Licking Her Irish Cream (Dick Me Down #4)

Polished Knobs and Leprechauns

Lucian Gold

Leaning back against the bar, one arm steadying me, I shift my hips, adjusting myself with a quiet grin. The sting from my Prince Albert has faded to nothing now, but the familiar pull of the metal reminds me that it is there; a hum that sparks pleasure instead of pain. The four-leaf clover charm at the tip of my cock makes me laugh. Luck, right where it matters, right where I would put it myself.

In the faint reflection of the bars polished surface, I catch the ink on my shoulder peeking out from beneath my sleeve, a black Celtic cross adorned in green clover. It’s permanent. Marked into my skin the way everything worth keeping should be. I think about Saint, that spineless fuck, scrubbing his fake tattoos off along with his Love’s blood, as if it could cleanse us of his loss, our loss. There was a moment I was sure she was the one, but I was wrong. Since then, he has been quiet, hiding in the dark corner of our mind, crying like the puss that he is. Me? I’m not going anywhere. My ink will most likely outlast me, like a scar, like a fucking monument, unless she is actually the one, and with luck on my side, she will be.

The Polished Knob hums around me, patrons grumbling into their pints as bursts of laughter erupts around the space, darts thudding into their perspective boards. It is a typical slow Monday night, the holiday being the only reason we are still open. Our regulars are here, but most avoid our pub, wanting the gimmicks of the bars around us instead. The noise from the buzz on the street almost overpowers the sound from inside here, but it all fades when my thoughts drift to her.

Hazel Patrick.

The first time I saw her; it was not a choice. It was not luck. It was a calling. Dirty blonde waves tangled around her face, and those warm amber eyes cut through me like a rusted blade. I never stood a chance. I do not just want her… she is all I breathe; all I fucking see. She is mine in a way that no one else will ever understand.

But she does not know it yet.

I had to find a way to be closer to her, to put myself in her orbit, to make her see me. When I saw the help wanted sign at the pub, it was like fate handing me the key to her world. That sign was not just a chance... it was a lifeline, a way to anchor myself to her.

She’s a waitress here, working late nights with a spark in her eye and a sway in her hips that keeps me coming undone. Those long, quiet hours closing up together, the way her fingers dance over the tables as she wipes them down, the way she hums under her breath when she thinks no one is listening, they feed the desire that consumes me.

She's more than I ever imagined she could be. Feisty, with a sharp tongue, she wields words like a weapon, cutting me down just to see if I will rise against her blade. And I do every fucking time. Her resilience is a game of wills, one she does not even realize we are already playing. She fights my advances, throwing walls up between us, trying to keep me away, but it doesn't matter. She can fight all she wants. Push me away. Burn me with that fire of hers. It is fine. I will let her think she is winning. She will see soon enough what I already know deep in my soul.

She is Ours. And when I make that final leap, she will only be mine.

Saint and Declan’s skills with surveillance have been a priceless tool in my quest. Working with Hazel would never have been enough. I needed to be in her life and until she willingly opens that door, I had to take matters into my own hands. Hacking the cameras around the pub was easy enough for Saint before he hid in the corner. Declan placed more in her apartment and hacked her phone, allowing access to her I so desperately needed whenever I wanted it. I can slip into shadows, letting me pull her world into mine. I can now watch her any time I want. It keeps the hunger at bay when it burns too deep.

Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I lean against the bar, a flick of my thumb on my screen, and there she is, my reality, my obsession. Tonight is her night off. I tried to match my schedule to hers, but tonight I am forced to be with her the only way possible. Hazel’s room glows as the live feed comes to life; the high-definition image so clear I can see the freckle on her right thigh. She is stretched across her bed, dirty blonde hair spilled across the pillows in waves. One knee is bent, her frame draped lazily like a painting torn from its frame. She is beautiful in a way that makes my chest tighten.

But she isn’t alone.

I go still, the muscles in my jaw coiling like a noose. There is a man between her legs. A wiry, scrawny fuck with copper-colored hair that bounces like a bobblehead. His slim shoulders shake as he thrusts with the grace of a malfunctioning machine. The sight of him makes me sick. He is not even worth the hate burning behind my ribs, he is an insult. An insult to Hazel. An insult to me.

My grip on the phone tightens, the screens edges pressed deep into my palm. But then… I see her face.

Her eyes roll so far back that for a second, I swear she is looking straight into me. Her lips twist, her expression sliding somewhere between irritation and outright disgust.

There you are.

She is not impressed. How could she be with the lackluster performance this little man is giving. There is not even an ounce of sweat on her body, but his is covered, the light gleaming against his pasty skin. Hazel needs a real man to satisfy her, and there is something she does not know yet…

That man is me.

On the screen, the little leprechaun collapses against her, chest heaving like he just scaled Mount Everest. His head rests on her stomach, his voice wheezing into the silence.

“Did you cum?”

I laugh before I hear her answer, already knowing she will be a brat. She does not disappoint.

“Yeah,” she snaps. “I came… to my fucking senses. Now get out.”

My laughter tears out of me before I can stop it, loud enough to make the few patrons here turn and stare.

I don’t care.

“Sorry, lads,” I say, holding up my phone with a grin that is all teeth. My accent drips thick, “Football match.”

The others chuckle, shaking their heads and returning to their drinks. My eyes drop back to the screen, back to her. Hazel’s already on her feet, shoving clothes at the eejit as he stumbles like the embarrassment he is. Stepping toward her, she walks into her bathroom, slamming the door in his face, the oversized condom hanging from his fingertips.

Ha, the condom doesn’t even look like it has a drop of cream in it.

Soon, I promise myself, my hand relaxing against the bar. Soon. She does not know it yet, but Hazel belongs to me. The hunger behind her eyes, the disappointment in her voice, yes, she is waiting for me.

I will show her. I will give her what no one else can, not even the Proxies. I will ruin her for anyone else and she will complete us, making us one.