Kissed by Reality (8 page)

“
S
WEET HOME ALABAMA
! WHERE THE SKIES ARE SO BLUE!”

10 American women, one American man and hundreds of Irish folks crooned Lynyrd Skynyrd’s signature tune as the band shredded it in the middle of a crowded pub in Dublin.

Temple Bar was more than I could have ever imagined.

For years I had dreamed of coming here, to the land of my ancestors, as cheesy as that sounded. The stories my mom told about Dublin, Blarney and Moher had always sounded so magical, and the kid inside of me had fantasized about this day forever.

Four months ago I dreamed about coming here with Finn. Two weeks ago I’d never imagined I’d be here in this lifetime with him.

But here I was, three Irish car bombs in, surrounded by 10 other Mr. Right contestants and the man I loved, but who I wasn’t certain even liked me.

We had found ourselves at the Temple Bar Pub, one of the most famous bars in all of the world. With its old-time feel, vibrant red paint and live house bands, it was the party that never stopped. There were Americans, Irish locals, French women and three German guys who the crew kept having to steer away from the girls.

The date had been an all day affair, from O’Connell Street to the Kilmainham Gaol, a wicked Irish prison that had since been shut down. We’d gotten good and spooked while walking the old cell halls and inspecting the metal cage center of the place.

But, true to European attitude, the Irish weren’t going to put up with us filming just anywhere. Hence the cameras that had been packed away before we walked into the pub, the burly but friendly bouncers admonishing the producers in thick gaelic accents.

I was happy they wouldn’t permit filming in the bar. I wanted to experience this without cameras and pressure and the competition they brought when the little red lights went on.

Smiling into my Guinness, I considered today an epic victory. Finn had actually talked to me, engaged in friendly small talk. I couldn’t help but blush thinking that he’d scheduled this trip due to our conversations not so long ago. Today, we’d been the old Finn and Leighton. Laughing, talking, busting each other’s chops and experiencing a culture and way of life different from our every day.

This was what I’d imagined for our life, what I’d always thought our future was going to look like.

All of the girls were letting their hair down, cheersing each other and partaking in the overall merriment of the bar. The Irish were some of the happiest on earth, and this band was one of the best one’s I’d ever heard live, which was a feat since I’d lived in Los Angeles my entire life. Live music was second nature.

We’d all been jamming for about two hours, the musicians spitting out Top 40 hits, Rat Pack oldies, some Irish folk songs and more. I swung my gaze to the other end of where our group was sitting, and felt a hot jolt of jealousy course through my veins as Finn leaned in to whisper something in Erin’s ear.

I couldn’t forget that this was the situation I was in now. But it didn’t mean I couldn’t stack the deck, play the game a little. After all, I’d come here to beat these girls, no holds bar. I wasn’t above using my history with Finn if it meant his attention was squarely on me. And I should feel guilty about that, like some miserable witch trying to sabotage his relationships with the other girls, but I just couldn’t. We were meant for each other, they all knew it. Even though it was my fault we’d gone up in flames, I was going to rebuild our house brick by brick, no matter how long it took me.

Little known fact, I have a pretty good voice. Not a big belting diva voice like Beyoncé or Adele, but a decent enough one that I probably could have hit the music scene back home and done alright. And I knew for a fact that Finn loved to hear me sing.

I made my way to the back of the bar where the small stage sat, curving my hips enough to get the lead singer’s attention. Just my luck, they had a break in songs as soon as I positioned myself on the floor directly in front of him.

He winked before leaning down. “What’s up, pretty lass?”

“See that guy over there? I’d love to sing a song for him. Do you take guest performers?”

Lead singer tilted his chin up and glanced to where Finn stood chatting with some of the other women.

“Ah, the reality guy, yeah? Can you carry a tune then, love?”

I sang a couple bars of Sweet Home Alabama, since it was the only song currently in my head, and he nodded along with my a cappella.

“Alright, you pass. What do you feel like belting, lass?”

I whispered my choice in his ear, causing a mile-wide grin to split his boyish face. I was sure to get Finn’s notice with this one.

Lead Singer held his hand out, which I grasped after placing a tan boot up on the stage. We hoisted me up together, and then he bowed, successfully relinquishing his spot to me for this one song. He spoke to the rest of the band, who waved my way, and I know he’d told them which ballad I wanted to perform.

My stomach was in my throat. I forgot that this was why I’d partly never pursued a career in singing. I didn’t do live performances or crowds. In front of a camera, with only the crew and cast members there, I was totally fine. But here, with hundreds of people turning to stare at the American girl on stage, my fingers and toes went numb and my vision began to focus in like a tunnel. Sweat trickled down my back underneath the maroon sweater I wore, and my fingers were slick on the mic stand.

But one look at Finn, still enraptured by Erin, and I pushed myself to forget the stage fright. The minute the opening chords of Queen’s “Somebody to Love” strummed out of the band’s instruments, his indigo eyes snapped to the stage. And then onto mine.

“Each morning I get up I die a little, can’t barely stand on my feet! Take a look in the mirror and cry, oh Lord, what’re you doing to me?”

I kept my eyes on Finn the entire time, singing exclusively to him and putting on a little show. I stamped my feet, waved my hand, and as soon as the crowd, and the Mr. Right women, realized I could hold a tune, they began to scream.

And then the thing I’d been waiting for happened. Finn’s dimples popped out as a smile lit up his face.

Because this was our song. The one we’d jokingly sang to each other when the crew had brought in a karaoke machine to the house in Bermuda. The one he’d sang to me quietly as we laid in the uncomfortable bunk beds of that house after we’d made love. The one we’d played on the way home from the airport when I’d arrived in Nebraska. The one we’d danced around to in our underwear on Sunday mornings.

The crowd was dancing and singing along as I asked if anybody could find me somebody to love. I motioned for Finn, crooking my finger and trying for my most adorable, siren smile. My heart leapt when he began to part the crowd, making his way to the stage.

Lead Singer helped him up and I shook my hips as I sang, holding the microphone out to him so he would join in with me.

“I get down on my knees and I start to pray, ’til the tears run down from my eyes. Lord somebody,” Finn chimed in with the backup vocals of, “OH somebody!”

I reached out for him, taking his hand in mine and mock pleading, getting so into my act that it was no longer an act. “Can anybody find meeee somebody to love?”

Finn and I stood back to back, bumping each other’s butts as we shared the mic. My body was on fire; the mix of nerves, his proximity and the alcohol swirling into a tornado of heady eroticism.

“I'm OK, I'm alright, I ain't gonna face no defeat! I just gotta get out of this prison cell, one day I'm gonna be free, Lord…” I sing straight to Finn’s face, his eyes, his smile.

The place falls silent, and then, as if the audience were a church choir, they started to chant, “Find me somebody to love, find me somebody to love, find me somebody to love…”

Finn and I stared into each other’s eyes, his hand dangling so close to mine that I could feel the electricity sparking off of him.

And at the exact right moment, as the drummer hit the beat and the guitarist strummed the perfect chord, we threw our heads back and cried, “Can’t anybody find meeeee. Somebody to…lo-o-o-oveeee? Can’t anybody find me, somebody to…love!?”

I
should have been
jet-lagged, worn down, about to fall into bed and zonk out by the time my head hit the pillow.

Leighton’s song had evaporated all hope of that happening tonight. Jesus, she was fucking breath-stealing. Not breathtaking, oh no, that would be too minor for Leighton.

No, her beauty and charisma and fucking raw sex appeal reached deep down into your lungs, literally ripped all of the air out and held onto it for dear life.

She’d fucking sang our song. Oh sure, I knew it was a ploy, a scene-stealing mechanism. She was throwing the entire arsenal at me. Her tender knee massages, the steamy kiss in the bathroom, Queen lyrics. It was fucking working.

And I was too stupid and horny to ignore it. All thoughts of her betrayal had gone out the window when I’d seen her belting and shaking it up on that stage. I’d always loved her voice, the raspy, sexy sweetness of it. It was as if the Northern Lights were moving through that room as she lit it up, fluffing those beautiful dark curls and flashing her amber eyes at me. Those sexy legs had stamped up and down the small platform, and over my heart.

It was the only reasonable excuse for why I was currently scouring the quaint bed & breakfast we were staying in for her.

My growing cock led me down to the kitchen, my body following it as if I was an owner being pulled along by the leash attached to a very impatient dog.

Our telepathy was never far off, because when I walked into the small Irish kitchen, Leighton sat at the tiny wrought iron table nursing a cup of tea. Her mouth dropped open a little when I walked in, but she recovered, moving that sly smirk back onto her cherry-stained lips.

“Couldn’t sleep either, Freddy Mercury?”

I didn’t feel like hearing her smart mouth at the moment. I didn’t feel like hearing anything at all besides the soft moans that would drift out of her throat as I stuck my pointer and middle finger inside of her pussy.

So I silenced her. I strode up to the table, not quickly but not slowly either. Leighton even tried to back away from me, as if my forwardness was a threat. Good, I was glad I could shock and scare her for once.

When I came to stand in front of her, I didn’t stop. I bent over at the waist, locked my hands onto her cheeks and jaw, and took her mouth.

Again, it wasn’t rough but it wasn’t lazy. The kiss was to-the-point, demanding yet unhurried, a contradiction within itself. I stroked her tongue with mine, sealed my lips so thoroughly over hers so that the garbled noises couldn’t escape. There were other people in this house, and as much as I wanted to bury myself deep in Leighton, I also didn’t want to be caught.

Putting my hands under her armpits, I dragged her up, our lips never detaching. Leighton sucked at my tongue, a move that had my cock jumping to stiff attention, bumping against her flat stomach as she swarmed me.

My hands moved down the slim column of her body, fingertips over swells of breasts, palms over slim ribs and flaring waist. It was such deja-vu, as if no time had passed at all and I had been stuck in this moment for four months. I moved up and under her thin cotton sleep tank, running the backs of my hands over her skin, skimming my knuckles, up…up…up until they hit the smooth skin under her breasts.

“Of course you’re not wearing a bra.” I couldn’t help the thought that popped out.

“Did you expect anything else?” Leighton’s breathy voice blew against my lips before she fused us together once again.

Her nipples were hard and peaked by the time my fingers brushed over them, and I rolled them, testing her sensitivity. I could always tell by how she reacted to me playing with her breasts if she was ready or not. If she was going to be wet and dripping if I stuck my hand into her panties.

Leighton’s knees practically buckled as I pulled and pinched her straining buds.

There was something in the air between us, like all of the wires in the house were alive and making the oxygen around us crackle and snap. It felt like the first time between us, but in reality we’d done this hundreds, maybe even a thousand, times. There was excitement but peace, anticipation but knowing, strangeness but familiarity.

“Please Finn…”

Those two words, some of the last words she’d spoken to me four months ago. Ugly black thoughts began to drench my brain, bringing me back to the hurt and pain she’d caused. The miles-wide scar she’d carved into my heart.

I shoved them to the back, too turned on and too far gone to stop this. Breaking our kiss and my perusal of her body, I swung my head around the kitchen, looking for a more private place for us. I needed inside of her, right now, and the middle of this room was not going to work. Not to mention, my leg was killing me from a full day of walking.

“There’s a den in the back.” Leighton whispered, her hand squeezing my hip, moving lower as she spoke. She always knew what I was thinking.

Leighton grabbed the hand that rested just under the swell of her breast and walked us with quick, quiet steps to a small sitting room towards the back of the B&B. The den had a loveseat, a bookcase and a small TV on the right that appeared to have been manufactured in 1983. It also had an accordion door that shut and latched over the doorway.

I fastened the lock with shaky fingers, amped up and turned on and itching to touch every part of Leighton’s flesh. When I turned back around, she’d taken her thin tank off, the only thing standing between her and naked were the tiny turquoise mock boxer shorts hugging her hips.

“Fuck.” I shuddered the curse out, mesmerized by her round, heaving tits, perking up towards me like I was hungry and they were the feast. Leighton always had the most amazing breasts.

I prowled forward, taking one in each hand, not even bothering to look up at her before I latched my mouth onto the right nipple, laving it while tweaking the other in exactly the way I knew she liked.

“God, yes…” I knew she’d thrown her head back, her hands raking through my hair and pulling it with just a little more tug than was comfortable.

My knee was now throbbing, but it was nothing compared to how the head of my cock was pulsing, as if he could sense or smell her arousal. I needed to bury it inside of her, and soon. I wouldn’t last.

“Sit on the love seat.” Leighton lifted my head in her hands, and I knew she knew that I was hurting. Always in my head.

Moving to the small couch, I peeled my shirt over my head, audibly sighing as my ass hit the fabric. I was thanking god that the weight was off my knee, and that this sofa wasn’t leather. It would be far too noisy for what we were about to do.

Leighton’s tawny skin glowed in the moonlight streaming through the blinds, stripes of white light falling over her collarbone, her breasts, her stomach. She caught my eyes and held them…before slowly shimmying the waistband down her hips, over her thighs and clear of her feet.

I sucked in a breath, the hissing air turning into a zap that went straight to my balls. It wasn't like I'd forgotten how unbelievably fucking gorgeous Leighton was. I didn't need to see her naked to know that. But I think I'd banished all intimate thoughts of her to the back of my brain, I wouldn't even let them float in front of my eyelids when I drifted off to sleep at night.

Her standing in front of me put my system on overload, and I felt my cock pulse so violently that I almost came in the sweatpants that were barely containing my erection. She crossed to me, her hips, breasts and hair moving with her natural sway. Leighton was like one of those Sirens from Greek mythology. She was a beautiful but dangerous creature that lured men to their death using their beautiful voices. She'd done just that tonight, caught me in her web using song. And now she was about to demolish me.

"What do you want?" Leighton stood with her toes touching mine, not thrusting out her body for me to look at, but not hiding it either. She'd never been a shy lover. She could be bossy and dominating when she wanted, but coy and submissive if I needed it. But she was never hesitant to voice her sexual wants.

"Ride me." I could barely push the syllable's past my lips, just the sound and thought of them sending release hurtling down my spine.

She did as she was told, pulling down my sweatpants until they hung at my calves. She took a second to appreciate my naked form, zeroing in on my dick, laying hot and hard as a rock against my abs.

"God I missed you. I missed this." Leighton sighed as she swung her legs over my waist, mounting me.

I ran my hands up and down her sides, feeling the swells of her breasts and the flare of her hips. She felt so good, so right on top of me, as if no time had passed at all. I rubbed the scar on the inside of her right knee, feeling the raised flesh and knowing that chills were running down her body. Then she fisted my cock and began to rub it back and forth over her throbbing wet slit. My vision went white with pleasure.

"Condom?" I choked out, holding onto to some semblance of responsibility before I blacked out.

Leighton chuckled, not stopping the torturous, teasing pressure she was applying to her clit using my dick head. "Since when have we used those? Don't worry Finn, I haven't been with anyone else."

She hadn't...what? My head came rushing back to me at her words. She hadn't slept with anyone else since me? Fuck. Did I have to tell her that I had?

Leighton was still warming herself up using my anatomy and I couldn't get another word in before she slipped my cock inside of her, warm juices and tight heat sliding down my shaft until she sat on my pelvis, my dick fully lodged up inside of her.

"Christ," I growled at the same time she sighed, "Fuck..."

Everything was still for a moment; the air, the silence, our bodies. We were trying to soak in this moment, soak in what it meant, how good it felt, how wrong it might be.

And then Leighton rose up slowly, every wall of her pussy imprinting itself on my cock as she slid upwards and back down again, and all rational thought was gone.

There was nothing but sighs, skin, wetness, tightness and moans swallowed by frantic, sloppy kisses. I couldn't touch enough of her skin fast enough, and still she kept that slow pace, bobbing up and down on my shaft in an almost relaxed way. I plucked at her nipples while her nails raked into my shoulders, chest and abs.

I knew she was almost there when she began to slump forward onto me, her body language that she needed me to meet her on every downstroke, pound into her tight heat just as hard as she was slamming down onto me.

"Finn, Finn, Finn..." My name was a chant into my ear from her lips, and I knew she was going to combust in seconds. As if on cue I felt every muscle inside of her pussy squeeze my cock to the point of pain.

"Ohhhh goddd..." the low wail was muffled into my shoulder as Leighton bit the flesh there, and I detonated like a grenade.

My vision spiraled, the release burning down my spine and up from my balls was slow and fast all at the same time. Hot strands of come launched themselves out of my tip and up into her slit, and my arms tightened like a vise around her, anchoring my body to hers.

"Fuckkk." The curse was guttural, my climax going so long that I had an entire-body cramp by the time I eased my muscles from around her.

"That was..." Leighton sighed, still slumped against my chest.

"I know." I was coming back to reality, the icy fingers of it beginning to wrap around my brain.

"It's been so long. Too long since we've done that." I could hear her smile against my left pec.

I stayed quiet. I should agree with her, just play along and let her think that she was the last woman I'd been with. But I wasn't the liar in this relationship, I didn't know how to be.

She really could fucking read my brain, because after too long of a silence, Leighton pushed up, a strange look on her face and my cock still inside of her. "You've been with other women?"

A pang of guilt hit my stomach at the exact moment that it twisted my heart. Why the fuck did I feel guilty? It was probably because she was still sitting on top of my dick, which was still rock solid between her thighs. I'd chalk it up to that, because there was no way I was the one who should feel bad.

I adjusted my body, lifting her off and scooting back further into the cushions. She dismounted but kept her eyes pinned on my face, waiting for an answer.

Pulling my sweats up, I stared back at her. "What do you want me to say Leighton? I was single, I had every right to. Especially after what you did to me."

Her round hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, button nose and pouty mouth all crumpled with dejection. She moved off the couch, grabbing at her clothes and pulling them on with haste. "Right."

It sounded as if she said the word to herself, to confirm something or make it so. And then she left the den, not even looking back at me.

She was the woman who'd obliterated us, who'd taken a bulldozer to my heart. So why the fuck did I suddenly feel like, with my one admission, I'd done something wrong?