Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
TALLY
B y the time Walsh lets me go, it’s dark out.
I book a ride, and it ends up being a good thing because, not only do I get to my new room without getting lost, I end up getting a tour of the area from the driver.
Along the way, he points out important places—eateries, grocery stores, all the key landmarks. His running commentary helps me keep track of my bearings and I get a fair idea that the walk will be a lot shorter than the drive, considering all the one-way roads we’ve taken.
The driver is still talking when he climbs out to help with my bags. I go to grab them, but he beats me holding them ransom, waiting until he has my undivided attention.
“I get you’re new and all, but I need you to be aware this is O’Connor territory. Their heartland.”
I do one of those comical double takes. He uses it as an in to keep explaining himself.
“Right, so now I know you’re listening. You’ve landed in the middle of some of God's greatest country, but it comes with a price—the Irish boys. Now we’ve got one major player here that has ruled the streets for a long time.
Like any large group, there’s others getting involved. Some good, some bad. You following?”
I don’t answer, but he makes a point of looking at me, then keeps going.
“For the last little while, things have been smooth, but some people always seem to rock the boat or decide they want things to be done differently. And the people making lots of noise at the moment are the Kellys. You’ve arrived when a small spark is going to blow things sky high.
My conscience wouldn’t rest if I didn’t make you a hundred percent aware you’ve effectively got your feet in both camps. Yeah?”
“And that means?”
“Well, the pub you’re working at is owned by the Kellys, and where we are now is very much O’Connor territory. Sometimes innocents get caught up, and I didn’t want that to be you.”
Hello, rock and a hard place.
I drop my eyes to the ground. “I’ll be careful. Thanks.”
I keep acting doe-eyed when I look back at him because it’s a hell of a lot easier than saying I know an awful lot about organized crime, and it was a planned decision for me to take the job at the pub. The room thing, not so much, but here we are.
It was also very much a conscious decision to use my family name, Tally Murphy, as opposed to using an alias, like what usually happens on a job.
The hope is, now I’m working for Walsh, who has connections with the Kellys, word will get back to Oscar—who also has ties to the Kelly’s—that I’m here.
And hopefully I’ll get a chance to see Oscar again.
“I am aware now, thanks to you. Your conscience is clear.” I smile up at the cabbie, making another reach for my bags.
He flicks his fingers, and like magic, a business card appears.
I take it because it can be a right pain in the bum trying to find a reliable driver.
But then he messes everything up in a handful of words.
“I’m a phone call away if you need. It can’t be safe for a lass like you being out here by herself. ”
I stare at him, trying to decide if I want to be burning bridges or if I should simply write off the second Alpha today treating me like I don’t know my left hand from my right as nothing but a coincidence.
Ultimately, I keep my comments to myself as I wave him off.
It starts raining. A cold gusty wind makes the drops like little needles, and I get absolutely drenched between the road and the door to the apartment, which sits down a side street close to another apartment's entrance across the road.
The buildings are polar opposites, though, since that one looks like a mix between social housing and student accommodations.
I completely scored with this booking.
The state-of-the-art security means it takes me a couple of tries to follow the instructions emailed over by the host-slash-owner before the monitor even blinks to life. I nearly cry in the process of figuring how to set up my own entry code, but I’m no quitter.
Admittedly, I am half feral with rage by the time I program the goddamn thing that links my palm print and an eight-digit emergency code, but my anger is offset by how state of the art the security actually is.
My admiration is tested when I have to do the whole screening procedure again to get into the lift.
Of course, it’s one of those silent lifts that oozes sex appeal. It’s made better because of a faint lingering scent, one that reaches inside my soul and feels like a tender touch.
If I was pushed to explain the scent, I’d be hard-pressed to do it, but it doesn’t discount the fact it’s here.
“I need food, and sleep, I’m telling you,” I mumble as the lift rises.
I slide one of my bags over the door track to stop them closing to triple-check I’ve got the right floor.
I have, and being on ‘ground’ so to speak, the U shape of the building makes sense.
By the time I’ve unlocked the door by using my palm print and the long code, I’m feeling more settled than I have in days.
The owner-slash-host left on the smaller downlights, which cast warm light in important places, showcasing the apartment’s stunning features.
The photos on Airbnb are woeful at best, because this place is lush as hell.
Industrial chic timber, black fixtures, and a huge expanse of polished concrete come together in a very inviting way.
Layout wise, a short entrance opens into a central living space where the kitchen, dining, and lounge room blur into each other.
Like the rest of the space, the same industrial theme runs throughout.
Some people wouldn’t appreciate the dark moodiness, but the owner offset it with oversized, abstract artwork in lighter contrasting colors, interspersed with knickknacks, vases, and small detailing that somehow softens the harshness.
There’s an envelope on the island, a welcome scrawled over the front. Before I can even bother opening it, I need a shower. Anything from this point on this evening will be done without my bra on and me not smelling like Guinness.
Finding the bedroom is as easy as following my nose. It smells divine. Flicking the central heating on, and setting it to toasty AF, I leave my bags where they fall. I do the same with my clothes. And then I spend an ungodly amount of time under the shower.
I feel like a new person when I step out of the steam billowing from the bathroom and into the bedroom again. The room is heated, adding to the toasty feel, and the way the warm air brushes against my skin is as good as my shower was.
Unpacking and setting up my room naked isn’t as salacious as it sounds. After feeling so unsettled at the last place I booked, and after the day I had, it’s as soothing as a cup of milky sweet tea.
With only the light from the bathroom on, I find a place for everything before I’m drawn to the floor-to-ceiling window.
The glimpse I caught from across the room promised an incredible view.
Knowing the glass is “smart glass” and you can turn it on and off like you would be opening and closing blinds, I walk over, unconcerned.
And, well, the view is breathtaking but not at all what I was expecting.
Although, truthfully, the actual view might be as good as I thought it would be, but I can’t look away from the naked man in the apartment opposite mine.
He’s resting his forehead on his arm. His eyes are shut. His body is to die for.
And the way he wraps his hand around his cock, slowly jacking himself off, has an instant effect on me, slick pooling as my blood rushes straight to my core.
The deep throb is impossible to ignore and needs sating.
I can’t look away.
I should. But goddamn, there’s no way in fucking hell I will.
Slinking back into the shadows, I sit down on the floor and rest against the wall. My hands go straight into the drawer where I stashed my collection of vibrators and toys.
He steals all my attention.
Honestly, the apartment could be burning down and I doubt I’d notice.
All that matters is following his lush, sensual peak. The soft buzz of my rabbit joins my panting. At the first tease of the silicone head over my eager pussy, the moan I make is loud enough to wake the dead.
I swear I see a smile dance over his mouth, but he also starts working his length faster. And harder.
Of course, his cock is as stunning as he is—thick and long and getting harder by the look of it.
As I slide the rabbit deeper, my finger slips on my gathering slick, and I have to glance away to find the button to make the fluttering start. When I find it, the added sensation against my clit makes the throbbing heat start to blaze. Then I focus on him again.
He’s beating his dick in a rhythm that makes his muscles ripple. His mouth hangs open, and I can only imagine the noises he’s making. Sitting up, I jam a pillow between my legs to hold the vibrator as deep as it will go before I grind myself over my setup, my fingers squeezing my nipples.
“Come on, give me what I want,” I whine encouragingly, though it comes out like a strange garbled groan.
And another smile transforms his face.
God, I want to watch his face when he comes—he’s breathtaking now, but witnessing him lost to the throes of his climax… I’m pretty sure my heart would stop. I want to see his orgasm shooting out of his cock too.
Decisions, decisions.
Watching his cock wins out.
As he moves to rearrange himself, his hand slaps up higher against the window, giving me an unhindered view, and my god, it’s a glorious sight. I try to hold off coming, but I don’t think anything in this world would stop me from getting off while watching him.
My moan is offensively loud as my orgasm overtakes everything, stealing my sight. I blink furiously, clearing the fuzziness from my eyes, riding my pillow, chasing more of the same release. And it happens the second I see him blow.
His orgasm sprays the window. His fist thumps the glass each time he unloads, and I somehow feel the vibration. It is like a soft, whispered caress, coaxing my pleasure to soak the cushion.
I ride the high, grinding myself slowly to a stop.
“Fucking hell.” I laugh softly, stunned at my own audaciousness—and the buzz I got from watching him so intently.
Until he looks up and pins me silent with a smirk that would have me slapping his face if he was in front of me.
He knew I was watching.
He proves it too, mouthing a “thank you, baby” my way before he flicks the come off his hand and saunters out of view.
The shock of being caught has me not moving an inch. There’s no noise except for the ringing humiliation in my ears.
But I’m a chin up, tits out kind of girl, and at the end of the day, it’s not the worst thing that could happen.
Sure, it’s embarrassing, but it’s also a good story to tell.
Though, I’m not sure who I’d ever tell.
My thoughts drift to the pretty epic orgasms we shared as I start cleaning up. I manage to stare into my eyes in the mirror and only suffer through a small wave of mortification after I clean my vibrator, throwing it on charge and having another quick shower.
Donning my favorite giant t-shirt, I realize I have nothing to eat but still go looking for food. Starting with the fridge, because it’s the obvious place, I tug open the door.
“Holy shit.”
Every shelf is full. Prepared meals, fresh fruit, vac-sealed meat and chicken, along with bottles of milk, juice, and wine are neatly lined up and labeled.
Using the light from the fridge, I tear open the welcome envelope, and a note falls out.
Our home is your home.
We’ve taken the liberty of filling the fridge and pantry with everything we think you’d like because you’re important to us.
Feel free to send us an email if you need more or want something particular. The next delivery is in seven days.
Everything is pretty easy to use, but if you’d like one of us to show you, drop us a line.
P.S. Your smart windows are currently OFF. To activate them, just use the bottom button under each light switch.
P.S.S. There’s a manual in the top drawer for the rest of the appliances, plus a step-by-step guide for the voice-activated central heating.
Youre ár gceann-na Enterprises
“Probably should have opened this before my shower,” I say, talking as if someone’s here with me.
My stomach rumbles in agreement.
Throwing the note on the counter again, I turn to choose what I’m going to have for dinner. Then, while it’s heating, I sip on a beer while walking around to where the switches for the fancy windows are and switching them on. Properly.
And now that I've activated them, I can see the difference. The glass has a slight smoke through it when the smart glass is activated. When it’s off, it’s crystal clear.
Once I’ve done it a few times, to make sure I never miss the telltale signs again, I rearrange the living area, turning one of the single sofa chairs to face the view.
The sparkling skyline and the constant flow of the cars below is more appealing than watching television.
I crave quietness after the shock of earlier, but also to enjoy the lingering aftermath of my stolen orgasm.
It’s not odd. It’s natural as an Omega to hold on to those endorphins.
They’re as comforting and almost as necessary as breathing some days.
Being in this apartment also makes me feel comfortable.
It feeds a peace that settles into my bones.
I don’t know how I scored this booking or why the owner accepted my open-end booking at the cheap rate they did, but I’m not one to waste a moment arguing if I should or shouldn’t mention their oversight.
Ah, who am I kidding? I probably will contact them. Because as much as I love being here, I feel terrible they’re not getting paid properly for it.
It doesn’t take long for me to act on it, either. After sitting on their furniture, eating the food they so kindly arranged, enjoying the tranquility of their property, I send an email, letting them know.
As I’m snuggling down under the luxury sheets on the insanely comfortable bed, I get a response. Two words that make me stupid happy.
We’re aware.