Page 12 of Naughty Irish Fate
Chapter Four
Rooker
After weeks on a boat sleeping in port is like a first-class upgrade.
Except I didn’t sleep at all last night.
Oh, no. Not entirely true. I slept until dreams of the sexiest, sweetest tasting ginger I’ve ever seen woke me. Woke me with a hard cock and a tight chest and nothing I could do about either.
Not true, either. Alone in that huge bed, I thought about her sweet taste, the powder sweet scent of her, the sounds she made as she came. Took care of one of my problems at least. Until of course, I woke up again and again with her moans in my ear and a tent in my sheets.
Fuck the woman had done a number on me.
After a shower and a shave where I see marks at my skin from her last night—which just makes my cock hard again—I head out. I don’t sight see in most ports we dock in, really. But I have one routine for every single stop we make.
Breakfast. Beach. Booze.
Since I was a kid, every time my Pop made it home, he took me and Hyde out his first weekend back. Took us out for breakfast where he let us catch him up on the months he’d been gone. Then we took a walk on the beach with a bucket of booze. Long before we were old enough to tip them back, he let us each have one.
He never missed this one thing with us when he was back. Might miss a ball game or a school thing, but that ritual was something he kept up all our lives. Did it with Hyde when we first started fishing together. Now, I do it alone in every port.
“Morning lovie. What can I get ya’ for?” A plump waitress with a bright smile and silver hair beams down at me despite the early hour.
In a diner on the main strip of tiny Shore Ridge, I order my usual. Pancakes. Three eggs-over easy with runny yolk. Sausage. And bacon.
“Right out to you, handsome.” I wince a little when she turns away. Her smoke-rattled voice is what says it. But it’s Wyn’s voice that echoes in my head.
Knock it off, dick. Just another woman in another port.
Except as I sit there in the window seat and enjoy my breakfast—all of it comes fast, hot, and tastes fresh—I am aware of every single woman that passes by. Only, I am not aware of much about them once I see they’re not her.
Dragging a napkin across my mouth and tossing it down with a nice tip, I head out. I think about heading to Flanagan's for my beach beers but veto that idea. Too early. Too soon. Both for me to be drinking at her pub and for me to see her at all, honestly.
Instead I stop at a shop near the beach, get a bucket and head towards the sand. Probably look a sight in my all black kicking through the sand. Don’t give a shit. Not here for no one else but myself right now.
Dropping the icy pail between my legs, I sink into the sand. Crossing my arms over my knees, I close my eyes. Breathe in the cool salty sea air. The beach is mostly empty especially so early. Waves crash a few yards out and seagulls swoop overhead.
Cracking a beer open, I think back to the first time I sat on a beach with Pops and Hyde. And the last. Both good memories even if my chest burns until I try to rub it away. Remembering all I lost is what keeps me going back out to sea.
Just as I tip the beer back, I see it.
Or rather, I see her.
On the edge of the peer, it’s Bronwyn.
An entirely new burn takes over my chest.
Fuck, she’s a vision.
With her face turned up to the misting air crashing against the pier, she looks wild and free. But I can see her hands gripping the pier tight, even from down here. I can see her chest panting as she struggles to breathe. I want to go to her. Want to kiss the fuck out of her like I did before.
Instead, I watch her. Watch her stand there as crashing waves pound against the pier beneath her. Until she seems calm again. Breathing easy. Smiling into the skies as the sun breaks overhead. Fuck me; she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Free and brave, more woman than I would know what to do with.
Exactly why I need to steer clear of her while I’m in Shore Ridge.
Can’t let down another woman who counts.
