Page 56 of Riding the Pine

Our kiss breaks as her sweet release violently crashes into her. She yells in incoherent Spanish. Her body snaps off the bed, her chin catching my forehead but neither of us really cares. She’s gripping my hand against her clit like she’s afraid I might stop, but I have no intention of stopping. The sound of my name falling from her lips was good, but hearing it screamed through an explosion of pleasure, pleasure I gave her? That’s unbeatable. And going to happen again. Soon.

My chest swells with pride as she pants through the aftershocks, pawing at my body. I lean back over her, not moving my hand from her pussy, and kiss her gently.

Her body sags, muscles soften, her skin is prickled with tiny beads of sweat, and her chest rises and falls with short, sharp breaths.

“Easy, Bright Eyes. Take deeper breaths, you’ll recover faster, and I need to make you scream like that again.” I wiggle my fingers on her clit, but she smacks me away, flapping her hand against mine.

“No, no, no, no, no! Not yet. Too sensitive.”

I nuzzle her face while her breathing slows, peppering her damp skin with kisses.

She looks at me, studying my face. “Did that get to you?”

I roll my lips, not surprised that she noticed my emotional overwhelm. I nod.

She cups my cheek, brushing her lips against mine, sending those little sparks of affection bolting through my bloodstream. “I love you, Scottie.” Her eyes are glassy and full of love as she kisses me gently again. “And I fucking needed that.”

I drop my head to hers, laughing. “Glad to be of service.”

She tilts my head back. “I got you good, you’re already bruising.”

“I’ll take my bedroom battle scars with pride.”

Her eyes light up.

“I love you, Athena. I love you so much it feels like my chest may burst open.” I sound like a fucking Hallmark movie character, but her soft smile says she’s here for it.

“Please don’t explode. I’m going to need you to do that all over again. Right now.”

CHAPTER 23

Scott

JANUARY 3RD

I’ve never been out of the country before. Hell, I’ve barely been out of Iowa before. I’ve never flown long-distance, and while it wasn’t my favorite, the knowledge that we were going to Belfast, Northern Ireland kept me going the whole way.

I managed to get some sleep. Turns out, flights from the US to the UK are overnight, but it took a while to get settled with the excitement buzzing through my veins. Mostly about my girlfriend, but partly because of the Emerald Isle.

I’m a bit bleary eyed when we’re given some semblance of “breakfast” on the plane as we start our descent into Belfast International. Is this what Irish people eat for breakfast? If so, I don’t want to be Irish after all.

It’s stupid, but ever since I was a little kid, I’ve always wanted to be Irish. Mom said we’re part Irish, but it’s such a small part that it’s probably not even true. How the hell did the Irish find their way to Iowa?

Anyway, I’m not going to be that American who goes to Ireland and starts telling Irish people that I’m Irish just because my great, great, great grandmother’s sister’s cat was Irish. I read online that they don’t like that.

So instead, I’m just going to go, eat hopefully better food than this hellish hand pie thing, and take it all in.

The Friendship Four is an annual college ice hockey tournament which has been held since 2015 at the SSE Arena Belfast with the winner receiving the Belpot Trophy. Four teams are selected to compete, and usually it’s over Thanksgiving weekend, but due to circumstances above my pay grade, this year it’s being held in January.

Works for me, though. Iowa’s a fucking Tundra in January, and the pilot tells us it’s perfectly tropical on the ground. I’m going to look a little out of place with my heavy, midwestern-ready winter coat.

Hockey. Food. And Fitzmorris’s cousin who got us all tickets to that women’s rugby match. Is it a match? Game? Fuck, I at least need to learn what it’s called. Drives me fucking nutty when someone calls it a hockey match, so I need to respect the sport and actually learn at least a little about it before diving right in.

Nothing worse than disrespecting someone’s sport.

It’s a bumpy landing on the tarmac but we all arrive alive. The longest part of getting off the giant metal bird and to some real food is waiting for the baggage to come off the plane.

Everything’s different here. Every tiny little thing. The air is different. The sounds of accents echoing around baggage claim, the smells of something that doesn’t seem as criminal as that crap they called breakfast… I mean, I knew it would be different, but it’s a little… wow.

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