3. Maeve
Maeve
Eliza was on the ground, cleaning up Rory’s mess. She’d pulled her hair back and put on a pair of headphones. She didn’t notice me until I came right up to her, startling her so bad one of her earphones popped out and into the brown mess.
“Oh god, I’ll pay you back for that?—”
Eliza sighed and picked it up. She shrugged and dropped both buds on a dry towel, then went back to hand mopping the floor. “They were yours anyway.”
I ignored that, and said, “I was planning to clean up.”
She chuckled and continued to scrub. “Someone’s gotta do it before it dries, and I don’t think you’re going to have much time for that.
” She looked at the stairs leading up to my apartment.
That was fresh coming from her. Eliza had a string of boyfriends that were at her beck and call.
And there was always another one. Sometimes two or three would meet Eliza at the bar and leave with her.
She led one of the freest lives, and yet, I was the one being lectured?
“I’m not paying you later than your normal shift,” I said dryly.
She stiffened at that but didn’t say anything. I left the hall, grabbing the spare clothes I kept just in case a bartender spilled something on their shirt or trousers, then headed back upstairs.
I hated this gnawing annoyance for Eliza because it nearly ruined the feeling I had of Rory in my place, like I should have been worried, and not excited about a naked man in my apartment. I made my way back up the stairs and sat on my living room couch.
The window beside the couch was ultimately why I picked this place.
It overlooked the shimmering Corrib River, the one that swept right through the city.
During the weekends, a market sprouted up around the canal.
I could watch people passing by for hours and never get bored.
Though it was the evening shimmer that sold the deal.
Like tiny crystals, the lake became a treasure trove, and it was all for me.
There was a knock on the bathroom door, and then I heard Rory’s voice call out, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of pants or something, would you?”
I jumped up from my seat and rushed over to the cracked open door where a shadow lurked and steam slithered out. I held out the clothes. “They’re not much, but better than what you were wearing.”
“Thanks,” he said and took the offerings. He closed the bathroom door, then a moment later, when I had a chance to brew a pot of tea, he came out, fresh and clothed. More than fresh. He looked handsome.
“How are you feeling?” I held out a cup of hot tea.
He took it with a “thanks” and I led him into my living room. I sat beside the window, but he sat beside my bookshelf: a collection of worn classics with titles such as: Anna Karenina , The Sun Also Rises and Under Milk Wood .
Rory picked up Under Milk Wood . “I’ve always loved misunderstood artists.”
I nodded. “Some fun trivia? A friend of mine gave me that book after he painted me as one of the book’s characters: Lily Smalls.
” I pulled a painting out from behind the couch.
It was of me as Lily Smalls. Oil on canvas with me dressed in a button-up blue shirt and gray overalls, my hair tangled and wild as I leaned toward the viewer.
“My friend, a painter, wanted to paint me as the character.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“I suppose.”
“You don’t think so?”
I looked up at him. “It’s funny— I don’t like it.
I think he made the space between my mouth and nose too long.
Everyone else seems to love it, though.” I studied the painting for a moment.
It was more than just the space between the nose and mouth.
There was something unsettling looking at yourself through someone else’s eyes.
“It’s lovely. Not as lovely as the real thing, of course.”
I blushed, then set the painting back behind the couch. “Well, I don’t enjoy looking at it, but I can’t tear myself away from it. It’s like it’s this thing. A piece of myself, no matter how much I dislike it.”
“Maybe it’s even more so because you dislike it.”
“Yeah…” I said, looking back at where I’d hidden the painting.
It had been exhilarating getting asked to be part of Daniel’s collection.
He’d chosen me out of everyone else. All I had to do was let him take my picture.
“Sometimes he asks for it—for shows and the like. I don’t really go to those anymore, though. Too busy with the bar and open mic.”
“The open mic you don’t play at, right?”
“Well, I?—”
“Who told you that you weren’t good enough for even an open mic?”
“No one, not really anyway. They didn’t have to.
” That was when my face went red-hot at the memories.
How many times had I embarrassed myself on stage and my friends had only come as pity support?
“Look, I love music. It’s my soul, and even though I can’t play, I still want to share that experience with others.
I still want to give people a chance to show their skills. Maybe make it big.”
“Hence why you don’t want to lose the bar.”
“It’s one of the reasons.” I looked down at our tea.
Suddenly, I wanted something a bit stronger, especially if Rory was going to keep talking about my past. I’d come to Ireland to forget all of that stuff, and most people here were kind enough not to keep prying about everything. Give it up to the American to be the nosy one.
“There’s some really good musicians. It would be a shame if they didn’t have a place to perform.”
He leaned toward me. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
His lips were right next to mine. I could almost feel them on me.
How soft they could be over my lips.
How his tongue would feel between my gums.
How his body would feel pressed against me.
I stood up quickly. “Would you like a drink?”
“We already have tea?—”
“I’m thinking something stronger, actually.
” I walked into the kitchen without him answering and rifled through the fridge.
I wasn’t much of an at-home drinker. I’d heard enough stories at the bar that gave me a distaste for it.
Drinking alone felt like a stepping stone to something worse, but I did have a few bottles of a white Belgium ale I’d saved from Eliza’s birthday.
It was over six months ago, but the bottles were unopened.
I brought two back and handed one to Rory, which he graciously accepted.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine. Look,” he leaned back and the air around me suddenly got cold. “I’m sorry for prying. I’m curious to a fault.”
I took a drink, relaxing slightly. “Nosy’s more like it.”
He laughed. “I’ve definitely been called that, but what can I say? You dangle such interesting information in front of me. It’s hard not to ask.”
I sighed. “It’s nothing really. I’m just not good. I’m a bit off-key. It’s embarrassing that it took me so long to figure it out.”
He studied me, then his mouth opened into a wide “Oh. I see. It was a boyfriend, wasn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, no one else told you that you were off-key, but then out of nowhere you’re being told that? How long were you a musician before your boyfriend started criticizing you?”
I hesitated. “A few years. But my ex was a musician— he knows his stuff. I was off-key. Played badly. Sometimes I didn’t even know anything was wrong, but then he’d dissect my entire performance, and I’d see the issues.
Eventually, it didn’t make sense to continue, especially if I couldn’t get any better. ”
“And you just believed him?”
“Well, what else was I supposed to do? He was the first person to actually show me what was wrong. It was probably why I could never get out of the bar scene.”
“Talent doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t be stuck in the bar scene. It’s an oversaturated field.”
“Well, all the more reason to stop.”
He started to say more but then stopped and took a drink. I copied him, leaning back on my couch. My body was stiff, anxious, and the alcohol wasn’t helping, but I still kept drinking.
Finally, Rory said, “There’s only one way for us to settle this. You should perform for me.”
I laughed. “No, that’s okay.”
“No, I’m serious. I’ll be as honest as possible. Your ex is just one person. That’s not accurate for a study.”
“But my friends?—”
“Could’ve been nice or they could have actually enjoyed your stuff. You won’t know, but I swear on all that is holy that I will be honest with you.”
I almost gave in. Almost grabbed my guitar hidden in my closet, the one I used late into the night when I knew I was alone, when my fingers ached for the strings, for that release of my soul.
But I kissed him instead.
It was slow at first. Tender. Tasting him.
Learning the curve of his lips. The shape of his mouth.
Then, I pushed him against the wall with a force that made his breath hitch, his body molding to mine as though we’d been made for this exact moment.
His heartbeat palpable through the thin layers of fabric separating us.
I pulled away just long enough to see his eyes droop slightly, then his lips found mine, tentative at first. The kiss wasn’t hurried. It was a slow, deliberate exploration. His mouth was warm, his lips supple, and they carried a faint taste of the Belgian ale.
My hands were everywhere, my fingers tracing lines across his shoulders, his arms, then down his chest, setting every nerve alight.
I lingered for a moment, my palm flattening against his racing heart, memorizing the rhythm, before trailing lower.
My touch became more deliberate as his hand slipped down to my waist. I pressed closer, my hips aligning with his, the heat of his body unmistakable even through the barrier of our clothes.
When my hand found his groin, I grazed his growing cock, testing the edge of his restraint.
He gave a little moan, and I rubbed along the seam, teasing the sensitive length through the rough fabric, and I bit back a groan.
It had been so long since I’d been with someone, and I wanted to hold this moment for just a little longer, feel that anticipation coarse through him.
I feather-kissed his neck, his scruffy jaw. He smelled like my lavender soap with a hint of his musk. It was sweet and spicy all at once.
Then he said in a throaty whisper, “You’re going to drive me crazy.”
I laughed softly and murmured, “Good.”
He grabbed me, pushing me back onto the couch and pulling off my shirt and pants, revealing the satin green panties and bra beneath.
He squeezed my heaving breasts, nibbling at my hard nipples.
His lips traveled down my chest, over my flat stomach and to my clit, where I was already warm and wet, urging him closer.
This animalistic part of me, long starved, needed him inside.
He peppered my inner thighs with slow, deep kisses, then he sucked at the satin barricading my pussy. I was wet and hot and soon I was grinding into his mouth, moaning loud.
He slid his fingers past my panties and into my folds, using his thumb to ignite my clit and his index and middle finger to drive deep into my soaking slit.
I gave a startled pleasured moan as he pumped slowly at first, finding the rhythm of my body, my grinding, then he sped up his movements, until my cheeks flushed and I was right on the edge of the world, ready to fall off into pleasure, but then he pulled out.
I let out a soft moan, then looked down, edging my body closer to him, like an untamed animal, right on the verge of ecstasy.
He tore off his clothes and shoved his throbbing cock inside.
I wrapped my legs around him, my heels pressing into the small of his back as his body moved in perfect rhythm with mine.
His warmth surrounded me, drawing me in deeper.
He slowed, and I ground against him, hips circling, my movements unhurried, pulling us both into a torturous dance of want and restraint.
My nails dug into his back as I pushed myself harder against him, my body trembling with a tension that begged for release.
Needing him more than I ever needed anything in my life.
I clung to him as his movements became more desperate, my head tilting back as my moans deepened into something primal.
And then, in a sudden rush, I cried out.
My soul dropped off the world into pleasure.
Into that chaotic ride, and it was all I could do not to devour him right then.
He held me close as I trembled in his arms, both of us breathing heavily.
His skin was warm beneath my hands, my heartbeat a frantic rhythm against his chest. After a moment, he lifted me carefully, carrying me through the room as my arms and legs stayed wrapped around him.
In the kitchen, he set me down gently on the counter.
He gazed down at me with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
His lips parted, and in that moment, I felt utterly undone.
He leaned over me, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth before he entered again.
This time, his movements were slower, more deliberate.
He pushed deeper, his hands gripping my waist as if holding on to me was the only thing tethering him to the world.
My legs rested on his shoulders, my body arching as he drove into me, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed his face. Each moan, each shiver of his body over me, was a reward I greedily drank in.
He slowed, grinding into me in small, deliberate motions.
Gently, he spread my legs wider, his fingers trailing down to the apex of my thighs.
He pressed against my clit, making slow, circular motions as I writhed beneath his touch, my breath hitching with every pass of his fingers, my body tightening again as the pleasure built.
When I came for the second time, my moans grew louder, my body convulsing as my nails clawed at the counter beneath me. My face flushed a deep crimson, my entire being lost in the moment.
I pleaded his name, “Rory.”
He leaned over me, kissing me fiercely. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, keeping me anchored.
Slowing again, he released, stuffing me full of his soul while I let out another series of moans.
We lost ourselves in each other and the world outside ceased to exist, and in that kitchen, on that counter, he was my entire universe.
We lay together, entangled in each other’s limbs, then he lifted me up and took me to the couch, setting me down. I stared at him with big, open eyes, like I could see right into the heart of his soul.