by Laura Lovely
My mind wanders briefly, like I’m watching us from outside my body, like I’m describing it in detail later to my friends. He groans another muffled compliment into my pussy, and I shake my head clear. I don’t want anyone else here, I don’t want to tell anyone else about it. I want this for me. I want to be right here with him, just us. Let it happen, let him make you come, I urge myself.
As if he knew my mind had wandered, he finds my hands and wraps them in his, squeezes them. It’s just us here, he seems to say. Meanwhile, his tongue doesn’t miss a beat.
I close my eyes and let my whole self melt away, until I’m just a little circle of focus, on his mouth, on my pussy, on the building energy between us. My breath comes quicker. It’s all lips, tongue, fingers, circling around and into me. Two fingers? No, three. Three fingers that slide in and out of me, wide and stiff. One finger crooked up, rubbing my g-spot, his tongue flicking my clit, flicking, flicking, flicking—no, now, his tongue zags, zigs, swoops, swirls. His fingers fuck into me, my hips bear down to meet him. Meet him, meet him, meet him, meet him where the sounds are wet, where I’m quaking, where I’m shivering. “So close, so close,” I mutter, one hand pulling at my nipple.
I need, I need, I need—something? He knows what it is. How does he know? He just does, because he’s smart, funny, charming, and he makes the cute snarfling sounds while lapping at my pussy, sounds that would be bestial from anyone else, but with his accent they sound like a goddamm angel’s harp. I’m still needing something, even while my body is tightening, while I’m climbing higher and higher. Then he gives it to me, something he must have clocked before. Three fingers still fuck into me, he pinches my labia together, and then sucks hard on my clit. I shove my face into a pillow because oh god, oh it’s happening. He’s fucking, swirling, pressing, sucking, sucking, sucking, sucking until—
I don’t just come. I fucking explode. I slingshot to the upper stratosphere and freefall back again. When my heart starts beating again, my palms are pressed to my eyes. I must have thought they were about to pop out. Meanwhile, the most handsome redhead on the planet is murmuring into my pussy, softly licking me as I come back to myself.
Holy fucking Halloween.
* * *
I raise my head to find his eyes waiting to meet mine. They’re so blue it’s almost a shock. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say. No, I don’t say. I croak. Motherfucker licked the voice right out of me.
He kisses my thighs and works his way back up my body. Every inch of my skin feels turned over, like newly laid earth. When he kisses me, I taste myself on him, sweet as vanilla ice cream.
He rests his chin on my stomach. His eyes are dreamy, his scruff damp. I want to say something, but all I can do is keep trying to breathe. I have the impulse to take care of him, to reach for the hard dick touching my leg, but I’m jello. I open my mouth, then close it. I want to gush about how great that was, but I don’t want to freak him out. I want to say thank you, or pray, or cry, or all three. But I don’t. Instead I’m a big dork and give him a high-five. Thankfully, he returns it with enthusiasm.
“You know what this means?” he whispers.
Oh god. Does it mean something? It feels like it might mean something, but I sure don’t want to talk about it. I’m a little afraid of what he’ll say next, but I have to find out. “What does it mean?”
The Irishman pumps his arms over his head. “Ireland: one. America: zero,” he says in a stadium announcer voice.
It’s so ridiculous, I crack up. “Is this The World Cup?”
He looks indignant, like I’ve insulted the depth of his loyalty to his home team. “Fecking right, it’s The World Cup.” He shifts upright and swiftly pulls my legs around his waist. “And I’m winning.” He smacks the side of my ass, clearly the victor.
I sit up too, not about to go down without a fight. “Guess I better catch up.” I wrestle him down so he’s underneath me. He grows harder as I straddle him. “Lie back and watch how it’s done.”
I tug off his underwear. With a grin, he crosses his arms behind his head and lets me have at it. I run my hands all over his biceps, his chest, and down his stomach. His skin is so smooth. I curl my fingers in the light dusting of fine, orange hairs that track across his pecs and down his belly. His chest hair is lighter than the hair on his head, more a deep orange than deep red. It blends in with the freckles, those blessed freckles that cover most of his body, in varying degrees of density. The freckles give him an air of innocence, even while he’s smiling devilishly at me, enjoying me perving out on his body. Without a doubt, he is the hottest guy I’ve ever pulled. I’m both turned on by that fact and a little intimidated. Time to prove that I’m up for the challenge.
I creep down his body until I’m face to face with the holy grail of ginger dick. He’s thick, longer than average, but not scary. His dick is a glorious shade of pink, with that same orange hair sprinkled across his groin and balls. He’s also uncut. The crown of his dick peeks through the foreskin as he grows harder under my gaze.
What I’d really love to do is cram his whole dick in my mouth, but I’m no amateur. I lick a serpentine path down his shaft and around his balls, then back up again. He hisses and twitches at my touch. I work my thumb in circles around his head, then roll my tongue inside and around his foreskin. He lets out a shuddery moan that is downright adorable. After more of this torture, I take him deep in my mouth. Not because its the best for him, but because it’s the best for me. I nibble at the crown, testing the edge of what feels good to him and what’s too much. Then I get to business, working his cock with my fist while sucking on the head.
From the top of the bed, I hear a string of happy curses. I glance up.
He’s looking at me. “Feck, your eyes, give me your eyes,” he moans.
I smile around his cock and keep my eyes on him because he asked so nicely. I move my hand up to meet my lips, which slide over the crown. His legs jerk. I’m building up to my showstopper move, when he touches my head. He takes advantage of my pause to throw me back under him. He’s kissing me everywhere, rolling his hips, muttering something like “fecking explode.” He’s rutting me deep into the bed, rolling his pelvis into mine, but not entering me. My mind leaps into overdrive.
Is he going to put it in? We need a condom. That feels good. Is he gonna put it in? What’s taking so long? Does he want to? It seems like he wants to? Why am I doubting it? If he doesn’t put it in, what does that mean? Maybe I shouldn’t rush him…
That frantic, pushy feeling is back. I grasp at his back, thinking he has to stick it in me. He has to stick it in me or I won’t know. If he doesn’t stick it in me, I’ll go back to feeling like my regular old self. I won’t be the immortal goddess who snagged the hottest guy in New York tonight. I need him to put it in me, to prove there’s something there. Prove to myself there’s something there. I need to prove, to prove, to prove…GAH. My body completely freezes. Why do I keep doing this tonight?
He stops kissing me. “Hey, hey. Wheredja go?”
Shit. He noticed that I checked out. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. He should notice, a voice in my head says. “I…sorry….”
“You alright, love?”
Ugh, there it is again. That word, all tender. I know it’s a colloquialism, but it’s lovely. So lovely it reaches past my temporary freeze and I can open my eyes again.
“I was in my head, sorry, I—.” I stop, embarrassed. I don’t know how to explain, and I don’t know what to do next.
“Want to tell me what you were thinking?”
I shake my head violently.
“Okay, okay.” He strokes my hair softly.
A little tear squeezes out the side of my eye. Shit. Why am I so confused? I literally don’t know what’s happening to me right now.
“We can stop right now if you want to,” he offers.
“Fuck no, you’re so hot. Oops. That was out loud.” Oops, that was out loud again.
He laughs, which ma
kes me laugh with relief. I feel the wave of anxiety subside, breaking up and floating away in the timbre of his chuckle.
I kiss the forearm that’s by my head. His laugh is so sweet.
He holds me tight. “Tell me what you need.”
This unknowable feeling still stirs in me. It keeps swimming to the top of my mind but I can’t name it, can’t even describe it. So I just say, “I don’t know,” and look at the thick grey drapes at the window. I think I had a bridesmaid dress made of that same fabric once. Shit, I disappeared again.
His thumb draws soft circles on my cheekbone, bringing me back. “I’m so into this. I’m so into you,” he whispers reassuringly.
I meet his eyes. That helped.
“I know we only met tonight, but this is really cool. Really cool. I like being with you, in this way.”
I bite my lip, try to take in a breath.
“What do you think?”
“I , I like it too.”
“Aye?” He smiles so wide. “Okay.” More soft kisses on my face. “Want to tell me what you need?”
I can do this. If I just start talking, I can do this. I want to do this.
“Um, stay on top of me like that. I like that.”
He exhales, lets his weight settle onto me.
“Anything else?”
“Stroke my hair like you did.”
He does. My lungs relax. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Kiss me again, on my cheek. Lightly.”
There’s a gentle brush of lips and beard on my cheek.
“Kiss me on the mouth.”
He does, warm and comforting.
“More.” My voice is stronger now.
I open my mouth to accept the slide of his tongue past my lips, tangling with my own. I let that sensation wash over me, notice my legs and hips relax, notice my arms coming around him again, wandering over his back.
“Anything else?”
“Kiss my neck. Kiss my nipples.” He does. I demonstrate how I like my breasts touched, light fingertips trails and circles. He’s a fantastic study.
I’m turned on again, can feel the lust rising in me, but this time it’s not pushy, not frantic. It’s a warm, swelling tide.
He clasps his arms around me, bends his head, sucks on my nipples. Yeah, this is good. This feels better. My pussy clenches.
He slips a hand between my legs. “I feel that,” he says. “You’re getting ready for me. I feel it.”
He gives me long, slow strokes while whispering a steady stream of encouraging, kind of filthy things in my ear. Soon, I’m squirming again. My skin feels hot and stretched. I want him in me, for real. “I’m ready. Please.”
The Irishman reaches for the condom. Cool air rushes between us. I touch myself while he rolls the condom down. Can’t lose steam now.
Condom on and flushed, he strokes his cock at the view of me circling my clit. This is going to be so good, I know it.
He kisses me while he fists his cock.
“You need to say your name.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because you never told me, and I don’t want to call you Sally when I say this next thing.”
I laugh. “Daisy. Call me Daisy.”
“Daisy,” he purrs into my ear. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
If my hands weren’t busy, I would high-five him again.
He pushes into me. Inch by inch, I stretch until I’m full. It’s amazing. I look down to watch him slide in out and of me in long thrusts as I clench around him.
“Tell me what you need,” he grunts.
He asked, so he better be ready for my answer. I grip the back of his neck. “Pound me,” I demand.
Bless his damn heart, the man can take directions. He pounds into me in hard, sharp thrusts. My fingers press into my clit in the same rhythm. I close my eyes, and everything fades away, just as I want it to. There’s nothing but me, the feel of him against my body and the dark walls of my pleasure building, building all around me.
“Let me see those eyes,” he grunts.
My eyes fly open. His eyes have gone from bright to dark blue, clouded with focus, keen on me. Oh god. It’s so intimate. I don’t know if I can stand it. I look at the sweat glistening on his chest, casting a beautiful glow all over his freckles. His hair is mussed. I reach for him so we are forehead to forehead.
He grips my hips and changes angles, keeping up that hard, pounding pace. My eyes blink closed. I’m going to come, any minute now.
But he won’t let me keep this all to myself. “Look at me, let me see all of you.”
I never keep my eyes open when I come, but he asked, and I can’t deny him.
I force my eyes to stay open. His irises are wide, his neck flushed deep red. All those freckles loom over me and fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, I’m so close.
“Tell me how it feels,” I gasp.
“It feels so good.” His thrusts grow shorter, more insistent. “God, you’re brilliant. With your tits and your hair. Your pink nipples and your cunt, so hot, so wet. Christ, you’re so fecking beautiful, so bloody hot—”
That’s it. I come when he says bloody with his gorgeous accent growling in my face.
It's absolutely sublime. He’s pounding into me and I’m taking it but I’m not thinking of him, I’m not thinking about what he might be thinking about me, worrying whether he likes it. I’m thinking of how I like it, this large throbbing in me, all around me. It’s stars and explosions and best of all this insanely hot man is losing it all over me. He thinks I’m beautiful and I agree.
He comes soon after me, pumping hard into me. The cords in his neck tighten, pulsing so I can see the blood rushing through him. All that blood rushing, hearts pounding, and him pumping into me, wet sounds and grunts and both of us convulsing. Both of us shuddering around each other. Both of us spent, sticking to each other, panting. “The sweetest thing,” he whispers as he gives me one long kiss.
Afterward, he rolls us to the side. I’m the little spoon, letting his breath on my neck fog me all up, inside and out. He wraps his forearm tight around my chest, holding me close.
I should be making my escape plan, but for some reason, I let myself lie there. Let him hold me, say tender things, and make little jokes. None of these little after-sex intimacies bother me like they usually do. I don’t want to bail, not yet, not while it still feels so good.
My heart swells. He’s so nice. Has anyone ever been this nice to me before? They should have been, but the memory of all other pumpkins fade. I can’t recall a single one, not a single time that stood out. Was I even paying attention before The Irishman? It feels like maybe I was all alone, letting the world swim around me, but not really joining in, not letting any of those pumpkins soak in, the way I’m practically drinking up The Irishman now. Curled beside him in bed, every detail is shockingly vivid. I can feel the slide of the sheets, the press of his arm on my shoulder, smell the musk of our bodies lingering in the air. My skin crackles, like someone flipped a power switch in my body, in my brain, and now I’m fully alive. Before, I was a rag doll, tossing myself from hand to hand. Now I’m something more, and there’s a spot carved between his chest and his elbow that seems made for me. I snuggle deeper against him, closer to the happy grumbles he makes into my hair.
It’s pumpkin season, but the thing that got picked, held, treasured is me.
* * *
I wake up when it’s fully light outside, maybe even late morning. Holy shit. I never sleep over. I remember stumbling to the bathroom to pee at some point, then crawling right back into his arms. I’m still there, with him wrapped around me. It’s sweaty and sticky, but not unpleasant. What the hell?
My eyes dart around the room. I can see part of my dress hanging off a chair. It’s time to make an exit plan. I bet I can ninja roll off the bed, quick change in the bathroom, and get out. Except…except he’s nuzzling my neck. And his boner is pressing into my ass. And I like that too. What the hell is happening?
He c
ups my breast, and I’m alarmed by the way my knees want to open. I’m even more shocked when I roll over and wrap a leg around his waist. When that boner drags along my pussy, I start to think maybe I can stay for a minute longer…can’t I?
I’m saved by the high-pitched ring of the room’s phone. We both freeze. We completely forgot there was an outside world at all.
He kisses my cheek. “Good morning. I have to get that.”
He stumbles to the desk and answers the phone on the third ring. I stretch across the bed and admire his ass. So, okay, it’s not my usual thing to stay over, but I can roll with it. We can have a second round. Maybe grab some breakfast. Then I’ll get back to Brooklyn, get back to myself. I start to think about what restaurants are nearby. I could introduce him to the great New York tradition of weekend brunch…
“Sorry, my phone died overnight…Aye, aye. Got it. Be right there.” He slams the phone down. “Feck!”
Uh oh. “What’s the story?”
He rubs his hands over his face. “Feck. Feck. I’m so sorry.”
I wrap the sheet around me and sit up.
He sits on the bed. “I have this company excursion. Some mandatory bullshit with a client I forgot about. I have to go. That was my boss calling to tell me I’m late.”
I smile brightly, though it’s forced. “Oh yeah, no problem. I was about to go anyway.” I start to reach for my clothes.
“No, wait, Daisy—”
I’ve grabbed my clothes and am already at the bathroom door. “No worries at all. I’ve got a huge day too. I’ll be out of your way in a second.”
I throw on the dress, lightly brush my teeth with my finger. Not too bad for a walk of shame. When I come out of the bathroom, he’s got his jeans on. I don’t look at him as I shove my shoes on and cram my tights into my purse.
“Well, that was fun.” I start for the door.