F*ck of the Irish (The Hard and Dirty Holidays #4)
Read F*ck of the Irish (The Hard and Dirty Holidays #4) Online
Authors: Celia Aaron
F
ck of the Irish
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
Celia Aaron
F
ck of the Irish
Celia Aaron
Copyright © 2016 Celia Aaron
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, place and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers.
Happy St. Patty’s Day from Celia
The first two chapters of Counsellor are free at the end of this eBook
Other Books by Celia Aaron
Acquisition Series, Book One
Acquisition Series, Book Two
***
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
***
Forced Series, Book 1
Forced Series, Book 2
Forced Series, Book 3
Forced Series, Book 4
Forced Series, Book 5
***
Taken by Olympus, Book 1
Sign up for my newsletter at
AaronErotica.com
and be the first to learn about new releases
(I would never sell your info, maybe just send you free stuff and book news.)
Twitter: @aaronerotica
F
ck of the Irish
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
Laurel
“Sheep.”
I shook my head. “Try again. Ship. See? It has the short ‘i’ sound.”
“Sheeeeeep.” Wi screws her lips together, as if puckering will give her the vowel sounds she wants. It doesn’t.
I had been tutoring her for months, and she’d grasped a great deal of the English language and pronunciations, but some words still escaped her. She’d been a fast learner, having come to the U.S. for college with only a rudimentary knowledge of English. Her native Chinese, though, was flawless.
I closed her workbook.
“You’ve almost got it. Keep practicing and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
She smiled and gave me a slight nod. “Tuesday.”
I leaned back in my chair, my joints stiff from sitting so long and helping her with her marine biology paper. She had a presentation coming up and didn’t want to say ‘sheep’ when referencing the ship she was on when she took part in discovering a new species of sea mollusk.
She tucked a lock of her short dark brown hair behind her ear. “Tuesday. I will have it. Sheep.”
I smiled. “Right, ship.”
“Thank you, Laurel.” She put great emphasis on perfecting her ‘l’ sounds and it showed. I was certain she would have a workable “ship” pronunciation next time I saw her.
“You are very welcome.” I gathered my notebook and stuffed it into my green backpack. “Next time, then. I can find my way out. Go on. I know you want to practice.”
She grinned and nodded again before hurrying out the door. We always met in a study room at the university’s international house. It had become my home away from home ever since I began tutoring.
Now that my day was over, I looped my long blonde hair up into a ponytail and shrugged on my backpack. I needed to get back over to my dorm, warm up a frozen dinner, and work on my translation homework. It was only my sophomore year, but I had my heart set on grad school. Finishing a modern translation of Ovid’s
Metamorphoses
from Latin to English would be my ticket into a prestigious grad school.
I walked out of the study rooms and into the main common area of the international house. Couches and bean bags were scattered around the room, students sitting and talking or typing on their laptops. I scanned the room, looking for a certain student, but Eamon was nowhere to be seen.
I sighed my disappointment and strode to the wide double doors leading into the night. Reaching for the handle, I drew back quickly as the doors swung inward.
Eamon, laughing and looking over his shoulder, barreled right into me. I made a startled squeak and lost my footing. I shot one hand out in front of me as I fell, trying to grab onto anything to stay upright. A large palm gripped my forearm and yanked me forward.
I ended up pressed against Eamon’s chest, his arm around my waist. I inhaled, taking in the scent of his aftershave—a clean, masculine smell.
“You all right?” A deep rumble against my cheek.
I pulled away from him and looked up to his eyes. They were dark blue with a mischievous sparkle. His full lip curled up in a smile, and he held my elbows as he peered down at me. He was a good foot taller than me, and I was five foot four. My heart warmed, sending a shot of pink to my cheeks as he focused on me. I dropped my gaze to the belt of his jeans, which only made me blush more.
I’d crushed on him from afar for months. But I’d never spoken to him, just listened to his lilting Irish accent and peeked at him whenever he wasn’t looking. Something about him called to me, partly good looks, but also something else. He’d caught me staring every so often, each time giving me an inviting smile. On each occasion, I’d fled to my study room or left the international house altogether.
“Laurel, isn’t it, love?” He put a gentle finger under my chin and lifted my face to his. “You okay?”
My lungs seemed to completely deflate. “I, um, I’m fine.”
“I didn’t see you there. Apologies.” His lips were moving but all I could think was Eamon. His name played through my mind on repeat.
“Come on, man.” Noel, one of the British students, punched Eamon in the arm. “She’s fine.”
Eamon barely moved. He played soccer and was ridiculously well muscled, not shirking his upper body workouts in the least.
“I know she’s
fine
. I want to make sure she’s okay.” Eamon watched as my cheeks grew even hotter.
“I’m good.” As much as I wanted his attention, wanted to lose myself in his eyes, I couldn’t. “I have to go.”
I side-stepped him, immediately wanting the warmth of his touch back, and walked out into the cold night.
Eamon
She’d been in my arms. Right where she belonged, finally. But then she’d escaped. I wanted to grab her and toss her over my shoulder, take her to my room and horse it in as rough as I pleased. But she wasn’t that sort of betty. I’d learned that quite a long time before, when I’d dated her roommate.
Claudia had been a tiger in the sack, but she didn’t have enough going on upstairs to keep my interest. Her major was aerobics after all. But she’d been good enough to introduce me to Laurel, and I’d been smitten ever since. I’d dropped Claudia the day I met Laurel. Needless to say, Claudia was none too pleased with me, and Laurel avoided me at all costs.
“Come on, you todger. I want to kill some terrorists in
Call of Duty
.”
“Shut your gob, you bloody cocktrough.” I shoved Noel harder than I’d intended and he skittered into one of the lounging students.
“Hey!” Pablo turned around on the couch and opened his mouth to go off, but returned to his book when he got one look at my face.
“Sorry, chum. I didn’t know you had a taste for that little bit of snatch.” Noel shrugged and ran a hand through his dark hair.
“Don’t call her that.” I stalked past him and took the steps two at a time to the second floor dormitory.
Bursting through my door, I tossed my satchel on the floor and sank onto my bed. I exhaled and moved to my back, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that I’d always found looked like a bunny missing an ear.
Laurel’s scent was still on my shirt. I pulled the fabric up to my nose and inhaled, as if I could ingest every small particle of her she’d left behind. My cock hardened in my pants, straining against my zipper until I had to shift.
The door opened. “Sorry, Eamon.” Noel poked his head in, his blond hair lit from the hallway fluorescents.
“It’s cool.”
He came the rest of the way in and closed the door before sitting on his bed and flicking on a lamp. “So that’s the girl I hear you talking to in your sleep?”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “You say some pretty nasty shite, you filthy wanker. Very enjoyable. Something about how you’re going to spank her ass raw and force her to worship your cock.”
I would have felt uncomfortable if Noel hadn’t brought a different betty home every night, fucking her until the wee hours before sending her packing. As it was, I flipped him off and settled back against my pillow.
“Just jump her bones and seal the deal.” He pulled out his laptop and started doing some homework for once. “What’s the problem?”
“Claudia.”
“You think that bird still cares what you do?”
“I know she does.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a couple of messages I’d received earlier in the day. I held it up, Noel squinted from his twin bed to read the texts.
Want to have dinner sometime? ~C
I really miss you. ~C
I wish you’d talk to me. ~C
“What the fuck, Eamon?” He shook his head and leaned back against the wood paneled wall. “Did you just give her that good of a toss in the sack?”
“I fucked her once. I really wish I hadn’t.” If I could have taken it back, I would have.
It had happened three months ago after I’d met her at one of the bars on the strip in our small college town. Despite my misgivings, she talked me into staying the night in her dorm room. We’d both been pretty trashed. I’d passed out and awoken to the sight of an angel standing above, looking down with a look of utter disgust.
“Laurel,” Claudia had croaked, “Meet Eamon, my boyfriend.”
Laurel, my angel, had pursed her perfect lips, turned her back to me, and lay on her bed, facing the wall. Though it gave me an excellent view of her choice arse, I could tell she didn’t even want to look at Claudia or her “boyfriend.”
From that moment, Laurel owned my heart, though all I owned was her scorn. She wouldn’t give me a chance to explain, always avoiding me at the international house. And now, when I’d finally gotten a chance to touch her, to talk to her properly, she’d run like a frightened fawn.
I stared at the mangled bunny imprint on the ceiling, tracing its outline as my thoughts strayed back to how good it felt to have Laurel in my arms.
“So, I say Schrodinger’s cat is dead as fucking dead can be.” Noel tried to distract me.
I turned my face to the wall. “I don’t want to play this stupid game.”
“Dead.” Noel crowed behind me. “No way it can possibly be alive.”
We’d had ridiculous long-ranging arguments over Schrodinger’s cat for the four years we’d been roommates at university in the States. All the arguments were dumb, circular, and usually ended in some colorful profanity. We were both training to be physicists, setting our sights on working for the American entrepreneur who’d brought back space exploration.
“That pussy perished,” he said. It was admirable, really, but I didn’t want to talk to him. I wanted Laurel.
“Simply no way for it to be alive.” He tapped away on his keyboard.
I sighed and turned back to him. “The cat is alive and dead.”
“Nope, dead.”
“The cat is alive and dead until it is observed and reality collapses into the one possible outcome. You fail physics, especially quantum physics, and you will never get off the ground, much less out of Earth’s atmosphere, you standing prick.”
He peeked over his laptop, crinkles around his eyes from his grin. “Dead.”
“Ornery cunt.” But I smiled as I said it.
We batted a few more theories back and forth before settling in for the night. Though I spoke and interacted and tried to play it cool, my thoughts were constantly pulled back to Laurel. Her amber eyes and innocent smile. I’d itched to make her mine for so long that having her in my grasp made my need for her burn even higher.
I let my eyes close, forcing myself to rest for my classes in the morning and football, or as the Americans insisted on calling it “soccer,” practice in the afternoon.
I was almost asleep, Laurel’s eyes lulling me to slumber, when my phone pinged.
Lunch tomorrow? ~C
I groaned and tossed my phone to my desk.
“Claudia?” Noel asked, though I couldn’t see him in the dark.
“Too right.” Would I ever be rid of her?
“Hmm.”
“Hmm what?” I asked.
“I have an idea.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the most worrying phrase I think I’ve ever heard you utter.”
“Hear me out, wanker.”
I was desperate to have Laurel. To the point I was open to any suggestions, even if they came from Noel. “What’s floating around in your noggin, then?”
“Okay, here’s the plan . . .”