Forever At Last: (An Ireland Forever Short Story) Page 3

  I kissed her thigh. “No, it was perfect,” I said, glancing up the length of her body to meet her eyes.

  “It was,” she agreed.

  I scooted up onto my knees and reached into the drawer beside my bed to pull out a condom.

  “Ross?”

  “Yeah,” I said, just before my teeth bit into the metal foil packet.

  “I’m clean. And I’m on the pill.”

  I paused, those seven words catching me off guard. I’d never gone bare before. Ever. I’d always wondered what it would be like—all guys did—but I’d never trusted anyone enough to find out.

  I was clean, too. All those tests were part of our regular physicals when I’d still been on the team, and since then, I’d been tested again. From a health perspective, there was nothing stopping us.

  But our health wasn’t the only concern.

  “Are you sure?”

  Our eyes locked and held.

  She rolled her lips between her teeth and nodded slowly. “I want you to come in me.”

  Fuck me.

  I tossed the condom away and moved over her. Taking my cock in hand, I gave it a few quick tugs. “You want my cum inside of you?” I asked, rubbing it against her entrance, slicking it with her arousal.

  She nodded again. “Fuck me please, Ross.”

  “I’m going to fuck you so good, baby.”

  And then I did. And when I came shouting her name, I gave Gemma every last part of me—including my heart.

  Epilogue

  ** Five Months Later **

  Gemma

  Ross’s thumb swiped over the screen of his phone, his brows drawn into a deep vee. He shook his head, pressed a button, and then shoved the device into his back pocket.

  “Things not settled yet?” I asked, stepping close and wrapping him in my arms.

  He kissed my forehead and then rested his chin on the top of my head. “No. It’s a clusterfuck. My visa still hasn’t come through.”

  “Still?” I leaned back so I could see his face.

  He flattened his lips into a harsh line. “No. And now they’re saying it might not be ready by September. I don’t know what happens if there’s another delay.” He blew out a frustrated breath.

  Three months ago Ross had been approached by Thackeray College, a small liberal arts school in New England to take over as the head coach for their fledgling rugby team. Even though he’d been the best fullback Ireland had ever seen, he hadn’t been sure his success on the pitch would translate into a successful coaching career. But when I was offered a job teaching third grade at a prep school forty minutes from Thackeray, he’d had a change of heart. Since then, we’d been flying back and forth once a month getting ready for the move.

  “Without the visa, you can’t officially take the job, right?”

  He shook his head. “I can visit on a tourist visa like you’ve been doing here, but Thackeray can’t put me on the payroll without it.”

  “What’s the problem now?”

  He looked to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a few seconds, his hand fell away, and his face dropped forward. He pulled a deep breath into his lungs. “The Director of Athletics confirmed that the administrators are worried I’m not going to work out. They only want to sponsor me for a year.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah. Ah.”

  We’d known this was a possibility—after all, he was an unknown commodity. Ross had served as Ireland’s vice-captain for three years, but he’d never done any formal coaching. I was confident he’d be great at it, but it often took more than a year for any new coach to prove his worth.

  And as we both knew, so much could happen in a year. Twelve months ago, Ross had been playing the best rugby of his life, and I’d been planning a wedding to another man. Today he was a sports commentator with a live-in American girlfriend, and I was …

  Well, I was happier than I’d ever been.

  But I still had room in my heart for even more happiness. Which also happened to be a solution to his problem.

  “What if Thackeray didn’t need to sponsor you after that first year?” I led him over to the coach and sat us down facing one another.

  Ross’s pupils flared with recognition, but he wasn’t going to let me off the hook quite so easily. “And why wouldn’t I need a visa anymore?” His thumb grazed my knuckle in a light caress that made my body yearn for his touch in other places.

  I suppressed a shiver as I threw my leg over him and then planted my knees on either side of his thick, muscular thighs. When I weaved my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers in the thick hair at his nape, his eyes flashed with heat. “You wouldn’t need a visa,” I said, lowering myself slowly onto his lap, “because you’d be my husband.”

  “Your husband?” he asked, his voice pitched low and his cock thickening beneath me. He set his palms to my hips and dragged me forward over his length. He moaned deeply, and his eyes fell closed for a few brief seconds as he savored the friction of our bodies rubbing together. Eventually, he opened his eyes, and our gazes locked. He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

  I nuzzled into his hand, the skin-on-skin contact fueling my need for him.

  But what I needed more was to know what he was thinking. He hadn’t said no, but he hadn’t said yes either.

  “Ross?” I asked, my eyes flicking between his.

  He cradled my face in his big, strong hands. “Are you sure that’s what you want? It was less than a year ago …” He trailed off; neither of us needed to be reminded about the events that had led me to him.

  I leaned forward and set my lips to his. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be your wife.”

  He slid his hands from my cheeks and slowly reached into the front pocket of his jeans. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” he said, pulling out a gold band that was circled in emeralds and diamonds. “Because I’ve been carrying this thing around for three weeks trying to find the perfect moment to ask you to marry me.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes as I stared at the most beautiful engagement ring I’d ever seen. While the one Blake had given me had been ostentatious, this one proved once again just how well Ross knew me … knew what was in my heart.

  It was as perfect for me as he was.

  I tried not to cry, but it was a losing battle. As tears streamed down my face, Ross took my left hand in his and slid the band onto my finger. “You may have been the one to ask first, but I want it on record that I’ve known since the first day we met that you were my forever.”

  WANT MORE SEXY IRISH RUGBY PLAYERS?

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the book that started it all.

  TRYING SOPHIE

  (Irish Rugby Romance #1)

  Sophie

  Even though I’ve vowed to stay away from athletes, coming face-to-face with Irish rugby legend Declan O’Shaughnessy has me reconsidering. When we were kids, he tormented me mercilessly ... but that little boy is all man now, and there are some very adult things I’d like to do with him.

  But it’s not just his hot body or his wicked mouth that I’m falling for. Underneath all that cockiness he’s kind and generous too—the exact opposite of who I expected him to be.

  And now I have to decide if I’m ready to put down roots in Ireland or go back to America. Am I ready to walk away from the reformed bad boy who just might be the love of my life?

  Declan

  Rugby was the only thing I cared about until Sophie Newport walked back into my life. When we were kids, I treated her like garbage, but we’re both adults now, and I want to make it up to her. Especially since she still makes me feel things no one else ever has—or likely ever will.

  I want her, and I never give up without a fight. Even if it means showing her who I really am … introducing her to the things I need. Even if it means laying my heart on the line and asking her to stay.

  But first I have to win her trust, and then I’m going to win her heart. And this time, I want forever.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Declan

  I stood in front of the mirror and wiped a large circle in the steam. Wincing, I poked and prodded the darkening mark on my face. I’d have a garish bruise the size of a rose blooming across my face by this time tomorrow.

  Fecking Christ, I hurt all over.

  That wasn’t the worst of it though. My lip was split from where I’d taken a knee to the mouth, and my eyebrow had been glued together to stop the bleeding. I looked like I’d stepped into the ring with Conor McGregor and came out on the losing end.

  But that was life on the pitch.

  At least we’d won, but goddamn it had been brutal. Every match, I gave it my all. Some reporters claimed my style was too flamboyant, too focused on the big plays and not enough on the steady march down the field. Half of me knew those plays were what won matches, but the other half? Well, I loved the applause and spotlight. That was why at only twenty-six, I’d already made a name for myself as one of the best fly halves to ever play the game. It was also why the competition took great joy in kicking my arse.

  Dropping the towel from my waist, I climbed under the covers and grabbed my phone, scrolling through the messages I’d missed. If I didn’t feel like such shit, they might have tempted me out into the cold, wet Dublin night.

  Red: Miss you. Miss me too?

  Casey: Call me, D. Let’s hook up.

  Jazmin: Wanna fuck away the pain?

  I culled through my memories, trying to recall a Jazmin but came up blank. Clearly, I’d given her my private number, but I had no idea which of the many girls I’d fucked she could be.

  Which was happening a lot more frequently than I liked to admit.

  Mo
re than a bit disgusted with myself, I ran my hand down my face and grimaced when I inadvertently applied too much pressure to my bruised cheek.

  Glancing at my phone, I couldn’t summon any excitement at the idea of having quick, meaningless sex with someone I couldn’t recall, much less want to spend time with outside the bedroom.

  Who are you kidding? a snide voice in my head I recognized as my increasingly vocal conscience scoffed. You don’t fuck these chicks in a bed.

  No, I didn’t. But in a bathroom stall or up against a brick wall outside a club? Yeah, that was more my style. I’d developed quite the reputation for it, too. I didn’t enjoy being a prick, but I’d spent the entirety of my adult life having women throw themselves at me. Losing my virginity at fourteen to a seventeen-year-old with huge tits and a talented mouth had set the tone for what came next.

  But the god’s honest truth was I was wary of all the games.

  Which was fucking tragic.

  I’d always assumed that shit wasn’t supposed to hit until you were chained down with a wife and kids, worrying about a mortgage or how to pay school tuition.

  So why did I suddenly feel so fucking old and restless?

  ***

  Walking into the apartment over Fitzgerald’s Pub, I didn’t expect to find Colm Fitzgerald standing on a ladder, one hand holding onto the window casing while the other fished around the recesses of a bookcase, but there he was.

  I cleared my throat, alerting him to my presence, and he froze.

  A few seconds later, he glanced over his shoulder and his face split into a wide grin. “Declan, my boy,” he said, gingerly climbing down and then embracing me in a welcoming hug. “Have you come to rescue me then?”

  He lumbered slowly to his recliner, and I followed him across the room to take up my regular spot on the worn sofa across from where he sat. “What sort of rescuing needs doing?”

  “My Maureen, she means well, but I’m fit to be tied sitting here all day long with nothing to do. She won’t even let me have my regular afternoon dram.”

  Ah. So that’s what Colm had been doing up on the ladder.

  “There’s a bottle of whiskey stashed behind those books, isn’t there?”

  His eyes shifted to the door. “Shh, she might hear you.”

  Colm Fitzgerald was well into his seventies, but he was still slinking around, hiding from his wife. Not that I could blame him. Maureen Fitzgerald was a formidable woman.

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” I assured him. “What’s your doc say about drinking though?”

  “Bah! He said I had to cut down, not stop completely.” He leaned forward as if to impart a secret only I could know. “He told me drinking was grand provided I didn’t go overboard. And I haven’t had a drop of whiskey for over a week!”

  “And Mrs. Fitzgerald knows the doctor’s assessment?”

  “Oh, she knows … but she doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  I could imagine she didn’t. She’d almost lost her husband less than a month ago.

  When my mam had first told me about Colm’s heart attack, I’d done something I hadn’t done since my dad died when I was eighteen: I prayed.

  I’d played like shit that night, worried sick for the man. When she’d rang a few hours later to say it had only been a minor attack, I’d breathed a sigh of relief.

  Colm had been a regular fixture in my life after my dad’s passing. He’d be in the stands when he was able to get away from the pub, and several times over the last couple of years, he’d given me welcomed advice about how to handle situations involving my mother and sister.

  And when it had become clear to anyone with a pair of eyes that I was plowing my way through Dublin, Colm had sat me down and told me I was a gobshite. Not that he didn’t think I should sow my wild oats or “whatever you young kids called it nowadays.” He only took exception with the manner in which I was doing it.

  Once, I’d jokingly told him I’d curb my activities if he could convince his granddaughter to come for a visit. “Oh, Sophie’s too good for the likes of you, son,” he’d said. “She needs a man who will worship the ground she walks on, and you and I both know you’re not that.”

  Since I’d harbored a secret crush on the blonde beauty since I’d been a snot-nosed kid with more freckles than sense, I’d wanted to be offended, but Colm had been right. I wasn’t the type of man who worshipped anyone but myself, and my trail of partners more than proved I wasn’t mature enough to give monogamy a try.

  But for some reason, old Colm still held out hope that I’d grow into the type of man he could be proud of, someone worthy of a woman like his granddaughter.

  Not that I’d ever have a chance with Sophie. After she’d left Ballycurra, she’d only returned one time. I’d been away for a match and hadn’t been able to get back in time to see her. It made zero sense, but I’d never gotten over my crush.

  I knew it was creepy, but that hadn’t kept me from stalking her for years on social media. Even without her grandparents’ urging, I’d read everything she’d ever written. From her blog, I felt like I knew her. She’d always been gorgeous to me—even if I’d never told her—but the woman she’d grown into was a take-your-breath-away kind of beauty. The long frizzy hair had morphed into sleek, golden waves that cascaded down her back, while the roundness of her face had thinned out to reveal cheekbones that could cut glass. With miles and miles of tanned, toned muscles, I often fantasized about her legs being wrapped around my shoulders while I feasted on her.

  “Speaking of things that aren’t a good idea …” Colm said, interrupting my wayward thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his scrutiny.

  “How many girls are you seeing?” he barked, causing me to jump in my seat.

  “I don’t understand the question.” Let the record show I understood what he was asking, just not why.

  “Blunt it is then,” he said, slapping his palms to his thighs and leaning forward. “How many young ladies currently know what sheets you’ve got on your bed?”

  Taking in to account that I didn’t bring women back to my place, the answer was zero. But that wasn’t the information he was searching for, and for some reason, I’d never been able to lie to this man. “None sir. Not currently.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything else.

  As the silence stretched, I found myself offering up more than I had ever shared with … well, anyone. “It’s been a couple weeks since I … ehm … you know … met someone.”

  Colm brought his hand to his chin and rubbed his white whiskers thoughtfully. “None,” he repeated. “And why’s that?”

  Did I tell him the truth? I respected Colm and thought of him like family, but there were some things you didn’t discuss with family. Things like your sex life, for instance.

  I considered blowing him off, but the appraising looks he gave made me reconsider. What was the old man getting at?

  And then a thought jumped into my head that had absolutely no business being there in the first place. Maybe it was because Sophie had been on my mind more and more frequently, but I wondered if this line of questioning had something to do with all the talks Colm and I’d had about her lately.

  He had to know my interest was real. Didn’t he?

  I loved the Fitzgeralds too damn much to disrespect their granddaughter.

  If this was about her, I owed it to him to be honest.

  “Truthfully sir, it’s …” I struggled to find the words. Exhaling, I ran my hand through my hair and dropped my eyes to the tattered carpet at my feet. Taking a chance, I drew in a deep breath and blurted out my secret. “I’m tired of it all, sir. They’re just … bodies.” I looked up and met his penetrating scrutiny. “It makes me feel empty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Okay then,” Colm said, rising from of his chair. “You should go talk to Maureen. She’s got an errand for you to run.”