*Ronan*

Using my key, I opened the door to Annie’s apartment and stepped inside. She sat in the living area wearing a loose top that hung off one shoulder, giving me a tempting and very sexy view of her silky skin. Her hair was in a bunch on top of her head while her fingers danced rapidly over the computer keys. Too fuckin’ cute. I still couldn’t get used to the fact that one day I was going to marry this woman. That I had her for keeps.

Her and all her oddball online friends.

At first it was strange meeting these people that she’d known as The Socialmedialite but now was free to interact with in person. I was surprised that I liked most of them, especially Broderick. He’s the quiet sort, and I might have been tad jealous of their relationship when I found out about it. But I changed my mind about him pretty quickly. Added bonus, he could actually keep up with me in the park when we went running.

Hearing me come in, Annie glanced over her shoulder and gave me a warm smile, her eyes flickering with curiosity to the brown paper bag I held in my hand. I smiled back at her but said nothing, setting the bag on the entry table and going to hang up my jacket. I really liked Annie’s apartment here in New York. It felt so much like her, like home, and I was dreading having to leave when I returned to the team next month.

We’d casually discussed trying out the long-distance thing for a while but hadn’t managed to come to an agreement. In all honestly, I didn’t want even a centimeter of distance between us, never mind a whole ocean. So yeah, I wanted to be away from her about as much as I wanted to put in for a hysterectomy. Annie told me she’d give up her blog to come live in Ireland, but I could see the reluctance in her eyes. The prospect of leaving it all behind pained her. I just couldn’t bring myself to make her do it. She loved blogging. It was her joy, her passion.

So we were at something of a standstill.

Well, I was hoping to remedy that standstill today. I just hoped she’d go for it.

“What’s in the bag, Ronan?” she called casually. I resisted the urge to snicker because I was intentionally misleading her with this one. I wanted to surprise her. The bag bore the stamp of her favorite Italian bakery; however, it didn’t contain any of the usual sugary treats. After she’d put herself completely and totally at the mercy of the media by coming out as the creator of New York’s Finest in order to declare her love for me, I wanted to give her something in return. Annie had made the absolute sacrifice; she had given up her anonymity to be with me, and though I wasn’t sure I had anything quite so weighty to lay on the line, I wanted to give her something that meant a lot to me. Something that would show her how much she mattered. It was quid pro quo. If she could give up something for me, I could give up something for her, too.

“Nothing important,” I lied as I stepped up behind her, swept some fallen strands of hair away from her neck, and bent to place a kiss just below her ear. She shuddered at the touch of my lips, and I grinned. Even the tiniest reaction from her was addictive, and I savored every one of them.

“Call Lucy on Skype, would you?” I murmured. “We both have something we want to discuss with you.”

“Okay, but why am I calling your sister?”

“You’ll see.”

Perplexed, Annie did as I asked, and soon Lucy was smiling at us on screen, wearing a T-shirt with a psychedelic-looking My Little Pony on it, her multi-colored hair hanging in a long, loose plait.

“Hello, lovebirds, how’s she cuttin’?” Lucy chirped, full of excitement.

I knew the reason why, but Annie didn’t. Not yet. She gave me a confused look at Lucy’s turn of phrase, so I explained, “It’s Irish slang for how’s it goin’.”

“Oh,” said Annie, eyes lighting with understanding as she turned back to Lucy and grinned. “She’s cutting just fine, Lucy. And you?”

Lucy shifted on her seat with barely contained glee. “I’m great! Fantastic, actually.”

“You seem really excited,” Annie noted, suspicious now.

“I am,” Lucy replied then glanced at me. “Have you told her yet?”

“No, I was waiting to do it with you.”

Annie looked up at me. “Told me what?”

I took her hand in mine and began rubbing her wrist. “Lucy and I have a proposition for you.”

“Okay?”

“So, you know how you want to move to Ireland, but in order to do that you’d have to give up your blog?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Lucy and I were talking, and we came up with a solution. Ever since her visit, Lucy’s been dying for an excuse to come back here, so what we propose to do is this. Lucy will come live in New York and work for you, taking celebrity pictures, and you can come to Ireland but still write your blog, only with Lucy sending you the photos for your posts.”

“It’s a win-win. Plus, I’ve always fancied myself an amateur photographer,” Lucy said to Annie with a wink.

She was quiet a moment, looking between both of us with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. I knew the verdict was a good one when a smile finally took shape. “That’s a genius idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”

She dove from her seat and threw herself into my arms. I pulled her close and kissed her softly on the mouth, nipping at her bottom lip. God, how I loved this woman.

“Ugh, okay, can you two wait until I’m gone to starting sexing it up, please?” Lucy’s voice came through the speakers, and Annie and I both started laughing.

“I’m moving to Ireland,” Annie whispered, eyes full of emotion and disbelief as she stared up at me. “We get to be together, and neither one of us has to give up our careers.”

“It’s a sweet fuckin’ deal, right?” I said affectionately, running my thumbs along her jaw.

“And I get to come to New York,” Lucy added, doing a little jig in front of the camera. “Big Apple, here I come, baby! Better get ready for Lucy Fitzpatrick!”

Seriously, my sister was a nut sometimes. I was a little apprehensive of her moving to a place this big, full of dangers and vice, but Tom had promised me he’d keep an eye on her.

“She’s going to come over in two weeks so that we’ll have a little time for you to teach her the ropes,” I said to Annie after we’d said goodbye to my sister, who’d declared to us that she was going to find Jared Leto and lure him into marriage.

“Sounds good.” Annie nodded and bit her lip. I recognized the flush to her cheeks well. Let’s just say, my fiancée really, really liked me right now, and when she really liked me, she also liked for me to do the things I liked to her. I sucked in a harsh breath and ran my hand from her collarbone to the back of her neck, where I cupped her firmly. She gasped at my hard touch, her full breasts brushing off my chest as I turned her and led her across the hall to the bedroom, plucking the brown paper bag from the entryway as I did so. It jingled a little, and Annie gave it a curious glance. Baked goods didn’t normally jingle.

I nudged her down onto the bed and set the bag beside her. When she moved to open it, I gave her a stern frown, and she withdrew her hand. Her breathing was shallow, her lips plump as she licked them, and I knew by the way her pupils had dilated that she was aware we were playing now. In the bedroom, both of our roles fit us like gloves, and it was a true revelation to finally be able to sate my desires. With Annie there was no fumbling or awkwardness; we both knew the mechanics that worked for us, and we complemented one another perfectly.

“Take your clothes off and turn over,” I said, reprimanding her for looking in the bag without asking permission.

Eyes downcast, she did as I instructed, quickly slipping off her top and pants before lying flat on her stomach, her gorgeous round arse facing me. I soaked in the sight of her red lacy underwear, took two steps forward until my knees hit the bed, and bent over her. My breath hit the side of her cheek, my mouth at her ear when I said, “You have to remember to ask permission, Annie.” Then, bringing my hand to her arse, I gave her a hard little spank, and she yelped then moaned into the pillow. The slap and the way I spoke to her had fired her up, I could tell. Rubbing her bottom to soothe the sting, I planted a wet kiss to her neck, licked, and then stood again.

“Now you have permission to look,” I said, voice heavy with sexual promise.

I smirked when she dove for the bag with excitement, pulling out the pastry box and giving me a confused look. She shook the box, and again it jingled. Opening it, she pulled out the keys.

“Are these….”

“The keys to my Chevy,” I said tenderly.

“But why are you giving them to me?”

“Because I wanted to give you something, and I remembered you once telling me how much you loved the Chevy, how you’d like to have a car just like it one day. Well, now you do.”

When she looked at me, her eyes shone with emotion. “That’s your favorite car. It’s the first car you ever owned. You love that car.”

“True, but I love you more. Now the thing I love most has something I love dearly,” I murmured affectionately and brought a hand up to caress her cheek. I couldn’t help but add teasingly as I brushed my lips across hers, “Plus, it’s not exactly my favorite anymore. That honor now belongs to the Charger. It is, after all, where we first made love.”

Annie let out an emotional giggle then began kissing me back, her breasts moving against my chest. “I never knew a man could be so romantic about cars.”

“You haven’t met many car enthusiasts, have you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just you.”

I held her chin as I slid my tongue teasingly between her lips. She gasped for breath. “I don’t even know how to drive.”

“You’ll learn,” I said, my voice growing deeper as my arousal increased. “In fact, this evening I’m taking you out for a lesson, but first, we play.”

“Wait, wait,” she protested. “There’s something else in the bag.”

“Ah, yes, there is. I almost forgot,” I said, pulling back.

Annie dipped her hand in the bag and pulled out the brochure I’d tucked in with the box. “A property brochure?” she asked, eyes alight with excitement.

“That’s right. If we’re moving to Ireland, we’re gonna need a home, now, aren’t we?”

I was taken completely off guard when tears started to fill her eyes, and I pulled her close.

“Hey, hey, what are the tears for?” I said, brushing away some of the wetness beneath her eyes with my thumb.

She sniffled and spoke so quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m being an emotional idiot. It’s just that I love you. I’ve always been alone, and the idea of having a proper home with you is a little overwhelming. I feel like I’m going to wake up in a minute, and it’ll all have been a dream.”

I took her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. “That’s not going to happen. This is real. You’re my home now, and I’m yours. Nothing can change that. I won’t let it.”

The look she gave me took my breath away, like I was all she ever wanted and she couldn’t believe she actually had me. That went for both us because I felt exactly the same way. I returned her look, and then my lids grew hooded. Being alone in a bedroom with my beautiful fiancée did that to me. My eyes trailed to her chest, where her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, and I slid my arm beneath her body, pushing her to the top of the bed. A tiny sigh escaped her when I climbed between her legs and captured her wrists in mine, pinning them over her head.

“So, love, silk rope or cuffs today, what will it be?” I purred and thrust my hips into her.

Her eyes glazed over, and a fiery expression came over her as she met my stare. “Or I could touch you.”

A grin shaped my lips slowly as I thought of all the ways I was about to make her scream. “Why, Annie dearest, that’s the correct answer.”

***

New York’s Finest

Blogging as *The Socialmedialite*

February 14

I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary, Lumbersexuals are here to stay.

They’re too delicious to be a fleeting fad. It’s like everything you want in an actual lumberjack—the beard, the smoldering eyes, the well-muscled torso, the big hands, the flannel, the boots—but without the dangling food in the mustache, dirt on the floor, or any actual lumber (but don’t worry, there’s still plenty of wood *nudge nudge* *wink wink*).

Although, I admit that some of these Lumbersexuals take things a bit too far. For instance, my husband and his teammates. As you see from these stealthy pictures taken two nights ago, none of them have shaved for almost four months, not even a trim! They all look like wild beasts or Neanderthals.

Well, everyone but poor Sean Cassidy. Sadly, as you can see from the third picture down, his beard is uneven and splotchy, like a prepubescent with peach fuzz. It resembles some kind of Rogaine accident or beard Hair Club for Men subscription gone terribly wrong.

Aside from Sean’s valiant (but failed) effort, these guys are all growing beards for a good cause, and I can’t fault them for that.

Check out the link to the highlighted charity below to learn why Irish rugby players aren’t shaving and maybe donate some cash to this worthy cause.

Till next time!

(Wedded in bearded bliss) The Socialmedialite

 

THE END