Jess is the unluckiest woman in the world.
Nothing in her world ever goes right. When a tree crashes through her bedroom window, she’s unsurprised until a drop-dead gorgeous Irishman sticks his head inside. In this steamy novella, Jess finds herself falling harder and harder for this man who her best friend swears is a leprechaun.
Will Jess finally get lucky?
In this excerpt, Jess has been invited to a dinner by the gorgeous Irish man that dropped a tree into her bedroom. She’s there to get him to fix the damage, but her body has other ideas.
Conall tugged off the lid sending a cascade of steam from boiled lamb and peas through the air. The meaty scent entwining with his tree-chopping physique left me ravenous. Paying me no heed, he dipped a wooden spoon deep into his concoction and took his own deep whiff of the meal.
“That’s…an interesting pot,” I said, my stomach eyeing up the rich stew while my lower bits grew peckish for the man stirring it.
Impish green eyes darted up over the pitch black cauldron. He held the spoon between us, his tongue lapping over his lips in thought. “Oh?”
“Don’t see a lot of cast iron cauldrons outside of Halloween.” I tried to laugh it off, but that ringing silence returned.
Conall glanced at his ancient pot as if seeing it for the first time. With a slow shrug, he said, “Only way I know to make a proper Irish stew. Here, give it a taste.”
He extended the spoon towards me, the thick brown liquid reflecting his famished gaze. It could be poisoned. My brain tried to rescue me, or at least throw a pail of cold sense on the problem, but it was too late. Leaning forward at my waist, my lips suckered around the wooden spoon. Slowly, I pulled in the stew and my ramen-honed tastebuds erupted in joy.
“This is good,” I gasped, tilting my head up. The move surprised Conall and I bonked my cheek into the stew-coated spoon in the way. Stupid. I tried to turn away and blot the accident off when warm fingers curled over my jaw like a meadow breeze.
Gently, he swiped his thumb over the spot, soaking the stain onto his own skin. With a smile, his green eyes burning into mine, he placed his thumb into his mouth and licked it off. I burned at the tender lap of his tongue around the thick thumb, my eyes drawn to the gentle pucker in his mouth. How it caressed his finger, holding it in his warm kiss.
I dove for him, plunging to his lips before my brain or body had a chance to call a retreat. Conall’s hand barely slipped from his mouth before I claimed it.
Stone hard from shock at first, his lips melted against mine. Heat danced off the lips pressing as tenderly as a daisy’s petals to mine. Fingers swept across my cheek until burrowing at the nape of my neck. Digging into my hair, Conall pulled me deeper into the kiss. His tongue slicked between the narrow gap of my lips, begging for an invitation. Greedy for a taste, I parted mine and he delved in, his hand rustling apart my ponytail while he tipped my head to fit him.
Spring rains tumbling off a crystal mountain stream. Verdant grass wafting in the sea air. The bleat of sheep standing upon the unassailable cliffs. My mind, my senses, my very being filled with not just the images but the scents and touch of those thoughts and more.
I gasped, breaking the kiss. The soul of Ireland fled from my mind, but the agony didn’t leave my body. I gulped in air to shake away the illusion, but the earthy scent of lamb stew didn’t help. “You,” I sputtered, my hands splayed out over his chest. Conall froze, his fingers tousled in my hair but not gripping. I could easily push him away, his back to the counter, mine the exit.
Taking another breath, I stared up from his flushed lips glistening due to my kiss, into his eyes. “You broke my window,” I said slowly.
“Yes,” he responded solemnly.
I launched for him, my arms locking around the back of his neck, my hand pulling him into my kiss. Our tongues lapped against one another, mine tugging his bottom lip into my mouth. When I sucked upon it, my teeth barely grazing the fragile skin, his hands enveloped the small of my back. So large, they overlaid one another, Conall’s fingertips reaching up my spine as he pulsed and kneaded against me.
“And,” I broke again, my body flush to his. Straining on my tiptoes, as I stared deep into his eyes my hips glided against his clinging to low-slung trousers. A moan rolled off his tongue from my lower belly excising the rising bulge.
The guttural groan of pleasure caught me so by surprise, I fell forward. Lashing a hand out to grip the cupboard, I kept myself from crushing him, but our foreheads softly knocked. His arms wrapped around my waist, tucking me into his embrace as much to protect himself as well as me.
With our noses burrowing into each other’s cheeks, our eyes filled only with the other’s pupils, I asked, “And you will fix it?”
Pulling in a slow breath, the side of his lips rose and he rustled the tip of his tongue against the smattering of red scruff. “Yes,” he repeated. His fingers locked around the nape of my neck, Conall submerging himself into my mouth. My body tumbled, not to the ground, not off a counter, but in his arms.
As if he was dipping me at the end of a ballroom waltz, he tipped me nearly horizontal. Fingers pulsed into the small of my back, reminding me that I was safe in his arms, while the others tugged on my hair. A gasping moan rolled off my tongue, Conall quick to ravish his own response in the throes of our kiss.
Just as I drank deep of the delectable Irish whiskey heating my veins, his lips left mine. I blinked, expecting him to put up his own questions, when a scorching kiss nibbled on the edge of my collarbone. Tipping my head back, I heard a grateful chuckle from the man more than happy to take advantage. With his strong lips, he pursed and nipped along the thin skin at the side of my throat. I wanted to giggle, but instead of feeling ticklish each tender touch drove straight to my sparking core.
Switching to the other side, his little nibbles canvassed across my exposed décolletage. The heat of his breath slid down my cleavage. Both hands dug into the small of my back, the heels cupping the top of my ass. My mind ran wild imagining those hands pressing to my back and buttocks as he thrust from behind. Or how they’d hold me up as I rode his lap. A giddy laugh escaped my lips at the wild ideas rampaging through my brain. Conall’s scorching tongue lapped along the hem of my lacy camisole. Slowly, he curled it further inward, his lips sucking and nibbling on the heaving edge of my breasts.
I ached to rip my blazer off, the camisole, every damn stitch of clothing in the way. But at the same time, I was hypnotized by the tender kisses the Irishman drew between my less-than-ample cleavage.
“Mmm,” Conall moaned, his fingers gliding higher. It tugged my blazer up, revealing my skin to his warm touch. His palm slipped under every layer, alighting my body as he reached ever higher up my spine. At the bra strap, he notched his fingers around the clasp, rolling it in his grip as if he could rip it open with his bare hand. Suddenly, he paused, his fingers sliding away.
The exploring palm landed almost chastely upon my hip, though his fingers kept gliding around to curl over my ass. With almost no strain, Conall tugged me back to my steady feet, cautious green eyes staring into mine as if he feared crossing a dangerous boundary.
Which he probably did. Inviting a woman over for dinner, because he broke her window, then ravishing her before the main course was even served.
Would there be ravishing?
He paused with our chests so close pulling in air slid my breasts across his pecs. My eyes drifted from his unreadable thoughts to his lips. Spicy red from every kiss he placed to my body, I could feel the heat off of them even at a distance.
You’re here for a reason, remember.
Another ragged breath punctured through his glistening lips, Conall smearing a hand through his hair.
To get him to fix the window.
My hands dropped from where they’d dug into his back. The spread of muscles that tightened to keep me aloft, hard as stone even after putting me on my feet, began to soften. His hair rubbing paused, the palm remaining on his forehead, while he gazed almost sheepishly from below it.
So, hammer out the details, then fuck him.
3 thoughts on “Get Lucky with this Sexy Irishman #MFRHooks”
Very sensuous kiss
Sexy as hell kisser who cooks, what more can a girl want? I don’t know if her toes curled, but mine did.
She has an interesting way of asking for repairs, lol! What would she have done if he’d knocked down a shed instead of only breaking a window?? This sounds very cute!
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