The Hurricane
Page 72“You misunderstood, Richard,” Sylvia stuttered. “I would never say anything like that.”
“Look, boyo.” An increasingly belligerent Richard was getting up in O’Connell’s face, and it was like watching a stupid monkey baiting a lion. “I’m getting inside this shithole whether I have to go through you or not. Your stupid bitch of a mother promised me free booze if I drove her here, and I expect payment.”
He shoved O’Connell hard, but my man was a six-foot-five mountain of solid muscle, who’d been training his body to fight for most of his life. Richard wouldn’t know what hit him, but I wouldn’t put it passed him to try to press charges for assault. After that, O’Connell’s career would be well and truly over.
“Don’t,” I warned him, “you’re in training”.
“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured me. “I’ve got it under control.”
“But four weeks from tomorrow I won’t need to rein it in, fucker,” snarled O’Connell menacingly.
“Surprise, surprise,” drawled Richard. “I always took you for a jumped up little pussy. You don’t have the balls to fight me. But I’ll tell you what. I’m a reasonable man. Give me two free pints of lager and a shot and I’ll leave you, and your good for nothing, dried up mother to it. Call it my wedding present.”
It happened so fast that it barely registered, but in seconds, Richard was little more than a heap on the floor in front of me. In unison, we all turned to see where the punch had come from. Tommy wore a beaming smile and shrugged his shoulders as he said, “I’m not in training.”
“Go home,” he told her forcefully. “It’s over.” With that, O’Connell led me back inside without throwing a single punch, and we went back to our happy ever after.
“I THINK YOU’RE JUST SUPPOSED to carry me over the threshold,” I told O’Connell.
“As far as I’m concerned, the main door to the building is the threshold. I want to do everything right, and it starts with this.”
I sighed, knowing there was no arguing with him, and let him carry me up flight after flight of stairs until we got to the apartment. The box of wedding cards that I held onto tightly, only added to the burden. He paused to juggle between my weight and getting the keys out of his pocket, then let us in and kicked the door behind him.
“Bed, Mrs. O’Connell,” he ordered.
“Yes, Mr O’Connell,” I answered, nuzzling into the side of his neck as he carried me the short distance to the bed. As he did, I registered that something felt not quite right. It took me a moment to realise what it was.
“O’Connell. Why’s the flat warm?”
“Our wedding present,” he told me. “Tommy’s dad’s a plumber, so with a bit of help from Tommy, he came in yesterday morning and fixed the heating.”
“Ah, I love John,” I sighed. It really was the best present in the world to have warmth on tap again.
“Hey, I’m the only one who gets to hear that from now on...and maybe Danny, but no one else, so behave wife,” he retorted, jokingly.
“I see.” I smiled. “Married for five minutes, and you’re already possessive.”
I could barely breathe as O’Connell bared my back and with one hand splayed across my stomach, kissed his way down my spine.
“Mrs. O, you have no idea,” he said seductively.
My heart raced as he shimmied my dress down my hips. I’d toed off my converse and was now standing before him, my back to his hard waiting body. His tanned calloused hand covered my pale naked breast, and I shivered, overwhelmed by the way that he made me feel. He knew my body intimately, knew how to inflame and arouse me and how to make me beg. His thumb teased my nipple and I whimpered as I started to breathe hard. The air between us was charged with anticipation, and although I just wanted him inside me, it was clear he wanted to take his time. His kisses peppered my neck and back intimately, until he’d worked his way around my body and was standing in front of me. He was so big that barefoot, I had to strain my neck to look up at him. Those jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, wolf-like eyes told me that he was just as far gone as I was. He held my gaze with a smug, knowing grin as he slowly undressed, unveiling a washboard stomach that still made me salivate. When he was down to his boxers, he slid them down his legs and teased his finger along the lace edge of my panties. I ached for him, and this teasing only made the need a hundred times worse.
“Turned on, are we?” he asked huskily, and I nodded in reply.
“I’ve been hard for hours, watching you walk around in that dress. I’ve had all night to plan how many times I’m going to take you, and in what position. But now that I have you nearly naked and all alone, I just want to bend you over and fuck you hard until I can remember my own name again.” His deep voice was thick with lust, and I was too turned on to reply.
“Open your legs baby.” I did as he asked, and with effortless strength that made me seem weightless, he lifted me up and wrapped my legs around him. I groaned as his cock pressed up against me.
“Fuck, I love that sound,” he told me. He set me down on the bed hard and ground against me in the best, most torturous way. Threading my hands into his hair, I pulled him toward me for a kiss. Nothing about it was gentle. His soft touch had now become a carnal hunger, and he kissed me like he wanted to devour me. The hard-sculpted muscles of his back flexed beneath my fingertips as I tried to press him closer. My skin was on fire, and I wanted him inside me so badly it hurt.
“Turn over,” I demanded, between kisses. I was impatient and ready to take control, and he seemed mildly amused at my efforts. O’Connell didn’t have a submissive bone in his body. If he didn’t have control, it was because he relinquished it freely. I pushed against his chest, knowing that I had no way of flipping him. His size made me feel delicate and tiny, and I knew that I was more likely to hurt myself than him, trying to put him on his back. Indulgently, he rolled over and lifted me to sit astride him. I moved my hands to the waistband of my panties.