Luck O' the Irish

It started with a kiss.

Walking through the crowded pub towards the main bar, needing a drink, the current boy toy struggling to follow in my wake, I collide with the brunette amazon as shaggy haired Garret, the skater-boy stoner catches up to me and grabs my hand. The girl looks him over and the woman he’s clinging to and smirks.

“I don’t see it.”

Startled, I shake off Garret’s hand:

“What?”

“You two…I don’t see it.”

Garrett bristles beside me ready to pick a fight as I stand in front blocking his way:

“Oh?”

“Hmmm ya…you two don’t make sense.”

“And what does?”

She leans forward, taking my face in her hand, and brushes her lips softly agains mine; surprised my lips part and she deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping in, teeth scraping. My hand instinctively reaches for her and all I can think is: ‘Katy has a point.’ As quickly as it began it’s over. I lean back and smile:

“Well that was an education.”

“I’m always available for private lessons.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Garrett’s lost his patience and pulls me away:

“What is your problem?”

“What the hell was that?”

“She was just having a little fun…”

“You looked like you were enjoying it”

“And if I was?”

“What about us?”

“What us?”

“I thought we had a good thing going…”

“Just because I’ve been sucking face with you for the past hour doesn’t mean I’m going to be sucking face with you for the next”

“Bitch”

“Ya but that’s how you like it.”

“How would you know?”

I grab his neck, one hand fisted in his hair, the other under his shirt; his hands grip my waist as I show him exactly how I know he likes it: ungentle, fast, desperate. His obvious pleasure proves my point and I should have been content, but all I can think about is her.

---

I decide to go home alone that night. Garrett has annoyed me to the point where even a night’s pleasure isn’t worth putting up with the neediness, yet as I’m heading out the door I can’t help but wonder where the brunette’s gone off to. On impulse I do a quick scan of the darkened room. She’s nowhere in sight. Shaking my head at myself I turn to leave, when a hand takes mine:

“Looking for someone?”

“Maybe…”

“It’s not that short grungy boy is it?”

“And if it was?”

She shrugs. I sigh:

“I’m just heading home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad…”

“I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

“No such thing.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Prove it.”

She just smiles and traces a fingertip down my arm, goose bumps rising on my heated flesh.

“How ‘bout I show you…unless you have somewhere better to be?”

“My mother taught me never to go anywhere with a stranger.”

“And how often do you follow that advice?”

“Never.”

We leave the bar and catch a taxi; the silence in the backseat is almost unbearable. We barley touch, just a skimming of fingers and a brush of knees, but it’s enough to have me craving more. We get off on a tree-lined street in front of a three-floor walk-up. She walks up to the building with confidence, not even fumbling for her keys. She holds the door open and I walk past her into the brightly lit hall:

“I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

“The fairer sex was always better with the niceties.”

“Fair enough.”

We take a right and stop in front of 107:

“Lucky number seven.”

She unlocks the door and flips the switch; the room is bathed in a soft glow as she leads me into the dimly lit room.

“Care for a drink?”

I look at her for a minute and then I surprise myself by pulling her towards me, hands around her waist, face inches away.

“Not thirsty…you?”

She closes the distance between us, mouth fused on to mine. Suddenly I’m scared, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My arms crush her body against mine as she devours me with her lips; her hands tug at my jacket as she pulls me to the couch and onto her lap. Her mouth moves to my neck as I free myself from the cotton cage and my legs wrap around her torso. I pull of her shirt and I’m met with creamy skin encased in basic black cotton. Somehow the sheer simplicity of her underwear is more erotic than any silk or lace.

“Wait”

“What? Why?

“It’s your first time.”

She says this as if it’s tattooed on my forehead:

“Uh no…”

“With another woman…yes.”

“Ok..so?”

“You should enjoy every moment…and so should I.”

She pulls me close and shifts so that I end up underneath her. She unbuttons my dress and pulls it down and off. Butterfly kisses trail down the line of my cheek, to my collarbone and down my stomach, fingers tracing light circles around my satin covered nipples. I squirm under her, nails digging into soft skin.

“Patience.”

She reaches behind her and unclasps her bar. Perfect porcelain globes sway in front of me and I prop up onto my elbows, my tongue swirling against her pert pink nipples. Not to be outdone she slips her hand into my panties stroking my already wet slit. She slips in one finger and I transfer my attention to her other nipple. Her finger and my tongue move in tandem, matching rhythms with ease. She slips another finger in and I switch from tongue to teeth as we both moan softly.

“Maybe I was wrong about this being your first time…”

In reply I suck hard with my mouth and pinch softly with my fingers; freeing one breast I look up at her:

“Maybe I’m a quick study.”

She smiles a lopsided smile that’s strangely endearing and lifts my up so she can unhook me.

“Let’s see how quick.”

She flips me over and takes one breast into her mouth and the other into her hand. Slowly biting and squeezing, the opposing sensations cause my eyes to flutter close just for a moment to savour the feeling. I look down at my flesh in her mouth and I feel myself getting wetter. I begin to unsnap her jeans and she wriggles so they ride down her hips. Basic black cotton: the contrast against her translucent skin hasn’t lost its appeal. I pull down her underwear slowly and she stops what she’s doing to watch. I pause, unsure, and she takes my hand and leads it down to her wet sheath. Guiding my fingers she places my thumb on the sensitized nub of skin.

“Slow and steady.”

I follow her direction all the while watching the change suffuse her face: eyes glaze, smile deepening, body relaxing under me. With my thumb still working her clit, I slowly push two fingers inside her, increasing my tempo and pushing against that spongy bit of flesh so many men have trouble finding. Her body tenses and her eyes fly open; it’s my turn to smile.

“You ARE a quick study.”

Her insides pulse against my fingers in small waves and she quivers under me as a small sigh escapes her lips. I bring my fingers up to my mouth and lick her creaminess as she watches with narrowed eyes. I kiss her mouth, her salty sweetness still on my tongue, then her eyelids and work my way to her neck, nipping and licking as I go. She flips me again, this time pulling my panties off.

"Maybe we should…”

The words are caught in my throat as her lips touch flesh; her tongue is unlike any other against my clit: soft and hard, intense and gentle, consuming and caressing. It takes lazy swipes up and down my slick folds, taking its time and bringing me to the brink, falling short of taking me over. We watch each other over the rise and fall of my chest. Her tongue shifts its focus from the outside to the inside but her fingers makes a worthy replacement as mouth and digits increase their momentum. In the years of experiences I’ve had with the multitude of men, none have had her finesse and instinct. There’s no need for gentle urging or insistent guidance, my body tenses under her as I arch towards her mouth. I gasp out as she takes me over the edge and I fall seeing stars as I plummet.

She licks her lips like a cat licking cream:

“Now that’s what I call a happy St. Patrick’s Day.”

This story is dedicated to SV; thanks for the "gentle" nudges ;) -BR

© Briar Rose