Steamy Saturday — Irish Stew

WARNING! A Five-Chili Steamy Scene Lurks Below!
If you aren’t ready for your phone to catch on fire, click away.

In this excerpt, a hot Irish handyman invites Jess over for dinner and the stew is abandoned for some fun times.

EXCERPT INCLUDES:
🌶️ MF
🌶️ Counter Banging
🌶️ Irish Accent

Eyes green as spring’s clover burned into mine. He released my wrists, my arms dangling helplessly to the side. Curling his palm over my jaw, he held my face as he breathed, “Not until I get you in the buff first.”
Pink silk flew over my face, the lace tickling my lips while Conall ripped off the camisole. I pulled in a breath, dancing on my naked toes as the drop-dead gorgeous Irishman turned his emerald eyes straight to my boobs. A string of what sounded like guttural curses escaped his lips, though judging by the joy on his face it could be prayer.

His mouth glanced across mine, the hot tongue once again dipping in. At the same time, his hands swept around my back, both targeting in on the bra’s hooks. While kissing me with such force I stumbled, he struggled with the first of three clasps. When the second refused to budge, he did curse, “Shite,” against my cheek.

“I thought you were supposed to be a handyman? Good with your hands?” I purred, catching his eye.

That wily tongue rolled over his teeth and he chuckled. “Aye Lass, wait ’til you see what I can do with my nimble fingers.”

“Then.” I reached behind to grip the tricky bra myself. Conall’s hands fell to the wayside, his eyes widening with a view only of me. A blush burned across my chest and rose for my cheeks from a man’s attention narrowed upon me. The clasps gave way under my practiced hand. Slowly, I pulled both straps down, releasing my breasts from their tether.

“Mother Eire herself,” Conall gulped. He didn’t even wait for the bra straps to move past my elbows. Tugging the damn undergarment free himself, my bra flew through the sterile kitchen. His lips pressed to mine while his hands — those warm, tender, talented hands — swept against the thin, naked skin he worked so hard to free. “Oh you’re beyond a stunner, me beaut,” he cried, his hot breath twirling in my ear while his fingers performed magic.

Gently, he kneaded against my giving flesh, his fingers swooping out to the sides of my ribs while ladling me in kisses. But when I plucked his bottom lip between mine, he wrapped both thumb and forefinger around my nipples. The pinch caused me to jump not in pain but surprise.

“Tell me,” he smiled, his accent thickening as he began to coax my nipples, “how you like to be touched.” Lips pressed to my throat, soft as a beat of a butterfly wing. Slowly, he swept the tips of his fingers against my nipples.

“Tender and slow?” Conall whispered, pressing kisses down my throat. “Or,” he breathed just above the press of my cleavage.

“Or?” I repeated, struggling for air.

A winking smile danced from his lips to his eyes. Darting forward, he sucked his scorching lips against my right nipple. “Christ,” I gasped, my head tipping back, hands tousling through his hair. Conall increased the pressure, just the tip of his teeth gliding against my nipple. Pleasure erupted through my body, my thighs pressing tighter as the need to ride him drew to an ache.

He switched to the left, following the same pattern and causing me to unleash more ecstatic cursing. I found myself flexing my calves in hunger, my hips thrusting forward with each swipe of his teeth. “No one’s ever,” I gulped, sweat rising on my brow. I tried to wipe it away before the sexy Irishman staggering to his full height noticed. Even as those dashing lips smiled, his hands kept knocking against my nipples. The ripples dancing down my body wouldn’t stop.

“I do believe there’s yet the matter of your trousers,” Conall chuckled. Biting down on my lip, all I could do was nod. Words were quickly escaping my brain, and I feared if I tried to open my mouth gibberish would emerge.

“Now.” He hooked his leg around behind me, tugging my bottom half to his hands. I flourished in the bounce of his cock against my hip, glad to know it’d only grown more demanding from my shirtless state.

While he pressed his lips to my ear, sucking upon the lobe and breathing a shot of hot air inside, his fingers worked quickly on the button. “This I do know.”

My pants hit the floor without any complications, revealing to him my single pair of deep green panties. His eyes darted down to the shiny bikini bottoms with only a thin strap keeping them on my hips. “Nice color,” Conall whispered.

Circling around my hip, his finger playfully tussled with the band, tugging the hemline down towards my inner thigh. All the while he kept trying to kiss me, but I couldn’t stop struggling for air, my full attention upon the fingers swerving about in my dark pubic hair. The agony of waiting, of never knowing if and when he’d dip in, drove me mad. I found my body rising up on my toes and widening my stance as if it was screaming for his touch.

As if I was.

“Jesus Christ!” I shouted when that wayward finger swept straight down the middle of my inner core.
Conall began to hum at the wetness coating his finger. “I adore that.” I was about to ask what he meant when he circled from my inner folds up to the shy clit.

It was no joke he was skilled with his hands. A talented expert, he rubbed not just the pearl itself but swerved and swept every humming inch. Every time he danced his fingertip on the hood itself I feared I may fall backwards in ecstasy. My nails dug into his shoulders, trying to keep me upright, while the man weaving an orgasm from just one finger kept pressing a kiss to my slack lips.

“Please,” slipped from my mouth into his. Even I started in surprise from the word before my body told my brain what it wanted. “I need you,” I sputtered. My hand freed from the taut muscle it clung to and once again curled around the hidden cock.

Conall’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes screwed tight as he gazed to the heavens. “I,” his finger retracted from inside me. “I cannot deny you,” he said as if in shock at the fact. Undoing his straining button fly, he kept a hand locked around his todger while letting his pants fall.

Slowly, as if uncertain to reveal it, he opened his palm, the fingers circling around a delectable cock. It bore the same woodsman girth as its owner, the head larger than the straining shaft which pulsed twice at my hungry gaze. Sliding my palm over his bony hip, I rustled my thumb through his rust-colored pubic hair. My hand circled just at the base of his cock as I whispered against his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

Conall’s wide palms grabbed my hips, his teeth nibbling on my neck as he hefted me into the air. I wiggled my feet in shock at how fast and far they left the ground, but it wasn’t for long. Placing me upon the table right beside a set of bowls for the forgotten stew, he snatched off my panties. Hands worried up my inner thighs, digging into the muscle even as he spread my legs wider.

Growling deep in his chest, he placed the crown of his cock right against that clit he’d stroked to almost perfection. His hips shuddered, that delectable tip pulsing and pushing more pleasure from my throbbing clit. I gasped at the pleasure beading through my body and Conall’s bright eyes snapped down at himself almost as if surprised to find his cock nearly inside me. His forehead against mine, I watched his slick tongue glide over his lips.

Slowly, I raised my ankles, bouncing the heels against his ass. As they locked behind him, sealing us together, he looked up into my eyes. I opened my lips, about to tell him to fuck me, when he thrust forward. My arousal greedily sucked him in, Conall’s cock pressing deep into my hungry cunt. A moan of heady pleasure erupted from my mouth, but the second was caught by his lips. Even while thrusting he kept kissing me, a primal grunt rising from his chest.

His hands tried to cup my back, to pull me closer, his cock diving deeper and deeper inside. Guttural panting transformed to goosebumps rising all across my naked skin. In one fast move, Conall grabbed my ass and pulled me into the perfect spot.

“Holy shit,” I spat, my clit bounding against the base of his cock. My ankle rose higher, opening myself to the bliss pounding inside of me. The rattle of silverware, shake of the table, and our panting breaths were the only sounds pounding in my ears.

A tender palm swept over my breast, lips babbling in that same strange language against my forehead. “Tell me,” he suddenly switched back to English, eyes burning into mine, “tell me this is what you want.”
His certainty, his need for me, caused my heart to thrum erratically. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice terrified. It felt as if I was staring into a power I couldn’t understand.

“What?” Conall gasped. He dove his finger over my clit, his spine leaning back as he gave all of himself to me.

“Yes!” I screamed, the fuse sparking into a full out explosion. His thrusting paused, though through the tremors rocking my vagina I could feel his cock savoring the ride. My ankles remained locked around his ass, Conall’s one hand digging into my hip while the other cupped my cheek almost chastely. In that position, he rode out the orgasm trembling down my legs and up into my chest.

His green eyes stared where he joined with me as if still surprised to find his cock found its way there. When he didn’t begin thrusting again, I reached out between us, fingers fumbling apart his hair. “You are,” Conall sighed, his hot tongue tapping against his top lip. Boring his sight into mine, I stared deep into the gold flecks that seemed to be increasing by the kitchen’s overhead light.

“I’m what?” I asked, feeling more foolish by the second.

The fingers curling over my cheek swept lower, Conall parting his thumbprint against my lip. Slowly, he tugged my bottom lip open and placed that half kissed thumb to his own mouth. Pulling in a deep breath, he declared, “Impossible.”