  Gently, he kneaded against my giving flesh, his fingers swooping out to the sides of my ribs while ladling me in kisses. But when I plucked his bottom lip between mine, he wrapped both thumb and forefinger around my nipples. The pinch caused me to jump not in pain but surprise.

  “Tell me,” he smiled, his accent thickening as he began to coax my nipples, “how you like to be touched.” Lips pressed to my throat, soft as a beat of a butterfly wing. Slowly, he swept the tips of his fingers against my nipples.

  “Tender and slow?” Conall whispered, pressing kisses down my throat. “Or,” he breathed just above the press of my cleavage.

  “Or?” I repeated, struggling for air.

  A winking smile danced from his lips to his eyes. Darting forward, he sucked his scorching lips against my right nipple. “Christ,” I gasped, my head tipping back, hands tousling through his hair. Conall increased the pressure, just the tip of his teeth gliding against my nipple. Pleasure erupted through my body, my thighs pressing tighter as the need to ride him drew to an ache.

  He switched to the left, following the same pattern and causing me to unleash more ecstatic cursing. I found myself flexing my calves in hunger, my hips thrusting forward with each swipe of his teeth. “No one’s ever,” I gulped, sweat rising on my brow. I tried to wipe it away before the sexy Irishman staggering to his full height noticed. Even as those dashing lips smiled, his hands kept knocking against my nipples. The ripples dancing down my body wouldn’t stop.

  “I do believe there’s yet the matter of your trousers,” Conall chuckled. Biting down on my lip, all I could do was nod. Words were quickly escaping my brain, and I feared if I tried to open my mouth gibberish would emerge.

  “Now.” He hooked his leg around behind me, tugging my bottom half to his hands. I flourished in the bounce of his cock against my hip, glad to know it’d only grown more demanding from my shirtless state.

  While he pressed his lips to my ear, sucking upon the lobe and breathing a shot of hot air inside, his fingers worked quickly on the button. “This I do know.”

  My pants hit the floor without any complications, revealing to him my single pair of deep green panties. His eyes darted down to the shiny bikini bottoms with only a thin strap keeping them on my hips. “Nice color,” Conall whispered.

  Circling around my hip, his finger playfully tussled with the band, fluttering around the hemline down towards my inner thigh. All the while he kept trying to kiss me, but I couldn’t stop struggling for air, my full attention upon the fingers swerving about in my dark pubic hair. The agony of waiting, of never knowing if and when he’d dip in, drove me mad. I found my body rising up on my toes and widening my stance as if it was screaming for his touch.

  As if I was.

  “Jesus Christ!” I shouted when that wayward finger swept straight down the middle of my inner core.

  Conall began to hum at the wetness coating his finger. “I adore that.” I was about to ask what he meant when he circled from my inner folds up to the shy clit.

  It was no joke he was skilled with his hands. A talented expert, he rubbed not just the pearl itself but swerved and swept every humming inch. Every time he danced his fingertip on the hood itself I feared I may explode. My nails dug into his shoulders, trying to keep me upright, while the man weaving an orgasm from just one finger kept pressing a kiss to my slack lips.

  “Please,” slipped from my mouth into his. Even I started in surprise from the word before my body told my brain what it wanted. “I need you,” I sputtered. My hand freed from the taut muscle it clung to and once again curled around the hidden cock.

  Conall’s Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes screwed tight as he gazed to the heavens. “I,” his finger retracted from inside me. “I cannot deny you,” he said as if in shock at the fact. Undoing his straining button fly, he kept a hand locked around his todger while letting his pants fall.

  Slowly, as if uncertain to reveal it, he opened his palm, the fingers circling around a delectable cock. It bore the same woodsman girth as its owner, the head larger than the straining shaft which pulsed twice at my hungry gaze. S
liding my palm over his bony hip, I rustled my thumb through his rust-colored pubic hair. My hand circled just at the base of his cock as I whispered against his lips.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Conall’s wide palms grabbed my hips, his teeth nibbling on my neck as he hefted me into the air. I wiggled my feet in shock at how fast and far they left the ground, but it wasn’t for long. Placing me upon the table right beside a set of bowls for the forgotten stew, he snatched off my panties. Hands worried up my inner thighs, digging into the muscle even as he spread them wider.

  Growling deep in his chest, he placed the crown of his cock right against that clit he’d stroked to almost perfection. Conall’s bright eyes stared down at himself almost as if surprised to find it there. His forehead against mine, I watched his slick tongue glide over his lips.

  Slowly, I raised my ankles, bouncing the heels against his ass. When they locked behind him, sealing us together, he looked up into my eyes. I opened my lips, about to tell him to fuck me, when he thrust forward. A moan of heady pleasure erupted from my mouth, but the second was caught by his lips. Even while thrusting he kept kissing me, a primal grunt rising from his chest.

  His hands tried to cup my back, to pull me closer, his cock diving deeper and deeper inside. Guttural panting transformed to goosebumps rising all across my naked skin. In one fast move, Conall grabbed my ass and pulled me into the perfect spot.

  “Holy shit,” I spat, my clit bounding against the base of his cock. My ankle rose higher, opening myself to the bliss pounding inside of me.

  A tender palm swept over my breast, lips babbling in that same strange language against my forehead. “Tell me,” he suddenly switched back to English, eyes burning into mine, “tell me this is what you want.”

  His certainty, his need for me, caused my heart to thrum erratically. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice terrified. It felt as if I was staring into a power I couldn’t understand.

  “What?” Conall gasped. He dove his finger over my clit, his spine leaning back as he gave all of himself to me.