Chapter 26
26
MIRANDA
M y eyes bugged out of my head when we pulled into the driveway leading to a swanky two-story house surrounded by trees and a tall fence that made it feel secluded and safe. “Where are we?” I tugged on the hem of my black dress, making it reach my knees. It sprang back halfway up my thighs when I released it, and I almost pulled it down again. I’d chosen the dress when Duncan’s text saying he’d planned something extra special for us arrived early this morning. I’d expected dinner at a restaurant, not the quiet solitude of a single house.
“My house.” He stepped out of the car and came around to open my door, holding out a hand for me to grasp. “I wanted to make tonight special. Not much says special like an intimate dinner I’ve cooked for you.”
“You’re going to cook…in that?” I motioned at his suit. The clean lines and dark color stood out against his red hair and green eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at him. Hand in his, I rose from the car, bringing the bouquet of multicolored roses with me. He’d surprised me twice already, and the date hadn’t even officially started.
Mirth danced across his face as he tightened his grip on my hand and headed up the brick pathway leading to a concrete porch with iron railings. A quick turn of the key and the heavy front door swung open to reveal a clean foyer with gray hardwood, beige walls, and enough paintings to make a museum look sparse. Everywhere I looked, I found Ireland. From castles to rolling hills, to steep cliffs and crashing waves, Duncan had brought his homeland here and plastered it on his walls.
“What do you think?” He slid his suit jacket off his shoulders and hung it on a wooden coat rack beside the door. His cufflinks dropped with matching clinks into a ceramic bowl on a Victorian style sofa table. He rolled his sleeves up, each twist revealing swaths of muscled forearms.
I yanked my attention from his arms to the rest of the house. The floorplan was simple but charming, with a living room to my left, a study to my right, and a staircase tucked in the back that led to the upstairs where I guessed the bedrooms were located. “It’s clean.”
A dark laugh rumbled all around me. “You expected less?”
“No.” I answered honestly. I’d seen how fastidious he was with his gear. He might be a brute on the ice, but he cared for his equipment. How did that translate to the bedroom? I cursed my foggy memory of our night together and walked around the living room, going from frame to frame. “You must miss it.”
“Not as much as I did.” He hinted at a deeper meaning with the words, the soft way he caressed the statement drawing me around to face him. “Would you like to stay here while I cook?” He offered a devastating wink. “I’d hate for you to think less of me when you see my cooking style.”
“Oh, then I have to watch you cook.” Grinning, I followed him into the kitchen and dropped onto one of the wooden chairs that surrounded an antique dining room table. “You like old things.” I ran my palms over the scarred wood that had been polished to a high sheen.
“I see no need in discarding things that still have value.” I tapped the table in passing. “Rescued this beauty from an estate sale last month.”
“And those?” I pointed out the state of the art appliances that somehow blended with the soft blue walls and wooden cabinetry.
“I’m frugal, not masochistic.” He ran a hand along the stove. “Having the proper gear is a huge investment but worth every cent when it comes to quality.” His arms flexed when he set his palms on the counter and leaned forward. “Now then, lass. Sit back and relax while I whip up something delightful.”
I did just that, comforted by the sounds of Duncan puttering around the kitchen. He’d taken off his shoes at some point, leaving him in socked feet. I laughed when I spotted the kittens holding hockey sticks on his socks.
He stopped and wiggled his toes. “Birthday gift from my niece. I send her a picture every time I wear them.”
“That’s sweet.” Unexpected and sweet. As was this softer, domestic side that I’d never seen or expected. To look at the burly man with his enormous shoulders and dark scowl, anyone would think him incapable of standing at a stove, much less cooking up a meal that smelled exquisite and exotic at the same time. I’d underestimated him and Patrick. They both showed a deep interest in me, not just my body and the pleasure they could find there. A man like Duncan did not bring a woman into his sanctuary and cook her dinner unless he cared. He valued his privacy too much. It showed an extreme amount of trust and faithfulness for him to bring me here.
“She’s a good lass.” He carried two plates over to the table and set them down, one in front of me, the other in front of the seat beside me. “Wine?”
“Water, please.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth at the request, worried he’d see through it and question why I made the decision.
Duncan didn’t bat an eye as he pulled two glasses from an overhead cabinet and filled them with water from a pitcher in the refrigerator. He carried both over and sat while placing one in front of me.
I tried to stuff down the constant battering of questions that had my throat locked so tight I barely managed to swallow the first bite. The explosion of flavors from the roasted garlic potatoes and juicy steak demanded another bite, then another. “This is amazing. Better than any restaurant.”
Duncan tipped his glass toward me in thanks and finished chewing the bite in his mouth. “Not fancy, but flavor is the main thing I go for.”
“Fancy is overrated.” I swirled the next bite of steak through the drippings and stabbed a carrot onto the end of my fork, eating the whole thing in one bite. My eyes closed with a mixture of satisfaction and bliss. Eating had been something of a chore with the nausea gripping me every afternoon. I almost wished it would be morning sickness. It would be easier to deal with since most of my work happened later in the day and it was difficult to concentrate when my stomach turned itself inside out. Duncan took my glass and refilled it, handing it back to me and setting another steak on my plate.
“I shouldn’t.” But I was going to. For the first time in a month, my stomach remained firmly where it belonged without a hint of nausea.
Seeing him like this, all warm and cozy in his own home, brought up a thought I’d reminisced on for weeks. He’d make a good father. Patrick too. He’d changed since my arrival, and I trusted more than I expected. Maybe they deserved to know about my pregnancy. But if I was going to tell them, I had to tell all three, at the same time. It was only fair. My thoughts spiraled deeper and darker as I plowed my way through a second steak and finished the vegetables.
Duncan took our dirty dishes and tucked them into the dishwasher, then cleaned up the space where he’d cooked. A quiet tune slipped into the room, his low voice crooning what sounded like an Irish lullaby. It snapped me from my stupor and the barrage of questions making it difficult to enjoy the moment. “Do you sing to your niece?” I kicked off my heels and carried them over to the door, setting them beside his polished Oxfords.
On the ice, he showcased a gruff meanness that helped him succeed. Watching him in his own home, I saw through it to the teddy bear underneath. He possessed a romantic streak that surprised me even as it delighted and put me at ease.
“Every time I win a game, I call my family in Ireland. Little Bree demands I sing her to sleep, and that’s her favorite song. It must’ve been on my mind after winning yesterday.” He finished cleaning and prowled my way with the same languid ease he showed on the ice. He stopped inches away. “Would you like a tour?”
“Of the house?” I asked it with a raised brow. “Are you trying to get me into your bedroom?”
“Only if that’s where you want to be.” He closed the distance, green eyes shuttered behind half-closed lids. “Is that what you want, Miranda?”
“I love how you say my name.”
“Is that right?” He set his hands on my hips and dropped his lips to my ear. “Miranda.” The gruff whisper sent a shudder down my spine and raised my hands to his neck. His lips skimmed the skin below my ear and came around to hover over my lips. “Miranda.”
I tasted each syllable, the intoxicating rush of being wanted and desired by a man like Duncan. He kissed me slow and deep, taking his time and drinking from my lips like they were the most delicious flower. Heavy hands lifted from my hips to my ribs and ran back down again.
Desire flared despite having slept with Patrick yesterday. I wanted Duncan with the same kind of possessiveness that sent me into Patrick’s arms. “Take me to your room.” I wrapped my arms around his torso and hugged him tight, kissing the side of his neck before taking a step back.
He held out a hand. Once I set my palm against his, he led the way up the stairs. His bedroom door stood open, the smoky gray walls and black wooden bed taking up a dominant space in the center of the back wall. A mural of Ireland covered the entire wall to my right, and the left housed a series of paintings similar to what I’d discovered downstairs. I turned into him and worked on the buttons holding his shirt together. His approving growl sent heat pooling in my belly and made my fingers fly over the buttons until I’d peeled it off him and tossed it across a chair tucked beneath a work desk.
He found the zipper in the side of my dress and lowered it in a swift jerk that left me breathless. Cool air brushed my skin and I leaned into the heat radiating from his body. The dress fell in a puddle dark as midnight. I stepped out of it and straight into Duncan’s arms. My nipples pebbled against his chest when he grabbed my ass and dragged me across his length. I fumbled with his belt, my fingers tangling in the sliver of space. When his lips met mine, every thought vanished. Nothing mattered except falling to bed and feeling Duncan inside me. When I finally released the zipper, his pants dropped and he kicked them aside. I nudged his chest, urging him backward toward the bed. He allowed me to lead and scooted onto the bed, pulling me along with him with his arm around my waist. I straddled his hips and reached between us, sliding my hand over his thick cock and groaning in the back of my throat. He held my hips, his breaths coming in short pants when I double fisted my hands over his length and back up again. I wanted him inside me, but not yet.
Grinning at him, I slithered down his legs and wrapped my lips around his cock, bobbing my head over him and taking him deep.
“Fuck, Miranda.” He fell back against the pillows, his hands deep in my hair as he guided me with a slow, steady precision.
I lifted my gaze and watched his expression when I nibbled on the side of his dick, then licked the entire length and sucked the bulbous tip hard enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. This was what I needed, memories that could never be taken away from me. I sank into the feel of him, the firm heat filling my mouth. I ached to be touched, to have him bury his head between my thighs and make me come on his tongue. Later. Much later. Once I’d had my fun. I lingered over the head of his cock, swirling my tongue around and around while he bucked his hips.
“I’m going to repay this torture.” His guttural promise sent a rush of warmth between my legs.
I raised my head and pumped my hands over his shaft. “I’m counting on it.” He swelled beneath my touch, his girth making me giddy with desire and the knowledge of how he’d stretch me, fill me, and satisfy the deep hunger driving me to lick him again.
“Fuck.”
I loved hearing the desperation in his gravelly voice. He pulled me off his dick and dragged my body up his length. It should have been painful since he held me by the shoulders and nothing else, but it excited me. He flipped us with a bump of his hips and rained kisses down my chest, pausing to pluck a nipple with his teeth, then descended lower.
“Open your legs for me.” He palmed my thighs, his eyes glazed and hot. “Let me taste you before I fuck you into oblivion.”
I parted my legs, spreading them wide in invitation. He needed nothing more than the sight of my agreement to slide his mouth over my folds and lick deep. My hips rose off the bed of their own accord, searching for fulfillment. He stiffened his tongue and thrust it into my pussy, then retreated to swirl it around my clit.
“I want to ride your dick.” I tangled my hands in his hair the same way he had mine.
He blew a hot breath over my clit before clamping his lips around the sensitive bundle and sucking hard.
Stars burst across my vision, pleasure spiking so hard and fast that my thighs trembled. “Yes. Oh god, Duncan. That feels so good.”
He ran a hand beneath my ass and tilted my hips for a better angle. The man ate my pussy like it was his favorite dessert. He licked and sucked in turn, sliding a finger inside me and letting me ride it hard as the pressure built. I came in a blizzard of pleasure that left my head spinning. My entire body trembled, my core tightening as I rode the waves.
Duncan never slowed, even when the orgasm ended, he remained firm between my legs, his strong back rippling with every thrust of his fingers. I dug my hands into his hair and tugged. “I want your cock, Duncan.”
He answered my demand with a slow grin. “Anything you want, lass.” With one last pump of his fingers, he slid them free and licked them clean before crawling up the bed and dropping down beside me. “I’m all yours.”
I didn’t hesitate to sling my body over his, fist his cock in both hands, and guide him in. “I was right.” I groaned and bit my lip as the sheer size of him almost had me coming again.
“Right about what?” Once again, his hands settled on my hips. He let me set the pace in a slow, languid glide that brought the head of his cock to my entrance before I plummeted down to take his fullness.
“That you’re so fucking big I’m going to come any second.” I arched my back and planted my hands on his thighs, using the angle to grind my clit onto his groin.
Duncan read the intention behind the move and pressed his thumb between us. “Ride me, Miranda. Take all of me, as much as you want.” He met my thrusts, driving his cock deeper. He hit that special spot, and the additional pleasure on top of his circling thumb sent me over. “Come with me. Oh holy fuck, Duncan. I need to feel you come with me.”
“I’m there. I’m right there with you.” His nostrils flared, his eyes widening as his cock expanded so full and tight that the heat of it speared through me.
I screamed his name, my body arching and twisting, my nails digging into his thighs when I felt him unleashing his pleasure inside me. Collapsing onto his chest until my breathing regulated and my heart stopped trying to beat out of my chest, I had one major conundrum. I had strong feelings for Duncan and Patrick, feelings that had led me to sleep with each of them in two days. Yet I managed to feel disappointed that Charlie hadn’t shown any sign that he was interested. The years-long crush I’d harbored for him remained strong as ever. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings?