On Dublin Street

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I failed. “Sorry.”

“Oh you look sorry.” His mouth quirked up at the corner as he placed his hands on either side of my head and braced himself above me, nudging his knee between my legs. “I think maybe I should punish you anyway.”

My body responded immediately to the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. My nipples pebbled, and as I bent my legs, spreading them open for him, I felt the pulse of my sex telling me I was ready for him. I ran my fingers over his six-pack before sliding my hands around to clutch his lower back. “You want me to kiss your tushy all better?”

Braden had just been about to kiss me but he pulled back. “That’s such a weird word.”

“So is ‘knickers’. What the hell are knickers?” I pushed away a memory of a similar conversation with my mom—many similar conversations in fact where I’d tease her about some of the weird words she used. I focused on Braden’s eyes to push her out.

He gri

I scrunched my nose up. “’Trousers’ is such a fussy word. Like ‘whilst’. You all say whilst a lot.”

Braden made a face. “What Scottish people have you been talking to?” his voice deepened as his melodic accent got upper crusty and kind of English sounding. “My woman was arguing pedantically about British words whilst I was trying to fuck her.”

I burst out laughing, smacking his back as he gri

Braden’s lips reluctantly parted from mine, and he let go of my hand, shifting back a little to trail his hands along the waistband of my shorts. I leaned back on my elbows, giving him better purchase, and I watched, my belly a flurry of excited butterflies, as he slowly pulled my shorts and panties off and threw them over his shoulder. Helping him out, I lifted my camisole off and stretched back, naked for his perusal.

The sex was different than it had been the day before. Braden’s touch was more deliberate, more patient, almost reverent, as he pressed me onto my back using his body, positioning himself between my legs. He cupped my breasts in his hands, holding them up to his mouth, his lips and tongue taking turns to slowly enflame my body.

“Braden,” I sighed, clutching at the nape of his neck, my own arching, my breath faltering as he drove me towards release with just his mouth wrapped around my nipple.

He lifted his head, his hand gliding between my legs. Pleasure shot through me as two fingers slipped inside me. “So wet,” he murmured, eyes bright. “Tomorrow after family di

My eyes flew to his, my chest rising and falling rapidly at his words.

“I’m going to make you scream there since you can’t here,” he promised softly, realizing this was also a reminder to be quiet since Ellie was down the hall. “But right now, I’m going to enjoy watching you bite your lip.”

And I did. He pushed inside of me and I swallowed a cry by biting my lip, holding on for dear life as his earlier, slow gentleness disappeared, his groans and grunts against my neck sexy as hell as he pounded me into orgasm.

***

I felt a little more relaxed for my bar shift on Saturday night. Braden did me a favor and gave me space—he, Ellie, Je

When I got home from work he wasn’t there, and when I woke up, I was alone.

Even Ellie gave me space.

That meant I actually did some writing. In fact, I wrote a whole chapter of my contemporary novel, and I only took one panic attack. But it was so short it barely counted, and once I got past the initial panic, I was able to deal with the memory of my mother telling me how scary it had been to come to the States alone, but how liberating it had felt to do it. Best of it all, I knew that feeling. I could write that feeling well. And I did.

“You know you should have a typewriter.”

I spun around in my computer chair at the familiar voice, gazing up at Braden lounging in my doorway in his jeans and t-shirt. It was raining outside. He should really have a sweater on. Or jumper. Another weird word we’d discussed when he was dressing to leave me yesterday. What the hell was a jumper anyway? My mom had never been able to give me an answer that made sense, and Braden had just smiled at me like he thought I was cute. I was never cute. “A typewriter?”

He nodded, eyeing my laptop. “Just seems more authentic, no?”

“Well, my mom promised to buy me one for Christmas, but she died before she could.”

I froze.

My heart sped up as my words echoed back at me.

Why did I tell him that?

Braden’s gaze sharpened at my reaction and then he shrugged. “You’d only end up with a bunch of wasted paper if you had a typewriter.”

He was giving me an out. My smile was a little weak as I replied, “Hey, I have good typing skills.”

“It’s not the only thing you’re good at.” He gri

“Oh you have no idea.”

He chuckled and I thought he was coming over to kiss me. To my surprise he walked around the bed to my bedside table and he picked up the photograph of my parents. “This your mum?”

I looked away, my shoulders tensing up. “Yeah.”

“You look like her, but you’ve got your dad’s coloring. She was beautiful, Jocelyn.”

Pain dug its claws into my chest. “Thanks,” I mumbled getting up, my back to him as I headed towards the door. “So what are you doing here?”

I heard his footsteps quicken behind me and felt his arm come around me, his palm flat to my stomach as he pulled me back against him, my head resting on his chest. I was quickly getting used to Braden’s tactility. The man liked to touch me. All the time. I’d thought it would be harder to get accustomed to since I wasn’t really an overly affectionate person myself, but Braden didn’t really ask me whether I wanted to be hauled into his arms every five seconds.

And the truth was, I didn’t really mind it.

Another surprise.

His breath whispered across my ear as he bent his head to murmur in it, “I thought I’d come by and pick you and Ellie up for family di