Page 16 of Irish Daddies
“You know who I am,” he says as he yanks my underwear down and over my feet, throwing them to the side. He buries his tongue into me, spreading my legs apart, his fingers biting into my thighs in a familiar way.
Just for a second, I nudge him away, that’s how familiar it feels. My stomach lining thickens as I think of that night.The hands on me, the tongues on and in me, the kissing, the fingertips digging into my skin…
Shaking my head, I push the flashback away and pull Paul in closer. “Sorry,” I murmur.
“You sure? Are you okay?” he asks quietly, leaning his warm cheek against the inside of my leg. He teases my slit with his finger, running the tip up and down, until my face burns at the squelching sound it makes.
Silently, I nod, closing my eyes and breathing deep. With one hand, I reach for one of my nipples, squeezing it, trying to get back into the headspace to be in the moment with Paul. Paul with his big hands and secret muscles, Paul with his opening doors and yearning stares. I’m here with Paul, not there withthem.Slowly, I ground myself back in the moment and feel sensation again, his tongue flat against the tender skin of my folds.
His fingers work into me at the same time that his tongue works outside of me.
The man over top of me, holding my legs open, pumping into me with two fingers while his brother ate me out…
Paul’s finger is gentle, only one digit deep, prodding, letting me miss it, letting me want more. His tongue covers all of me, flat, not teasing but giving.
Kellan sucking on my clit while another man sucks on my nipples…
Paul’s tongue sneaks inside me with his finger as his finger hooks into my tunnel, and his other hand slips up to the nipple I can’t touch. He’s mastered this technique. He almost feels like three men at once.
Three men at once, tying me down, asking me if I’m sure but promising to worship me until I am…
The relentless pounding of the masked man’s two fingers, his other hand clinging to my thigh, the way the heel of his hand hit me over and over as he reached the end of his finger, as there was no more to get inside me without fucking me…
Paul’s tongue is so far inside me that with the memory of a cock so far away, it feels like one. I gasp as he reaches spots I’ve needed reached for so long, spots I thought were gone to me forever. Heat rises in my chest, and sweat pricks at my breasts. He doesn’t stop twirling my nipple, the pressure so light between his two fingers, and all the while his tongue and his fingers prod at my G-spot until I feel my climax building far earlier than I expected.
My thighs start to squeeze at that mounting relief, the slow tick up a roller coaster, the air in my lungs that I need to let go of, and right before my pussy lets go, the rest of the memory hits me over the head.
Pulling the knife across the man’s throat, looking back at me with blue eyes flecked with green as the other man’s eyes go blank…
An orgasm tears through me as my walls tighten around his tongue and fingers so hard that I worry he won’t be able to pull them out of me. I grip the back of his head and pull him against me, riding his face from the edge of the bed, grinding against his chin, his nose, I don’t care as long as I can keep this wave alive.
My juices pour into his mouth, an orgasm plucked from my G-spot, and I cry out in agony and relief—it’s hard to tell which is which as heat courses through me. His tongue laps eagerly, treating himself to all of it, until he feels me calm beneath him.
Excitedly, Paul rips his shirt off over his head and steps out of his pants. He pushes me onto my back and mounts me, and his erection drags against the slick patch of pre cum between my legs. I’m so ready that I start to squirm.
Paul sits up and settles his cock at my slick entrance, pushing the thick head into me. I gasp, my hands trailing up his stomach, fingertips brushing over warm, taut muscle. I meet his eyes, those oceans ofblue with green freckles.
A realization starts to flicker in me as he pushes deeper. My hands squeeze his shoulders instinctively. My pussy clenches, and I whimper.
Mumbled voices carry through the hallway outside the room. I glance at Paul for an answer, but his expression is too content. Too satisfied. Then it shifts, just slightly and just for a moment, into something else. Not the pleasure of a man getting what he wants, but the dark, coiled delight of someone who’searnedthis moment. Planned it even.
My hands drag to his chest, my eyes follow, and I freeze. A tattoo of a four-leaf clover with a dagger through it looks back at me from his glistening pec.No.
But that symbol was on someone whose face Isaw,someone I wouldrecognize, a man with colder eyes and darker hair, a sharper face.
The voices outside the room—they’re muffled. But familiar. Then loud and clear. Irish. One shouts, “Rian!” The name lands like a bullet between my ribs. I don’t know it.
But Paul glances at the door when he hears it.
Pieces of reality start to click, sickeningly, into place, even as Paul’s dick thrusts inside me. His tattoo, his silence.
My breath stutters. My vision tunnels. My lungs squeeze smaller and smaller with every passing second. I stare up at him and whisper, “Who are you?” But I already know the answer.
Paul lowers himself onto me fully, his weight on top of me, smothering and warm. He murmurs into my ear. Gravelly, low, and unmistakably Irish where it used to be a West Coast accent.
“I told you that you know who I am,” he says, kissing my neck. “I’ve been looking for you for so long, kitten.”
There was only one man that night who never spoke. One man who never showed his face. The man who held my legs open for his brother. Who fucked me with his fingers one second, and killed a man in front of me the next.
