Chapter Twenty
Fallon
My eyes fluttered open, something warm pressed against my cheek. I thought maybe the day with Connor was all just a dream. But this very real, very hard chest was against me. He was already awake with his arm wrapped around my shoulder and his free hand holding a book.
“Are you reading in bed?” I murmured, my voice still groggy from sleep.
He laughed, his whole body vibrating against me. “I didn’t want to wake you, pinky. My phone would do that, so I found this book on the nightstand and thought I’d give it a try.”
“What kind of book would be on a hotel nightstand?” I asked, lifting my head slightly.
“May we be blessed with warmth in our home, love in our hearts, peace in our souls, and joy in our lives,” he said. “It’s an Irish blessing.”
Then he kissed me—one of those, only-Conner-can-send-heat-through-my-toes kind of things.
I put my hand on his chest and pulled away. It wasn’t easy. “As much as I want to lie in bed with you all day, I probably need to shower then figure out what to wear. Is this anniversary celebration fancy? I packed a little bit of everything,” I said, slowly crawling out of his arms and scooting toward the edge of the bed.
He sat up, the blanket falling to his lap and giving me a mouthwatering view of those two shamrock tattoos on his hip bones. I tried to engrave every dip of his abs into my memory because I knew it wouldn’t be too much longer and this would all be over.
“It’s nothing you need to wear a ball gown for, but I made a call to a personal shopper at Brown Thomas. I got a text that a few items are waiting at the front desk. If you don’t like them, we can exchange them for something else. I know that breaks the no spending rule, but I made the call before the rules. That means it doesn’t count,” he stated with a smile.
The blanket fell to the floor as he stood. The man knew exactly what he was doing to distract me, and it took everything I had not to stare.
“You bought me new clothes…again?”
He flashed that dimpled smile before slowly walking toward me like an animal on the prowl.
“I prefer what you don’t wear. Hiding those curves underneath faded suits or worn-out jeans and college T-shirts is a crime. But I don’t need to pick up the clothes right now, or at all. If you want me to send them back, I’ll do that. We can spend the morning doing something other than worrying about getting dressed,” he murmured, taking my hand and cupping it over his erection.
“You’re trying to distract me,” I said.
“Is it working?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“No,” I said as firmly as I could, though I still couldn’t pry my hand away from him.
He sighed and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll make a deal with you, pinky. The money that I spend on you this weekend, I’ll match the same amount to go either to the charity of your choice, or into a trust to pay for your nana’s nursing home bills.”
It was an offer that was hard to resist, yet I still shook my head. “I can’t make you do that, either. I told you that I would honor my part of the agreement, and you don’t need to give me expensive gifts to make me do that.”
He let out a deep breath. “You’re stubborn as a mule and absolutely maddening at times, do you know that?”
“I can say the same thing about you,” I challenged, moving my hands away from him, placing them on my own waist.
“Well, what are we going to do then? Stand here naked all day and argue?”
“No,” I stammered trying to think of a good response. But when he looked at me, all I could do was try to ignore the ache I had for him.
He took a step forward, moving his hands to mine and intertwining our fingers. “I just want to enjoy this weekend with you, okay? It’s been a grand time so far, and let’s keep it that way. Stop thinking about everything else.”
I wanted to tell him that as much as I was enjoying our time together, physically and emotionally, that I couldn’t stop thinking about wanting more. My chest tightened every time he said something so sweet.
“Okay,” I said, nodding and letting out a breath.
He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Now, get in that shower so we can make our tee time. Then we’d better get through as many bucket list and sticky note items as we can.”
…
After my shower, I found large bags filled with tissue paper on the bed.
Curious, I pushed aside the tissue paper and found a beautiful black and white jumpsuit. I choked. The thing was over fourteen-hundred euros.
“What do you think?” Connor’s warm arms wrapped around my waist, and his lips pressed against my ear.
“It’s so beautiful, but also so much money. I thought you said this thing wasn’t a dress-up sort of thing.” I wasn’t a materialistic girl, but this may have been the most expensive and nicest piece of clothing I’d ever owned, or hell, seen in person. Guilt washed over me for even thinking about keeping something so nice.
“Fallon.” His lips trailed from my ear to the curve of my neck. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about money or other things.”
I bit back the moan threatening to escape. “It’s too much.”
“I just thought you might like something special to wear for today. This makes me happy, but if you’d rather wear something else, that’s fine, too.”
I glanced over my shoulder, trying to keep my face stern, the hairs on my neck still prickling from his touch. “I’ll wear the clothes if it makes you happy, but it’s under duress.”
He laughed. “Duly noted. And unless you have any objections, I’m going to shower. You can stare at your clothes or eat some breakfast,” he said.
My hand slid across the silky material.
This man is dangerous for my soul.
I opened the other bags to reveal some polo shirts, blouses, tailored pants, and dress shoes. All stuff I could wear to work or at casual events. All with designer labels and price tags that were extravagant.
The guilt weighed heavy on me. I was really falling for this guy. Not for the gifts or his money, but for the man who used that money to do something for me, the girl who never had anything. I was a real Cinderella, or like Julia Roberts in Pretty Women, but less hooker-like.
When Connor walked into the living room, I had to shake myself out of my thoughts and place the bacon back on my plate. He took slow steps until he was right in front of the couch. I looked from his golf shoes to the dark pants and white shirt that had to have been tailored to fit his long, lean body like a glove.
“As much as I’d love your lips wrapped around something, we should head for our tee time,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“You’re still serious about that golfing thing?” I put my bacon on the plate, trying to smile and make my words seem playful with a little laugh.
His brow furrowed before he sat down on the couch. He inched closer, his leg against my bare one, sending a shiver straight to my core.
“I would never make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want to golf, we won’t. I’ll always try to oblige your every need. Multiple times.”
I cleared my throat. “Golf is good.” I squeezed my legs together, trying to tame the need that happened whenever he talked dirty to me.
“So get dressed.”
I went to the bedroom and put on a pair of black shorts and pink polo that looked golf-ish. “Is this what I was supposed to wear?” I asked as I came back and did a spin in the living room.
His face was unreadable, his brow furrowed. He took a few steps toward me until we were toe-to-toe. My back went rigid, and I held my breath, waiting for his move. “It’s perfect. Are you ready?”
We walked through the luxurious lobby and then to the course. A man in all black sat on a golf cart that had two new sets of clubs on the back, one of them in a pink bag.
“Is that…?” I asked, looking between the cart and Connor.
Connor grinned, squeezing my hand before the man approached him, speaking in a very thick accent that I could barely understand.
The only thing I got was something about the beautiful girl, and being all set. Then the man handed Connor a set of keys and shook his hand before walking away.
“You wanna drive, pinky?” Connor asked, shaking the keys.
“You’re the one who’s done this before. I can’t believe you would even suggest me driving.”
He laughed, putting his hand on my back and pointing me toward the cart. “I’m always willing to let you drive. I’ve seen what you can do when you’re riding me. You’d look damn sexy in my leather seats, moving the shifter between us while I slowly move my fingers in and out of your slick, wet core. I’m getting hard just thinking about it,” he murmured the last part. If every nerve I had wasn’t already prickling, now they were exploding.
“Maybe you can just teach me to drive a manual first. Then explain why you rented me some pink clubs,” I suggested, trying to talk about something else and not think about the butterflies floating low in my stomach.
He smirked, sliding into the driver’s seat before putting the keys in the ignition. “I bought the golf clubs, pinky. I know you’re going to give me hell about it, so I’ll offer a trade. For the clubs, golf lessons, and me teaching you to drive a stick,” he said, immediately taking my hand and putting it on his hard bulge.
“Do…do…do you really want me to do this while you’re driving and on a public golf course?” I stuttered, my mouth the only part of me not tingling.
His lips quirked in a half smile. “First off, this isn’t a public course. It’s private to the hotel, and how can you even ask me if I want you touching my cock or not?”
“Good point. Still, it doesn’t mean I’m trading sexual favors.” It took everything I had to move my hand back to my lap.
“You’re sexy when you’re trying hard to be tough.”
“I am tough. Who else would keep you in line?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
He smirked and drove to the first hole where an older couple in their polos and white hair had just got their clubs off their cart.
“Why don’t I show you how to do a few swings with the club while we wait?” he asked, a permanent smile on his face that I knew spelled trouble.
“Um, I’m not swinging your club,” I grumbled.
He shook his head, getting out of the cart and adjusting himself. “You have your own. Come on, pinky.”
He put his hand out, and I took it gingerly, wondering where the hell all of this was going.
He led me to the back of the cart and the two golf bags. With his free hand, he pulled a shiny silver club from the pack.
“This is called a wood, or a driver,” he said, turning it over so the large, rounded bottom was in the grass.
“That sounds like something you made up, since clearly it’s made of metal.” I scoffed.
“That’s because they used to be made of wood, but enough of a history lesson…” His words trailed off as he let go of my hand and spun me around so my back pressed to his front. Or more importantly, my ass was firmly planted on his bulge.
I wiggled a little for good measure. If he was going to tease, I was going to throw it right back at him. His abs constricted against me before he wrapped both arms around my waist, handing me the club.
“Careful, pinky, it’s your first lesson. Wouldn’t want to slip up,” he whispered, his fingertips trailing to the waistband of my shorts.
“What are you doing?” I hiss-whispered. I may have been agitated, but that didn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat from his small touch.
“Showing you how to do a proper swing,” he said with a laugh that vibrated against my back. “We’ll start with your stance. Now, your feet need to face the ball with your legs spread slightly and a little bit of a bend in your knees,” he said, putting one hand between my legs, his fingers brushing against my core through my shorts as he separated my thighs.
My legs shook from his brief touch, and I licked my lips in anticipation of where his expert fingers would go next.
“Now, let’s talk about the grip,” he murmured, one hand on my waist and the other slowly sliding down my shorts.
“Connor,” I gasped, looking to see the old couple hadn’t even swung yet.
“I love it when you say my name like that, mo chroí, but we haven’t finished your golf lesson,” he whispered. “Now, you’re going to hold the club like you would a baseball bat, your left hand on the bottom, curving your fingers over the club so they grip securely,” he said in a low voice, pushing my panties aside before he curled a finger inside of me.
I bit down on my bottom lip, as ripples of pleasure bubbled in my core.
“Make sure the club is resting right where your thumb meets your fingers. Your left thumb should be pointed straight down the club to the head,” he murmured, pulling his crooked finger in and out of me while moving his thumb to my clit, circling the hardened bud. I gripped tightly onto the club, trying not to topple over as electric sparks zinged through my body.
“You’re so close to getting it down, mo grá. Now bring your pinky finger so it’s comfortably touching your left index finger then tighten so the right portion of your palm rests on top of the left palm.” He continued talking, but all I could think about was the pressure of him adding another hooked finger while continuing to circle his thumb over my sensitive clit, and the little earthquake bubbling to the surface.
“Close, pinky,” he whispered, his ragged breath against my ear.
I clenched around his fingers, riding out my orgasm as I bucked my hips against him.
My vision blurred, and my body exploded, forgetting that we were in a very public place until I heard the old lady, only a few yards away, yell as her ball went through the lawn.
“I think we’re up next, unless you need a lesson on swinging first,” Connor whispered, moving his fingers in a circle inside of me.
Before I could respond, the older man whooped, and his ball sailed through the air. He turned toward us then walked toward the back of the cart. Quickly I stood up, pulling Connor’s hand away, and tried not to look like I just had an orgasm on a golf course.
“Sorry about the wait, lads. It’s all yours,” the man said, tipping his hat.
“No trouble at all. Just gave my girlfriend a little lesson,” Connor said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. If my nerves weren’t already hypersensitive, now every single one of them was on fire.
The man nodded again before he and his wife took their cart and headed another few yards away.
“Do you actually plan on golfing, or should we head up to the room?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Connor smiled. “I know you’re eager, and as much as I’d rather take you up to our room and have you, I figure you need to still cross this off your bucket list and sticky notes.”
“I’m sure I could use lots of lessons,” I replied. “Lots.”
I wanted to feel more of my sexy Irishman.
I was going to hell. At least it would be fun getting there.