Chapter 4
Chapter Four
IRELAND
I stretch my arms and groan, slowly blinking my eyes open. My head doesn't immediately start pounding, which is a good sign considering how much tequila I drank last night. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
After the concert, we all went out to a local bar. Except everyone disappeared within half an hour, leaving me and Crue to our own devices. I decided tequila was the best way to handle the situation.
Probably because Crue kept looking at me like he wanted to eat me instead of his burger. And I kept thinking about what he said in his room yesterday. The man of my dreams isn't turned off by the fact that I'm a virgin. In fact…he seems to like the idea. A lot.
I giggle, fighting the urge to squeal into my pillow like a lunatic.
"What are you laughing at this early, sweet girl?" Crue groans, sliding an arm around my waist.
I squeal, flipping over so fast I manage to elbow him and kick myself at the same time. Sure enough, he's in my bed, watching me from hooded eyes. Shirtless and rumpled.
"You're in my bed. Why are you in my bed?
And where are your clothes?" I pull the covers up, checking to see if he's completely naked.
I don't know why. I'm curious and panicking, and it seems like a good idea.
Until I see his erection tenting the front of his boxers.
I quickly drop the covers back into place.
And then my eyes catch on the simple platinum band adorning my ring finger. And the matching band on his. They weren't there yesterday. I choke on my tongue, wheezing as the floodgates open and memories from last night pop into my head in a giant parade.
Shots of tequila. Grinding on the dance floor. Talks of a late-night wedding. Him pulling me aside to tell me he had a judge on standby, all I had to do was say yes. Me laughing as we slipped out the back hand in hand.
A late-night wedding seemed like a good idea with my panties soaked and tequila clouding my mind. If we were married, we could have sex, and it wouldn't be bad. That's what my drunk brain seemed to think.
Apparently, his drunk brain agreed because we freaking got married.
It's not even like we maybe got married. We for sure got married because I remember signing the license. And I definitely remember him slipping a ring on my finger.
I even remember kissing him at the end.
Oh my god. Shelby is going to kill us.
"It's our bed," he growls. "And you invited me into it when you agreed to marry me last night, Ireland."
I close my eyes, pulling the covers back up over me.
"What are you doing?"
"Going back to sleep so I can wake up in a different reality."
He chuckles, and then the bed dips as he crawls over me. "Open your eyes, éire."
"No, thank you. I'm manifesting my destiny."
"Yeah? Does this destiny include me as your husband? Because if it doesn't, I'm going to spank your perfect little ass, baby."
I pop my eyes open to glare at him. "You're interrupting me, Crue. Go to your own bed."
"This is my bed. My wife is in it," he growls.
"Stop saying that!"
"Why?"
Because I like it way too freaking much.
"Because…because it's insanity!" I cry instead of revealing that particular truth.
"We got married last night, Crue. Do you have any idea what the world is going to say when they find out that every single member of this band has coupled up on this tour?
They're going to lose their collective minds! "
"Mason isn't coupled up yet."
I shoot him a dirty glare. "That's beside the point. You said you didn't want to be fodder for the press. This is like ten steps beyond fodder. We met and got married on the same day."
"Technically, it was two different days. We got married after midnight."
I push him off me before clambering up over him and grabbing a pillow.
"What are you doing?" he asks, grinning up at me.
"Smothering you with this pillow," I say with false cheer. "No one will even blame me. Especially if they know you."
He chuckles, plucking the pillow from my hands and tossing it across the room. Before I can even protest, I'm on my back beneath him again, only this time, he's wedged his body between my thighs, and our fingers are linked beside my head.
"You're fucking cute when you're panicking, Ireland," he murmurs, his eyes locked on my lips. "And you're beautiful when you're annoyed."
"Stop being sweet. I'm trying to have a meltdown."
"Kiss me, and then you can continue." He dips his head, running his nose along the side of mine.
I quickly peck him on the lips, refusing to do anything more. I drank tequila last night, and I haven't brushed my teeth. No way am I making out with Crue Freaking Blake right now.
Except Crue Freaking Blake has other plans. As soon as my lips touch his, he swoops, licking into my mouth to kiss away every ounce of resistance and restraint I have. I wrap my legs around his waist, moaning when his erection grinds against my clit.
Holy crap, that feels like heaven.
"Fuck," he groans, drawing the word out. "I can feel how fucking wet your panties are right now, Ireland."
"Yeah, well, that's your fault." I bite his ridiculously perfect lip. "You're the one half-naked in my bed."
"Our bed." He releases my hand, dragging it down my arm and then all the way down my side, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He stops at my hip, yanking my leg up higher. His fingers dig into my left cheek, squeezing.
Only then do I realize I'm half-naked, too.
"Where's my dress?"
"You stripped out of it and stole my t-shirt."
"Please tell me I did this in the bathroom." I already know I didn't. Vague memories are bubbling up from the deepest recesses of my mind. Me, standing in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of panties. Him, growling and cursing but unable to keep his eyes off me.
I don't have to ask to know we didn't have sex. I still want him too freaking badly to have lost my virginity last night. Besides, he may be the kind of guy who marries me drunk, but he isn't the kind of guy who would sleep with me drunk.
"Nope." His lips curve into a smile against mine. "It was a helluva show, éire. Damn near came all over myself when I saw those gorgeous tits."
"I hate you so much."
"Little liar." He nips my bottom lip again, grinding his erection against me. "Fuck, I want to slip those panties aside and feel that all over my cock."
"W-what's stopping you?" I gasp.
He growls my name, his hand tightening on my ass.
"Just once, Crue," I plead, too far gone to care if I'm tempting fate here. I want to feel him skin-to-skin just once. We've already gone this far. Why not go a little further? We're adults. Apparently, we're freaking married. It's not like what we're doing is wrong.
He yanks my panties to the side without a word, his lips pulled back from his teeth as if he's in pain. Maybe he is. Is it agony for him like it is for me right now? I want him inside me so freaking bad my whole body is in danger of vibrating apart at the seams.
He leans back, yanking his boxers down to free his cock.
I choke on my tongue at the sight. Lord have mercy. There's no way they're supposed to look like that. For one thing, dicks are supposed to be ugly. His is beautiful. Long and thick with a broad head glistening with precum. For another, they're supposed to be smaller. His is a monster.
"Crue," I say, my voice strangled. "That's not normal."
He chuckles, groaning, "You're the one who made him this goddamn hard, éire."
"I'm sorry!" I cry.
He drags me closer to him. I moan as his cock slides through my folds. We both watch, enraptured as my juices smear with his on the broad head, mixing together.
"Jesus, that's pretty," he groans.
The head of his cock bumps my clit, and all I manage to do is moan instead of respond. He's right, though. There's something beautiful about the sight of us together like this. It's not dirty like I thought it would be. It's…erotic, beautiful. Sexy.
"Crue, do it again."
He rocks his hips, sliding through my folds again. We both moan at the same time, hyperfocused on the sight. He watches as if he's never seen anything like it, either. Which is impossible, but I like the thought anyway. Being this man's first? I wish.
He reaches between us, using two fingers to wrap my lower lips around him. My inner muscles clench when he rocks his hips again, pumping between my lips as if he's inside me. The head of his cock glides against my clit with every pass.
"Fuck yeah." His voice is a gritty rasp, full of pleasure. "Now I feel you all over me, Ireland."
I feel him all over me, too, and it's almost unbearably good. I grip the sheets, writhing on top of the bed as he rolls his hips into me, striking against my clit again and again.
"I can't take much more of this, sweet girl. You feel too fucking good." Sweat beads on his brow as he stares from beneath hooded eyes. "I need you to get there before I lose it."
"Lose it," I gasp, eager to see him unraveling. I think I want it more than I want my next breath. Every naughty fantasy I've ever had involved this man. Most of my dreams involve him, too.
The only reason he wasn't the background on my phone yesterday was because I changed it before leaving my room, half afraid someone from the band would see the photo of him and give me hell about it.
He's been my crush since I was a kid. I never dated because no one ever compared.
It sounds so pathetic, but it's true. He was miles out of my league, completely unattainable, but I wanted him anyway.
And I want him just like this, seconds from losing his mind because he can't take how good I make him feel. Me, little Ireland Fitzgerald, the only virgin in my graduating class.
"I don't come until you do, Ireland," he growls, moving faster. "That's how this works. You come all over my fucking cock, and then I do. But I don't get mine until you get yours."
"T-that's not a r-rule."