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

by MJ Fields

  “This is just below the penthouse. It’s where we’ll meet the majority of the time.” He swipes the card and opens the door. “I’d like you to consider it your home away from home.”

  He flicks on the lights and pauses as I take in the area. It’s the same size and shape as the penthouse, but it’s nothing like it. From my vantage point at the entry, I can safely say that it’s the sleekest apartment I’ve ever seen. I take a step inside and see the kitchen at the back wall, with stainless steel appliances and a gorgeous black and white marble backsplash above a shiny range. That same marble is used for an island that seats two. I can imagine Beckett having coffee here in the mornings. Will I? The living room is comfortable yet modern, with a gorgeous low white U-shaped couch and a big-screen television above a rectangular fireplace that’s already on. I exhale, not even sure where to begin. I know the views here are spectacular, but it seems that he added lighting above the windows, making them glow. I walk over to them, amazed.

  “I made sure they set this up for me prior to my arrival. My designer does a good job, aye? She knows me well.”

  “It’s… wow. Just, wow.” Really, I want to tell him that it’s taken my breath away. I’ve always lived decently well—middle class with two hardworking parents. Even after my mother passed away, my father worked hard, and we had a good life. Our things weren’t shiny, but they weren’t torn, either. But this? This is another level of extravagant. I press my lips together, suddenly feeling kind of worn out next to shiny Beckett.

  He walks over to where I stand, leaning against the window. “It’s comfortable, is what it is. I like convenience and comfort. I work seven days a week. When I want to unwind, I like having these things at my disposal.”

  I nod. “I see.” And the truth is, I do see. I see him. I see this amazing place. I’m just wondering if I’ll be able to keep myself shallow enough to enjoy it all at arm’s length without stressing.

  “I plan for you to be here on weekends and at least three evenings during the week. You’ll have Alfred available at your beck and call when I’m unavailable to fetch you food from the resort's kitchen, or you can give him a list of items you’d like to stock in the fridge and cupboards.”

  The way he looks at me, I can tell he’s waiting for me to object. I don’t want to disappoint him, do I? “I’m sure it’s something we can negotiate.”

  He pulls me tight against him, and I gasp before he brushes the back of his hand gently down the side of my face. “There is no negotiating inside these walls. Do you understand, Caile?”

  I nod.

  “It’s yes, Sir.” His reminder is taken as intended, a soft yet firm demand.

  “Yes, Sir.” The words taste foreign coming out of my mouth, but not bitter.

  “Caile, no more talking. I want your sweet mouth filled with my cock, and I know you hunger for it, too.”

  Before I have a chance to even process what he just said, my hand is on his erection, and he’s moving it slowly up and down his massive length.

  He is not wrong. I do want to please him. Hell, I’ve thought about him, dreamt about him since March 17th when I left a note and did the walk of…not shame.

  The moment he took my hand from the time we left the vehicle, I felt his power and the electricity surge between us—a feeling that was undeniable.

  And now, he’s hard under my hand.

  His dark, thick hair is slicked back and wavy, the ends just touching the nape of his suit jacket. His crisp white shirt and charcoal gray tie cover him beautifully as if at this one magical time of year, clothing is allowed to be proud of whom it hangs on. His green eyes sparkle when they meet mine and then turn nearly black when he touches me.

  Looking up at him now, I once again allow myself to take in the impressive stance he holds. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and big, bigger than any man I have ever been with. His erection, although hidden behind his suit pants, I know is massive. Myth busted—Irishmen are hung.

  “Caile, my cock needs your attention.” His voice is my command. One in which I am willing to cave to. “But first.” He takes my hand and turns me around, so I’m facing the windows. The view is amazing, the slopes outlined by a million lights. “I need to get you naked.”

  In our reflection against the darkness of night, I watch as he quickly unbuttons my silk blouse that falls open, exposing my blush-colored bra. His lips run up the side of my neck, causing my nipples to pebble immediately.

  His large hands grip my hips tightly, then slowly skim up my sides, his lips still wet against my neck.

  His hands glide up, and he cups my breasts as he quickly and skillfully unclasps my front closure before running his thumb across my nipples.

  Using his teeth, he pulls the shoulder strap of my left shoulder and wraps his arm around me while using his other hand to pull the bra strap and the shirt off my shoulder. “Arm out, Caile,” he whispers against my skin. Then, he does the same on the other side, and I watch as the delicate fabric falls like snow on the floor.

  I step back, and the loss of his heat against my body is felt immediately.

  He grips the bottom of my knee-length skirt and pulls it up, so it now gathers around my waist, exposing my matching thong.

  His thumbs hook under the fabric. “Incredibly sexy, Caile. You did this for me.”

  I should be embarrassed, tell him no, this was everyday wear for me. But that would be a lie. Aside from my need to be truthful, I like that he seems pleased, proud even.

  So I say nothing. After all, it wasn’t a question.

  He grips my ass. “Hands on the glass.”

  When I start to step forward, he grips my hips stopping me, “Your feet stay planted, bend at your waist.”

  Again, I do as asked, watching in the window at his reflection as he licks his lips while looking me over with evident appreciation.

  He groans as he pulls my panties down. “In just a few short months and your arse has blossomed into utter perfection. I’d like to say it had something to do with my seed, yet I didn’t come inside of you, not yet.” He squats out of my view as he runs his hands up my ankle to my knee and lifts one leg, then the next as he removes my panties.

  I hear him inhale deeply and groan, “You smell delicious, Caile.”

  My knees buckle as a shiver overtakes my entire body, just thinking about him tasting me, licking me. He grips my hips and steadies me, then palms my ass before spreading my cheeks. “I’ve never wanted to fuck an arse like I want to fuck yours.”

  You know the sound a record player makes as the needle scratches across the vinyl when things have gone awry? I want this, but I’m not a fictional character, and this may sound unbelievably hot, but it’s actually scary. “Um—”

  “Don’t worry, sweet Caile, not tonight,” he groans as he squeezes me harder while he stands. “Turn around now.”

  I turn while looking up at him as he steps back, loosening his tie.

  I watch in complete fascination as he removes his tie and shirt, exposing the ink on his arms, and shoulders doing absolutely nothing to hide the bulging muscles beneath them. I have no idea if he had gotten more or if in my drunken green beer stupor, I didn’t quite notice them all…between orgasms.

  I swallow down my desire as he slowly unbuckles his black leather belt and removes it as he walks around me, looking me over appreciatively. Unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down, I watch as his thick, hard cock springs free. “You are a stunning woman, Caile.”

  “You’re.” I pause, shake my head, and once again clear my throat. “Incredible.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” He fists his cock and hisses, “On your knees. I want your beautiful lips around my cock.”

  I sink down. There is no shame in my game. This is, after all, my wildest fantasy. I look up, and we lock eyes.

  “Don’t overthink this. I’m not like other men, Caile. If I want something, I make it mine.” He steps forward and grabs the back of my head, pulling my hair back as he strokes himself
and rubs the tip of his cock across my quivering lips. “How I adore your sweet little mouth. Now open wide.”

  As soon as I open my mouth, he thrusts into it, causing me to gag slightly. “Suck my cock, Caile. Take what you want and give me what I need.”

  My mouth is watering, and my heart is beating like a raging drum against my chest.

  “Take it.” He grabs the root of himself, and I lick and suck up and down him. When my lips touch his hand, he lets go. I suck, lick, and stroke him with all the hunger that has built up inside of me, for months…years, until I need to stop to take a breath.

  “Don’t be gentle. I sure as fuck have no plans to be.”

  “Oh, God,” I whisper as I stare at his strong, thick, veiny shaft as he strokes it.

  “Are you ready for more?”

  “Yes, yes, please,” I admit out loud.

  “Sir.”

  “Sir,” I repeat.

  “Oh, Sarah,” he groans my name—my real one, as I wrap my lips around his wide head and swipe my tongue around it in circles, then take him deeper. “That’s it, my beautiful Sarah. Take what you can, and then tackle even more.”

  Imagine being starved for months only to realize you had been starved for your entire life. That’s exactly how I feel, starved for a man, a real man.

  I push his hand free, and he groans, “You’re greedy for my cock.”

  I grip him trying to close my hand around him. It’s impossible as his girth is unbelievable. “Do the best you can, Sarah. Tighter grip,” he demands, and I do. “Yes, yes, I knew you’d be perfect. Deeper.”

  Chapter Twelve

  He didn’t lick it off a stone.

  - Irish saying

  Beckett

  Sitting at my desk, hands linked behind my head, I look up.

  My cock stirs in my pants as I recall the events of last night.

  I wouldn’t say that Sarah is amazing in the oral department, but she got an A+ for effort. She also got a mouthful of cum much sooner than I care to admit. No, it wasn’t her skill that caused me to hold nothing back. It was the hunger in her eyes. She definitely knew what she wanted.

  She wanted me, and I’m unashamed to admit, I wanted her even more.

  A first in my lifetime.

  Sarah fought hard against me driving her home at the end of the night, but I saw her exhaustion, and I knew that was my doing. My need to thoroughly ravish her repeatedly, looking into her eyes, our bodies crackling with intensity and yearning. It was my obligation, my duty, my need for control. I simply couldn’t let her go until she truly couldn’t move a muscle.

  Alfred drove her dodgy car behind mine so I could drive her myself in the vehicle. She all but fell asleep in the passenger seat, but I held her hand throughout the drive—another first for me. Typically, Alfred will take the women I’ve had home. But for reasons I don’t care to admit, I wanted to do it myself.

  I grumble, recalling her tiny apartment. No doorman and no elevator. Just four flights up a narrow, dark staircase and a lock that was so weak, it seemed that locking it must be more out of habit than anything else.

  If I have my way, she’ll be staying on the eleventh floor as much as I can possibly keep her there.

  “Alfred!” I yell toward the open door.

  Walking in, he places a slight smile on his face. “Yes, Mr. Hawthorne?”

  “What kind of job can we create here that gives Ms. Golden a company vehicle and a permanent suite on the eleventh floor?”

  He rubs his chin, and the glint in his eye reveals he’s not in deep thought, but rather he’s about to give me shit.

  “As you know, Mr. Hawthorne, you can do whatever you’d like. However, her fellow employees who've been here for, I don’t know decades prior to Ms. Golden, may begin asking questions.”

  “I don't give a fuck what they ask.”

  “Then, by all means, Mr. Hawthorne, make her the queen of floor eleven, give her a crown, a Range Rover, and don’t worry that the moment you leave, she will begin being snubbed by the others.”

  “I’ll fire them.”

  “And you think that a woman like Ms. Golden, who drives a twelve-year-old RAV4 and lives in a studio apartment. A woman who worries her plants may die if she doesn't talk to them for a night isn’t going to harbor resentment toward you or, worse, guilt about the situation?”

  “Hey, Alfred?” I give him a tight smile.

  “Yes, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “You’re excused.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. And by all means, call me back in if you need to talk through your feelings.” With perfect posture, he turns and walks away.

  He’s an arsehole—an arsehole whom I respect to always put me in my place. Not even my brothers dare do such a thing.

  Grabbing a pen and notepad, I do what I do best. Brainstorm a solution to fix this inconvenient complication. Ms. Golden and her sexy arse, her sultry lips, and her addictive pussy will be living somewhere that suits her and driving something that will keep her safe.

  Standing in the stifling hot and humid hallway on the fourth floor in front of her apartment, I knock on the flimsy wooden door. Let me be frank—I could blow it open. But I won’t, because I was raised better than that.

  When she opens the door, her smile tips, and she looks confused.

  “This isn’t going to work.” I step inside, and she walks backward away from me.

  “What—what are you doing here?” she whispers as she quickly shuts the door behind us.

  I look around the studio and shrug off my jacket. It’s hot as hell in here, too. “Do you not have air-conditioning?” I look around. It’s clean and organized.

  “Sure do.” She smiles. “My butler just ran to turn it on.”

  I turn back to her. Sarah’s arms are crossed over her chest, causing her breasts to push up and spill over the top of the white tank top she’s wearing. Her eyes are defiant.

  “Beckett,” she calls my attention from her tits to her face.

  I loosen my tie. “It’s too damn hot in here. Your door could be kicked open by a toddler, and this,” I wave my hand about the apartment, “...situation isn’t going to work.”

  “I prefer to be warm. The door has served me just fine, and so has my home.”

  “I’m going to insist you stay—”

  She shakes her head, cutting me off. “I’m not staying at the resort. And it’s NOT in the contract, so save it.”

  “For three weeks, it certainly will,” I insist.

  “You can’t just—”

  I tisk, “Oh, Caile, I certainly can.”

  She holds up her hand. “First it’s not in the contract, second—”

  “Feck the contract,” I snarl.

  I swear her eyes light up and then get instantly heavy with desire. I’m not sure why, as I’ve yet to touch her. Regardless, she’s quiet and clearly turned on. What I did to get this kind of reaction is news to me, and again I realize, American women are a different species.

  “You’ve made the best of your situation.” The look on her face tells me I’ve struck a nerve. But I’ve never been one to ignore reality. “But for three weeks—”

  “I’m not staying at the resort,” she says insistently.

  I silently thank Alfred for the insight as to why that may bother her before offering my solution.

  “I wouldn't expect for you to stay with me the entire time. We agreed upon weekends and three nights a week.” I know I’m pushing it, but pushing it is what I do best.

  She lifts her nose in defiance. “We didn’t agree.”

  I promised myself I’d give her a day to recover, and her need to argue any of this is complete rubbish and makes me want to give her a physical reminder of what I do to her hot body.

  “Tell me, is there someone else I’d be keeping you from that can turn you on, light you up, and make you explode as I do?”

  Her face turns red, her breaths turning shallow. “I-I have friends and a life.”

  I point
to the crates piled with books that I assume she uses as a coffee table. “You’d rather read than have multiple, mind-blowing orgasms?”

  Flustered, she shakes her head. “No! I mean yes, but also no.”

  “This conversation has gone in directions in which I’m not prepared for. Back on task.” I step around her to the door. “I’d like you to take a ride with me.”

  “But I was busy, Beckett. You can’t just barge in here and take over.”

  Her mouth hanging open when I walk around her and grab a handful of books. “Now there’s nothing keeping you that can’t come along.”

  “I have a schedule.”

  I look down at the books and read the titles. “Which one do you have scheduled this evening? Bridgerton, Outlander, Warrior Undone, or Unraveled?”

  Rolling her eyes, she reaches for the books. “I have to make dinner, too.”

  I hold them over my head like a schoolboy. “You’ll eat, Sarah. But indulge me for a bit of time.”

  “You really aren't going to let this go?” She shakes her head, disappointed.

  Opening the door, I answer, “Not a chance. Grab your purse and keys.”

  I park her vehicle and turn it off, but the little bugger sputters and pops. I look at her sitting in the passenger seat, hugging her books and looking out the window at the beautiful townhouse in Mountain Valley. She’s too quiet, but I don’t want to disturb her thoughts by talking.

  “I don’t know where we are or who lives here, but I look less than professional. I’m in a tank top and cutoffs.” She looks down at her clothes.

  “You look bloody amazing.” I leave the car and walk around the vehicle. I swear the engine is still gurgling. This thing isn't fit for a sixteen-year-old kid to drive in a field, let alone Sarah to drive daily.

  I open the passenger door, and she simply looks up at me, still hugging her books like a life raft. “I thought about it, and it’s probably in your best interest if we don’t spend weekends at the resort, aside from the occasional lunch quickie. So, this is where we’ll spend much of our time together.”