Colm chuckled, the response only adding more vibration to her already overstimulated clit.
“Shit!” She came hard, her bones rattling with the impact. A meteor striking the planet wouldn’t have shaken her with this much intensity.
Colm was a fucking clit master.
She struggled to catch her breath, as Colm rose up until he was kneeling once again. As her wits returned, he gave her a wicked grin, repeating her hashtag gesture with his fingers. “Hashtag Colm one, Ora zero.”
She laughed, giving him the win. She could be generous. Considering she’d actually been the biggest winner.
“Get inside me, you lunatic.” Kelli tried to draw him to her, but Colm resisted.
“Hang on. Let me grab a condom.”
For a moment, Kelli was tempted to tell him to skip it, but she shoved that ridiculous thought away fast. She was jumbling up things that couldn’t be jumbled.
The sex with Colm was great, but that was all it was. Sex.
That was all it could be because her plan remained the same. Her desire for a baby hadn’t dimmed a single bit.
Colm retrieved the condom and slid it on.
She shoved away all thoughts of babies for now. Tonight wasn’t about that.
“Come here,” she whispered, crooking her finger at him.
Colm moved back over her body and placed his cock at her opening. They groaned in unison as he slid deep in one slow thrust.
“You feel so good,” he said, holding his weight on his elbows so he could kiss her again.
He tilted his hips in an easy, gentle rhythm as he made love to her mouth.
God. It finally dawned on her why sex with Colm felt so different, so special.
With other men, it had always been fucking.
But Colm didn’t do that. Instead, he made her feel cherished, precious. Important to him.
If this was his standard operating procedure, she couldn’t understand how he’d remained single so long.
“Colm,” she murmured, her hands stroking his back, her lips sliding over his bearded face.
“That’s right, Kell. Say my name. Remember it’s me.” He lifted up, his weight on his hands as he increased his pace, taking her harder. Deeper. She lifted her hips each time he slid back in, needing more, demanding more, and he answered the call with more force, more pleasure.
It was as if she’d triggered something inside him when she spoke his name. And now, holy shit, he was staking a claim, imprinting his name on her body, in her memory.
“Colm. God! I’m…”
“I’m there too. Say my name, Kelli.”
“Colm!” she cried, white light flashing behind her closed eyes.
“Dammit. Open your eyes and say my name!”
Kelli fought to give him what he wanted as he continued to slam inside her even harder. Her orgasm continued. She couldn’t come down. She didn’t fucking want to. Not ever.
“Colm. Colm. Colm…” His name became a chant as he held her gaze captive, his eyes never leaving hers, so that she saw it the second he was there too.
“Fuck. Kelli. God… Kelli,” he breathed, her name almost a sigh as he came as well, his face etched with intense pleasure that almost looked like pain.
For several moments, neither of them moved or looked away. They simply lay there, connected, gasping for breath, staring.
Colm had been in her life since she was five years old. And tonight, it felt like she was seeing him for the very first time.
Chapter Eleven
Colm leaned back in his chair at Pat’s Pub and rubbed his way-too-full stomach. Padraig sat across from him, doing the same thing. They were both suffering the aftereffects of Aunt Riley’s Thanksgiving dinner.
“Every year, I say I’m not going to overeat,” Colm murmured, closing his eyes as he fought off the desire to take a brief turkey-induced nap.
“Me too,” Padraig said. “Then I see that homemade stuffing with the real bacon bits and I start shoving it in my face like it’s my job.”
“We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
Padraig groaned. “I’m going to explode if I eat Mom’s pumpkin pie.”
Colm cracked one eye open. “You skipping it?”
“Don’t be insane. Of course not.”
“Damn. Thought that meant there would be more for me.”
Despite being closed, the noise level in the pub currently rivaled that of St. Patrick’s Day when the place was filled to the rafters with the local patrons.
The Collins family had grown too large over the past few years to celebrate holidays together in someone’s house, so they’d moved the festivities to the pub.
Pop Pop had always closed the pub on Thanksgiving, even though many other restaurants stayed open, claiming it was one of the best business days of the year.
Pop Pop insisted holidays were for family, not for making a buck. And since taking over the management of the pub and Sunday’s Side, Colm’s dad, Tris, Aunt Keira, and Uncle Ewan had kept up that same policy, closing so that the whole family could be together.
Looking around the room, Colm couldn’t help but smile and feel blessed. Hunter and Uncle Sky were playing their guitars, a bunch of the little kids dancing around, laughing at the silly songs they were making up.
His mom and aunts were sitting around one large table, drinking wine, reminiscing about past holidays.
His dad and Pop Pop and uncles were sitting at the bar, watching football on the big screen, alternating between cheering or shouting at the refs.
They’d already done the eternal “say what you’re thankful for” deal prior to eating the meal. As the family continued to grow, the time it took for everyone to have their turn to speak had expanded exponentially.
Pop Pop always started it, lifting a bottle of Jameson and demanding everyone’s attention.
It usually took a few minutes to quiet the crowd, but once everyone saw the Jameson, the conversations would end and they’d all turn to Pop Pop.
Pop Pop said the same thing every year. His grandfather was grateful for the roof over his head and the food in his belly, but most of all, he was thankful for the greatest family a man could ever ask for. Those words never failed to put a
