Chapter 4
Of Delectable Dreams and Delving Deeper
A/N Irish Speak: Pháistin means a young'un, but in the song Mo Pháistín Fionn, it means "my fair-haired one". Is tusa mo rún is mo ghrá gheal means "tis you are my secret and bright love. It's a beautiful song. Look it up on YouTube. The link's on my profile page. A fine soft day means it's raining lightly—like a mist. Howya means "how are you?"
PIMP! Entries are being accepted for The Age of Eric. Great Prizes! Write a story for it! Check out it out at: http :/ theageoferic (dot) blogspot(dot) com/ Take out the dots shove it together…you know the drill
Thanks to me motts AmaZen and FDM without whom I would be as useless as a chocolate teapot
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Mo Pháistín Fionn is my heart's delight
Her heart shines out through her two eyes so bright
And the bloom of the apple in her cheeks so bright
And her neck like the swan on a March morn bright
Is tusa mo rún, mo rún, mo rún
Is tusa mo rún is mo ghrá gheal
You are my delight and my comfort all night
And I'd wrap you up tight in my arms
O love of my heart my fair páistín
Your lips are as red as the roses sheen
But mine have touched no other I wheen
Than the glass that I drank to the health of my queen
Were I in the town where sports prevail
Between two barrels of sweet brown ale
And my fond páistín upon my knee
'Tis I would sing to her pleasantly
Mo Páistín Fionn N. Parsons/G. Dunne)
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I swam toward the surface of my dreams slick with more than sweat. Eric, all of Eric, and last night's macho display combined to produced a disturbingly delicious dream. My libidinous subconscious had concocted wild stallions, one golden, one black, manes and tails flying as they reared up and tore at each other with hooves and teeth. They were so glossy that I could see myself, a milk white mare, on their powerful bodies.
I could smell their clean male scent, see the whites of their eyes as the black stallion reared straight up striking out at the Palomino—but the Palomino lunged and bit between the thrashing forelegs and the black fell backward. The butterscotch stallion bit and clawed mercilessly and won the fight.
Then things got really interesting. The great blond stallion became a great blond centaur. It cantered to me, whinnied imperiously, nuzzled my neck and cupped my breasts. He licked and teased my sensitive swollen nipples until my pounding heart echoed the throbbing pulse between my legs.
No, wait. Now the human legs had disappeared. Convenient! We'd both become centaurs.
His voice was low and husky. "I am the king of Ireland and you are the one that I desire."
Southern hospitality was definitely called for. I turned and presented. "Try some of my Southern Comfort...your highness."
The weight of him upon my haunches, the grip of his forelegs, the sweet scent of hot breath as his teeth closed on the throbbing pulse in my neck. Pulsing like a star about to super nova, I squeezed and released, squeezed and released. He plunged deep and I pressed my haunches back hard to meet each powerful thrust, every nerve slick and throbbing from the hot glide of his thick, throbbing cock.
The centaur king of Ireland tossed back his magnificent mane of golden hair and moaned.
"Ohhh...my freaking' head!"
Huh?
I cracked an eye. Twitched the curtain. Last night's thick syrupy fog had transformed into low clouds. A fine drizzle misted over green fields where a flock of sheep grazed with 'not a bother on them. That was fine for them; they weren't off for a day hike across some of the wildest terrain on the west coast of Ireland.
Like an accusing finger, a beam of silvery light stabbed at Amelia tightly squeezed eyelids. She gagged and lurched towards the loo. I held her head like an attendant priestess while she worshipped the porcelain goddess. After managing to swallow two Excedrin Migraine, she crawled back into bed while I took a shower and got my act together.
Amelia rolled onto her stomach and pulled the covers over her head.
"Blow-dryer sounds like a freaking car alarm…"
I pulled the covers back and shoved a bath towel under her hand. "Shower…then caffeine…Burren trek this morning with your sweetie. Remember?"
"Aak!" Amelia turned the proverbial forty shades of green as the aromas of an Irish breakfast wafted into the room.
I smiled sweetly. "And maybe toast…
She scowled. "Smug slut! How come you never get hung-over when I'm the one with the hollow leg?"
"Guess my gene pool comes with an alcohol resistant chromosome."
The truth was I knew when to say when. I got black-out drunk at a party when I was fifteen and paid for it with two lives. When, my parents, doctor, and the "sympathetic" social worker couldn't strong arm me into having an abortion they insisted on a "closed adoption." I understood shame and guilt—my parents made sure of that. For nine months my baby moved and grew within me and I never got to hold her. No. I'd never get that drunk again.
She tottered toward the bathroom. I followed to hold her head but she swatted me away.
"Go! Gorge yourself!"
"Are you sure?"
She fell to her knees for a second round of toilet hugging. "Out!"
I shut the door gently wondering whether Eamon might have to tie Amelia to the horse.
Mrs. O'Halloran had a table set for two. Blessed with a high metabolism, and low food guilt, I tucked right into my plate of rashers, sausage, black and white pudding, and poached egg. I was enjoying a good, strong cup of Lyon's tea when Amelia slunk in and slid into the chair facing me. She sipped her tea and nibbled on some soda bread.
Despite the fact that we'd be out in a drizzle, she'd put on a bit of makeup and seemed to be reviving. Her tousled dark-chocolate hair framed her heart shaped face with its slight dusting of freckles, huge eyes, and full upturned lips. Minus the bags under the eyes, it was the face Eamon had fallen for.
Mrs. O'Halloran bustled in. "Good morning girls! 'Tis a fine soft day, t'ank God!"
Amelia gave her a look of profound cynicism. "Is it?"
Mrs. O Halloran nodded. "Sure this will clear by mid morning. You'll have a grand day for your adventures." She glanced down at Amelia's flats. "Though you'll want trade those in for a pair of hiking boots…the 'pavement' yell be walking across isn't like the ones in New York."
Shortly afterward, I was driving on the passenger side of the car down the wrong side of a narrow road full of hairpin bends, windshield wipers sweeping the drops away in swishing arcs. The land was a muted sweep of green and grey that ended where sea cliffs met the Atlantic and the suck and crash of the incoming tide lay hidden beneath the mist. Rain pattered like a comforting hand patting, soothing me in that otherworld where earth, air and water combined. Low, dove-grey clouds flowed swiftly above the ridge of the hill, and the stone walls glistened dark with moss and ancient field stone. Eric was right; there was no way that I could have driven that road in the fog.
Even with the clouds slightly off the ground; it was hard to see much beyond the bend in the road. My mind was a crazy mixture of anticipation and sheer panic. The surge of attraction for a man I didn't know frightened the hell out of me. I shook my head.
Amelia touched my hand. "Scared?"
"A little…You?"
Amelia looked a bit hang dog. "Terrified! We've been talking for two months! And now …when he meets me…I come off like a drunken skank!"
"Amelia! If Eamon knows anything about you and if you've been the least bit honest…" I shot her a "significant" glance.
"I have! I mean…he knows I like to party…"
"Hehheh… Bet he doesn't know your frat christened you The Cherry Picker!"
Amelia grinned and shrugged. "Didn't see the point…He's not a cherry anyway."
"The point being there are lots of things you've probably shared. The good things…he knows your vibrant, fun, funny, charming…. He knows you work hard and play hard. Now he also knows that you can go a bit over board."
"Oh God Sook, I remember Eric, vaguely. She stared somberly at the spattering drops. "Apart from the fact that I was plastered, I don't even know what he'll tell Eamon. I only remember bits of what went on after we left the Matchmaker."
I snorted. "You remember that much?"
Amelia ran her had through her tousled hair so that little wisps stuck out. "I'm pretty sure some zombie alien deep fried upside down face from Sydney wanted to give me an 'Aussie Kiss'…whatever that is, and some big good looking guy with a Mohawk…and a forest of legs and feet…"
"Hmm. Do you want me to fill in the missing bit?""
She gnawed her lower lip. "Um… …I didn't dance on the table…" She had done a few times in the past.
"Noooo."
Neither of us did well with tense silence.
Better out than in. I took a deep breath. "You drunk flirted with Johnny Quinn. Eamon's ex, some chick named Bella, cheated on him with Quinn. And now Eric saw you flirting with him."
She groaned. "Jesus! I'm such an idiot! "
"Yeah, you are an idiot when you're drunk…but at least you're a happy idiot." "Seriously, is it a bad thing for Eamon to see a few warts at this point? It was so obvious from his face, the way he touched you yesterday. The way you touched him, looked at him. Sweetie, you both walked into this with your hearts wide open. Trust your heart. It led you here. "
She sniffled. I handed her a Kleenex. One tear trickled down her cheek. "Damn period making me all emotional…I'd never want to do anything to hurt Eamon!"
She'd hurt men in the past. Amelia was like the cactus tree in that Joni Mitchell song. Her heart was full and hollow.
"Fact. Eamon's…different from the others. "
A small catch of breath then, "Yes. And I blew it…He saw the worst of me…at least Eric did"
"So? Show him the best. He's worth it, right?"
My conscience hissed, Hypocrite! Coward! You know you want more than a fling. It's not your style! IF you ever get to the point where it's your turn for truth or dare, will you have the guts to tell Eric about your own skeletons? Will he reject you and begin to turn away, just like Bill? Cut your losses and run now…because you are about to lose your heart.
What about my own heart? That tiny wounded thing trembling behind the many walls, I'd placed between it and the terrible risk of losing myself again. To joy,to pain.
It was so much easier to just exist, grey and anonymous, within my shell.
"I'm stronger than that!" I muttered.
"Come again?"
"Just thinking about my stamina. "
Amelia raised her head and gave me a dubious look. "Oh yeah …We're tough—hung over…but tough. Booyah! Enough to ride a hide a couple of miles in the rain…across giant clefts in the rock, in the fog, on cliffs."
The GPS's precise British accent announced, "Left turn ahead," as a green and gold sign reading: Mountain Crest— Burren Trekking Adventures came into view.
My stomach did flip flops as the Mini Cooper bumped up Mountain Crest's long gravel drive.
"Willie says these guys are our best matches, right? So, au natural will be a good test of tolerance. Last night they saw us jet lagged and several degrees short of sober. Today they'll see us in hiking boots, old jeans and ponchos."
"Not to mention our hair's gonna look like limp spaghetti the minute we get out of the car. They say the truth will set you free…but I'm thinking they're both going to get a little too much honesty…" She caught herself, "I mean…they're getting the morning after look and we haven't even hooked up yet!"
"At least we're showered and deodorized."
"It's a no win situation. Cosmo says that gets rid of the pheromones! " She sighed. " What price good hygiene…"
Pheromones…musk…Thoughts of centaur Eric's magnificent, rampant body swam through my brain.
Mmmm smooth bronze expanse of streamlined muscle and sinew tapering down to a taut, flat abdomen…the ripple of sleek hot muscle across smooth flanks…and a huge, stiff, throbbing…
"Whoa Sook! Fence…Gate! Men!"
I slammed on the brakes and came to an abrupt halt inches from the gate, then reversed into the little parking area. Four horses and two handsome men regarded us with varying degrees of interest. A horse neighed; another made a disdainful phutting noise through its lips while our gorgeous "matches" swung the gates open.
Eamon walked up to Amelia with a grin of affectionate amusement. "Dead arose and appeared to many! You look…amazing."
Amelia swatted him playfully. "Liar!"
Eamon raised his hands.
"Really! You may be a chancer luv, but you're gorgeous."
Not one to waste time on apologies or explanations, Amelia wrapped herself around Eamon who got his free hand up just in time for Amelia's exuberant embrace. She was her talkative, happy self again…and if her encounter with Quinn upset him, Eamon wasn't letting it show.
Eric gave me a smile that sent my pulse racing as he walked toward me horses in tow.
"Howya?"
I smiled nervously "Great!"
I set my hand on the reigns and stroked the white blaze on the horse's nose in a desperate attempt to resist that captivating smile.
"Here let me take her. Our farm had horses…"
His gaze was as soft as a caress. "Sookie…"
Eric's big hand pressed against my back as the cool mist fell. He gathered me close against him his cheek pressed against my damp head. But I'd stopped caring about my hair, or my boots, or my poncho.
"Oh…"
I stood on tip-toe, and touched my lips to his. He deepened the kiss, his lips warm and sweet and a delicious shiver of wanting rippled through me. For a brief moment, I lost myself in the scent and heat of his freshly showered body, his breath warm against my face. The horse whickered and stamped her foot. We pulled back
Eric chuckled. "This is Grainne. You'll be riding her." Grainne stamped again and whinnied. "I think Her Nibs here's a bit jealous of you."
"Then we better make friends."
With a little help in the way of a boost to Amelia's derriere we were mounted. After "the lads" decided that we'd both stay in the saddle, Eric gave a brief explanation of the trail –its wonders and dangers—and we were ready to start. Mrs. O'Halloran had been right. The clouds were lifting and a golden light, with the promise of rainbows, shone through the veil of clouds.
Eamon moved to the front. "Right then. We'll be heading to the Cliffs of Moher first. Any questions before we start?"
Amelia waved her hand like a schoolgirl. " Just one…Um…What's an 'Aussie Kiss'"
Eric and Eamon goggled at each other, then burst out laughing
Eamon's eyes sparkled with humor "It's like a French kiss, luv…but it's applied Down Under."
His glance slid rapidly down her body, then his lips quirked upward. "As a special favor, I'd be happy to demonstrate the procedure for you after Tea."
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Yes! Yes! I'm writing the Burren trek now, and I promise rock-hard hawtness-but the girls said they needed to talk, and I'm my characters' bitch..
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