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

by MJ Fields

  I pull into the driveway and park my car, trying to walk instead of running to the front door. I open it using my key and find him sitting with his legs spread on the living room couch. He’s wearing a navy suit with a white shirt beneath. God, how sexy can a man be? Tussled chestnut brown hair. Those cheekbones. Those lips. I’m not worthy of a man this good-looking, but as Julia keeps pointing out, I should thank God instead of making him question what he’s brought to me.

  Beckett raises a brow, and I realize I’ve been gawking. “Hey.”

  He stands to his full height. Was he always this big?

  “Hey?” He shakes his head, tisking as he uses his foot to push the ottoman toward me and nods to it as if telling me to have a seat. “Try again, Caile. And this time, on your knees.”

  I let my purse fall from my shoulder to the floor and move toward it slowly, allowing myself time to enjoy the feel of my erect nipples pressing into my bra as I move.

  Slowly I lower myself down to my knees on the brown leather ottoman, licking my lips that have now gone dry with desire and anticipation for him. “Hello, Sir.”

  “That’s better. Lift your skirt. Now.”

  There are times in the past several days, nearly a week, that I feel like my wires are crossed, yet still, I fight through the embarrassment of the fact I am soaked for him. The evidence is obvious on the silky red panties tucked away in my purse, but still, I do as he demands and lift my skirt, the cool air giving rise to goose bumps.

  His skilled tongue moistens his lips as he stares between my spread legs. “Delectable. You cause such a hunger to burn inside of me, Caile. I’d love nothing more than to enjoy you. But I assume you’re hungry too, aye?”

  I raise my eyes just a bit. “Yes, Sir.”

  Standing, he shrugs off his suit jacket as he turns and moves to the kitchen, opening the enormous Sub-Zero stainless-steel refrigerator and pulling something out. Turning around, he sets a silver tray filled with strawberries and a bowl of whipped cream beside it. After unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, his deft hands move to the buttons down the front. I’m nearly mesmerized by the way his fingers move so quickly, but more so by the sight of his body. Never in my lifetime would I have imagined anyone's body could look like that outside of advertisements and social media posts. And never in two lifetimes could I ever have thought that a man like him would want a woman like me. The boys used to call me Sarah Plain and Tall in high school, like that boring book. Tall, I’m not. But plain? Plain, is me.

  Shrugging his shirt off and laying it over the high back chair, he looks me over hungrily. “I’d like to start with dessert.”

  “I’d love to be that for you.”

  His eyebrows shoot up, nearly off his head.

  Shit! “Sir.”

  “I’d like you to go to the bedroom beside ours.” He shakes his head and corrects himself. “Strip naked and lie down. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  I walk into the room that Julia and Layla stayed in during their sleepover last Thursday night. The blinds are closed, and the only light in the room comes from the door that I left open.

  There are restraints on all four posts of the bed, as well as a pink vibrator that just a few months ago would have frightened me. Now I know that such girth and length will not hurt me. Beckett is bigger in both areas.

  I quickly—and possibly a bit too eagerly—undress and lay my clothes across the chaise lounge by the window, making sure they won’t wrinkle when I put them back on and before returning to work.

  Lying on the large bed completely bare, I close my eyes and wait for Beckett.

  When he walks in, I open my eyes and see the head of his cock, peeking out of his unbuttoned slacks. My knees and insides clench.

  He sets the tray of strawberries and the bowl of whipped cream on the table by the side of the bed and squeezes his tip with his fist, groaning, like he couldn’t wait to do that. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

  He grabs my left ankle and quickly places the leather cuff around it.

  “The possibilities are endless, Sir.”

  His lips, set in a firm line, twitch in amusement before settling back into a line. “That was a rhetorical question, Caile. And that was two.”

  Warnings. He’s counting warnings! I should be afraid, but the truth is, I’m excited.

  He grabs my right ankle and restrains it quickly.

  “Sir, please remind me what the first warning was?”

  He moves to the head of the bed and leans across me, securing my wrist. “I’d mind your tongue and busy your mind with what happens when I get to three.”

  The broad head of his cock is less than an inch from my face. Without another thought, I lick it.

  He hisses and then chuckles darkly as he straightens his stance, grabbing my last and final wrist, restraining it. “That’s three.”

  “Wait, I—”

  “No more, Caile,” he snarls as he reaches down and grabs something under the bed.

  “Beckett, what are you—”

  “Four and five.” When he stands at his full height, he tosses a long, thin leather paddle on the bed—mischief dances in his eyes before he shoves his pants down.

  Oh. Shit.

  Beckett climbs on the bed stroking his cock, kneeling beside me, his green eyes darkening, so he looks almost possessed. Grabbing the back of my neck, he lifts it. “Open your mouth, and don’t you dare say a word.” He rubs his cock across my lips. “I wanted to feed you first, but apparently, you’re hungrier for my cock than food.”

  “Mmmnnnn.”

  “I said open your mouth, you naughty, naughty, Caile.”

  I open. Just like he always enters my pussy, rough and with need, he buries his cock in my mouth…down my throat. “Suck, and don’t you stop until told to do so.”

  He pulls out slightly, allowing me the chance to inhale a much-needed breath, and releases the back of my head.

  “Caile, suck.”

  I take him almost as deep as he took it upon himself to bury himself in my throat, close my eyes, and suck.

  Smack.

  Gasping, I open my eyes, and they meet his. “That was one. I never gave you permission to stop sucking my cock. It’s now five.”

  Smack.

  I cry out at the shocking pleasure derived from him paddling my bare pussy.

  “Two,” he groans when I suck hungrily on his cock.

  Smack.

  “Uhhhhh.” my pleasure-filled cry muffles around him.

  “Three,” he hisses when I begin stroking him as I lick the bulging veins on the underside of his thick, hot, and impossibly hard erection.

  Smack.

  “Four,” he groans as my hips thrust up, chasing the leather.

  “Fuck, Sarah,” he whisper hisses as his hips thrust, causing me to take him deeper.

  Smack.

  I quickly close my legs around the leather and rotate my hips, desperately needing to reach that spot. My mind has shut down, and all I can do is feel.

  Gripping the back of my hair, he thrusts in and out of my greedy mouth, chasing his own release.

  “Clean,” he snarls. “Gonna fill your mouth with my cum,” he growls, fisting my hair in his hands.

  I open my mouth wider, my eyes unable to leave his. I’m mesmerized by this man and his impending undoing. He fills my mouth, as promised. I swallow it all, wanting this more than I ever thought possible.

  As soon as he’s finished, he swiftly pulls out. His eyes swallow me in, and something passes between us. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. He turns around and gives me his back.

  Still, my clit pulses. My legs are sore from fighting the restraints, but frankly, I’m too high on what just happened to say anything other than “Please.”

  Back still to me, he clears his throat. “I should deny you for a week, Caile. Teach you not to be so greedy.”

  My mouth drops open in shock. “Please don’t—”

  “That’s one.” His tone is bac
k to the dominant and sexy.

  “Sir.”

  Squaring his shoulders, he turns, staring down at me. Sweat glistens his muscled chest. “Patience.”

  I purse my lips and force myself silent as he sits beside me, his cock still hard. He’s taunting my orgasm.

  He picks a large strawberry off the tray and dips it in the whipped cream.

  “One for Caile.” He rubs it across my lips, and I open my mouth. He sets it inside, and I moan, the sweet juices filling my mouth and seeping from the corners of my lips.

  He places a second dipped strawberry on the hollow of my neck. “Don’t move, don’t squirm, and don’t let them fall.”

  I swallow the strawberry and nod. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Another for Caile,” he whispers, dipping another in the cool whip and holding it to my mouth.

  I lick my lips before opening my mouth. His nostrils flare. I close my lips around the strawberry and moan purposely.

  When I open my eyes, his jaw is set. He takes his time looking away as I take my time chewing the strawberry.

  He drags the whipped topping down my cleavage and sets it there, whispering, “Don’t you dare move, Caile.”

  I swallow the strawberry, trying not to pant. “I wouldn't dare.”

  He glances up at me, and I finish my sentence, “Sir.”

  His beautiful eyes narrow a bit. “Are you trying to provoke me, Caile?”

  Yes. Yes, I am. And I’m loving every damn minute of it.

  “I would never...Sir.”

  “Uh huh.” He grabs another strawberry and dips it.

  “Another for you.” His voice is a rasp, and it sends chills down my spine. This slow, very, very slow seduction continues until I have strawberries all the way down my body, the last sitting just above my most sensitive part.

  When he stands up, the bed shifts, and one of the strawberries, the last he placed, rolls down and lands between my legs.

  “You moved.” His smile is taunting.

  “Is that two?” I whisper, inwardly begging.

  “It is now.”

  I bite my lower lip to stop the smile from spreading across my face. It’s sexy, and it’s wild, but most of all, I’m enjoying myself. These games he plays—they’re fun. And exciting. And turns me on like nothing else.

  He shakes his head, a lock of hair falling in front of his face, as he grabs a handful of strawberries and walks to the end of the bed. “If I recall, you were adamant that spanking should be taken off the list?”

  “Silly me.” I bite the corner of my mouth to suppress my smirk.

  “Oh, Caile.” He sits between my spread legs, reaches down, and runs a finger lightly up and down my soaked seam. “Tell me, would you like to come?”

  His finger slides slowly inside of me as I attempt to restrain movement and moan.

  “Please, Sir. Yes,” I whimper, my insides greedily squeezing him.

  “I’ve yet to eat.” He releases my legs one at a time from the leather restraints while still lazily fingering me. My legs are crying, but I ignore them.

  He grabs a strawberry and bites into it. “Move up a bit.”

  I wiggle upward, and as soon as I do, he moves over me, his face level with my pussy, and looks up. “I’m starving.”

  When he runs a strawberry up and down my seam, I gasp. When his mouth covers me, my hips thrust against him. He’s licking and sucking like he’s a man, starved.

  I wonder, but only briefly, if that could be considered kosher. Survey says yes!

  And then I come.

  But nothing stops him from licking whipped cream, eating strawberries, kissing, nipping, and sucking his way up my body. He’s slow and methodical and lazy. It’s driving me mad. My poor legs—still shaking from orgasm and exhausted from the restraints—are seemingly on strike.

  Beckett makes his way up my body until his lips press against mine. His eyes, my God, those intense green gems bore into mine as he grips my hair and hisses, “There’s no part of you I don't want to touch, fuck, and taste. Don’t deny me any part of you.”

  “Take every part of me. I’m yours.”

  “Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead to mine.

  I feel his cock nudge my entrance, and he bares his teeth. “I need to fuck you.”

  “Are you.” I shut my eyes tight, embarrassed at the question I am asking. It’s not a question I suspect most women ask men, certainly not men like him. “Clean?”

  “Fuck yes, I am.” He stops, and I open my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “Are you?”

  “I’m one hundred percent clean and one hundred percent covered as far as birth control,” I assure him. I could tell him more. Like the fact that a baby will never be in my future, but I don’t. I leave it as it is.

  He pushes up on his elbows, his thumb stroking down my cheek. “I won’t last long.”

  “Then you’ll do it again and again and again…” I giggle, and he laughs, too. He’s regular Beckett again, and while I obviously enjoy the hell out of dominant Sir, I love this side also.

  Reaching between us, his eyes never leaving mine, he rubs the head of his massive cock against my folds, pushing into me and stilling. “I’ve forgotten how fucking good raw feels.”

  “I have…oh, God!” I cry as he slams into me, over and over…and over again and again, and again, and… Again.

  Rolling off of me after countless orgasms, he whispers, “Rest your eyes for a moment, Sarah.”

  Exhausted, sore, sated, and consumed by his scent, I force my eyes open and lift my head off his broad chest to look at the alarm clock.

  “Oh my God! I’m three hours late from lunch!” I pop up off the bed, wondering where the hell my clothes are, as I ask myself how I could be so stupid.

  “Don’t worry, Caile. I let them know you were taking the afternoon off.” He leans back in the huge bed, putting his muscled arms behind his neck.

  “No, Beckett. This is my job. If I don’t show up, the other reservationists will have more work to do.” I find my bra and shirt, buttoning it up as quickly as I can.

  “It’s one day. Hell, it’s half a day. You haven’t taken a day or an extra hour off since you’ve begun work. And I won’t fire you. I promise.” He looks happy—a little too happy.

  “That’s not the point.” My fingers shake as I button the last of my shirt. “You can’t do this to me. I thought you appreciated my commitment. And I want to rise up in your company. Not because we’re having sex but because I do the work, put in the time, and I deserve it.”

  His face suddenly changes, as though something I said actually resonated. “I understand.” He sits up. “Look, I don’t want our situation, as casual as it may be, to make any kind of waves.”

  “I know I’ve gotten a bit of a late start in finding a decent job, but it’s not because of my work ethic or aptitude.” A lump rises in my throat. Maybe he looked at my resume and saw the shitty hotel I worked in before his? Maybe he thinks I’m not smart or hardworking. Maybe he doesn’t take me seriously? I look at my skirt and pumps lying on the floor and realize what a giant mistake I’ve made. It may be a fun few weeks, but in the end, I’ll have a boss who thinks I’m a whore, and colleagues who’ll think I fucked my way in my position.

  He gets out of bed and takes my hands. “I’m not sure what’s going on in that head of yours right now, but I don’t think I would approve. Forget the jobs you held prior to this one. You’re damn good. In fact, you’ve reserved more holidays since working for Hawthorne than your colleagues combined. In the past month, you’ve doubled your reservations from the month prior. And the most impressive part is you aren’t a one-trick pony, either. You’ve set people up with reservations all over the globe, which is a lot more than other reservationists can say. I know how hard you work, and I won’t ever see you as someone unimportant. On my word, I kept you here out of selfishness. I wanted to have you today, and I didn’t want to give you back to work.”

  I
look up. His green eyes are so sincere they make my heart pound. “When it comes to my work, I need you to respect it. Even when we’re playing Sir and Caile, nothing can come between me and my job.”

  “If only you knew how that made me feel.” He shakes his head, smiling almost sadly. He lifts a hand, brushing my hair back. “I promise you. Okay, Caile?”

  I nod before realizing just how much I trust this man.

  “Now, let’s get back into bed. I’ve got a chef coming to cook us dinner tonight.”

  “Can the chef cook for four? I sort of told Julia and Layla to come over this evening. I can canc—”

  “Of course, the chef can cook for four. This place is yours.” He pushes an errant hair from my face before trailing his hand downward.

  The rest of the afternoon, we talked. And laughed. I traced the patterns of his tattoos, and he kissed the freckles on my back and my chest. I decided, and then confirmed, that I loved the way Beckett looks at me. He drinks me in with his eyes and manages to take in every inch of me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. But the best part of the afternoon was listening to him talk about his parents and the love they shared. He looks up to them with so much admiration and respect. My heart broke for him that they’re gone now, and anyone with a brain could tell that their deaths affected him tremendously. There was so much I wanted to tell him, too. About my own parents, the loss of my mother, and my health. But I felt like I would ruin what we have. It’s too dark. Too deep. And if I brought up my past, I was worried to scare him off or ruin the great thing we have going. So, my mouth stayed silent, even though my heart wanted to speak.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When the apple is ripe, it will fall.

  -Irish proverb

  Beckett

  I love the pride Sarah takes in what little she has, almost as much as I love how eager she is to please and be pleased. And while sex tops the list of things I enjoy most in life, so does taking care of the needs of those I choose to let into my personal world.

  No one I’ve bedded has even remotely made me feel need in the way Sarah has. The fact that she’s completely resistant to it makes me want to do it even more.