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

by L. A. Boruff

  Well armed for the fight, I was about to pierce into the first chocolate kissed layer when I paused and looked to him. “What about you? Should we, um, share?” God, that might be the greatest test of my patience, to only consume half of a tiramisu slice.

  Conall rolled a dry laugh through his throat, his brogue dropping from an oboe solo to a bassoon. “Ah, don’t fret, Lass. I have my own…treat.”

  Confusion furrowed my brow, the fork dangling just above its first cut. A palm skimmed from the side of my ribs down to my waist and flared at the hip. He began to worry his hand, fingers digging in as he kneaded from the top of my hip back towards the buttock. All the while those green eyes beamed naughty signals to my brain.

  His other hand swept around my forgotten left side, its heel resting upon the bone while those fingers kept thrumming over the seam in my skirt for the crack below. Gulping, I struggled to keep the cardboard plate safe in my fingers. Conall tapped his tongue over his bottom lip as he began to inch my skirt higher.

  When the hemline reached my upper thigh, he paused and stared at the pristine fork nearly tumbling from my fingers. Leaning to me, Conall’s hot lips plunged over my mouth, his wicked tongue coaxing mine from its slumber. I moved to wrap my hand around his hair, but he leaned back.

  “Eat up, Jess,” Conall breathed. Both hands dug in deep to my ass and in one quick move, the Irish lumberjack hurled me onto the table. A squeak erupted from my buzzing lips, terrified eyes darting to the ancient metal scrap. But it was holding its integrity, which was amazing in and of itself.

  My toes skimmed above the floor, the tiramisu resting in my lap. Conall stared down at me while worrying the auburn scruff on his chin. Limply, I lifted the fork, uncertain what he had planned. As I plunged the twine prongs through the silky layers, Conall took a knee.

  Whipping my head up to him in shock, he spread my thighs by gliding that virile scruff back and forth over the tender skin. A pant grew in my chest, air struggling to reach my brain as I watched him kneel between my legs. Slowly, he’d drag his short beard, roughing up my inner thigh then place kisses to the tingling skin. It was the perfect balm after snapping awake my nerves.

  As if he had all the time in the world, Conall’s lips and tongue swerved from almost my knee, up the trembling muscle, and higher over the pooling thigh proper. When he reached the crease where my stubborn panties blocked the path, he switched to the other leg. After repeating each trip, he’d pause at the center of my core and take one slow exhale right against my wetting panties.

  Sweet Jesus! My legs spread wider on their own, my loins aching for him to do more than whisper above them. But he returned to torturing me into babbling submission. His wide hand curled around my ankle, easily outflanking it, while he worried a hand up my calf.

  “Eat,” he spoke, green eyes darting up to me, “enjoy.” Both hands released from my legs, leaving my entire lower half quivering for what came next. I watched transfixed as he licked along the corner of his mouth and knotted both hands around my panties.

  “I intend to,” Conall announced while yanking my underwear down to my ankles.

  Spearing the fork through all the layers at once, I hefted the decadent first bite towards my lips. Which was when Conall spread my thighs apart and dove tongue first into me. My tastebuds sparked from the perfect blend of chocolate and cream as my spine arced to meet the man licking me.

  “Dear god,” I cried for both experiences. His tongue swirled along my longer folds, tenderly sucking upon the delicate skin and casting ripples through my body.

  “Good?” Conall mumbled between kisses against my outer labia. He placed a single sweet one right at the top of my inner core and for a brief second glanced up.

  Dumbstruck, I nodded. Never had I thought to delight in eating my favorite dessert while a man ate me out.

  “Good,” he said and pressed his proud smile against my clit.

  My legs rocked on the heaving table, rolling my hips to match the licks and sucks. Somehow I wiggled enough for my underwear snare to slip off an ankle. Gasping, I hauled my leg high over his shoulder. The heel bounced into those back muscles I ached to nibble on.

  Conall grabbed my other slack leg and pushed it up to join the other astride his head. All the while he maintained his rhythm, the throb from my clit reaching so deep inside I could swear it touched my heart. I glanced down at the fork rattling against the cardboard. My fingers were trembling, one hand lashed to his head to keep myself from toppling over.

  There was no way I could eat this properly.

  Without a second thought, I plunged my fingers into the squishy ladyfingers and plopped the mass of creamy sweet cheese and coffee into my mouth. A laugh huffed from his lips ignited mine, creating the perfect vibration. Groans erupted from my throat, my head tipping back to pull in more air. Chocolate swirls tumbled from my fingers across my heaving breasts.

  I was about to shake them off when Conall surged forward. His entire hot mouth suckered around me, sucking my pearl and the hood into the wet, slippery abyss. My body pitched backward and my hand had to follow so I didn’t fall. The tiramisu was forgotten as my body hummed from the desire flooding down to my toes and up to my hair.

  A whimper rolled from my lips, my heels struggling to grind myself against the unending pleasure parting from Conall’s mouth. Yes.

  Yes!

  Fuzziness swarmed through my veins, the warm, transcendent plateau singing inside. I clung to it, enveloped myself in the floating freedom. Hung on with all the strength in my body. One more lick kicked off the orgasm. I whipped up fast, gasping and babbling incoherently as my body tried to collapse in on itself. As if that would preserve that perfect moment forever.

  I was dimly aware of Conall sliding back onto his ass, his hands massaging my calves. The rest of my brain was sparking more than a sweater in the dryer. Rolling my tongue around, I tried to form a sentence. When that didn’t happen, a word.

  “Eep,” slipped out and I heard a chortle as the response.

  “Is that your official review?” Conall laughed while staggering to his feet. He removed himself from between my thighs but didn’t pick up my lost underwear. That thought caused me to clench my toes in anticipation of more to come.

  Tipping my head towards my quivering thighs, I sucked in air and tried to calm the buzzing in my head. “I’m usually more eloquent than that. But in this case…” I looked up into those impish eyes that flooded my senses with both decadent chocolate and hot cunnilingus. “I’d say ‘Eep’ is the best I can manage. Seeing as you probably can’t get ‘HolyFuckingShit’ past the mods.”

  Conall tipped his head at the nonsense I babbled and curled his hip against the table. “Hm.” His nimble finger drew across my chest and swept up that long forgotten chocolate. Tucking it into those lips that drove me wild, he mused, “Not bad. I’m glad you left me a taste.”

  We both glanced to the half-mauled tiramisu still waiting to be devoured. “That’s all your doing. If you hadn’t…distracted me so well, it’d be gone before you could blink.”

  He used the fork to scoop a bite out, placed it beside his lips, and snickered, “Good to know.” After sampling the perfect dessert on this planet, his head tilting as if he were a sommelier finding all the flavor notes, he took another forkful.

  I’m certain I pouted because it was a tiramisu. And even though he bought it, and gave me an earth-shattering orgasm, I still selfishly wanted it all to myself. Conall raised the forkful up, but rather than place it to his hungry mouth, he pushed it to me. Hand cupped under to catch any crumbs, his eyes sparkled as I rolled my tongue over the fork and foisted the crumpling creamy cake into my lips.

  A groan rumbled in his chest as he watched me return to lick the fork clean, reminding him he wasn’t the only one with a nimble tongue. My fingers glided around to his waistband, savoring at the bulge below. It only seemed fair to give a taste for a taste.

  Just as I tugged him forward by his fly, my phone vibrated like
mad. I sighed, barely glancing at the screen. Abby must have gotten my text as she sent me back a leprechaun and pot of gold emoji. Fully forgetting it, I turned back to the sex god in my kitchen, but Conall’s eyes were on the phone.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “My best friend, being a pain,” I said with a sigh, hoping to tempt him into more dessert. But he was frowning until his forehead folded like an accordion. “She, uh, she likes to torture me with leprechaun things.”

  “Why?” His tone turned unreadable in a heartbeat, arms that’d been so warm crossing his chest.

  I shrugged and glanced down at my toes. “It’s a joke. Because I said I met a…sexy Irishman contractor, Abby thinks it’s funny to insist you’re a leprechaun.” God did it sound stupid coming out of my mouth, and judging by Conall’s cold glare at the phone it went over like a lead balloon. Thanks, Abby.

  “Not that I think you are,” I sputtered out fast, hoping to get this sex train back on track. “I mean, it’s stupid. Not as if leprechauns are real. Like unicorns or bigfoot. Though people sometimes hunt for bigfoot and I’m babbling. Sorry.”

  Conall stared at my phone even as the screen went black. He rubbed a hand up and down his forearm, his body swaying. Below his wool sweater, I caught the outline of that coin he always wore. His treasure.

  “What do you know of leprechauns?” he asked.

  “Uh, that they’re little with big red beards, and live under rainbows,” I threw out with a shrug. He snorted at that, which gave me a ray of hope. “And, of course, the whole pot of gold thing.”

  That drew the thunderclouds back. Conall rubbed his forehead and roughed through the scruff covered in my juices. “There’s a legend in Ireland. Not so much a legend as a tale. If you find a leprechaun and steal a coin from him, it will grant you a hundred years good luck.”

  I could use that, I thought glumly. Though, it was amazing how great things had been going lately. It also kept me on edge, waiting for the proverbial piano to fall on my head.

  “But,” he waved a finger in the air as if to chastise me, “after a hundred years, the coin drains all the luck from the person who has it.”

  “All the luck…?” I whispered, my head swiveling back to the bedroom just patched up from an unexpected tree.

  Conall breathed beside me, his green eyes so dark the gold flecks glowed. I wanted to curl up, to wrap my arms around my body for protection. Suddenly, he laughed, “It’s one of those stories. Like the monkey’s paw, or a genie. Be careful what you wish for and the like.”

  “Right,” I nodded at his ease of stepping past the unpleasant topic. A smile perked up my lips, “Right, that…of course. Makes sense.” Leprechauns aren’t real.

  Rising off the table, I felt my full weight sink to the kitchen floor as if I’d been floating. Hands encircled my chest, Conall pulling me to his lips. Chocolate overwhelmed his usual taste of clover and spring days. When his tongue swept across mine, all the awkwardness of the leprechaun emoji vanished. Combing through my hair, Conall’s fingers tugged just enough to bring a moan to my still hungry body.

  “You know,” I whispered in his ear, “I do think new windows requires some christening.”

  “Bha mi an dòchas mar sin,” he whispered in that old tongue while his fresh one fluttered in my ear. Without a care, he hoisted me into the air, palms clamped to my ass. I laughed, savoring in the air as he carted me backward to my own bedroom.

  His chin planted to my cleavage, Conall staring straight up at me. Aching to taste him, I curled down, one hand roughing along his scruff while our lips fell into each other. When we reached the bedroom without a ball of black fur wrapping around his ankles, I blinked in surprise. Tir was always tripping up my path.

  The hands cupping into my asscheeks gave one last squeeze before opening. I slithered down his body, my breasts bounding off his rock-tight pecs. Upon landing safe and sound on my toes, Conall’s palms found refuge on my hips. His face nuzzled against my neck, my head turning from the bright window to the dresser.

  “Oh right, the flask,” I sputtered, turning from his enthralling grip to the other mystery.

  “Yes,” he muttered, the hand that’d been tugging on my skirt’s zipper plying through his hair, “that flask.”

  I rattled it again beside my ear as if to remind myself there was a confounding secret inside. Wringing my hand around the cap, I was about to unscrew it when I paused. Last thing I wanted to do was spit out unladylike grunts while struggling against a piece of metal.

  Gulping, I glanced to the man scratching at his ear and staring out the window. “Could you open it?”

  Conall glared at the flask as if it wronged him. Pulling in a breath, he shuddered and smiled. “Nah, Lass. I have faith in you.”

  I didn’t, but may as well prove my lack of grip strength. But this time, all I had to do was give a soft tug and the cap seemed to fall right off. Shaking the flask, from its crusted-over top emerged into my palm a rusted key.

  “A key?” I turned the confusing thing over. There were numbers on the head. Maybe I could look them up online later.

  “Do you know what it unlocks?” Conall spoke solemnly.

  Snorting, my eyes boring into the teeth of the key as if that would solve the mystery, I said, “Not a clue. I suppose I’ll…”

  My thought snapped to dust as I watched the sexy Irishman tug his workman shirt clear off his body. The flask, the key, and the mystery were fully forgotten as I leapt on top of him. I needed the gorgeous not-leprechaun inside of me now. The key could wait.

  * * *

  “Told you it was a safety deposit box key,” Abby stage whispered beside me. We huddled together in the bank’s backroom filled with rows upon rows of tiny doors. My eyes kept drifting to the massive vault door fearing that at any moment it could slam shut and trap us inside.

  I’m not saying it’s not an outlandish fear, but I was once stuck inside a port-a-pot for three hours because the door jammed.

  The bank manager — who was willing to hear my tale of the buried flask, then discover my grandmother did have a box at the bank — finished turning both keys. A two-foot-long slender box slid out into her arms. With a smile that cracked her hefty foundation, she lay it upon the lone table in the room.

  “Please, take your time,” was her response and, to my surprise, she turned to leave.

  “Aren’t you gonna…?” I began, when the door closed behind her. Even though we were sealed in at least the bank knew we were back here. Took me an hour and a half to get anyone at the music festival to listen.

  Awestruck I gazed down at the plain, gleaming box I had no idea existed. “I thought she’d open it,” I muttered, my hands limp at my side.

  “Nah, doesn’t work that way. You could have stolen gems, or illegal papers, or who knows what in there. This way the bank has plausible deniability, while also getting to keep all that criminal money,” Abby mused to herself. She’d been a bank teller for a few years before switching to IT. It wasn’t why I asked her to accompany me, but it served well when the teller balked at my asking to see a manager. I didn’t have much of an account here, enough in my savings to splurge at a hamburger joint should the need arise.

  Grazing her fingers over the hinged lid, Abby snapped it a few times. The metal clank bounced off my teeth as I stared daggers at the mysterious box. “Well, are you gonna open it or do I have to?”

  Okay. Shaking off the thunder pounding in my chest, I wrapped my hands around the cold metal. It was a drizzly grey day outside, more winter than spring, but this felt colder than the stained snow. Colder than the grave. “Just, opening up something my dead grandmother left for me after she buried the key in a flask.”

  “Was there anything else in that thing?”

  I smelled a hint of whiskey but that was it. Doubtful Abby meant that. She was probably hoping for instructions or a treasure map. Shaking my head negative, I plucked up the lid. A fat, yellowing envelope caught my eye.

  Whe
n I hefted it into my hands, the flap fell apart revealing green and white piles of legal tender. The scent of old books and rusting iron struck my nose as I yanked up the first of dozens upon dozens of hundred dollar bills.

  “Holy shit, Jess!” Abby gasped for both of us. My mind shattered as I stared down at two to three inches worth of $100 bills.

  Lifting the envelope from my fingers, Abby began to count out the pile, laying each in a perfect fan-out as she went.

  Grandma? What is this? What…

  “There’s five grand in here,” Abby sputtered, quickly doing the calculations. “Is that another envelope?”

  Sure enough, the stacks of cash couldn’t all fit into one, so Grandma stuffed another full of the same $100 bills. As Abby got to work counting out the entire haul, I gripped to the table and struggled to breathe. Towards the end of her life, we were scrimping and weighing which medications to refill every month Medicare screwed us over. And all that time this was here?

  Why didn’t she say anything?

  “Can’t believe this wasn’t in her will,” Abby sputtered, already on the fifth row. It looked like a tarot reading for the exceedingly wealthy. I see riches in your past, riches in your present, and riches in your future.

  A breath rattled in my throat, the back of my brain ticking through everything I could do with this windfall. “She was starting to go in the end. Probably forgot to tell me, or already thought she did.”

  “Holy hell,” Abby yanked the box up and tipped the lidded section towards the table. “There’s stocks and bonds in here too. Who knows what it’s worth now. Bet you could pay off your student loans with all of this.”

  Tears sprung in my eyes at the thought of my grandmother hiding away her small fortune in the hopes that one day I could use it.

  Abby kept pulling more and more sheets of paper from the magical box, each landing on the pile of unburied treasure. She was laughing, talking about how we were owed the fanciest dinner the second after talking to a financial planner. A thunk from inside the box paused her giddy blue-skying.