6. Rory #2
Our bodies connected, molding together like a perfect puzzle, as though the universe had crafted us for this exact moment.
I pressed against her, feeling the heat of her beneath me, and together we moved in a rhythm that was as primal as it was poetic.
Each thrust drew a sharp intake of breath from her lips, her hands gripping my shoulders as if to anchor herself to the whirlwind of sensation.
Her legs tightened around me, pulling me deeper, her back arching in a graceful bow as her cries of pleasure filled the room.
They were unrestrained, raw, and utterly uninhibited with a symphony that seemed to drown out the world beyond us.
Time unraveled. There was no yesterday, no tomorrow, only the present, and the magnetic pull of her body against mine.
I kissed her everywhere I could reach, my lips trailing over her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, and down to the valley of her stomach.
Her scent filled my lungs, intoxicating and uniquely hers.
Her nails dug into my back, the sharp sting only adding to the electric pleasure coursing through me.
Her body trembled, a ripple of ecstasy radiating outward with each peak, and I was there, following her every movement, every sound.
She called my name, her voice breaking with need, and I felt an overwhelming wave of connection.
I was hers in a way that was indescribable, irrevocable.
Her moans reached a crescendo, her body shuddering as she gave herself over to the sensations.
I held her tightly as she convulsed around me, the heat and pressure sending me spiraling toward my own climax.
When it came, it was like a dam breaking, a flood of pleasure that left me breathless and spent.
I buried myself in her, my body trembling with the force of it, as if the very foundation of my existence had shifted.
She held me close, her hands tracing lazy patterns along my back, her breath mingling with mine in the stillness that followed.
Her gaze met mine then. There was something in them— a vulnerability, a depth of emotion that made my chest ache. It wasn’t just desire. It was something more, something I wasn’t sure either of us could name.
Her voice was a whisper, a thread of sound that pulled me from my reverie. “Earlier, when you left, I tried to find you, but you were gone.”
“I’m here now,” I said, though my memories were a haze. Flashes of a ripped shirt, a missing wallet, and shadows that refused to solidify into clarity flickered in my mind.
“You left me,” she said again, her tone softer, more distant. The warmth of her body began to fade, the room darkening around me. Panic surged as I clawed at the cushions, at Maeve, desperate to anchor myself to her, to this reality.
“I’m back now!” I cried, but she was gone.
The world dissolved into blackness, the softness of her couch replaced by the cold, hard earth.
I coughed, shivering as the chill seeped into my bones.
My head throbbed, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself lying in a desolate field.
The sun was gone, replaced by a big blue moon, and the faint rustle of wind through the grass was the only sound.
I was naked, save for my white boxer briefs, my body trembling as fragments of memory surged forward.
The boy.
The men.
My wallet.
Maeve. She had never let me back into her home, had she? For all she knew, I was still wandering the streets, talking to my brother about her pub.
My phone. I scrambled to my feet, scanning the field for any sign of it, of anything. But there was nothing— no phone, no belongings.
There was a light in the near distance, a light at the end of my tunnel. It belonged to a house, possibly the farmer who owned this land.
I stood on shaking legs, realizing just how bad my headache really was in that moment, how it pummeled my temples, making it difficult to see.
I used to have migraines often as a kid, ones that broke me to the ground and forced me to sleep the pain away.
While every part of me screamed to sleep, maybe even sleep right there on that cold soft dirt, I knew I had to get up.
I had to get back to the city and tell Maeve how much she means to me.
I’d lay everything down at her feet, including a vision of how we could save her pub without getting me or my family financially involved.
But my movements were pained at best. At worst, they were limping. Forcing me to cradle my head so I could focus on the path forward, reminding myself that it was just a little longer. That my steps were just that much closer to an end.
I leaned against the door frame, breathing deep, ragged breaths. When I found my bearings, I knocked on the door, three hard thumps against the wood, then after a moment of silence from inside, landed a fourth.
Not much longer after, a short man with a long white mustache answered the door.
His beady eyes looked me up from head-to-toe, then he sighed.
“I thought they were done with this stuff. Come on inside. I don’t reckon God’d forgive me for leaving you to die out in them fields tonight. The name’s Ian.”
“Rory,” I said.
“Pleasure,” he said, then muttered something else under his breath. He stepped to the right, allowing me access into his humble kitchen and living room combo.
There was a telephone on the counter. I could call the Anchoring Pig and ask for her. Maybe she’d even answer, lulled into the false security of the Irish phone number.
You’d be lucky to get more than a single word in , I reminded myself. But maybe if I left a message with Eliza, Maeve would be more apt to listen.
The Irishman interrupted my thoughts, “The bathroom’s on the right. Go on now, get yourself cleaned up, an’ I’ll find you something to wear.”
I thanked him, but I didn’t move immediately. My eyes had turned back to the phone. Back to the possibility that never would be possible. Then I noticed a clock. It was six p.m. But that would have meant I’d been knocked out for half the day. Had it really been that long?
“Waiting for a guided tour?” came Ian.
I shook my head. “Just surprised by the time.”
Maeve would be opening up her pub now if it wasn’t already. Tonight was open mic, but it was also the night that Frank was supposed to have landed. He was probably already in the area.
“Listen—” I started.
“We’re in Cork.” He watched my expression change, then said, “Yes, I’ll take you back, but you owe me a pint.”
“Cork? But that’s more than two hours away?—”
“Yeah, they like their little games.”
I let the words wash through me, dousing me more than water ever could. I had a sudden desperate desire to flee this man’s cottage and run back to the city. It didn’t matter if it took an hour or seven— so long as I could use my body then maybe I’d get some of the penance I deserved.
“I don’t have time to shower. I need to go?—”
“Trust me, you have time to shower. Now go on. I won’t drive you until you’ve cleaned off.”
It was only smelling myself that eventually got me into the shower. Besides, open mic would still be in full swing by the time I did get there. If anything, she’d be in the thick of it, and probably be too busy to shoo me away. That is, if my brother didn’t get to her first.
I walked into a bathroom, just big enough for the sink, toilet, and tub. I stripped from the clothes Maeve had given me and switched on the shower.
As I waited for the water to warm, I stared at my reflection. I had a black and red bruise on my temple, probably from where I’d been hit. My eyes were bloodshot, too, and despite my lengthy sleep, I wondered when the last time I’d have a decent night sleep.
I turned away from the mirror and slipped into the shower.
The shower was a semi recent installation from the tub itself as it was still a nice clean white whereas the tub had taken on that hue of yellow.
The shower head was too small for me when I stood, so I was forced to crouch in the tub basin and hold the water over my head, allowing the heat to work through my back muscles and untangle knots from my hair.
I’d always found a sort of solace in warm water.
It did something to my brain that made me forget who I was or what I was doing, and so at first, even all cleaned, I didn’t want to come out.
I wanted to dissolve under the hot spray of liquid, but then I remembered Maeve, and I switched off the water and pulled a towel over my waist. Just outside the door, was a set of black trousers and a white shirt with suspenders.
I put these on and made my way into the kitchen where the man sat with two cups of tea.
“The water’s done you some good. You look like a grand gentleman now that you're cleaned up.”
I snorted and sat in the chair opposite him. “There’s a lady who wouldn’t agree with you.”
“Ah sure, there’s nothing unfixable, now is there?”
“This is,” I said because in my gut I knew it could never be as simple as returning back to Maeve. She wouldn’t welcome me in open arms. I’d be lucky if she even welcomed me at all.
“Y’know, I thought the same way meself once, and so I never tried to get me woman back.
Never made things right, I didn’t. Twenty-five years together we were, and I went and threw it all away over pride.
And to be honest with you, a man like yourself, tossed out half-naked in me field, shouldn’t have much pride to be holding onto at all.
” He leaned toward me and said, “Fight for her, lad. If she’s worth it, then fight for her. ”