Gettin' Lucky

Chapter Three

Nothing to be nervous about. Just meeting a stranger at his house to discuss…no, negotiate. I frowned at the reminder that this wasn’t to be a pleasant evening. He certainly didn’t make it sound as if he’d cut me a check and fork over a plate of leftovers.

Why did he invite me to dinner? 

Pulling in a calming breath, the crisp early-spring breeze brushed against the daring neckline of my camisole. The black blazer was my version of a power tie, always backing me up in the worst of situations fate led me into. Usually, I paired it with a turtleneck or boxy blouse, but in digging through my laundry all I could find was this low cut cami. Truly, there was nothing else I could wear. It wasn’t as if I wondered what those emerald eyes would do when they’d caress down my cleavage.

Well aware I was stalling, and that for a ten-minute argument I didn’t even need to bother changing, I lifted my finger for the doorbell. The first few jangles broke through the house and I stared down at my surprise-neighbor’s lawn. Prodding through the retreating snow were surprising stretches of green.

Odd, I didn’t remember seeing clover here.

The door that I’d been cowering at for a few minutes blew inward. My foot lashed behind in surprise, prepared to catch my clumsy form, which was right when the heel decided to buckle. I felt my body slipping towards the stone steps, no doubt about to land me in the emergency room for stitches. 

As if parting from the heavens, a hand enveloped my waist. Raw strength froze my descent, pinning me in place as I tripped into emerald eyes. “Evening, Lass,” Conall chuckled while holding me safely in half an embrace. He leaned closer, his nose nearly glancing against the tip of mine. Twin rings of pure gold encircled his pupils, the flecks dancing through his fields of green that sparkled in mine. 

A pulse dug into my hip and along the small of my back, Conall flexing his hand against all of me. Right, he was holding me. On his front step. 

I clumsily slammed my heel into place, finally taking my weight off of him. While he returned his hand to his side, he didn’t look strained at having to hold me up. If anything, his cheeks brightened and the smile rose higher.

“You, you said I should come over,” I babbled and finally let my eyes traverse down his body. The flannel was gone revealing a thin white undershirt straining against a set of shoulders and pecs that’d put most marble statues to shame. There were three buttons at the neckline, the first undone to reveal a tuft of red chest hair poking out. The shirt cuffs were rolled nearly to his elbows, the taut forearms flexing off square wrists. What struck me were the suspenders dangling off the tight grey pants. In his getup, he looked like a factory worker fresh off his shift in the Industrial Revolution. 

An incredibly hot and buff factory worker, who was sweaty in all the right places.

“Indeed I did,” Conall spoke, nearly shaking my lustful thoughts free. Window. Broken. Fix it.

Maybe if I kept repeating that phrase over and over he wouldn’t bamboozle me by taking his shirt off. Oh God, I groaned as he turned to reveal the suspenders framing his round buttocks perfectly. Okay, yes, he could get whatever he wanted if he just asked.

“Please, come inside. I’d offer to take your coat, but you seem daring enough to leave the house without one,” he continued, proving to be the perfect host over my drooling. Taking one last breath, I stepped into his home.

“It’s not that cold,” I laughed at the thought, “or that far a walk next door. When did you move in?”

“I didn’t,” he said taking me aback. “This is one of those app rentals. For a time.”

“Oh?” I glanced around the living room cleaned and impersonal. With the soft grey walls and dark furniture, it looked like the setting of a staged house for a lifestyle magazine. “How long will you be here?”

Conall’s chin pivoted at my question. His eyes began at mine, the emerald gaze amplifying as if he could pluck free my thoughts with a look. If so, he’d probably combust. Slowly, he drifted to my lips and the tip of his tongue lapped the length of his own. I squirmed in my heels, tempted to mimic his movements. But when his eyes landed upon my chest, I froze. 

It was only for a beat, barely a glance, but the edge of his smile turned high and he met me eye for eye. “Depends on if I find what I’m looking for. You may leave your shoes at the door if you wish.”

I hadn’t planned to abandon them, but then I did nearly spill out on the front stoop. While sliding out of one, and tugging off the next, my body contorted so I didn’t bend clean over. “Your business card, the one that says you’re a cobbler…?”

“Oh.” He smiled brightly. “Yes?”

“Just…are you really one? Does anyone need cobbling nowadays?”

“You’d be surprised.” He relaxed his stance and I found my own shoulders unknotting. “Though, I’m not strictly a cobbler. More a jack of all trades. If you need something fixed, I’m the one you call.”

“Now I’m starting to think you work for the mafia,” I muttered to myself when the air went deathly quiet. Tension ripped through the sterile room. All I heard was the slush of my blood pumping through my quickening body.

Conall leaned closer. His feet locked to the floor, but his six foot and counting size easily pushed his lips beside my face. Hot breath tickled down my ear as he whispered, “And you willingly walked into my home. Brave Lass indeed.”

Goosebumps erupted over my arms, my teeth chattering as I turned to face the voice in my ear, and found a disarming smile instead. A laugh rolled in my gut, Conall quickly responding in kind at the shared joke. 

“I am a contractor,” he explained as if to assure me he didn’t have bodies hidden under the floorboards, “carpenter when needed.”

“And occasional cobbler?”

“People too often let good shoes go to waste.”

I was going to give Abby so much grief for her leprechaun theory. He wasn’t some magical, gold-hoarding pixie. He’s a drop-dead gorgeous Irishman who builds things. Perfectly normal. Dime a dozen, really.

“Is that why you were cutting down the tree?” I asked.

Conall squinted. “I don’t know many who use trees for shoes. Excusing the Dutch.” Before I could explain, he laughed and did it for me. “Yes, there was mention of a dead tree in the yard. The landscapers feared it might fall and cause damage. I’m afraid I didn’t realize how rotten the roots became when it tipped into your bedroom.”

I remembered the old elm. It hadn’t shown signs of life in a couple of summers. Maybe a few branches with leaves, but that was it. His story made sense. Better than “I wanted to see if you slept naked and broke your window to get a peek.” 

Bouncing on my naked heels, I said, “I’m amazed I didn’t hear the chainsaw.”

“Chainsaw?”

“To cut down the tree. They’re always so loud and…” I trailed his line of sight behind me toward the front door. “You can hear them for miles,” I kept babbling while staring at an ax that looked like it could cleave a bear in half. It rested against a shoe rack as if it belonged there. 

“You cut it down by hand?”

Conall shrugged. “There is usually some back, chest, and thigh involved as well.” To emphasize, he drew his tree-chopping hand against said body parts which invited me to join in looking. How could I not have noticed those thighs before?

“You, me…” My lips sputtered words incoherently while my imagination flooded with a half-naked Irish lumberjack. “We!” I snapped out of it, realizing I had no idea where I was going. “We were going to discuss fixing the window. My window. My broken window.”

Sweet lord, I sounded like an imbecile, but Conall was kind enough to chuckle at my ineptitude. He leaned nearer, his smile overwhelming me, when a ding broke from further inside the house. “Ah, sounds as if supper is ready,” he declared, spinning on his heel and marching towards the supposed kitchen.

On instinct, I trailed him, giving into the occasional glance at his ass and the sway of the suspenders. “You had no idea when I’d come over and it just got done now?” I voiced one of the less incriminating thoughts in my head.

Sparkling eyes whipped back to me and he winked. “I’m rather lucky that way.”

The smile stumbled my feet, his wink alighting my cheeks, and I muttered, “Must be nice. I’m afraid I’m not so lucky.”

His gaze danced from my blushing cheeks down my cleavage and he snickered, “Give it time.”

A scoff tried to build in my throat at his boldness, but when his back turned I lay my palm flat to my cheek. My entire body was tingling, my skin buzzing as if a single whisper could start a fire. And all he did was glance at me.

Trying to balance myself, I stared around the kitchen. Once again the stainless steel appliances and granite countertops were impersonal, the fine but bland taste hiding away any hint of who this relative stranger was. I was about to comment when my sight landed upon a black cauldron coated in chunks of rusting wrought iron bubbling on the stovetop.

Conall tugged off the lid sending a cascade of steam from boiled lamb and peas through the air. The meaty scent entwining with his tree-chopping physique left me ravenous. Paying me no heed, he dipped a wooden spoon deep into his concoction and took his own deep whiff of the meal.

“That’s…an interesting pot,” I said, my stomach eyeing up the rich stew while my lower bits grew peckish for the man stirring it.

Impish green eyes darted up over the pitch black cauldron. He held the spoon between us, his tongue lapping over his lips in thought. “Oh?”

“Don’t see a lot of cast iron cauldrons outside of Halloween.” I tried to laugh it off, but that ringing silence returned.

Conall glanced at his ancient pot as if seeing it for the first time. With a slow shrug, he said, “Only way I know to make a proper Irish stew. Here, give it a taste.” 

He extended the spoon towards me, the thick brown liquid reflecting his famished gaze. It could be poisoned. My brain tried to rescue me, or at least throw a pail of cold sense on the problem, but it was too late. Leaning forward at my waist, my lips suckered around the wooden spoon. Slowly, I pulled in the stew and my ramen-honed tastebuds erupted in joy. 

“This is good,” I gasped, tilting my head up. The move surprised Conall and I bonked my cheek into the stew-coated spoon in the way. Stupid. I tried to turn away and blot the accident off when warm fingers curled over my jaw like a meadow breeze.

Gently, he swiped his thumb over the spot, soaking the stain onto his own skin. With a smile, his green eyes burning into mine, he placed his thumb into his mouth and licked it off. I burned at the tender lap of his tongue around the thick thumb, my eyes drawn to the gentle pucker in his mouth. How it caressed his finger, holding it in his warm kiss.

How sweet…

How soft…

Hot hot… 

I dove for him, plunging to his lips before my brain or body had a chance to call a retreat. Conall’s hand barely slipped from his mouth before I claimed it.

Stone hard from shock at first, his lips melted against mine. Heat danced off the lips pressing as tenderly as a daisy’s petals to mine. Fingers swept across my cheek until burrowing at the nape of my neck. Digging into my hair, Conall pulled me deeper into the kiss. His tongue slicked between the narrow gap of my lips, begging for an invitation. Greedy for a taste, I parted mine and he delved in, his hand rustling apart my ponytail while he tipped my head to fit him. 

Spring rains tumbling off a crystal mountain stream. Verdant grass wafting in the sea air. The bleat of sheep standing upon the unassailable cliffs. My mind, my senses, my very being filled with not just the images but the scents and touch of those thoughts and more.

I gasped, breaking the kiss. The soul of Ireland fled from my mind, but the agony didn’t leave my body. I gulped in air to shake away the illusion, but the earthy scent of lamb stew didn’t help. “You,” I sputtered, my hands splayed out over his chest. Conall froze, his fingers tousled in my hair but not gripping. I could easily push him away, his back to the counter, mine the exit. 

Taking another breath, I stared up from his flushed lips glistening due to my kiss, into his eyes. “You broke my window,” I said slowly.

“Yes,” he responded solemnly.

I launched for him, my arms locking around the back of his neck, my hand pulling him into my kiss. Our tongues lapped against one another, mine tugging his bottom lip into my mouth. When I sucked upon it, my teeth barely grazing the fragile skin, his hands enveloped the small of my back. So large, they overlaid one another, Conall’s fingertips reaching up my spine as he pulsed and kneaded against me.

“And,” I broke again, my body flush to his. Straining on my tiptoes, as I stared deep into his eyes my hips glided against his clinging to low-slung trousers. A moan rolled off his tongue from my lower belly excising the rising bulge. 

The guttural groan of pleasure caught me so by surprise, I fell forward. Lashing a hand out to grip the cupboard, I kept myself from crushing him, but our foreheads softly knocked. His arms wrapped around my waist, tucking me into his embrace as much to protect himself as well as me.

With our noses burrowing into each other’s cheeks, our eyes filled only with the other’s pupils, I asked, “And you will fix it?”

Pulling in a slow breath, the side of his lips rose and he rustled the tip of his tongue against the smattering of red scruff. “Yes,” he repeated. His fingers locked around the nape of my neck, Conall submerging himself into my mouth. My body tumbled, not to the ground, not off a counter, but in his arms.

As if he was dipping me at the end of a ballroom waltz, he tipped me nearly horizontal. Fingers pulsed into the small of my back, reminding me that I was safe in his arms, while the others tugged on my hair. A gasping moan rolled off my tongue, Conall quick to ravish his own response in the throes of our kiss. 

Just as I drank deep of the delectable Irish whiskey heating my veins, his lips left mine. I blinked, expecting him to put up his own questions, when a scorching kiss nibbled on the edge of my collarbone. Tipping my head back, I heard a grateful chuckle from the man more than happy to take advantage. With his strong lips, he pursed and nipped along the thin skin at the side of my throat. I wanted to giggle, but instead of feeling ticklish each tender touch drove straight to my sparking core.

Switching to the other side, his little nibbles canvassed across my exposed décolletage. The heat of his breath slid down my cleavage. Both hands dug into the small of my back, the heels cupping the top of my ass. My mind ran wild imagining those hands pressing to my back and buttocks as he thrust from behind. Or how they’d hold me up as I rode his lap. A giddy laugh escaped my lips at the wild ideas rampaging through my brain. Conall’s scorching tongue lapped along the hem of my lacy camisole. Slowly, he curled it further inward, his lips sucking and nibbling on the heaving edge of my breasts. 

I ached to rip my blazer off, the camisole, every damn stitch of clothing in the way. But at the same time, I was hypnotized by the tender kisses the Irishman drew between my less-than-ample cleavage.

“Mmm,” Conall moaned, his fingers gliding higher. It tugged my blazer up, revealing my skin to his warm touch. His palm slipped under every layer, alighting my body as he reached ever higher up my spine. At the bra strap, he notched his fingers around the clasp, rolling it in his grip as if he could rip it open with his bare hand. Suddenly, he paused, his fingers sliding away.

The exploring palm landed almost chastely upon my hip, though his fingers kept gliding around to curl over my ass. With almost no strain, Conall tugged me back to my steady feet, cautious green eyes staring into mine as if he feared crossing a dangerous boundary.

Which he probably did. Inviting a woman over for dinner, because he broke her window, then ravishing her before the main course was even served.

Would there be ravishing? 

He paused with our chests so close pulling in air slid my breasts across his pecs. My eyes drifted from his unreadable thoughts to his lips. Spicy red from every kiss he placed to my body, I could feel the heat off of them even at a distance.

You’re here for a reason, remember.

Another ragged breath punctured through his glistening lips, Conall smearing a hand through his hair. 

To get him to fix the window.

My hands dropped from where they’d dug into his back. The spread of muscles that tightened to keep me aloft, hard as stone even after putting me on my feet, began to soften. His hair rubbing paused, the palm remaining on his forehead, while he gazed almost sheepishly from below it.

So, hammer out the details, then f**k him.

I leapt for him, pinning the man back to his counter. While my lips begged for sanctuary upon his, my hands were anything but chaste. Curling my palms over his shirt, I rustled against the hearty fabric piled into his straining waistband. Conall was quick to assist. Even while kissing me he snatched onto the back of his shirt and gifted me with a miracle.

Skin pale as cream, brown-red freckles dashed from the pop of his shoulders down into his mop of auburn chest hair. A single coin dangled off a chain around his neck, its color more ochre than gold. It caught my attention for a second when Conall wadded up his shirt, pulling his naked chest into stark relief. I lapped my lips with my panting tongue while gazing from his pillowed pecs down the long line of an 8-pack. The strip of red hair pointed me like a beacon towards his stark hipbones prodding over the trousers. 

“So,” I snapped my jaws as if I couldn’t wait to get a taste of his taut biceps, rolling hills of abs, or what was clearly prepping for attention below the woolen trousers. My eyes bored into his, both the hunger and certainty in the emeralds bringing a smile to me. “How long will it take?”

“Depends upon your preferences, Lass,” he whispered in my ear, my body trembling at the lust punctuating his breath. His fingers curled down my cheek and landed upon the edge of my askew blazer. 

Boldness blazed in my veins and I wrapped my hand around the back of his. “No,” I said, his eyes opening in surprise. Slowly, I placed his hand to the top of my blazer’s buttons. “I meant how long until you fix my window.”

A cocky smile flitted about his lips, his eyes burning into my kissed cleavage. “Well,” Conall chuckled, undoing the first button. “That rests upon,” he broke open the second, the tips of his fingers swiping against the silk clinging to my belly, “the frame and availability of a pane that fits.”

When the last button popped, I shrugged off my jacket. The unforgiving light of the stove glanced upon my shoulders, nearly sending a shiver up my spine. Warm hands enveloped my stomach, both sliding upward. The satiny glide of my camisole lit awake my skin as Conall’s lips plunged to mine. His questing hands circled under my breasts, hoisting them higher as his palms easily outflanked both.

Losing all sense, I scratched my fingers from the tuft of red belly hair around to his back. He gasped into my mouth, his open lips dancing against mine. Our eyes met and I said, “Sounds like it’ll require…days.”

My palm swung forward, cupping around the c**k nearly bulging over his waistband. “Jaysus!” Conall cried, his hips thrusting forward to lay that vital part of himself in my hand. Rolling my tongue across my teeth, I inched my fingers up to find the pesky fly. At first, he widened his stance, gifting me an easier tug, when suddenly he grabbed both my hands by the wrist.

“Nah, no chance will I let a stunner strip me down.” Conall shook his head, his emerald eyes staring through space. He extended my hands wide as if I were to be hoisted upon a cross. I stared in confusion at his right palm, the fingers so long they easily enclosed my wrist like a bangle. My mind spun in a circle. 

Did I read all that flirting wrong? Was he not into me? Oh God, how could I even face him again after…

Eyes green as spring’s clover burned into mine. He released my wrists, my arms dangling helplessly to the side. Curling his palm over my jaw, he held my face as he breathed, “Not until I get you in the buff first.”

Pink silk flew over my face, the lace tickling my lips while Conall ripped off the camisole. I pulled in a breath, dancing on my naked toes as the drop-dead gorgeous Irishman turned his emerald eyes straight to my boobs. A string of what sounded like guttural curses escaped his lips, though judging by the joy on his face it could be prayer. 

His mouth glanced across mine, the hot tongue once again dipping in. At the same time, his hands swept around my back, both targeting in on the bra’s hooks. While kissing me with such force I stumbled, he struggled with the first of three clasps. When the second refused to budge, he did curse, “Shite,” against my cheek.

“I thought you were supposed to be a handyman? Good with your hands?” I purred, catching his eye.

That wily tongue rolled over his teeth and he chuckled. “Aye Lass, wait 'til you see what I can do with my nimble fingers.”

“Then.” I reached behind to grip the tricky bra myself. Conall’s hands fell to the wayside, his eyes widening with a view only of me. A blush burned across my chest and rose for my cheeks from a man’s attention narrowed upon me. The clasps gave way under my practiced hand. Slowly, I pulled both straps down, releasing my breasts from their tether. 

“Mother Eire herself,” Conall gulped. He didn’t even wait for the bra straps to move past my elbows. Tugging the damn undergarment free himself, my bra flew through the sterile kitchen. His lips pressed to mine while his hands — those warm, tender, talented hands — swept against the thin, naked skin he worked so hard to free. “Oh you’re beyond a stunner, me beaut,” he cried, his hot breath twirling in my ear while his fingers performed magic.

Gently, he kneaded against my giving flesh, his fingers swooping out to the sides of my ribs while ladling me in kisses. But when I plucked his bottom lip between mine, he wrapped both thumb and forefinger around my n*****s. The pinch caused me to jump not in pain but surprise. 

“Tell me,” he smiled, his accent thickening as he began to coax my n*****s, “how you like to be touched.” Lips pressed to my throat, soft as a beat of a butterfly wing. Slowly, he swept the tips of his fingers against my n*****s.

“Tender and slow?” Conall whispered, pressing kisses down my throat. “Or,” he breathed just above the press of my cleavage.

“Or?” I repeated, struggling for air.

A winking smile danced from his lips to his eyes. Darting forward, he sucked his scorching lips against my right n****e. “Christ,” I gasped, my head tipping back, hands tousling through his hair. Conall increased the pressure, just the tip of his teeth gliding against my n****e. Pleasure erupted through my body, my thighs pressing tighter as the need to ride him drew to an ache. 

He switched to the left, following the same pattern and causing me to unleash more ecstatic cursing. I found myself flexing my calves in hunger, my hips thrusting forward with each swipe of his teeth. “No one’s ever,” I gulped, sweat rising on my brow. I tried to wipe it away before the sexy Irishman staggering to his full height noticed. Even as those dashing lips smiled, his hands kept knocking against my n*****s. The ripples dancing down my body wouldn’t stop.

“I do believe there’s yet the matter of your trousers,” Conall chuckled. Biting down on my lip, all I could do was nod. Words were quickly escaping my brain, and I feared if I tried to open my mouth gibberish would emerge. 

“Now.” He hooked his leg around behind me, tugging my bottom half to his hands. I flourished in the bounce of his c**k against my hip, glad to know it’d only grown more demanding from my shirtless state.

While he pressed his lips to my ear, sucking upon the lobe and breathing a shot of hot air inside, his fingers worked quickly on the button. “This I do know.”

My pants hit the floor without any complications, revealing to him my single pair of deep green panties. His eyes darted down to the shiny bikini bottoms with only a thin strap keeping them on my hips. “Nice color,” Conall whispered.

Circling around my hip, his finger playfully tussled with the band, tugging the hemline down towards my inner thigh. All the while he kept trying to kiss me, but I couldn’t stop struggling for air, my full attention upon the fingers swerving about in my dark pubic hair. The agony of waiting, of never knowing if and when he’d dip in, drove me mad. I found my body rising up on my toes and widening my stance as if it was screaming for his touch.

As if I was.

“Jesus Christ!” I shouted when that wayward finger swept straight down the middle of my inner core. 

Conall began to hum at the wetness coating his finger. “I adore that.” I was about to ask what he meant when he circled from my inner folds up to the shy clit. 

It was no joke he was skilled with his hands. A talented expert, he rubbed not just the pearl itself but swerved and swept every humming inch. Every time he danced his fingertip on the hood itself I feared I may fall backwards in ecstasy. My nails dug into his shoulders, trying to keep me upright, while the man weaving an orgasm from just one finger kept pressing a kiss to my slack lips.

“Please,” slipped from my mouth into his. Even I started in surprise from the word before my body told my brain what it wanted. “I need you,” I sputtered. My hand freed from the taut muscle it clung to and once again curled around the hidden c**k.

Conall’s Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes screwed tight as he gazed to the heavens. “I,” his finger retracted from inside me. “I cannot deny you,” he said as if in shock at the fact. Undoing his straining button fly, he kept a hand locked around his todger while letting his pants fall.

Slowly, as if uncertain to reveal it, he opened his palm, the fingers circling around a delectable c**k. It bore the same woodsman girth as its owner, the head larger than the straining shaft which pulsed twice at my hungry gaze. Sliding my palm over his bony hip, I rustled my thumb through his rust-colored pubic hair. My hand circled just at the base of his c**k as I whispered against his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

Conall’s wide palms grabbed my hips, his teeth nibbling on my neck as he hefted me into the air. I wiggled my feet in shock at how fast and far they left the ground, but it wasn’t for long. Placing me upon the table right beside a set of bowls for the forgotten stew, he snatched off my panties. Hands worried up my inner thighs, digging into the muscle even as he spread my legs wider.

Growling deep in his chest, he placed the crown of his c**k right against that clit he’d stroked to almost perfection. His hips shuddered, that delectable tip pulsing and pushing more pleasure from my throbbing clit. I gasped at the pleasure beading through my body and Conall’s bright eyes snapped down at himself almost as if surprised to find his c**k nearly inside me. His forehead against mine, I watched his slick tongue glide over his lips.

Slowly, I raised my ankles, bouncing the heels against his ass. As they locked behind him, sealing us together, he looked up into my eyes. I opened my lips, about to tell him to f**k me, when he thrust forward. My arousal greedily sucked him in, Conall’s c**k pressing deep into my hungry cunt. A moan of heady pleasure erupted from my mouth, but the second was caught by his lips. Even while thrusting he kept kissing me, a primal grunt rising from his chest.

His hands tried to cup my back, to pull me closer, his c**k diving deeper and deeper inside. Guttural panting transformed to goosebumps rising all across my naked skin. In one fast move, Conall grabbed my ass and pulled me into the perfect spot. 

“Holy s**t,” I spat, my clit bounding against the base of his c**k. My ankle rose higher, opening myself to the bliss pounding inside of me. The rattle of silverware, shake of the table, and our panting breaths were the only sounds pounding in my ears.

A tender palm swept over my breast, lips babbling in that same strange language against my forehead. “Tell me,” he suddenly switched back to English, eyes burning into mine, “tell me this is what you want.”

His certainty, his need for me, caused my heart to thrum erratically. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice terrified. It felt as if I was staring into a power I couldn’t understand.

“What?” Conall gasped. He dove his finger over my clit, his spine leaning back as he gave all of himself to me. 

“Yes!” I screamed, the fuse sparking into a full out explosion. His thrusting paused, though through the tremors rocking my v****a I could feel his c**k savoring the ride. My ankles remained locked around his ass, Conall’s one hand digging into my hip while the other cupped my cheek almost chastely. In that position, he rode out the orgasm trembling down my legs and up into my chest. 

His green eyes stared where he joined with me as if still surprised to find his c**k found its way there. When he didn’t begin thrusting again, I reached out between us, fingers fumbling apart his hair. “You are,” Conall sighed, his hot tongue tapping against his top lip. Boring his sight into mine, I stared deep into the gold flecks that seemed to be increasing by the kitchen’s overhead light. 

“I’m what?” I asked, feeling more foolish by the second.

The fingers curling over my cheek swept lower, Conall parting his thumbprint against my lip. Slowly, he tugged my bottom lip open and placed that half kissed thumb to his own mouth. Pulling in a deep breath, he declared, “Impossible.”

Hips rocketed forward, driving the pound of his c**k back through my orgasm-drunk core. Sweat percolated across his swath of creamy skin like dawn’s dew upon a white rose. Fists slammed to the table astride me, rock hard forearms pinning against my hips. Conall tugged me tighter to his rolling pelvis and thumping c**k, even as he placed his lips to mine.

The heat of a fire burned not only through my body but in my nose. It smelled of a hearth with a fresh catch popping in the fireplace, warm arms wrapped around me as an Irish rain beat against the windows. It felt of home, of safety and belonging. 

“Sweet Mary,” Conall cried against my lips, breaking the spell. His head tipped back to the ceiling, his fingers digging into my pooling hips as he came. Still, he kept on thrusting, as if wanting to keep the magic going even as the wand sputtered to a rest. Sadly, all good things and so forth. After wiping his forehead and shaking his head as if he downed a shot, he pulled himself free of me.

“That,” he gulped, a giddy chuckle rolling off his lips.

That was not supposed to happen.

I struggled to sit up, the table’s hard edge digging into my bare skin. Guilty, my eyes darted to the empty bowls still waiting for dinner. Conall followed my gaze and he smiled, “That’s one way to work up an appetite.”

“I, uh…” The full situation punctured through my post-coital, rainbow haze. Shame gurgled in my empty gut, and my eyes darted from the fully naked man back to the door. “I don’t usually do that,” I sputtered out.

“No?” Conall spoke, rising off me to his feet to gather up the scattered clothing. “That’s a shame,” he said, his green eyes winking at me, “because you’re quite talented at it.”

A laugh rolled in my chest evaporating the tension. Without a care, he crammed one foot down his pants leg and said, “Now if you don’t mind, I believe it’s uncouth for a gentleman to dine in the presence of a lady while in the buff.”

I watched in awe as he hid away his muscled thighs, the hips vanishing with the tug of his waistband. He took care tucking that yet rigid member into the fly while buttoning it away. A thought struck me, foolish and perhaps childish, but I plucked up his lost shirt and threw it over my own body before he could.

Green eyes watched me struggle to slide my arms through the sleeves, the long cuffs hiding away my hands. My breath held as I waited for Conall to yank his shirt back, call me on the far too intimate move, and kick me out. But those eyes drifted down across my breasts just before they too slipped below his shirt.

A sigh of regret lingered upon his lips, his fingers stuck upon his waistband as if he forgot what he was doing. I rummaged through my hair, trying to fluff up the mess, which was when I realized my toes were yet skimming above the floor. Hard to eat supper while I was sitting on the damn table.

When I hopped off, my eyes drifted across that acre of flesh I didn’t want him to hide away. The tuft of red chest hair was slicked up by sweat and smashed to and fro. The ruts reminded me of when a herd of deer scattered through a field. My fingers reached for it, as if I had to fluff his body hair up, when the glint of the coin caught the last rays of the sun.

Without the temptation of a naked man thrusting upon me, I was able to focus on the curiosity. Instead of being a perfect circle, the edges were blobby and misshapen, like it was pulled from a museum. There was a relief upon the top but I couldn’t make it out. The letters circling the outside looked too random to me to form words. 

“You’ve gone into your head,” Conall whispered, his voice tumbling like waves against a cliff.

“Sorry, I was…your coin?” My palm swept up his dewy skin to reach for the golden coin. Just before I could touch it, Conall jerked his neck back, his body taking a full step away from mine.

“It’s, I’ve never, um,” my lips kept talking, my foolish hand hanging in the air while the man that just f****d me hard glared. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Oh?” That surprised him, his eyes opening wide. With a tender caress, he cupped the coin and held it up to his face. “It’s me treasure.”

“Like…” I tried to find a laugh at the serious words, but he stared at the coin as if there was nothing else in the room. Nothing else in the world. “A treasure as in an old coin you unearthed at a construction site?”

The golden question tumbled back to his pecs, my eyes drawn to not only its metronome swing but the body below. Conall rifled through his hair, his stance shifting open. “Something like that. You’re probably hungry.” He pointed to the long-forgotten stew before dashing to its side.

“Famished,” I admitted, my foot sliding over the top of the other. The scent of amber and clover smothered my body in a tight hug. Wanting to smell more off his shirt, I rubbed at my stomach. 

“Looks that way, Lass.”

I whipped my head up to find emerald eyes smirking at me caressing my own body. After another wink, he pointed at the two bowls. “Incidentally, is there a moniker you prefer?” Conall spoke as I handed him the means to passing out dinner. “Jess, Jessica, Jessie?”

God, in that thigh-trembling Irish brogue I’d let him get away with calling me Jessie.

Accepting the stew, I smiled. “Jess is fine. And for you?”

“Conall’s all I know. Least all that’s served me well,” he spoke breezily while falling into the head of the household’s place at the table. I tugged back the chair beside only to discover where my panties wound up. The dark green taunted me, reminding and scolding me over what I did. With a lightning quick speed, I snatched them up into my fist and dropped to the chair.

“Caith siar,” Conall said in that same tongue he whispered against my neck. Before I could ask what he meant, he dug into the dinner. I caught the gist and followed suit. God all mighty the man could cook. It wasn’t ** pretty, but the spicy lamb broth drove straight to my stomach and warmed my bones. I found myself licking my spoon clean even before diving back for another taste.

My skin prickled and I looked up into green eyes devouring my every move. Guilty, I wiped the back of my knuckles over both sides of my mouth for fear there was a mess left behind. Conall cupped his cheek in his hand, elbow planted to the table, as he mused, “You are not what I expected to find.”

“Oh?” 

“You’re so young and álainn.” He sounded truly gobsmacked at such a fact, as if he expected me to be some rickety geriatric. I glared in confusion. How could he have expected me to be anything? He sent that tree through my window accidentally, right?

“I mean,” Conall gulped, his eyes opening wide, “given the makeup of the area…I’d first feared I’d given some poor old lady a heart attack.”

That made sense.

He leaned across the table and caught my fingers. Slowly, he smoothed his index finger up and down the middle of my palm. Conall’s voice purred, “I am eternally grateful I did not.”

A blush burned on my cheeks which I fanned with my free hand. The other was content to be in his. “It…it used to be my grandmother’s house. When she grew too frail to easily get around, I moved in to help look after her.”

“Generous too.” Conall lifted the glass of water as if toasting me. “Should I be inviting her over for a meal as well?”

My face blanched bone white at the thought of my grandmother knowing anything about what occurred in this kitchen. Gulping in air, I shook my head. “No, no, she…passed in her sleep a year or so back. She didn’t have much, but she left me the house.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered as if he could have had anything to do with an old woman’s peaceful death.

Shrugging, I admitted, “It was probably the only bit of luck for me to happen after a tragedy. Things haven’t been…easy in my life.” I hated to admit that I believed in curses, or even say it aloud. But watching my life fall apart on an endless loop, it became difficult to ignore. And that was not post-coital dinner talk to dredge up. What was exactly?

“The window. You wanted to…agreed to fix the window you broke.” My brain snapped back to action as if it’d been waiting with spreadsheets in hand.

Conall’s hand slid to his side of the table. “Aye, I will require a key from you as I’ll have to be slippin’ in and out of your bedroom to install it.”

That thought made me blush from my thighs up to my chest. I’d certainly love to have him slipping and sliding in my bedroom. “Oh, Tir will try to run the second you open the door. I’ll have to put him in his kennel. God, he hates that.”

“Yes, your wee kitty. What is he called exactly? Tiry? Tirami?”

My flush of lust shifted to embarrassment as I had to face telling the sexy Irishman my cat’s full name. “Tiramisu. He’s mostly black except for a strip of white and brown along his belly. Also, it’s my favorite dessert.”

I hadn’t planned to adopt a kitten, much less the ball of energy Tir turned into. But I stumbled across him in an alley with mud-splattered to his ebony fur and I couldn’t turn away. “The most unlucky girl in the world with a black cat,” I said shrugging, “it seems almost comical.”

“You think yourself unlucky?” Conall asked, his fingers tenting like a supervillain planning to launch a nuclear bomb.

“I just had a tree smash through my bedroom window. My bed is literally covered in glass and debris. If that’s not unlucky…” Though it did introduce me to him, and then I got really lucky. “Not that, I mean…” Oh s**t, that was bad.

But Conall chuckled. “I understand entirely. It does have the makings for a rather unpleasant day.”

“It’s gotten much better,” I raced to smooth over feathers that didn’t even seem ruffled. If anything, he was a man with the least amount of ego I’d ever met.

“Glad I am to hear that, Lass. There is another question I hoped to pose to you.” He scooted his chair closer, emerald eyes boring into me.

“Oh?” I perked up, my heart in my throat.

“Given the state of your bed, I cannot in good conscience allow a woman to risk herself upon such glass. Would you consider sleeping in mine for the evening?”

He lay both his hands open upon the table as if trying to show he had no cards up his sleeves. Leaning closer, my fingers curled over his palms and up his wrists. I kept rising off the chair until my breath could whisper in his ear, “Will you be sharing it?”

Ravishing green eyes turned to me and winked.