TIGGY
It’s late when Seamus comes home. After our fight in his office this afternoon, I wasn’t expecting him home for dinner. I’m already tucked up in bed, which isn’t unusual on nights when he sends me home from the club early and goes off to do things with his crew.
What is unusual is that tonight, when Seamus kisses me awake, his fingers playing with my clit, he doesn’t fuck me.
“Did ye have a good night,leannán?” he murmurs against my lips, his long fingers parting my folds, one spearing into me, pumping.
“I had a nice long soak in the tub with a glass of wine,” I moan, pressing my hips up to meet his hand.
“That sounds like a beautiful sight.”
Seamus groans as his lips leave mine, kissing their way down my body until he has stripped the coverlet off, kneeling between my legs.
His tongue traces along my outer folds, delving in and flicking my clit. Oh, God.Yes. Seamus eats me out much more frequently than I could ever have imagined, going into marriage with a man like him, but every time is a wonderful surprise.
Sliding my fingers into his dark, thick hair, I cling to him, holding himright thereas his tongue continues to flicker and his finger continues to stab into me. He curls his finger, hitting my G-spot as his tongue flicks my clit, and I buck my hips, gasping and moaning as I come. So, so good.
My legs fall open lazily, like the slow blooming of a flower, away from his shoulders as he kisses his way back up my body, his tongue swirling over the skin at my throat.
Now would usually be when he would position me, grip my hips, and plunge his dick into me. As he settles between my thighs, I lift my hips in anticipation, but the expected – and welcome – intrusion never materializes.
Instead, Seamus rolls onto his back, bringing me with him until I’m settled on his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, and his fingers stroke through my hair, combing it where it trails over his arm and onto the pillow.
“Seamus?” I murmur, the question lingering in my tone.
“Yes,leannán?” he speaks into my hair, nuzzling his nose gently.
I stifle a yawn, but he notices.
“Ye’re tired. Sleep now.Oíche mhaith agus codladh sámh.”
I need to learn Irish to know what he says to me. So far, all I have issweetheart. But that won’t help me right now. Instead, I fall asleep, cuddled against Seamus’s chest while he gently strokes my hair.
Seamus is gone when I wake up in the morning, and it’s a pattern that continues for the next eight days. I wake up alone, flit around the house while Paddy and Connor act like silent sentinels, go to bed alone, wake up when Seamus comes to bed and buries his face between my legs, and fall asleep in his arms.
Sounds like a dream, right? I’m actually getting a bit sick of it. I just want him to fuck me. I have no idea why he’s denying himself, but I don’t like it. What if it’s because he’s angry that I pretty much told him not to touch me because I thought he’d been with another woman, and now he is off fucking them to teach me a lesson? The thought cuts me to the core.
I have a plan. I’m ready for Seamus when he comes into the bedroom tonight. I’m lying with my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. The door opens, and he creeps in, tiptoeing straight through the room into the bathroom, determined not to wake me.
The shower starts running, a chink of light spilling through where he has left the door open a crack. Shoving back the coverlet, I crawl out of bed, stripping off my nightgown and creeping into the bathroom.
Seamus is standing in the shower, the water cascading over his head, obscuring the sound of my opening the door. Perfect. Slipping into the shower behind him, I run my hands up his back. Seamus turns in surprise, his eyes darkening as they slide over my naked body.
“Fuck, Tig,” he murmurs. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I know.”
I smile up at him, dropping to my knees, taking his hard dick in my hand and stroking it from base to tip. A groan tears from Seamus’s lips, his head tipping forward as he braces a hand against the tiled shower wall. Rolling my thumb over the tip, I flick at the drop of pre-cum gathered there.
“How come you don’t fuck me anymore?”
There is a flash of something in his eyes. His fingers circle my wrist, and he tugs me to my feet, shutting off the shower behind him.
“Let’s go to bed, Tig,” he says quietly, his voice rough. Stubbornly, I shake my head vigorously.
“Is it because you don’t want me anymore?” My voice is miserably small, a look of regret crossing his face.
“Jaysus feck, Tig,” he breathes. “I want ye every fecking minute.”