Page 25 of Kissin Irish by Morgan
Freezing, I pressed myself into Irish who wrapped his arms around me. His lips grazed my forehead as I relaxed against the leather over his chest. I ran my hands up under his cut to warm myself more. His heart beat like a drum in my ear.
“This reminds me of back home,” he said. “We have the most beautiful waterfalls in Ireland. I always fancied taking my Acushla to one like this.”
“Acushla. What does that mean?”
Irish didn’t answer me. His rough hand caressed my chin. His thumb parted my lips. His lips barely touched mine. I could feel his eyes on me as air rushed out of his nose into mine. I turned bright red. My cheeks burned as he kissed me again in front of all these people. But this time our kiss was slow and lingering as he held me to him.
“You ready to get out of here?” Irish muttered as he nibbled and sucked my bottom lip.
“Yeah, where are we going?”
“My place alright with you?” His strained voice declared it a loaded question.
“Yes,” I breathed, wanting nothing more.
The whole ride back to Nashville my body trembled in anticipation. We stopped for gas and a bite to eat, but I was too nervous to eat much more than a couple bites of a fast-food chicken sandwich.
I’d expected Irish to try to fuck me by the waterfall, or something and had been oh so ready for that. But that had proved out of the question with the sightseers. Going back to his place seemed like such a big deal. I was far from Royal Road. I didn’t know exactly where. It’s not that I didn’t trust Irish, I did. It had just been such a long time since I had sex with a man. And this felt so official. Our kiss at the falls had been so much more than a casual sex kiss. It’d been a something’s starting kiss.
Regardless of my nerves, I wouldn’t turn back now. Wherever we were, it was as noisy as Royal Road. When he helped me up a flight of steps to his door, I finally asked, “I always wondered where you lived?”
“Over an Irish pub, of course, in midtown. Used to work there before I started fighting.”
“What’s it called?”
“Aye, sorry. I forgot.”
“Forgot what? I’m blind? I can’t read it, the sign.”
“Named Mickey’s Hole in the Wall. Texan owns it. I’ve told him Mickey’s another word for penis in Ireland, but he never believed me. It’s bleeding embarrassing.”
We stepped into Irish’s apartment.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it when folks let me know what’s going on.” I started nervously talking as Irish led me to what I could only assume was his bedroom. “Jassica used to be the best at it, describing the scene for me. Maybe if I didn’t have my eyesight before it wouldn’t matter. But…”
We stopped. I felt the door frame beside me. We were at Irish’s bedroom. He stood frozen, eerily quiet.
“What’s going on?”
“Charlotte’s here, in my bed, in nothing but heels,” Irish explained, shocking me. “She’s on her hands and knees and her arse is in the air.”
“I told you I’d be waiting for you, Irish,” Charlotte crooned from inside the room.
Letting go of him, I felt my way down the hall. Irish and Charlotte yelled at one another much like my brother and Jassica did. I couldn’t stop thinking about them turning around and fucking each other. I felt my way back to the door and clutching the rail, I descended the steps.
Fuck, I didn’t even have my phone on me to call a ride. Bumping into Irish’s motorcycle, I started off the opposite way. The noise from the street became intolerable. Running my hands along the brick wall, somehow, I made it to the bar’s door. A man steadied me when I stumbled inside.
“Watch it. Are you drunk?”
“No. I’m blind, and I need a ride. I mean call a ride for me. An uber.”
“I will, yeah. Come with me lass,” the man said in an Irish accent thicker than Irish’s. The man was drunker than a skunk. “Fancy a shift with an oul fella.”
“Um, no,” I said, knowing what that meant.
Irish’s voice called behind me. “Cece, wait. I’ll take you home.” He took a hold of my arm.
“Do you know this right chancer?” The stranger asked me, snatching my other arm.
