The Irresistible Irishman: For St. Patricks Day (A Holiday Springs novel)

by MJ Fields

  “When,” I correct her.

  She doesn’t miss a beat, “It’s Beckett. Not Sir.”

  I wait for her to continue and when I realize she has nothing to add, I wait longer just because I particularly like the way her pink cheeks look on her pale face.

  “Alfred, please close the security window.”

  The window closes—giving us privacy—and I look her over slowly and stall on her peaked nipples. I know she’s angry, but she’s clearly turned on, and she’s still here and negotiating. And so long as I’ve got her in the game, I know I can win.

  “Forgive me for not reading your contract in its entirety, but did you have an issue with nipple pinching?” I don’t give her a chance to answer before reaching over, gripping the inside of her thigh, and pulling her across the seat close to me.

  She stutters, “I… I…”

  Leaning forward, I press my lips to hers, eliciting a moan as I quickly work the buttons of her blouse with one hand. I dip my tongue in her mouth at the same time as I push my hand into her bra cup and pinch her already erect nipple.

  She whimpers against my mouth, and I bite down on her plump lower lip, dragging it out and sucking it before releasing as my fingers still work her nipple.

  Her head falls back, her eyes close as she cries out.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Lowering the cup and my head, I take her nipple between my lips and suck. Her hands fist in my hair as I pull her onto my lap. Still sucking on her delicious flesh, I hike up her skirt and push her panties aside, pressing a finger inside her hot, wet, and tight pussy.

  I hold back nothing as I suck her tit and finger her, except the orgasm she’s about to have. I pull my finger out of her as I pop my mouth from her breast.

  “Wha… wha… what are you doing?” Her eyes are half-closed, but from the bit that’s open I can tell she’s confused.

  I slide her from my lap back onto the seat and hold up a finger telling her to wait as I suck the taste off the one just inside her, her eyes widening in shock.

  I pull my finger from my mouth. “Orgasm denial. Prior to that, nipple pinching. I’d like to point out that both brought you extreme pleasure. Before completely and totally disregarding slapping, I would strongly suggest you allow it. Spitting I can live without. Fisting can be moved to hard limits. You’re so fucking tight I have no idea if it would even work.”

  She quickly straightens her skirt frustratedly. “This is not how I had planned this to go.”

  “We’ll discuss the details over dinner, which was the plan to begin with until you became impatient, your needly little nipples begging for a tweak.”

  I watch as she wrings her hands on her lap. I can’t help but reach over and grab one of them, hoping it will calm her nerves. She exhales when our hands clasp, and I swallow hard. It only takes a few moments for her to calm down.

  “I’m still the man you met at Blizzards, aye?” For some reason, I want her to know that even with all the NDA’s, the contract, and the type of sex I’m proposing—well, actually that was all her idea in that dirty email sent on a company header, but she doesn’t need to know that— I’m no stranger.

  She looks up, directly into my eyes. “Are you?”

  “Yes, Caile.”

  This time, she doesn’t correct me.

  We have about ten minutes before we arrive at the restaurant. “Sit back and relax.” I rub my thumb across her knuckles, loving the soft feel of her skin. Unfortunately, touching her is doing nothing to calm the erection beneath my suit pants. I pull my hand from hers and adjust my aching cock before turning to look out the window. Thankfully, we’re making quick time to Piño’s.

  “Can’t hold your hand and calm my cock. Can barely look at ye without wanting a taste. Dinner. Sort the contract, and then we’ll be heading back to the resort.”

  The vehicle slows down before turning right into the parking lot.

  “This is—”

  “Piño’s? Aye. Their restaurant and lounge are apparently our biggest competition. So, this is not just pleasure. It’s also business. If the chef is as good as the reviews, I’m going to offer him a position.”

  “And you do this kind of thing with all your,” she clears her throat, “submissives?”

  I raise my brow, not expecting this type of questioning. Nor had I ever considered telling her that there have not been any submissives or long-term women in my past. The simple truth is, what I proposed was her fantasy, and I happen to like the idea of having something regular when I’m stateside for business. It will be less taxing than Alfred having to do background checks, or follow me around restaurants with NDAs. It also happens that the American women I’ve encountered are more apt to believe in a fairytale and scoff at the idea of casual sex than the women I bed in Europe, where sex is just that—sex. Even though she and I had a casual night together, I knew at first glance that Sarah didn’t have such ideologies.

  “I don’t take submissives to business dealings, no.”

  “But you are, with me?”

  “Our circumstance is different. You happen to work for my company.” We come to a stop. “If it’s bothersome, feel free to add it to things we’re here to sort out.”

  She whispers, “Right,” as Alfred opens the door. Smoothly, she slides out of the car.

  I place my hand on her lower back as I guide her through the restaurant’s front door and to the hostess stand. After giving my name, we’re escorted through the restaurant to one of the secluded outdoor seating areas Piño’s is known for. Sarah is in black high heels tonight, and not those old flip-flops.

  Two waitresses immediately emerge, pulling out our chairs. It’s a small, intimate table surrounded by planter boxes full of greenery.

  As soon as my arse hits the chair, I cringe.

  Her voice is concerned, “Is everything okay?”

  I look up at her sweet voice and find her smirking.

  “My arse is too big for the chair, and you’re laughing?”

  She tries not to smile but fails epically.

  I grumble, “I knew you had a deviant side.”

  Shaking her head, she holds up her hands, fanning innocent. “Me? Not at all.”

  “I assure you. We’ll rectify that situation quickly.”

  One waitress reappears and fills our glasses from the bottle of Pinot Noir, while the other holds a tray filled with food.

  “I took liberties and ordered ahead; I assume you’d be famished after working all day.”

  Her lips curve up a bit, and I raise my glass “To taking liberties.”

  She smiles, raising her own. “To negotiating them.”

  I tap my glass to hers, take a sip, and set it down. Without missing a beat, our table is filled with the delicious items I’ve ordered. After the last plate is set on the table, I dismiss the wait staff with a quick, “Thank you.”

  Once they’ve left, I take a moment to marvel at the presentation. Black plates and serving platters in arrays of shapes and sizes are all perfectly garnished. “It presents nicely, like art. What do you think?”

  She shrugs, her eyes widening as she takes in each dish. “I think that this is a lot of food.”

  “All organic, even the wine.”

  “Well, I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”

  “Shall we begin with the oysters?” I take one of the half-shells out of the bed of ice and lean forward, holding it out to her.

  Her nose scrunches up, and she shakes her head. “I’m really not a fan of slimy wet foods.”

  “Oysters are said to be an aphrodisiac.”

  “I’m not sure you, of all people, need such a thing.” She takes a sip of her wine and sits back, watching as I slurp down the creamy oyster.

  “You’ll need to eat something, Sarah. Trust me when I tell you you’ll need your strength for this evening.”

  She rolls her eyes, taking another long sip of wine. “Okay, Mr. Hawthorne…”

  “Liquid courage, a
ye?” I eat another oyster before sitting back.

  She blows a piece of hair from her face, ignoring my question. “This isn't an everyday normal occurrence. Not for me, at least.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket, shrug off my jacket, roll up my shirt sleeves, and flex my fingers before typing out a message to Alfred. I pull up the contract. “Let’s hash this out and get to the good stuff.”

  She clears her throat. “Let’s.”

  I nod. “Firstly, you need to admit to yourself that you want this.”

  “Not all—”

  “With the adjustments you asked for in addition to the limits you’ve added, I’m very confident we’ll be back at the hotel and thoroughly enjoying each other by the time the sun sets.” I take my fork, stab a beef tip, and take a bite. “Bloody delicious. You try.”

  I stab another piece and hold it out to her. When she leans in and wraps her lips around the fork and pulls it off with her teeth, it takes all my reserves to hold back the groan fighting to come out.

  She chews the meat and swallows. “So good.”

  “Shall we get through the business of business?”

  “Sure,” she says skeptically. “Maybe you could explain what exactly that entails?”

  “To decide whether or not to poach the chef of course.”

  “Of course.” She smiles softly, a blush softening her cheeks as she picks up her cloth napkin and places it on her lap.

  “Before we begin, tell me, what have you been up to the past few months?”

  She takes another bite of the beef tips and shrugs. “You first.”

  “Work is my life, Sarah, which is precisely why this kind of arrangement works best.” I look up as Alfred walks toward us, red folder in hand.

  “Here you are, sir.” Alfred hands me the folder.

  “Excellent, Alfred, thank you. That will be all.”

  Before he takes his leave, Sarah stops him. “Alfred, are you hungry?”

  He looks back at me then at her. “Mr. Hawthorne had my meal sent out the employee entry in a doggy bag, but thank you.”

  Son of a bitch, I think as I watch him walk away, then I look back at Sarah. “It was a takeout container with his favorite, surf and turf. Trust me, Sarah, Alfred isn’t going to starve, nor do I take advantage of the people I hold dear.”

  “I didn’t assume so.” She eyes the folder, and I hand it to her.

  “Right, let’s get to it. The changes you requested are now changed. No spitting, fis—”

  She practically yells, “I can read!” Before looking around, as if to make sure no one is looking.

  “I’ve ensured we have privacy here. We can talk freely.”

  She drinks down the remainder of the contents in her glass, sits back, and opens the folder.

  “As you can see, I’ve left the Caile. It’s less objectifying than the use of Sir’s slut or whore, whilst being more formal than given names when we’re in a sexual situation.” Which I intend to be more often than not. “Mr. Hawthorne can be used in public. In turn, I will call you Ms. Golden. Other private and non-sexual situations, I agree to the use of your given name and your use of mine. Do you have any objections?”

  “I object to whore or slut at any time.”

  I type it into the notes on my phone. “The requested changes are noted, and we’ll move on to the limits section. All your objections from soft limits have been moved to hard, with exception to spanking and—”

  She interrupts, “That’s a hard limit for me.”

  I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “I’d like you to experience it rather than dismiss it completely. Your safe words can be used at any time to stop anything you're uncomfortable with.”

  “Even during,” she leans in and whispers, “punishment.”

  I answer quickly, “Of course.”

  She sits back and looks down. “Sharing me, giving me away temporarily?”

  What the fuck, Dante, I think. “I can assure you I'm not into the whole cuckold scene. If there is another introduced, it will be done for pleasure, and I will be a participant as well.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Safe words,” I remind her.

  Nodding, she swallows hard as she looks back down at the contract.

  “The date is blank.”

  I pull a pen from my jacket pocket and hand it to her. “I plan to be here for three weeks. If after that time we decide that, upon my return, we should extend the date then—”

  “Let’s get through a week and revisit.”

  She nibbles on the end of the pen as she continues reading. Finally, she sets it down, lets out a slow breath as she sits forward, and reaches for the bottle of wine.

  I grab it before she does and fill her glass, but only half full.

  She points to her glass. “So is this part of it? You control my alcohol intake as well?”

  “Aye, when it’s best for you.”

  “And it’s best for me not to get shit-faced before signing my name to a—” Her lips snap shut, and she picks up the pen.

  The moment the ink hits paper, a weight lifts from my shoulders—a weight I hadn't realized I’d been carrying. I feel relieved to have this woman with me—for now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fun leydike feser iz der lyarem greser.

  (Empty barrels make the most noise.)

  - Yiddish proverb

  Sarah

  He fed me.

  I repeat. He. Fed. Me.

  I know this shouldn't make me giddy like a schoolgirl. I’m far from it. And I know I shouldn't be thinking about the movie Pretty Woman, because even though they’re both handsome, Beckett Hawthorne is no Richard Gere. He’s an Irishman who wants me as his submissive sex toy and will be addressing me as, Caile, which means serving girl.

  As he pointed out, it’s better than slut or whore—which in the vanilla world, where I have lived the first ‘chapter’ of my life—would be considered a verbal slap in the face. It definitely wasn’t in the world I fantasized about dipping my toe in for months.

  Well, the fantasy is now a reality, and fingers crossed, it won’t end up leaving me in physical pain, unemployed, or woefully wronged by whirlwind fantasies about babies that never would be and love that would screw up my zen.

  In an effort to be honest, the Irishman was incredibly handsome and extremely talented with all his…appendages the last time we were together. I’m more than a little shocked that he’s back, and as my freaking boss no less, because never in a million filthy fantasies did I expect this to become a reality.

  To be even more honest, I’m secretly happy we have a contract of sorts, because like he pointed out, there is no room for confusion about what comes next. It’s sex. It’s kinky, dirty, unbridled sex.

  “Freeing,” I say out loud, so inwardly happy.

  “Sarah?” He smiles.

  I turn to him. The way he says my name combined with his grip on my hand has me floating. He lifts my palm to his mouth and kisses me. Suddenly, realization hits like a punch to the throat, that my admittance was out loud. “When I said freeing, I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m so glad you did.” He kisses the back of my hand and then places it on his lap. “Very glad indeed. And I agree.”

  He places his other hand over mine and slides the one under mine out.

  “Oh my.”

  “Are you surprised, Caile?” He grips my hand and rubs it down and then up his impressive, very…very impressive length. “My cock gets hard every time I think of you, every time I’ve seen you. You’ve made me wait two days, a punishable offense.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry. You’d yet to sign the contract.”

  I lift my hand again, and he kisses it before linking our fingers and placing our clasped hands between us. Worry and anticipation dance in my belly as we get closer to the resort.

  “Tonight, you’ll stay with me, and you’ll do so because it pleases me. In turn, I will make you come enough times
that one orgasm will get lost in the next.”

  A giggle escapes me, and I’m not a giggler.

  “Do you find that amusing? Do you doubt my promise?”

  “No. I remember all too well.”

  “No, Sir.”

  “But we’re not alone.” I nod toward the front of the SUV.

  “Alfred will be around often. Consider him privy to all of our goings on. Anything you need when I’m indisposed, he’ll provide.”

  “You didn’t mention me staying all night. I do have a home. I have things.”

  “You have no pets. Your plants will survive a day or three without being watered.”

  “How do you know I don’t have pets?”

  He turns and looks at me. “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  His thumb rubs soothingly across the back of my hand as we pull into the resort. Instead of heading to the employee lot, Alfred pulls the SUV around to the back by the loading dock.

  When the SUV comes to a stop, Beckett quickly opens the door, still holding my hand, and steps out. I slide out behind him. I nearly have to run to keep up. The man's strides are long and quick.

  He walks to a door that I’ve never used and swipes a card. Once inside the small entry, he swipes a card and an elevator door opens. Inside the car, he punches in a code.

  Even the elevator doesn't take its time. It seems that everything Beckett wants, he gets in a snap. He stands with his back to me, facing the door, still holding my hand as we quickly ascend. When the elevator stops, I follow him out. Looking around, I’m slightly confused by the fact that we aren't in the penthouse.

  It’s only when he looks back that I realize I’ve hesitated.

  “Sarah, there is no need to be afraid of me.”

  I nod. “I’m not afraid. I was expecting to be on the upper floor, that’s all.”