Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) (14 page)

At the sound, Fliss’ eyes rose to meet mine. Watching me, she lowered her head for another sip, pursing her lips around the small straw. I began to feel flushed, feverish like she’d been on the way over, and I wondered for a minute if I’d caught her illness. I actually kinda wished I had, wanting something to explain this light-headed, mind-numbing, dick-throbbing sensation that pounded through my veins all of a sudden.

This was bad. Fierce bad.

Fortunately, I was saved by the band who was just starting up for the night. They began their first song, and the lyrics had Fliss’ eyes go wide.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, “He’s playing a Metallica song. This is
Whisky in a Jar
.”

“Um, actually it’s an Irish folk song,” I corrected her with amusement.

“Seriously?”

I nodded.

“Oh my gosh, I’ve only ever heard the Metallica version.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with mock regret, then grinned when she laughed in response. “Actually, I do like Metallica, and their version is savage. It’s just… it’s special this way, somehow.”

The conversation began to shift my train of thought, easing the aching, chubbed up condition I suddenly found myself in…
again
. But, right then, just as I was beginning to feel slightly comfortable in my jeans, the waiter brought our appetizer, and Fliss took a bite of her fried brie.

And everything came raging back to me as I watched her all but orgasm when she tasted it.

Jaysus.

Things weren’t much better the next day.

I actually groaned aloud when Fliss opened the door to her hotel room the following afternoon, freshly primped and entirely too beautiful to be real. I’d offered to meet her here to help direct her to the flat she’d be sharing with a couple other girls while they were doing their studies.

I knew I really should have stayed away. I should have called it good after The Brazen Head. Watching her eat fried brie, the moan she’d let out as she tasted it, the hotter-than-fucking-Jaysus look on her face, had me going home afterwards and wanking in the shower until the water ran cold.

By the time I finally felt halfway human again, my arm felt like it was going to fall right off. The muscles ached to the point that I could barely lift my fork at dinner with my family that night.

However, I had offered, and I was a man of my word. I’d told her that I’d help locate her flat, so here I was.

At least that’s what I told myself. I’m not sure even I believed it, but that was the excuse I gave, anyway. It didn’t seem to alleviate the way my heart about beat right out of my chest as I passed through the revolving door of the Grafton Capital. Or feeling like I could barely breathe in the lift on my way up to her room.

She had piled her hair up on her head, tendrils falling haphazardly around her neck, displaying a sexy little Celtic knot in the shape of a shamrock just below her hairline.

It made me want to bend her over the bed so I could lick the Jaysus bleedin’ thing while I horsed it into her from behind.

Feckin’ hell
, I really needed to keep my distance after this.

“This is so bizarre,” Fliss commented, as we walked towards the elevator.

“What is?”

“These pictures,” she said, motioning to the frames on the hallway walls, “they’re Charlie Russell prints and shit. In Dublin.”

The entire hotel seemed to have an Old West theme going on, what with the art and the sculptures here and there.

“I feel like I’m being screwed out of my Irish experience. I could see this in Montana,” she laughed.

“We’ll have to see what we can do about that,” I smiled as I shook my head. “So where is this flat of yours at?”

“I guess it’s near the river, like right up against it or something.” She pulled out her iPhone to take a quick look at the email. “Here it is. Aston Quay Street?”

“Just Aston Quay, Fliss,” I chuckled.

“Not street?”

“And it is right by the river if it’s Aston Quay. A quay is like a wharf.”

“I’m living on a wharf?” she asked. “Cool.”

“Well, there is a road there, too.”

“So it’s Aston Quay Road?”

“No, the name of the street is just Aston Quay,” I laughed, shaking my head. “But, my guess is that address is pretty close to Temple Bar. Maybe we could grab a pint or something after? Give ya back some of that Irish experience you feel you’re being screwed out of by the hotel.”
Okay
, I thought to myself,
I really shouldn’t have offered that
.

“Temple Bar? Um, okay, that would be fun,” she smiled.

“Craic,” I offered. “It’ll be great craic.”

“Great crack?”

“Exactly,” I grinned.

“Crack like ‘
step on a crack’
?” she asked.

“Craic like… it will be a great time. Fun. A blast.”

“How does that translate to crack?” she looked at me suspiciously.

I just shook my head and laughed as we wandered along by the shopping center, down and around some narrow streets until we reached the Aston Quay address in her email. The landlord had just arrived as well, and showed us up to the little third-story flat.

“You have a nice view,” I commented. “You can even see Starbucks from here, so you’ll be grand.”

“That’s perfect,” she grinned up at me.

The landlord smiled a little as she watched the interchange, eying us speculatively, likely having the same ‘
silly Americans and their Starbucks’
thoughts I was. “Your flatmates, Maeve and Brigit, should be here tomorrow,” she stated, “but I’ll give ya a key so you can get settled.”

Thanking her, we finished up there and began down Aston Quay towards the Temple Bar area. My guess, from what I knew of Fliss, was that this would be a place she might frequent since she was so close. Plus, it’s kind of a rule… when you’re in Dublin, you go to Temple Bar.

“I’m starving. I want fried brie again,” Fliss said as she looked around for a place to grab a bite to eat.

Jaysus
, I didn’t think I could handle watching her get practically orgasmic at the first bite like she had before. Her moans still echoed around in my head.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try something else? Maybe some black pudding or something?”

“Good grief, no,” she said, slapping my arm playfully. The reverberations of her touch had me going a little crazy, coursing through my body and setting fire to my blood.

So we did find her a place with fried brie, and I forced myself to think about anything else as we ate… and drank. We made the rounds, doing a bit of a pub crawl drinking Guinness and shots of Jameson. She was in Dublin for the first time after all.

As the night wore on and we got good and bolloxed, she began to touch me more. I began to slip my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to navigate through the crowd towards yet another pub.

The sun had set and the lights seemed to highlight the uniqueness of the area. The energy here was like no other place on earth. We were so far from Butte, and it was becoming even easier to forget why I shouldn’t touch her. Especially when she hit me up on one of my ultimate weaknesses.

“I’ll bet you…” she laughed as she reached for the hem of her shirt.

Bloody hell
… I hated those words. Nothing good ever became of those words. You’d think at some point I’d learn.

Somehow, we had gotten off on the subject of flashing her knockers at the crowd. Quite honestly, I couldn’t even tell you how it began, but I was sure she wouldn’t actually do it. So sure that, as much as I knew with every fiber of my being that it was a bad idea, I replied by setting the stakes.

I was right stocious, after all, having consumed enough whisky to fell an ox. Apparently my WANKER tattoo had taught me nothing, either.

“You’re on. If you lose your nerve and don’t do it, you have to go stand on the street like a busker and sing
Whisky in the Jar
the old folk song way.”

“Are you even speaking English? Like a what?” she giggled, shaking her head at both the term and the thick Dub accent I’d taken on as I had slowly gotten more and more fluthered through the evening.

“A busker… one of those lads ya see out on the street playing their guitars and singing for barney dillions.”

“Oh my God,” she howled, holding her stomach as she practically convulsed in amusement, “what the fuck are barney dillions?”

It was infectious. Seeing the light in her eyes and hearing the hilarity in her voice had me laughing me cacks off.

“Money,” I snorted back.

“Okay… it’s a bet. You lose and you have to sing… um…” she trailed off as she thought for a minute. “Oh,” she suddenly exclaimed, “I know! You have to sing
Top of the World
,” she giggled.

“Jaysus,” I chuckled, “how’s that even fair?”

She lightly punched me in the arm. “I love that song, you dick,” she scolded with mock irritation that was clearly belied by the wide-open smile and tears of amusement in her eyes.

“Right,” I grinned back. “Well, I’m waiting.”

And right there in the middle of Temple Bar Square, Fliss climbed the few steps up, shot me the ultimate sassy ‘
feck off’
look, and whipped her shirt up. A shirt that had no bra on under it, as I quickly discovered when her beautiful tits were revealed.

And, holy feckin’ bloody
Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph
, I was entranced.

They were only visible for a split second, heralded by whistles and cat calls from those around us, but I was like a deer in the headlights. Completely gobsmacked as I tried to burn that image into my brain. My blood pulsed through my veins and straight to my dick, and I wanted her to grab me and squeeze me and lick me until I blew my load all over those gorgeous breasts.

After, as she stood on the steps watching my reaction, her smile faded for a moment. Her eyes grew dark, and she slowly moved closer to me. Coming down the steps, one at a time, until she stood on the one right before me, almost at my level.

“You do kind of like me,” she whispered, “don’t you, Denny?”

Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, I did. More than kinda.

Her voice, soft and sultry, hypnotized me. Paralyzed me more than the shots I’d been throwing back. “All this time, I’ve wondered. I’ve wished.”

Warily, I eyed her, knowing I should step back. Knowing she was too close, that the temptation was too strong. But I couldn’t even speak.

Fliss could, though, and her breathy whispers were like the lightest strokes down my cock. Like feathery touches that only increased the aching in my balls.

“I’ve imagined…”

Every cell in my brain was screaming at me.
Go. Get the feck out of there.
Nothing good could come of this.

But her sweet little body moved so close that I could feel the warmth of her skin through my t-shirt. I felt her breath teasing my lips as her own moved just a little closer. My mouth watered with the increasing hunger for one little taste of her kiss.

“There’s always been something about you…” she breathed, and then just barely touched her lips to mine. Barely moving back a hair, she continued to seduce me with her words. “From the first time I saw you.”

Another faint kiss, a breathless exploration that seemed to barely hold back something more. The tiniest sweep of her tongue curling along my upper lip. She barely touched me, but had me swaying with the force of that feathery touch.

“You really do want me,” she asked, her voice barely audible over the crowd, “don’t you, Denny?”

I found myself beginning to nod.

“I want to tell you a little secret.” Her voice had a seductive rasp to it that seemed to vibrate along my skin right to my dick. “I always kind of wanted you, even when I was with Trent.”