10. Rory
Rory
Maeve closed her eyes. She played a few chords.
They were sloppy at first, but it became smoother, more confident the longer she played.
It was a slow and steady rhythm, and then she sang.
It was something an angel might sing or someone from the Fae.
It was soft yet high, complemented surprisingly well with the minor key.
My own love said to me
“My mother won’t mind
And my father won't slight you
For your lack of kind”
He went away from me
And this he did say
“It will not be long, love
‘Til our wedding day”
She opened her eyes at that and stared deeply into me.
I felt the earth move with her words, vibrating around her visage like she was an angel and I was peering into heaven.
I’d never been so happy as I was right then.
Never had known such peace as what I felt when she looked at me, when she sang to me.
“Rory!” Frank grabbed my bruised arm. I winced, but I didn’t relent. I’d thought he’d left after I made myself clear the first time, but here he was, pinching my upper arm.
“I’m done talking with you,” I said, shaking him off.
“Like hell you are!” he snapped. Frank’s cheeks went red— a shade darker than I’d ever seen them go.
He and I were of equal height and size, but he got me by surprise, grabbing me by the throat and thrusting me on the ground.
A black fog crowded around my vision, and I couldn’t tell if my hearing had gone too or the music had really stopped, but then there was silence, apart from Frank’s breath on my face.
Then Frank was off me. Color returned to my vision and I noticed two things happening at once. The first was Frank restrained on the ground by Officer Phillips, hands cuffed behind his back, and the second was Maeve dashing off the stage, and pulling me into a kiss.
Her lips were the sweetest chocolate, the richest steak. She was my everything, giving life back into my spirit, my mind, and I only reluctantly let her pull away.
“You’ve got a cut where his nails must have struck you,” she said, touching the side of my neck. “I have some bandages in my office.” She turned toward Eliza, then said, “Would you mind taking over as MC?”
Eliza nodded and Maeve led me into the office, shutting the door behind her.
“You know, I don’t really feel anything. Maybe it’s not so bad,” I said, turning to a mirror on the back of her door. There was no scratch, and the only marks were from his fingers wrapped around my neck and the deep wounds from the accident. “What?—”
Maeve eased me toward the wall. She leaned in and tickled her lips against mine. I reached for her, but she pulled back, a smile spreading across her face. She ran her fingers along my cheek, my neck, over my shirt and to my pants.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out.
“I know,” she said.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
Again, she said, “I know.”
With an aching slowness, she unbuttoned my trousers, running her hands along my thighs. She looked back up at me with eyes brown like a treeless forest. Gold like the sun peeking through the branches.
Finally, she pulled my pants down and kissed my inner thighs, lacing her hot breath across my skin, a sensation that almost tickled, but I held myself steady, though rigid, but it just took her mouth on my manhood, even just over the fabric of my boxers to make me melt.
Then in one quick motion, she pulled my underwear down and sucked on me hard, running her lips up and down my shaft, tickling the edges between my thighs, my balls.
The pleasure was steadily increasing. My hips heaved toward her and she sucked harder, but right on the precipice of euphoria, right when I was about to lose control, she pulled off me, her eyes twinkling.
I took her hand before she could get out of reach.
I eased her onto the desk, brushing aside papers and little office trinkets with one sweep.
For a moment, I paused, meeting her gaze, searching for something— confirmation, connection, a shared hunger.
When her lips curled into a small smile, my restraint unraveled.
I tugged her pants down, then her underwear, savoring the slow reveal of her bare skin.
It was hard to keep myself steady. Her calm control ignited a fire in me.
But I leaned into the ache, easing my mouth over her clit with deliberate care, savoring her like a melting dessert.
She tasted sweet, sweeter than memory, and I wanted to lose myself in her.
There was only her, only us, caught in this moment.
Her hands found my hair, her fingers tangling as her body writhed beneath me.
When her moans turned into a long, sweet exhale, I lifted my head.
Her eyes were half-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted with the remnants of her euphoria.
She pulled me up, guiding my mouth to hers, and tongues collided in that dance I never wanted to end.
I moved above her, aligning myself with her warmth, and slowly eased into her.
She gasped, her fingers gripping my shoulders, her body welcoming me as though we were always meant to fit.
For a moment, I stilled, letting her adjust, feeling the heat between us grow.
Her breath was shallow, her touch light but insistent, urging me to move.
I began a slow rhythm, each thrust deliberate, matching the tempo of her soft moans.
Her body responded, her hips meeting mine, her flushed cheeks glowing with every movement.
The tenderness of her touch gave way to something rougher, her fingers digging into my back as her moans grew louder, more desperate.
Her hips quickened, her body chasing its second release, and I followed her lead, my restraint faltering as I thrust faster, deeper. The tension between us broke, and we climaxed together, her cries mingling with my groans in the heated air.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Her fingers traced lazy circles on my back, and I rested my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling as we came back to ourselves.
As we lay on her floor, naked and breathing heavy, Maeve started to sing:
He went away from me
And he moved through the fair
And slowly I watched him
Move here and move there
He went his way homeward
With one star awake
As the swan in the evening
Moves over the lake
“It’s an old Irish song. ‘She Moved Through the Fair,’” Maeve said. “It’s one of the first songs I heard when I came here. It’s one of those songs I used to sing when no one else was around.”
“You’re a beautiful singer,” I whispered.
A flush rose through her cheeks. “Really?”
“I hope you sing to me every day.” I kissed her.
We lay like that, entangled in each other’s limbs until the outside died away, and eventually the music stopped.
And then we got dressed and left the office, hand-in-hand.
Officer Phillips and Frank were gone, which wasn’t a surprise.
Nor was it much of a surprise to see the open mic have slowed to its conclusion, with most of the audience filing out and Eliza cleaning up the bar.
What surprised me was Ian on a stool, drink in hand, sitting beside the boy and men who’d taken my wallet and clothes.
“What the—” I started, anger flaring up through my bones.
The scrawny kid looked up sharply, eyes wide. The redhead man and his comrades, all equally all-imposing and muscular, tensed, like cats, waiting to pounce.
“It’s alright,” Maeve said, placing a hand to my chest.
“No, it’s not alright. I want my money back. And my clothes—” But when I looked at Maeve, my anger died away, replaced by a confusion. “They stole my stuff.”
“I know, but let’s not start anything. Alright?” Then in a lower voice added, “I’ll explain later.”
“Another beer?” Eliza asked, and it was then I realized she was talking to Ian.
“You better not be taking that man’s money!” I said. “I owe that man some beers.”
Everyone visibly relaxed at that, then Ian held up his beer, “Ah, you only owe me one.” Then in a lower voice. “And a new truck.”
I laughed out loud at that. “Alright, alright.”
Maeve and I sat beside the group and Eliza filled up our glasses, me with the beer I ordered the first day, and Maeve with a dark, almost black beer.
“Don’t worry about the beer. These next few rounds are on the house,” Eliza said, then slid a number over to us. “That’s how much I counted in the bucket. Not including what you gave, Rory.”
I read the numbers, disbelieving it at first. It was Maeve’s voice that made it real, “Fifty-three thousand?”
Eliza dipped her chin slightly and said, “Apparently, your generous donation, combined with your brother attacking you, made a few others give their own donations.”
“So, you’re saying we have one hundred and three thousand dollars?” Maeve whispered.
“And counting. There are a few hundreds I have yet to go through.”
“Wow. What are you going to do with all that money?” I asked.
“I have to give you your check back?—”
“Don’t even think about it. I want you to have it. Businesses, especially food and bars, are hard. Do something to help yourself. Maybe update your plumbing system?”
“But—” she stopped, then tucked the check in her pocket. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You letting me kiss you is enough.”
She smirked and pressed her lips on mine.
“Maeve?”
“Hm?” she whispered.
Her breath hot on my neck. I could have pulled her back into that office, ravished her again, but instead, I said in a soft, slow voice, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered and kissed me.
Even days later, I still felt the heat of her lips— warmth born not just from the promise of tomorrow, but from something meant to last a lifetime.