Alana
We had been on the road for almost 8 hours straight, stopping only for gas and for me to stretch my legs. I wasn’t used to the discomfort of a motorcycle and the off-road detours we took to avoid tolls and road blocks made it even worse. But we finally made it to Nashville. The trip had given me enough time to try to gather my thoughts. I still hated my dad for hiding his secret life from me, but there was no more need to cry over it. The only thing for me to do now was to survive, and if I had to do this running for the rest of my life, then so be it. Irish mentioned at one of our stops that we needed to get to someone named Goose. The only person he apparently trusted, other than my father. As we weaved through the streets of Nashville, I took the time to reflect on a lot of things, one of them being Irish. The more time I spent with him the more infatuated I was becoming. Every time he looked at me I could feel my body responding and all I could think of was how he, well, how he fucked me. And sitting on the back of a droning motorcycle, I can guarantee you that nothing stayed dry.
Finally, we pulled up to a house that looked completely out of character with the rest of the surrounding houses. Grass and weeds had overgrown the garden, and the building itself looked derelict. It was more like a shack on its foundations. The paint had faded over the years, and the gutters were overgrown with misdirected weeds. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it to be a haunted house.
“Is this where Goose lives?” I asked.
“Yeah, come around the back,” Irish said and led the way.
He had once again parked the motorcycle out of view, and this time covered it with a withered tarp he found piled up in the corner near the refuse bins.
Since leaving the cottage, I haven’t yet had a chance to bathe or change clothes, I smelled like burnt wood, but even that could not dispel Irish’s scent that kept filing my nostrils every time I took a breath
“Do you think he’ll let me take a shower?” I asked nervously.
Irish chuckled, “Yeah, I think he’ll be okay with that.”
Irish knocked twice, paused, knocked twice again, paused again, and then rapped a few times. It was like a secret Morse code. The door swung open and a very scrawny, squint-eyed man stood before us, if he had one tooth in his mouth, it would have been too many.
“Irish ya ol’ basta’d!” the man said and flung his arms around Irish’s neck, “Ya takin ya wee time gettin’ ere ey boi!”
“Goose, fuck, am I glad to see you!” Irish exclaimed and patted his friend on his shoulder before turning to me. “This here is Fergus’ lass, Alana.”
The strange little man with the heavy accent came up to me and looked at me through narrowed slits, then pulled his glasses that were on top of his head down, “Well aint ya a wee sight for sore eyes lass! Com’n in, I bet ya’r tired after ya’r long ride from no’ere!”
“Hello,” I said tentatively as I shifted past the odd character giving him a slight smile. I am sure my dad would never have associated himself with the likes of Goose, but then I didn’t expect him to be part of the mafia either.
Goose and Irish caught up on good and bad times, talking away, while I sat counting my fingers and my toes. Half of the time I couldn’t even make out what Goose was saying with his heavy accent, but it was obvious that he knew my dad very well. From what I gathered, Goose was the go-to-man when anyone needed fake identities and passports, which was clearly why we were here. In a few days, we’ll be crossing the border to Mexico, from there to Brazil, the future looked grim but I couldn’t think of that right now. I had to focus on staying alive, figuring out where my dad was and have a goddamn shower!
I let out an exasperated sigh and stood up, setting my glass down on the rickety table, “Excuse me Goose, but do you perhaps have a shower I can use?”
“Aye! Lass, me noggin is playin’ up yer, Irish will show ya where it is,” Goose said and my insides flipped. Irish was going to show me the shower after what we did the night before?
“Yeah,” Irish said and his lips twisted into that same wicked grin, “Come on, it’s upstairs.”
I followed Irish up the stairs to the second level, half surprised that the stairs didn’t give way. With every step my insides twisted with a sense of excitement, which I obviously suppressed rather than act on. I had to keep it together.
“Goose has clothes that should fit you…”
“Oh no, no, no, I am not wearing…”
“Alana, he’s a good guy, trust me, and the clothes I’m talking about is from his days as a tailor, he used to be a proud man until he lost his son, give the guy a break.”
I sighed, maybe I was being too judgemental, and if Goose was going to help us get across the border I could at least show some appreciation. I followed Irish further to the bathroom, and surprisingly enough it wasn’t as dilapidated as I expected. It was somewhat worn but presentable enough. The enamel was chipped off the hand basin, and water leaked from the base of the faucet. The mirror had black patches of decay that showed years of moisture damage, but still useful.
I glanced around and saw a bath with brown stains at the bottom which I opted to pass and went straight to the shower.
“I’ll get the clothes,” Irish said, and before I could tell him to leave it at the door, he was gone.
I let out a sigh and leaned with my hands on the basin, tears pricked my eyelids. Exhaustion had suddenly washed over me like a heavy layer of wax, dragging me down into oblivion. My butt ached in places I did not know existed; my back was hurting, even my shoulders felt like I had done at least three days of weights without stopping for a break. I looked up in the mirror and shook my head. How the hell did I end up here?
“I thought you’d be in the shower by now.”
I gasped and spun around, pressing my hand against my chest, “God do you have to sneak up on me like that?”
Irish laughed, “I did no such thing lass, and you were miles away there for a second.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes, “I’m just tired, it’s been an eventful few days.”
Irish placed my clothes on the small compactum standing against the wall and then pulled me into his arms. Why was he so goddamn nice? I thought as I rested my cheek against his chest. Why could I not have met him at a normal bar as a normal guy who worked a 9 to 5 job? Overwhelmed by my emotions I fought against the tears that suddenly felt like they were just too many to hold back.
Irish pressed his lips against my hair and I could feel his arms tighten around me, “We’ll get through this, I swear to you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I sniffed, and clutched at his shirt, “I have no idea what’s going to happen to me Irish; I’m a fucking lost lamb in the wilderness with a bunch of wild dogs after me.”
Overnight I’ve gone from twenty to thirty. College was no longer a favourite pastime, I suddenly felt years beyond my age. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like going to the movies with my friends, or hanging out around the cafeteria at break. It was almost as if that entire part of me was one big silver screen movie and reality had suddenly dawned.
Irish cupped my face with his hands and he looked into my eyes. With his thumbs, he swept the tears from my cheeks, “I’m in that wilderness with you, trust me, we’ll get through this and when we do, you’ll be back at college doing what you love.”
College… what if I didn’t want to go back to college, what if I just wanted you in my life, I thought, but instead I nodded and turned out of his embrace.
“I’ll be right down,” I whispered and cleared my throat.
The soft click of the door behind me was like a switch, and I sank down against the wall sobbing silently. Things would never be the same, never.
Irish
A man had to appreciate Goose’s sense of humor, and although I never mentioned anything other than the fact that I was protecting Alana, Goose had given us our new identities as Mr and Mrs Muller. I was an insurance salesman, and Alana was a preschool teacher. Of course we had to change our identities too. To me a change was as good as a holiday. I was used to these temporary identity switches while working for Fergus. Changing my hair color and getting a new fashion style was nothing, but I suspected that for Alana the change would be a lot more emotional.
I flipped through the channels as I sat on the double bed in a motel room in Austin where we decided to check in for the night. There had been no sign of Shamrock’s men, and as far as I knew Goose’s boys were watching out for us, but that still didn’t mean we were in the clear. Fergus had made no further attempt to contact me and right now I was actually fucking pissed off with him. He didn’t deserve Alana as a daughter, and knowing that he was out there living the life, while we’re on the run was grating on me.
The bathroom door opened, and I turned to see what Alana had done to alter her image, but what I saw was completely unexpected and my brain seized to function as all my blood rushed to my cock. She was beautiful as a red head, but fuck me, with her hair pitch black and her brows tinted dark she looked like a gothic queen. I stood up and looked at her, unable to form a single word.
“So? Do I look like Mrs Sophia Muller?” she asked and shrugged.
Her hair was still damp but against her pale skin she looked like a sinister marvel waiting to take a man prisoner. The tight figure hugging red dress she wore made me want to lock her away for good.
“Uh… you look different,” I safely said, “Did Goose give you that dress?”
She sighed and shrugged, “He has an interesting taste in women’s clothing.”
“Oh right, well I think you should change.”
She frowned at me and placed her hands on her hips, kicking her hip out to the side, “Change? What the hell for?”
“Well, you can’t go out looking like that. I mean you’ll draw attention to yourself.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “No I won’t, this is how women dress Irish, maybe you should take some time and look around you, instead of hanging out in whorehouses.”
Oh! That was a low blow, I had no idea what had gotten into her, but with each passing day she was becoming more rebellious. I regarded her and noticed a callousness in her eyes I hadn’t seen there before. I knew that all this shit she had to go through had a lot to do with it, but I liked the old Alana, and right now, she was hidden under Mrs Muller’s thick skin.
“Suit yourself, I’m just saying, we’re trying to lie low, and drawing any attention could cause us a lot of shit.”
“No one is looking for Mr or Mrs. Muller, Irish, and frankly I’m tired of feeling like a deer in headlights, I want to go out and have dinner and just be fucking normal for once!” she ground out.
“Maybe not, but that does not make us invisible. Jesus Alana, can you for once just listen to me? Once your dad’s out of the hot water and you can go back to your old life, you can start where you left off and being dead is not going to help that!”
Alana spun around and marched back into the bathroom, “Fuck my dad and fuck the mafia and fuck my old life!” she shouted and slammed the door.
I stormed in after her and as she spun around to look at me, there was a fire in her eyes, an unmistakable fire of lust and desire.
I inhaled sharply and walked over to her, crushing my lips against hers. Since the night in the tent all I could think of was fucking her again, and right now I couldn’t hold back. I wanted her, and she wanted me. She reached up and gripped the back of my head, pulling my head down, slanting her lips against mine, she opened them allowing me to taste her fresh minty breath.
“Fuck Alana,” I uttered between kisses before roughly hoisting her up on to the counter top, ignoring her soft gasp as one of her shoes fell to the floor. She kicked off the other one, and I stepped in between her parted thighs forcing the scandalous red dress to rid up higher.
“I can’t get you out of my fucking mind,” I muttered as I bent my head down and placed open mouthed kisses all along her neck.
Her head lolled back as I nipped her soft skin, and she whispered, “I don’t want you to get me out of your mind.”
Holy fuck, I was in so much fucking trouble, even if Fergus swore death upon me I would not let him stop me from claiming this woman, I didn’t care if he tortured me to death.
I slid my hands up along her thighs and pushed her dress further up and as she buried her face in my neck she bit down hard. It was fucking hot, the little minx has awakened and somewhere between the innocent young Alana O’Devlin and Mrs Sophia Muller, she had discovered another side to her ability to drive me completely fucking mad.
I gripped the back of her head and bunched her hair in my hands, yanking her head back, “A girl that bites would have to be taught a lesson,” I murmured as I traced my fingers along the inside of her thigh.
“Then teach me,” she breathed.
God, she was completely irresistible, and with her head still tilted back, I dipped my head down and kissed her throat. The dress was stretchy enough for me to pull her neckline down over her breasts, and as her tits spilled over the top of her bra, I sucked one nipple into my mouth and then the other, alternating between the two mounds of pleasure. Alana’s moans filled the bathroom and echoed off the walls, but I couldn’t give a fuck.
I dropped to my knees before her and pushed her legs wider apart. Eye level with her pussy clad only in a triangular piece of flimsy lace, I inhaled sharply. The G-string she was wearing cut right between her pussy lips and all I could think of was tugging that piece of material against her clit, just to drive her wild. I hooked my finger into the crotch of her panties and twisted it, the thin band cut into her lips and pulled roughly against her clit.
“Oh my god!” she cried out as her ass slid towards the edge.
“Do you like that Mrs Muller?” I teased and tugged again.
“I… yes,” she stammered.
“How about this?” I asked as I slapped her cunt with three fingers, not roughly just enough to sting.
She squirmed, trying to close her legs but with me between her I kept her legs apart, “That ain’t happening lass, I want you to experience it all.”
Her chest was heaving and her tits were dangling like ripe apples from a tree while I sat between her legs inhaling her musky scent. I deliberately pushed my nose right into her panties and inhaled, letting out a deep satisfying groan and Alana gasped.
“I’m going to eat you and tongue fuck you until you forget your real name,” I ground out as I pulled out my knife from my back pocket.
Her eyes grew wide and almost fearful as I raised it to her dress where her breasts were exposed and as I slowly dragged the tip down over her stomach to her pussy, I hooked the G-string and snapped the flimsy garment.
“Oh my god Irish,” she managed to muster as she let out a sigh of relief.
“You need to learn to trust me darlin,” I said and then used my thumbs to spread her pussy open. Pretty pink and tight, I thought as my mouth watered to taste her.
“Are you going to… I mean, is it safe?”
Her innocence was even more of a turn on, and as I blew a breath over her clit and her legs spasamed, I looked up at her, “You’ll never be safe around me.”
Before she could say another word, I closed my lips over her clit and sucked it into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue. Alana’s breaths grew faster and her moans louder as I tongue fucked her. She let go of the counter and grabbed the back of my neck as she hooked her heels on my shoulders for support. I had no desire to wait, and as I shoved my tongue deep into her pussy and swirled it around, her body trembled. But even as her first orgasm assaulted her, I did not let up. I continued, driving my tongue into her and then dragging it up along her slit. I teased her clit, bit her pussy lips, slapped her ass and did the most delicious things to the most delicious woman. After her third orgasm, I finally let up and she sagged numbly to the floor, trying to stand. I flipped her over and shoved my pants down.
“Now I’m going to fuck you baby,” I whispered and Alana’s eyes met mine in the bathroom mirror.
Alana
Irish was a master at whatever he was doing, but when he did that thing with his tongue when he shoved it deep into me and then dragged it out was enough to drive me insane. Now he had me bent over like one of his whores in the bathroom. The only thing is, I wanted to be his whore. Sick I know, but that’s how he made me feel, he makes me feel dirty and good all in the same time. As he stood behind me, unbuckling his pants, I could see my breasts pressed down against the counter top with him towering over me.
I wanted to pleasure him, just like he had pleasured me, with my mouth, but Irish was already getting ready to fuck me, it was now or never. Pushing the heels of my palms against the basin I pushed him back away from me.
“My turn,” I mouthed as I dropped to my knees before him.
“Holy fuck…” he breathed as he gripped the base of his cock, pointing it straight at my mouth.
I had no clue if I was about to dismember him or make him cum, I was going purely on exposed porn experience from college, by no means did I have any idea how to give a blow job, but if it was anything like sucking on an ice pop or lollipop, then it couldn’t be that hard.
I wrapped my hand around his cock, just above where his hand was and guided the head into my mouth. It tasted odd, but nice, a slightly salty flavor as the first drop of his pre-cum touched my tongue. God, I hope I don’t gag! I thought for a second and then slowly took him deeper into my mouth. He was moving his hips, but only slightly, as if being careful. But if I was going to do this I was going to go all out. So I reached behind him and pulled his butt closer letting his cock slide deeper into my mouth, until I felt my gag reflex and then I pulled out, again and again I repeated this. Twirling my tongue around the tip of his cock and dragging it up along the base. Irish’s hands were on either side of my head as he started to pump his cock into my mouth, each time brining me to the brink of suffocation only to let me go. Between my moans and his groans, I couldn’t tell who was having more fun anymore. As degrading as this may have seemed, I loved the power sucking a man’s cock gave me, not just any man. Irish, he was the only one I wanted to have control over me, and who I would want to control.
Irish cussed and ground his hips forward, and I could feel his body growing taught, his balls hit my chin over and over and sucking sounds filled the bathroom, and then Irish pulled out. It was unexpected, and I almost leaped forward to take him into my mouth again, but instead he gripped my hair, pulled my head back and pumped his cock with his fist until ropes of creamy cum shot out all over my breasts and neck. It was shamelessly sinful.
The rest of the night, we did everything we could possibly do under the sun, and every second spent with him, I learned more about myself. I wanted to be with Irish, suddenly finding my dad, didn’t matter anymore, nor did the fact that we were fugitives.
“What if we can’t find my dad?” I asked in the quiet of the room after yet another session of wild sex.
“He’ll find you,” Irish whispered and kissed the top of my head, “And then he’ll cut off my balls.”
I laughed but Irish didn’t, he was dead serious, “I won’t let him do that to you,” I said tracing patterns over his bare chest.
“Trust me lass, your dad will do just what he wants if he feels it is in your best interest. When we find him or when he finds us, we’ll have to put all of this behind us.”
Suddenly it felt as if the Bronx Raiders were a better prospect than running into my dad, and I hated that I felt this way, but it was the truth. This was his fault after all. He caused this shit, and now I’m in love with a hitman and there’s nothing I could do about it.