When I shift slightly, his palm instinctively slides over my belly to pull me closer, no words needed. I reach down and wrap my hand around the thick length of him. Drag my fist loosely up and down his shaft until he’s twitching with need.
His lips curl into a smile as he wakes up.
“Ah, love,” he says sleepily. “You know how to wake a man up, so you do.”
“My pussy misses you,” I tease.
“Well, we wouldn’t want her to go for more than a couple of hours without a visit.” He pulls me to him. “Come here.”
Linus hooks his arm under my leg to give his cock space to slip inside me. His arms envelop me as he fucks me lazily. Every inch of my skin awakens under his touch. We’re one living, breathing body, in no hurry to do anything but remain linked for as long as humanly possible. Eventually, I can’t hold back. My orgasm is quiet. Fluttery. He follows a heartbeat later.
He brushes my hair back from my forehead. “God, I love you.”
By the time we make it to the kitchen a couple hours later, we’re finally showered and dressed. He doesn’t complain when I steal his hoodie, which is soft from so many washes. I pad barefoot across the tile while he makes coffee, whistling to himself under his breath.
As he’s firing up his laptop at the table, my phone pings. It’s a Google alert. My debut single is number seventeen in Germany. Number five in Ireland.
I swallow. “Wow, It’s really happening.”
I glance over at Linus and cover my mouth with my hand.
“It’sbeenhappenin’.” He leans back in his chair.
We were looking for a long-term rental when we found this house in the Liberties, Dublin’s arts district. It’s on a quiet lane with a brick front. Ivy climbs the walls and a yellow rose bush blooms wild. Even better, it’s only a five-minute walk to his new Isis Management office.
The price felt impossible. Now it’s home. My first real home.
The kitchen is light and warm, with creamy cabinets, brass fixtures, and our beloved espresso machine. Most days we leave the back doors open to the tiny garden, where thyme grows in the cracks between stones. The living room has pine floors and a working fireplace. Upstairs, our bedroom window looks out over rooftops.
Our second bedroom has become my practice space where my guitars lean against the wall and I’ve set up a small desk for songwriting. Most weeks, I play gigs nearby in pubs, cafés, and galleries. It’s the perfect setup. I can’t believe I’m living my dream.
Almost.
I take a seat across from him at the table, sipping my coffee.
“I never imagined this.” I trace the rim of my cup.
He glances over. “Chartin’?”
“No.” I grin. “Waking up next to the person I love in our Dublin house drinking too much coffee while he handles my schedule.”
Linus chuckles. “I’m proud to be your humble assistant.”
“You’re my everything,” I say, and I mean it. I trust this man with everything.
Not long after we confessed to wanting a third, he asked me to marry him with his heart in his eyes. I said yes without blinking. We filled out the paperwork together, went through the process and, except for Linus’s family, have kept it private. Not exactly hidden, but we don’t go out of our way to advertise we’re married.
Not yet.
Mainly, the wedding was supposed to be practical, even if our commitment has always been real.
In order for me to stay in Ireland, we had to be married. On the flip side, we’re in the process of obtaining a USgreen card for Linus so he can, eventually, expand Isis Management to the States. My dear friend Marcella’s immigration colleague is helping us in this regard.
For now, he focuses on his three Irish bands and me. We’re not any closer to finding our third, but we’ve done a great job laying a foundation to make it happen.
Hopefully with the sexy Fireball guitar player.
A few hours later, we’re in the living room watching my favorite show,Strictly Come Dancing. I don’t have a gig tonight and none of Linus’s other bands do either. It’s a rare night and we’re both happy to continue our lazy day.
