Chapter Text
As the plane finally made its bumpy landing onto the tarmac, I crossed myself -- actually crossed myself like I was back at Catholic school. Maybe being on Irish soil does something to a person. Or maybe I’m just really, really afraid of planes.
But how could I pass up a trip like this? I’d never even left the country before, and who knew when an international plane ticket would fall in my lap again.
Aunt Bea’s friends were hosting their annual Women’s Writer’s Retreat, but one of them had had to cancel last minute. Something about her daughter going into early labor.
I’d always loved Aunt Bea. My own mother, her sister, is a good woman, but different. She would never wear big sunglasses or full skirts like Aunt Bea. Especially not on a plane. Mom has always been a jeans-and-tshirt gal, slightly embarrassed by my penchant for dresses.
But this time, my small suitcase was filled mostly with large, cozy sweaters and soft base layers. It was still a rainy spring, back home and across the atlantic. But I had packed a dress at the bottom, just in case.
I’d told my family it would be the perfect spring break -- I’d spend chilly mornings reading on a rocky beach, take walks through the countryside, purchase everyone wooly socks, and then head back to my respectable college dorm. Modestly culturally enriched and ready to resume the monotony of study. And my life.
A friend of Aunt Bea’s was waiting for us by the time we’d shuffled off the plane and through the terminal. We’d flown into Dublin airport, but we still had at least a three hour ride back to the holiday house, as she called it, of Aunt Bea’s friend. She’d told me the town but the unfamiliar sounding name kept slipping my mind. All I remembered in the sleepy transcontinental haze was that we must be heading West, at some point noticing a sign for Galway.
I must’ve dozed off because the last thing I remembered we were merging onto a highway. As my eyes fluttered open I could’ve sworn I’d fallen into a postcard, Mary Poppins’ style. The stone cottage was adorably picturesque, but the sea beyond it wrenched at my heartstrings like a sponge wrung out after a good scrubbing. If I’d had the energy, I would’ve run to the cliff side and reenacted a solo version of Titanic.
Instead I let Aunt Bea lead me inside and introduce me to her friends. I’d already met Marta, the one who’d picked us up on her drive in from Germany. Clemence, the owner, was a tall woman from Sweden -- or was it Norway? -- with a plump face and a faint smile on the corners of her lips. A few more would be arriving later this evening.
Somehow it was morning, but I didn’t care. I needed sleep. And not in a car or on a plane, but in a bed. Clemence was busying herself making tea and Aunt Bea was chattering away, but Marta noticed my slipping eyelids and showed me up to my room.
“It’s very nice to see you traveling with your aunty,” she said kindly as we crossed a small hallway that led toward the back of the little house. “Are you a writer, my dear?” she asked again in an accent tinged with German and Irish both.
“Well -- I hope so,” I said, faltering for a moment. I loved to write, but was I really a writer if I never finished anything?
“You’ll have to join us then,” she said, pushing open the door to a small room at the very end of the hall. “After you get some rest,” she added.
“The washroom is the second door on the left,” she said with a vague gesture as she moved back up the hall.
I called back the politest thanks I could muster, but as soon as she had rounded the small staircase, I turned and shut the door behind me.
Two large windows had been thrown open, and a strong breeze was coming in off the water. I could smell and taste the salt, and suddenly I felt how dry my throat was.
Next to the bedside table was a small glass and a carafe filled with water. I drank two glassfuls in succession, panting a little after the last few gulps.
I stripped off the stretchy leggings and floppy sweater I’d worn on the plane, not to mention the slightly pungent garments underneath. I slipped quickly up the hall, the faint echo of laughter bubbling up from downstairs. After a small fight with the unfamiliar nozzle, I stepped into a stream of warm water, letting the dirt and grime from the trip rinse away down the drain.
Scrubbed clean and covered in lotion, I made my way back to my new bedroom with the small, soft towel tucked under my arms. I eyed my suitcase in the corner; it seemed so much heavier now than when I’d packed it. As I tried to find the energy to at least pull out some pajamas, I ran my hand along the bedsheets absentmindedly.
Against my better judgment, I let the towel slip to the floor and slid between the sheets. I couldn’t help myself. They were buttery soft, gently worn but still thick. And the mattress felt heavenly after the cramped seats on the plane. I stretched like a starfish, watching clouds roll across the sky beyond the window.
As the billowy tufts of gray came towards me, a light misty rain started to scatter down to the rooftop, to the earth, to the ocean below. I let my eyes flutter closed and gave into a deep, sinking sleep.
***
“Wake up,” came a soft voice drifting through the ether. I grasped for the dream now escaping. I had been on the water, I had been in someone’s arms, I had been…
“Honey, you should wake up now,” came the voice again. Aunt Bea. It all came flooding back.
I was in Ireland.
Naked.
Thankfully I’d kept the duvet pulled up. I blinked my eyes open, gently rubbing away the sharp debris that had collected at the inner corners.
“You’ve been sleeping for ten hours,” said Aunt Bea gently. She’d set a cup of tea on the nightstand. I pushed myself up just enough to be able to look her in the eye without losing any of the covers. Seeing I was truly awake, she flicked on the bedside lamp. I blink again as the shallow light flooded my newly cracked cocoon.
“The other ladies have arrived,” Aunt Bea went on, rising from where she’d perched on the bed to give me a shake. “And we always start the retreat with a night out at the local pub.” I felt myself blanch.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. In fact, now that I’d gotten some sleep, I wanted to see everything. But I couldn’t help feeling a little self conscious tagging along with a group of women two to three times my age. “Nora’s just arrived, she’s one of the locals I was telling you about.”
As though she’d read my mind, Aunt Bea threw me a rope. “She’s brought someone she wants you to meet.” I just wasn’t sure it would be a rope I wanted.
I’d never actually talked to Aunt Bea about the sort of women I was attracted to. She knew better than to set me up with a guy, thank god, but still. What were the chances?
“Oh? Who’s that?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Just another local, more your age.” Aunt Bea could be frustratingly coy. “Drink your tea and get dressed, and we’ll see you downstairs.” And with that, she went away.
I tried not to take too long as I dug through my suitcase. I left the dress firmly on the bottom, partly out of cynicism but more so because the breeze that met my skin outside the warmth of the bed was bitter cold. I’d never felt a March like this.
Outside, a sliver of sun still lilted above the horizon, promising a true darkness soon.
I dressed in all black because it showed the least wrinkles from my hastily packed suitcase. I tamed my hair as best I could, some curls having been crushed into awkward angles while I slept. I tried not to overthink it, fastening a small pair of hoop earrings and swiping on a touch of lipstick.
As I neared the top of the stairs, the voices below came into focus through a din of light laughter. “I’ll sing if I want to sing,” came a woman’s voice with a soft Italian accent. And with that, she gave a wolf-like howl and the peels of laughter came louder.
My stocking feet felt heavy and slippery as I descended the creaking old staircase.
“Patrizia, you’ll break all the glasses in the house,” cried Aunt Bea.
I was ready to enter the kitchen when I felt my phone vibrate in my small purse.
Mom
You promised to let me know when you’d arrived at the house.
Mom
Are you okay?
Mom
Please answer!!
Shit, I thought. I sunk onto one of the lower steps, collecting my thoughts as I prepared to apologize.
I’m fine , I wrote back quickly. The little bubble from her side showed up almost instantly.
Did you get some sleep?
Before I could type that I’d just slept for ten hours, she sent another message.
Don’t forget, you HAVE to rest
I sighed in frustration, knowing she meant well. It was just pneumonia, but those few weeks in the hospital had really scared her. And to be fair, I still hadn’t quite recovered the strength I’d had before. But I was ready to do more again, I just knew it. And my pulmonologist agreed.
It took a few minutes of messaging to reassure her, but I did. How much more sleep can a person need than ten hours? I stood up, pointedly ignoring the slight quiver in my legs.
The kitchen at the back of the house was bustling with people. Languages flew back and forth in different accents. The smells of tea and coffee mixed with the waft of smoke carried on the breeze from the window near a smoldering fireplace. The light had softened even further as the last rays of sun were lost to the day I’d slept away.
I stepped in tentatively. Crowds have never really been my thing, but I was getting better. A few college events and even a party or two had provided some exposure therapy these last three years.
Still, I’d be lying if I said Aunt Bea’s friends didn’t intimidate me a bit. Don’t get me wrong, they were all nothing but nice to me. They just seemed so cool, worldly, confident.
“Ach, is this your niece, Bea?” asked a woman with a distinctly Irish accent. “Why she’s the spit of Daniele. It’s so good to meet you, love,” she said with the vibrance of a woman who was probably used to talking much faster. I wonder how she knew my mom.
“This is her,” said Aunt Bea, putting a friendly arm around my shoulder. “Honey, this is Norah. She lives just up the road.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, hoping I sounded polite and not tired.
“Sorcha’s running a tad behind,” Norah said, as though I knew exactly who she meant. “But she’ll catch up with us,” she added, slinging a jacket over her broad shoulders.
We walked along a small sidewalk through the chilly mist. I found myself falling a few paces behind the others, tilting my head back to take in the dark green foliage above. Ever since I was discharged from the hospital, I felt addicted to fresh air and greenery, a little claustrophobic whenever the windows were shut too tight.
“Mind yourself,” came a friendly voice. Before I could bring my head fully forward again, a confident hand pulled me smoothly away from the center of the road. I hadn’t realized how far I’d drifted. “You’ll want to stay on the footpath, love,” came the voice again.
She was tall, much taller than me. Not that that was hard, but still. She towered over me. Thank god these boots had some heel.
“Howya,” she said, meeting my gaze with her dark mischievous eyes.
“You must be Sorcha,” I said, finding a surge of confidence in the squeeze her hand had given me before dropping back to her own side.
I needn’t have worried. She was exactly the kind of woman I was into. It was all I could do to stop my hand from running along the mop of hair over her crown, down the cropped fuzz to the smooth nape of her neck.
“I am,” she confirmed, and I gave my name in return. She talked easily, which was perfect for me. She had grown up in this town and had lived here all her life. She knew all the best spots, places guidebooks could never tell you about. It was good we had come away from the city, not that there was anything wrong with a nice city, but this would be something much better.
Before long we reached the small but lively pub. I gulped. Not only was there a bit of a crowd, but there was an issue I hadn’t anticipated -- so unlike me. But the brain fog and jet lag were a potent combination.
Somehow it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be expected to drink. I was already twenty-one, legal age even back home, but ever since I’d been sick, even a sip of alcohol made me feel awful almost instantly. I supposed I’d cross that bridge when we came to it.
Inside the pub was surprisingly cozy, not like the bars in my small college town back home. Aunt Bea and her friends were settling into a table towards the back, but Sorcha was caught in a stream of greetings from people around the bar.
I was split for just a moment, not knowing if I should stay by her side or follow the others; but then that steady hand reappeared around my waist, and I was drawn into the small throng too.
Sorcha introduced me to everyone with a stream of names I could hardly track. There was a Blane, a Michael, a Brighid, a Tara, and a few more I probably couldn’t spell. I might have remembered which faces matched which names, if it wasn’t so hard to tear my eyes from Sorcha.
Now that the pub provided a warm glowy light -- much brighter than the meager moonlight outside -- I had a much better look at her. Not wanting to stare right into her face, I’d become stuck on her hands. They were large, not in proportion to her body, but certainly in proportion to mine. Even in the dim light, I could see the callouses I had felt twice pressing into my back.
“Sorcha’s great craic, aye?” one of them, I think Brighid, said, breaking my trance.
I wasn’t sure whether to agree or not, but when I only wrinkled my forehead, maybe-Brighid let me off the hook with a quick wink.
“Shall we get a round?” she asked, moving swiftly on. Sorcha and the others were quick to agree.
I gulped again. “Sorcha,” I said, having to raise up to the balls of my feet to reach her ear with my quiet tone.
She turned to me, our faces closer now that I’d risen up a few inches. She looked at me expectantly.
“I -- I’ll explain later,” I said, not sure where to begin, “but I can’t drink.”
She nodded, and a smile spread across her face. It was then that I noticed the two small dimples below the apples of her cheeks. “I’ll see to it, love,” she said, turning to the bartender.
Sorcha ordered a round for herself and her friends, and added at the end, “and she’ll take a mineral,” with a nod to me.
The chatter seemed to be growing louder. I tried to keep up, chiming in here and there, but their speech was so much faster than the way anyone talked in Tennessee, and sprinkled with unfamiliar words and phrases.
I started to zone out a little, hoping the others wouldn’t think I was rude, but I was getting tired again, though I hated admitting it. And I certainly didn’t mind a chance to steal a few more glances at Sorcha. To my delight, she had a tendency to talk with her hands. And as she reached around and gesticulated, her shirt revealed slivers of her hips above a dark leather belt.
I was watching her latest story more than listening -- although her undeniably sexy accent was also growing on me -- when I felt hot, acrid breath on the back of my neck.
Of course. Some things are universal, even in lovely little Irish pubs.
Between his slurring and his accent, I had no idea what he was saying. But I’m not interested in men period, let alone ones that smelled like yesterday’s beer and stood way too close.
I felt Sorcha stiffen next to me. She stopped speaking and turned around, looking him up and down with amusement. “He bothering you, love?” she asked me quietly, though it seemed like everyone heard, the chatter dying down as they all turned to look at us. The drunk man stood there grinning stupidly, as though he was in on the joke. I nodded.
Sorcha leaned in closer, and all at once her warm, sweet breath was all I could feel. Against my ear, she whispered, and I nodded again.
Feeling unsure but determined, I found my voice and repeated, “Cop on, you fecking eejit.” Sorcha and her friends burst into laughter and the drunk man’s cheeks colored even redder.
“Why don’t you get some air, Cullen,” said one of the drunk man’s less drunk friends, steering him away.
Even though it had ended in laughter, I felt a little unsteady.
“Do you want to get some air?” said Sorcha, leaning close again.
I nodded. “But I don’t want to take you from your friends,” I added, looking a question at her.
“Not at all,” she said, that notorious hand slinking around my waist again; but was it a touch lower this time?
It definitely was.
“That was the round I owed them,” she said, as though that settled the matter.
Sorcha guided me through the pub toward a back door. I exchanged a glance with Aunt Bea, who returned quickly to her apparently absorbing conversation. Out back, a few old tables were scattered around along with a handful of people who preferred the cool breeze to the warmth back inside. The ocean lapped away at the cliffs a few yards away and seagulls cried overhead.
As music drifted out from the back door, I began to tell her about myself. I told her about my classes, my family, the books I’d been reading, how much I loved the beach but hardly ever got to go, how I detested mushrooms. When was the last time I’d talked this much?
But she talked too. I heard the stories of her schoolyard pranks, how she’d first learned to play guitar when she was seven, the playlist she wanted to send me, all about the favorite beach she would take me to.
As I talked and listened, I couldn’t help glancing out toward the water. “Do you want to go?” she asked the next time I did, jerking her head gently in the direction of the coast.
“Yeah,” I agreed, grinning. We walked hand in hand at first, and as the wind grew sharper, I leaned into her side and let her wrap an arm around me in earnest, her strong hand rubbing warmth into my goosebumped forearm.
The swell and release of the ocean was mesmerizing, but I couldn’t shake the awareness of her eyes glancing over to me, her hot skin pulsing against my cold shivers.
“I think I have to come clean,” she said, turning towards me just a bit.
“Hmm?” I mused, wondering what she could have to come clean about already.
“You see, I’ve been thinking about having my way with you all night,” Sorcha went on, keeping her tone casual. “And I thought I should give you a heads up before I do, you know -- just in case,” she finished with a playful smirk.
But she faltered when I stiffened against her. “Or maybe not just in case.” It was actually adorable to see her confidence flag.
“No, no,” I started, angling myself towards her too. “That’s -- that’s exactly what I want,” I said, not wanting to mince words. “It’s just -- “ now I was the one faltering.
“What is it, love?” she asked, the concern in her voice coming through even over the loud crash of the waves below.
“Well… remember how I couldn’t drink?” I said, feeling awkward. Sorcha nodded and waited. “Well… I was sick, a few months ago, like -- in the hospital sick. But I’m better now,” I added, watching a deeper concern sweep over her features.
“It’s just that --” I paused again. She waited patiently, moving only to swipe her thumb gently along the lower crest of my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear even though it would only blow free again. “Well… I don’t have much stamina anymore. After so much time just in bed, well, that walk up here was like a cross-fit routine to me.”
Sorcha chuckled. “Is that all?”
Her thumb had lingered on my jaw, and it brushed gently over my lower lip. Her other hand came strong but tender against my back, drawing me in closer to her. I couldn’t help but notice, she seemed to be holding me up.
And good thing too, because next thing I knew she was kissing me, a hand wrapping into my hair. It started slow and soft, her lips gently opening against mine, but before I could draw another breath my knees were nearly buckling. Her tongue was sweet as it grazed my teeth, probing deep places in my mouth no one had yet dared to explore. Her lips felt like velvet as she slowly pulled away.
I glanced down, suddenly shy and starting to shiver more.
She took my chin between her thumb and first finger, tilting my face up so I was looking her square in the eye.
But her grip was gone almost as soon as it arrived, tucking that same loose curl behind my ear again. “Please, love,” she said, still looking right at me. “A princess like you is always a treat.”
I couldn’t help it. I bit my lower lip and sighed so hard I thought I might growl. How did her words get me like this? She’d barely touched me.
I’ll admit, the accent helps. I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant when she said, “Do you want to come to the gaff?” but I agreed. I wanted to go wherever she would take me, especially if she asked me by whispering into my ear like that.
I was pleasantly surprised when we walked up to a small house. I’d sent a quick text to Aunt Bea as we sauntered away from the pub, not bothering to go back inside but instead heading straight for the little road that had led us in. As we reached the edge, she’d held me gently, taking the place on the outside nearer the road.
Sorcha’s arm stayed around my waist as we made the short walk. Her stride was confident and leisurely, and I couldn’t help but feel safe against her warmth.
The house was small and clean, not freestanding like the little cottage but among a row of doors that reminded me of the row houses I’d seen once in Baltimore. The sea wasn’t as loud here, but it never seemed far away.
She took me right upstairs; I guess she knew I didn't want a nightcap. She ushered me past a door, her hand never leaving the small of my back even as she turned to close it.
I was registering the bed with its clean white quilt when I felt her step up behind me. Her fingers began to trace teasingly along the sides of my waist, up and down under my sweater but over the shirt underneath, until suddenly she was lifting all my top layers up and over my head.
I was ready for her to spin me around, kiss me furiously, push me towards the bed… but instead, she returned to tracing my waist, except this time with those lovely rough calluses against my bare skin.
Sorcha’s breath came in hot again against my ear, her chest pushing against my shoulder blades, one hand wrapping across my stomach to steady me.
“I’m going to make you feel so, so good,” she crooned into my ear. Her fingertips were dancing down the top of my thigh, skating back up the inner side near to where a roaring heat was building.
“Let’s get you out of these,” she whispered. The hand on my thigh held me steady then, as the hand on my stomach ghosted up towards my bare chest.
Sorcha’s fingertips grazed across my collarbone, against my nipples, barely, just barely, before tracing back down the center of my stomach.
She slipped my pants down, helping me to step out of my shoes and the fabric now pooled at my ankles. Still fully clothed, she led me towards the bed.
“Lay down,” she added quietly, in a voice that was not to be argued with. Not that I wanted to anyway.
I did as she said, sinking back onto my elbows, secretly grateful after the walk.
Sorcha stood over me, taking her time as she unbuttoned her shirt and let it slip from her shoulders. She did the same with her shoes and pants, until she was left in only a pair of black boxers, a white undershirt, and some sort of sports bra underneath.
I couldn’t hide my awe, and her small smirk confirmed she saw it. A shiver ran up my spine as she suddenly swept over me, her eyes taking in my nudity now pinned beneath her. I hadn’t actually seen her muscles yet, only felt them. There was just something about noticing the bulge of her biceps on either side of my face as she hovered over me, her eyes still traveling up and down my body.
I couldn’t help getting wetter when I saw how pleased she looked with me. There was probably already a puddle at the center of her bed.
I supposed she’d find it soon enough. She’d begun to pepper my body with sweet kisses and bites, teasing my breasts with achingly light brushes, pinching my nipples gently and then not so gently, playing with my flesh between her teeth in ways I hoped would bruise just a bit -- at least in the places no one else would see.
By the time she was opening my thighs further, I knew I was well and truly dripping.
“Hmm,” she thrummed, noticing the small trickles all down my inner thighs. She took one finger and drew it slowly up one of the little trails of fluid, gathering it on the pad of her finger. She made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a pant before fixing her eyes on me and bringing the finger into her mouth.
I couldn’t help groaning aloud, which made her laugh even more. “Getting jealous, darling?”
She ran her finger up my thigh again, this time bringing it up to my own mouth, which had opened of its own accord. I tasted myself, sweet on her salty fingertip.
“Mm, good girl,” she said as I licked myself off her finger. “But,” she went on, pulling it from my mouth, “the rest is for me.”
And with that, Sorcha went deep between my legs, pushing my thighs apart as she wrapped her strong arms lazily around them.
Her tongue began to tease my thighs, collecting what continued to spill from the core of me until she had worked her way up closer, closer.
My hips had started to buck gently under her firm grip, but she was unrelenting. Her arms tightened around my thighs as she began to tease my lips inch by inch. After a few moments, minutes -- I can’t be sure -- I’d begun to buck my hips in earnest.
The arm wrapped around my left thigh tightened to a vice, like a zip tie pulled taught. Sorcha sat up suddenly, propped on the elbow that had been holding my other leg. Gently, so gently, she began to drag her fingertips up and down my dripping slit, always stopping just below my throbbing clit, never quite dipping into my cunt.
I was craving her now, ready to do almost anything. She didn’t stop me from bucking my hips, but she never let me rock onto her fingers no matter how much I tried.
She was looking at me, watching as I dribbled all down her hand. “What a pretty pussy,” she said admiringly, stroking down to my entrance and teasing with just the tips of her fingers, still not letting me push them in. “I can’t wait to be inside you with my tongue, my fingers, my strap…” she trailed off, glancing up at me once more before finally diving down and taking me into her mouth.
She was soft, so soft, at least at first. She lapped at my entrance, pushing her tongue into me and letting me press my hips up into her face. I felt myself dripping down to the backs of my knees, across my ass, all over the sheets. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on when finally her tongue came up and flicked my clit. Softly at first, but the pace kept picking up, faster and firmer.
I hadn’t been able to contain my whimpers, but now I was starting to moan in earnest, hardly able to withstand the sensation. When Sorcha’s fingers finally cemented themselves at the entrance to my cunt, never slipping in no matter how much I bucked against her, I felt the word slip from my lips.
“Please, please,” I heard myself say. Her tongue paused against my clit.
“What are you begging for, love?”
I blushed, wanting to say that she knew what I wanted, but swallowing the words when I saw her cocked eyebrow between my thighs.
She pulled herself up to my face, releasing the grip on my thigh but never letting the fingers at my opening slip away -- or inside.
“I wanna hear you say it, baby.” Her words were so hot against my neck. I could taste and smell myself mixed with the salt of her sweat as she kissed my lips, my jaw, and nibbled at my ear.
“Fuck,” I murmured as she began to trace up and down my slit again. “I want you inside me,” I heard myself say, adding a moaning, “please,” when she raised an eyebrow at me again.
“Please, please,” I repeated, and she smiled indulgently and sunk a finger deep into my aching cunt as my begging dissolved back into moans.
I bucked and circled my hips, but one finger just wasn’t enough.
“Fuck,” I said again, curling my hips slowly against the barrely-there finger in frustration.
“What do you want?” Sorcha asked quietly.
I couldn’t answer right away, too consumed with the near-desperate need for more and the delight of having any of her inside me at all.
“All you have to do is tell me,” she went on, stroking my clit lightly with her thumb. My tongue slipped out of its own accord, tracing and biting my lower lip. I felt myself dripping into the pool of her hand. She groaned gently as she repeated, “All you have to do is tell me what you want.”
“Fuck, please,” I said, still searching for better words.
Suddenly I was empty again.
Sorcha’s hand cracked sharply against the lower curve of my ass. “Fuck,” I said again, still trying to chase her hand through the sweet sting. She teased my entrance again and I groaned shamelessly. “Fuck okay,” I said with heady determination.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said, averting my eyes. “Please, I want you to fuck me so bad,” I repeated, bucking my hips against nothing.
“That’s right,” she said quietly in my ear, stroking my ass sweetly over the tender spot she’d just created, her fingers so slick. “Tell me how. How should I fuck you, baby?”
I groaned again. I hadn’t had the guts for much dirty talk in the past, but how could I refuse?
“Hard, please fuck me hard,” I said, cheeks coloring obviously even in the dim light.
Sorcha chuckled, whispering, “Good girl,” again as she finally took mercy on me.
Slotting herself between my legs, she paused at my breasts, finally taking an aching nipple deep into her mouth. As her teeth gently grazed the stiffening bud, she slid two fingers inside me and began to pump them to a slow, delicious rhythm that gradually grew faster and harder.
I was seeing stars but not quite ready to tip over the edge, when suddenly she moved to a pace so slow she all but stopped. My ecstatic moans devolved into groans again and my eyes fluttered open.
Leaving her post at my nipples she came to whisper in my ear again. “Relax your pussy,” she said, licking gently into the folds of my ear. I tried and felt myself spasm open, shut, open. “More,” she said, repeating herself as I fluttered around her fingers until suddenly a third, then fourth slipped in.
I gasped, clamping down around her as she whispered, “That’s it, baby, that’s it.” Her pace picked up faster this time; I guess she knew I couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Touch yourself, love,” she said firmly. I blushed furiously, but I slid a hand down, unable to resist a chance to toy with my tormented clit.
Everything felt so full, so swollen, like my body was trying to rise to her touch. In seconds my fingers too were covered, and that moment of relief was building inside me. Sorcha had propped herself up between my legs and was watching avidly, my face, my hand on my clit, her hand pumping in and out of me with delicious, dripping, unrelenting power, determined to give me exactly what I needed, until finally, finally -- she did.
But it had never been like this before. Not only was the feeling so mind-bogglingly good, but it didn’t stop.
I had expected that as soon as my moaning and shaking had subsided a bit, she would pull her fingers from me and wrap me right into her arms. But she didn’t stop, and somehow, neither did I.
Sorcha fucked me through one orgasm then another, sometimes adding her mouth, something placing my fingers back on my clit, until I’d lost count and let my legs shake with earthquake after earthquake, no longer sure where one ended and another began.
So this is how it’s supposed to be, I realized quietly in some deep recess of my mind. And when, finally, we both knew I was absolutely spent, she did wrap me into her arms -- but not before cleaning up with just her mouth one last time.
That chuckle I was growing to love came again.
“What?” I asked sheepishly, not seeing anything funny about it.
She grinned at me, clearly pleased with herself. “It’s just… You’ve got stamina, darling. Believe me.”