If you like the reading about The O'Malley Family and there's a place in your heart for loving, dominant men and strong, fiesty women, I think you'll enjoy it.
The moon was barely a sliver in the sky as he jogged the last few hundred yards to the door on the side of the building. Fingering the key that he’d carried all these many years like a talisman, he inserted it into the lock and opened the door. The stairway was black as pitch, but he didn’t turn on the light, just quietly made his way up. He knew the place like the back of his hand, had spent many of his teenage years sneaking down this same stairway.
When his grandparents owned the pub, he often spent the night upstairs in the small apartment, and even after his sister Molly, and her husband, Patrick, took it over, he still considered it his home. He moved quietly, something that was second nature to him after all his time as a Navy Seal, avoiding the stairs that squeaked instinctively. Had he been a man who smiled easily, he would have smiled now. It did seem a little silly, entering the building with such stealth, but old habits were hard to break, and many times his life and the lives of those on his team depended on his ability to move without the barest breeze identifying his passing.
Opening the door, he set his bag down and secured the secondary lock behind him. He was tired, in body and soul, but at least he was free. He’d hiked the ten miles from the train station without giving it a second thought. It was too late to wake anyone to come and get him and he didn’t mind stretching his legs after what seemed like days cramped in a series of planes and trains. His long stint was over; he’d served his country, done it well and had a chest full of medals to prove it, but none of that mattered now. He was home, although he wasn’t quite sure how long he would stay. There were no officers to salute, no orders to follow and no one to worry about pleasing except himself. That in and of itself was a blessing.
Stripping, he left his clothes where they lay and walked naked to the bathroom, quickly relieving himself. It was a skill, being able to function in the dark, and one he took for granted as he entered his bedroom. Seeing the small lump in his bed, he swore softly. Damn, he was tired and sleep was just too appealing to be concerned. Besides, it was his bed!
Slipping under the covers, he pushed the little warm body over to the other side. It had to be Bridget, he realized, smelling the perfume. She was the only one who used this bed, usually when she was too drunk to make it home. Molly had written to him that Bridget was getting married, so what was the little witch doing here anyway? It would serve her right to wake up next to a naked man who was not her fiancé. And if her fiancé was half the man he needed to be to handle Bridget, why was he allowing her to act like this?
Connor finally smiled, hearing her soft snore. Because she was Bridget, that’s why. She was infuriating and endearing, wild and beautiful, and she had a way of wrapping a man around her little finger. There was a time he thought about claiming her for his own. She’d always had a little crush on him, a small spark he could have fanned into a raging flame had he desired to do so, but it wasn’t fair, not to either of them. She could never be good long enough for him to complete his military obligations; it just wasn’t in her. Bridget was a girl…no a woman now, he reminded himself, who would require supervision and attention. Connor was not a patient man. When he gave an order he expected it to be obeyed, immediately and without question. Bridget would have driven him crazy, and in his profession it might have cost him his life. No, things had worked out for the best, Bridge was marrying some guy named…oh yeah, Delbert. Well let’s hope Delbert was a little tougher than his name, Connor thought, before he rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Patting her gently on the ass, he grinned as he fell asleep.
It was the sound of activity downstairs that woke Connor in the morning. Thin streams of daylight snaked their way around the curtains, bathing the room in the cool light of dawn. He was lying on his back and curled to his side was a warm little bundle. Her head was resting on his shoulder and his hand was on her sweet little ass, holding her securely. One of her legs was thrown over his and wrapped around his thigh, her knee mere inches from his morning erection. The delta between her thighs heated his hip.
Maybe I will fight Delbert for her, he thought, smiling to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up with a sweet-smelling woman in his arms. Cracking one eye open he lifted his head, looked down and saw a tiny hand with pink nail polish clutching his dog tags. Relaxing, he closed his eye and savored the moment. Yards of glorious dark hair that smelled like the coconut macaroons his grandmother used to make curled across his chest and wrapped around the hand that was resting on her bottom. Funny, he thought, sliding his hand absently up and down her back, he couldn’t imagine Bridget dying her hair dark, but then girls did strange things in the name of fashion. It was incredibly long, he realized, and he liked that. A woman should look like a woman, in his opinion. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to wrap it around his fist and haul her on top of him. Now that would be a homecoming.
Although it would serve her right, waking up sprawled atop a naked man with an enormous hard-on he thought, forcing the urge away. What the hell was she doing in his bed anyway? If she was mature enough to be getting married, she ought to be able to control her drinking. And why wasn’t her fiancé keeping a tighter rein on her? Did he have any idea what he was getting himself into? Molly said he was a lawyer, which might be a good thing to have in the family because right this moment he felt like committing a crime. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to sit up and pull her over his lap, spanking the daylights out of her, or plunge his shaft into her sleepy body. Either way, it was hardly an auspicious beginning to his life as a civilian. In the end, he contented himself with a sharp crack to her butt.
“Wake up, Bridge,” he ordered in the voice he reserved for the rawest of recruits.
A weak little mew was her response, so he repeated the smack, this time with more force.
“Hey,” she cried, popping her tousled head up and staring at the huge stranger pressed intimately against her. Her brown eyes widened in shock and as she opened her mouth to scream, Connor clamped his hand over it and flipped her on her back. She was unable to move a muscle. The man seemed to be made of sinew and steel, and her eyes rapidly took in every detail of his form in case she had to give a description to the police.
He appeared to be well over six feet, although she couldn’t be sure without him standing, but her feet only came to somewhere around his knee caps. His hair was blonde and cut in an extremely short military style, and he had a tattoo on his shoulder that she couldn’t make out. Crystal-blue eyes stared into hers and his full lips were twisted in irritation. They narrowed when she tried to bite his palm, and his eyes absolutely dared her to try it again. His bulging biceps held her easily despite her struggles, and when she was weak and panting, he finally smiled.
“Are we done now?” he asked with an inquiring eyebrow.
She nodded her head in the affirmative, fully intending to scream her fool head off the moment he uncovered her mouth.
“Just so we understand each other, I’m giving you fair warning that if you scream when I remove my hand, I will blister your ass even if it brings the entire neighborhood running. Now who are you and what are you doing in my bed?” he demanded, slowly removing his hand.
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