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

by MJ Fields

  “Full,” I whimper, circling my hips.

  “Good.” He rocks forward, his cock stretching me further. “I promise you, Caile, you’ll never feel empty when I’m near.”

  I’m not sure why that warms the part of me I wish to remain cold, or at very least chilled when it comes to Beckett Hawthorne, my heart, but it does.

  “Oh. God,” I gasp as he begins thrusting in and out, hard and fast, over and over and over again.

  Fucking me hard and fast, expertly, his fingers biting into one hip, the other hand pulling at the knot of the blindfold. I keep my eyes closed as they adjust to the light, and when I finally open them, the mirror acts like a camera capturing the image of the sexiest man I’ve ever seen and a woman I almost don’t recognize… me.

  “So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Beautiful.” Thrust.

  For the first time in my life, I feel those words. I feel beautiful, happy, and safe in this strange arrangement.

  He licks his lips and hisses as he pulls out, instructing me to turn around. As soon as I do, his lips smash against mine as he lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his waist.

  Kissing me with visceral hunger, he carries me into the bedroom and lays me on the powder blue duvet.

  He glides the thick broad head of his dick against my soaked slit and then pushes inside me, slowly this time, gently even. Back arching, I look away from our connection and into his eyes.

  “So good,” I whimper. And I mean it. I mean it so much, I almost want to cry.

  “Incredible,” he growls, gripping the back of my hair with his hand.

  He lifts my leg up, resting it over his muscled shoulder, and as he fucks me, his green eyes never leave mine.

  In a sweaty heap, we’re panting. I turn to face him, glad we made it to the bed. He still has a dominant arrogance, and yet, he’s somehow softer.

  “This place is gorgeous...Beckett.” I say his name in a half-whisper before holding my breath, wondering if he’ll tell me I’m still to call him Sir.

  He raises a brow at me. “I agree. It’s fantastic.”

  “So it’s okay then? For me to call you by your name when we’re not, um, playing?”

  “If it makes you comfortable, then sure. I do like calling you Caile, though. You make a very good servant girl.”

  I grab the pillow beside me and smack it on his head. After it thumps, I freeze. What did I just do? Oh, no. It was a quick move. I did it as a joke. Clearly, it wasn’t funny. I move the pillow off slowly, afraid of his reaction. His face is shocked—and he’s not laughing. Suddenly, he bursts into laughter.

  “You asshole! You scared me!” I laugh.

  “I scared you?” he scoffs cheekily. “Who knew you were so lethal with a pillow?”

  Before I can say another word, he grabs a pillow from beside him and smothers my face while tickling my sides. I’m laughing so hard, barely breathing when he lets me up for air. I jump over him in a lame attempt to get him not to move, but in a flash, he’s back in control. And hardening beneath me. I shift, but he holds me to him, pressing me down. His hands surround my ass, and he squeezes before moving me back and forth over his cock. The stimulation to my clit pulls me into a half oblivion. “You feel so good,” I whisper, hoping that he understands not to stop. I lean my head back, my mouth parting.

  “Oh, Caile.” His voice is gravel. “You have no idea. You thought I was done, did you?”

  Back and forth, he grinds me down. Shocks move through my bloodstream like an electric current.

  “I’m not finished. And I won’t be finished for a long, long time.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Life is like a cup of tea. It’s all in how you make it.

  - Irish saying

  Beckett

  She’s sound asleep and utterly stunning in an, ‘I’ve been fucked hard and long, came four times and passed out soon after our last round from exhaustion,’ kind of way.

  And I’m getting hard…

  I’m sure most of Aspen residents, aside from me, my libido, and cock are probably still asleep, just like sweet Sarah. I touch the side of her face, feeling her soft skin. Exhaling, I sit up, knowing that I need to distance my inner seventeen-year-old self from the cause of my cock’s resurrection.

  I take my phone off the side table beside the bed and see that it’s 4:04 a.m. Too early for some, but not for me.

  After brushing my teeth with the blue toothbrush Julia got for me and sliding on my pants, I look at Sarah again as she sleeps. One round breast is exposed above the sheets, my mark darkening her nipple. Instinct taunts me to check to ensure the other is the same, but I remind myself this isn’t a vacation.

  I grab my briefcase housing my laptop, and head to the stairs to get to the living area. Once downstairs, I put on coffee before digging into my files. The moment I open up my emails, I feel a sense of relief. The world is a crazy place where things happen or don’t happen, most of the time based on chance. But my work? My work is an area I like to keep a good grip on. The things I can control, I do. And I’d like to think I do it better than anyone else. Why? Because I work harder. I give it my all. After I dig deep, I push myself to go deeper. My brothers see me as a workaholic, but I don’t take offense. It’s the truth.

  I review a few properties that could be bought when I run into a small, rundown hotel on an enormous piece of land—hundreds of acres in Holiday Springs, Colorado, where my best mate Raff and godson Nathaniel live. I glance at her purse sitting on the counter and lean back, a smile on my face. It’s also where I met Sarah.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I scold myself for acting like a teenager, daydreaming of a memory I will someday forget, as I have all the others in the past. I keep my head down, my eyes focusing on the computer, willing myself to imagine nothing but work.

  Interestingly enough, I initially chose not to buy here. I’ve been saying for quite some time that Aspen is overbuilt, and people are looking to spread out. But a five-star, brand new Hawthorne resort in Holiday Springs, close enough to Aspen but even more exclusive, could be something spectacular.

  I spend my early morning hours researching the owner of said acreage and run-down hotel but can’t seem to figure it out. I pick up my phone, setting a reminder at 9:30 a.m. to reach out to Raff about this.

  I hear rustling behind me and find Sarah padding down the steps in nothing but my white T-shirt. My eyes take in her gorgeous, nude legs.

  “Hey, Beckett.”

  Before I can reply, she takes a seat in my lap, straddling me. She’s so warm and soft. “Good morning.”

  “Should I make breakfast for us? I think I saw some eggs in the refrigerator.”

  The doorbell rings. “I believe that should be it.”

  “You ordered?”

  I lift her off my lap and make my way to the door, taking the bags and handing the delivery guy the tip. With a quick, “Thanks, man,” he leaves.

  I set everything on the table as Sarah makes quick work of finding the placemats and plates.

  “These are so nice!” She sets the table for two as I remove the tops from the containers.

  “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered some of everything.” I point to the first container. “Scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon on the side; ham and cheese omelet; a bowl of berries and an extra side of bacon.”

  She looks at me for a second, and I’m wondering what she’ll say.

  “It looks great.” Her voice comes out flat.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, I do. But, well, I don’t eat bacon.”

  “What? Who doesn’t eat bacon? Bacon is the best.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure it is. But I don’t eat pork.”

  “Do you have an allergy?” I look at her like she’s lost her marbles because clearly, she has!

  “Not exactly. I grew up in a kosher home. And while I don’t follow the dietary laws for the most part anymore, pork is sort of a no-go for me.”

  “Kosher?” I kn
ow I’ve heard the term before, but I can’t place it.

  “Yes. I’m Jewish, and kosher refers to our dietary restrictions. When we were out of the house, we ate more freely, but inside our house, we were stricter. No drinking milk with meat—”

  “So no cheeseburgers?” I have to swallow back my gasp.

  She shakes her head, starting to smile. “I’ve tried it a few times because I’m not too strict. But eating milk with meat together is against the rules. No pork, either. Only certain animals are designated for eating. And then, if the animal is considered kosher, it must also be killed according to a standard and drained properly.”

  “Huh. There’s a lot to think on, but frankly, I’m still stuck on this no-pork thing.”

  She laughs out loud. “Sorry. But the berries do look good. And I’m sure there is some yogurt in the refrigerator.”

  She opens up the refrigerator and takes one out, bringing it with her as she curls up on the kitchen chair. I want to have my food, but feel odd now touching the bacon when I know she can’t eat it.

  She opens her yogurt and berries and then pauses. “Well, don’t be shy. Eat!”

  I give her a look. “Maybe I should have yogurt and berries, too.”

  “Oh, come on.” She laughs. “Just eat your bacon and enjoy it.”

  Seeing the look on her face, so incredibly genuine, makes it harder for me to give in to the bacon. I don’t want to offend or insult her. And frankly, I wouldn’t want to tempt her, either. It’s crispy and perfectly fried. “Nah. I’ll have something else.” Before she can say another word, I throw the food away. And while I hate waste, this feels necessary.

  “Beckett! Why would you do that?”

  “It just doesn’t feel right.” I take out some yogurt from the refrigerator and put some more coffee on for us. Sitting back down, I gather her in my arms so that she’s straddling my lap. “You’re bloody gorgeous. You know that?”

  She lowers her eyes for a moment before bringing them back up to mine. “We both know you’re the hot one in this,” she gestures between us, “situation.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  She slaps my arm. “Yes, you are. You’re insanely hot. You know it. I know it. Every woman with a pulse knows it.”

  “Okay, maybe I’m not too bad…”

  We laugh together and spend the rest of the morning reading the paper, drinking loads of coffee, and finishing all the yogurts in the refrigerator, plus the fresh berries. I never realized how nice it is to be with a woman in this way. Relaxing, she begins to open up. Tells me about her wonderful father, who has since moved to Florida. And hilarious stories about things they’ve done together. And her mother, who passed away when she was fifteen, whom she misses daily. Before I know it, I’m telling her things, too. Stuff about my brothers and how I work like I do so they don’t have to. And my parents, both deceased, who raised me to be the firstborn son in every sense of the word.

  “If they had such a great relationship with your brothers, then why do you shy away from them?” She twirls a piece of hair in her fingers, her head tilted to the side.

  “That’s a good question. I guess my work has always taken over my life. No woman I’ve ever met was enough to make me want to slow down. And then, it just became so easy to be on my own. Never having to compromise and always doing things on my own terms. I just became used to that life, and frankly, I enjoy it. Kids are also something I’ve never wanted to have. Not in this world environment. My best friend Raff has a son whom I love. And my brothers have a great set of kids. And that’s enough for me.” I say the words I’ve always said when people ask me about settling down. But somehow, in front of Sarah, they sound...hollow.

  “Well, I get that. It’s good that you’re so sure of yourself.” Her eyes flit downward.

  “And you’re not?” Another sip of my coffee, but I don’t take my eyes off of her.

  “Well, I’ve been through some things. And it sort of shook up my world.”

  I think back to the night at the bar when we first met. And the phone call last night. She’s holding something back, and it’s serious. “Interesting.” I pause, waiting for her to fill in the gaps. The look in her eyes tells me that it’s heavy and maybe dark. Clearly, there are parts of this woman—depths within her, that I haven’t even begun to tap into. Normally I’d run from something like this in a woman. But with Sarah, I don’t want to move. In fact, I want to know her. All of her.

  But she doesn’t speak. She looks at her phone, declares that we should get a move on. And with her flirty eyes beckoning me, I decide to let her secret stay with her. For now. Her pink tongue glides across her lips, and my cock stirs.

  “Let’s go upstairs.” I smile. “We have yet to use that ‘high-tech’ shower.”

  She giggles. “Let’s hope we don’t drown!”

  Standing up, I throw her over my shoulder and walk with her dangling over my back. She’s so easy with her laughter, giving it all to me, and then some. I love how she doesn’t hide it.

  After a nice loud spank on her arse to change the mood, I put her down and lift my white T-shirt off her body. “On your knees for me, Caile.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ltekhs tepl gefint zikh zayn dekl.

  (Every pot finds its own lid.)

  -Yiddish proverb

  Sarah

  I’ve never had a man in my life who took the upper hand like Beckett does. I thought I had decent sex in my life—but for the record—I was wrong. Completely, unequivocally, and absolutely wrong. Sex with Beckett has taught me that nothing I’ve ever had before him could even remotely be considered good sex. Surprisingly, he doesn’t get too freaky. At least, he hasn’t yet. So far, it’s just been the dominant language. Dominant hands. Dominant body. Dominant words. I cross my legs and take a deep breath, imagining his built back—wide shoulders. Perfect chest. Firm ass. Those tattoos up his arm.

  I drop my head in my hands. Just the memories of Beckett have me losing my damn mind.

  “Sarah? Earth to Sarah!”

  I pop up my head, noticing that Sandra is leaning against my desk. She’s in a tight pencil skirt and white button-down shirt. And while I don’t own that look, it’s what I always wear here at the office.

  “Oh, uh, hey.” I give her a once-over, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Hey? Give me a break. I know that you’re angry that I took your bestie’s job, but let’s get real here. Ignoring me? Not okay. I’m your superior now. When I call you, it’s not just because there’s someone on the phone to make a reservation. It could be important.”

  I sit up a little taller and turn to her. “Okay, Sandra. So what do you need?”

  She blinks a few times. “It’s a call. Julia is on the phone.” She says her name like a curse.

  I roll my eyes and click on my headset, not speaking until Sandra is gone.

  “Hey,” I grumble.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Well, ‘she who took your job’ is incredibly annoying.”

  “No shit. She calls me ten times a day with questions. Meanwhile, I wrote up an entire manual precisely so she wouldn’t have to do that.”

  “She sucks,” I grumble, lifting up my pen.

  “She really does. Anyway, I was wondering if Layla and I could drop in tonight. She is dying to get in the hot tub again.”

  “Of course. Come anytime.”

  “Love you.”

  We hang up, and I get back to work taking reservations. By lunch, I’ve booked three families and one couple to four different Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts around the world. It’s kind of funny how I talk about the resorts as though I know them. Meanwhile, I’ve never even left the country! My wish would be to visit Hawthorne in Paris. It truly looks like the ultimate in luxury and comfort. Close to the Champs-Élysées and all the shopping, it would be a dream.

  My phone rings again, and I curse the new girl at the front desk. It’s lunch, and I’m hungry. Doesn’t she realize that it�
��s one o’clock? Still, I’m thankful for this job. Food will just have to wait. “Hello, and thank you for calling Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts. Sarah speaking. How can I hel—”

  “I have to say, Caile, I love hearing you use my name with such regard and respect.” His heavy Irish accent is so sexy. I have to force myself to stay in control.

  “Well, hello there, Sir. Can I book a vacation for you?” I use my sweetest, most innocent voice.

  “Yes, you can. I’d like to book a two-and-a-half week stay between your sexy and silky legs. What can—”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “You know the woman you put in charge of me can listen in on my conversations at any time.”

  “If she has a problem, she can take it up with her superior. Me.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I like even the thought that you’re her anything, so let’s keep this professional, shall we?”

  “I’m fairly certain I can muster up some professionalism if you can book me a short stay at the lodge. Now.” He’s so take-charge. And it turns me on more than I knew possible.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll take care of that right away, Sir.” My smile has my face feeling like it’s cracking.

  “Lunch will be served. Before you come over, go to the ladies’ room and remove your panties. And while you’re at it, take off those bloody flip-flops. Heels only.” He hangs up.

  I look down at my flip-flops and wiggle my toes. If he only knew how uncomfortable it is to sit in heels all day, he’d…probably still insist.

  Driving to the rental, I find myself wishing I kept my panties on for the ride. Knowing that I’m driving with no underclothes has me feeling more bothered than hot, but the thought of what awaits me turns it right back around, causing me to get hornier by the second, which I don’t need. Ever since meeting Beckett, I’ve got a switch turned on that refuses to turn off. At times it feels rather gluttonous, but with him, all I want to do is feast.