Lucky This Isn't Real: MacBride Brothers Series St. Patrick's Day Fake Fiance Romance by Jamie Knight (good books to read for beginners txt) 📗

I unzipped my jeans and took out my cock, the throb getting to be too much to bear. It wouldn’t stop until I relieved the pressure.

I started to stroke the shaft as I imagined repositioning Maggie, laying her out on her back, and burying my face between her sweet thighs, partaking in her beautiful cunt, making her squirm and moan in pleasure while she drove her fingers through my hair.

Kissing my way up her belly, I imagined stopping off at her massive tits, giving them some tender loving care with my lips and tongue before moving up to her neck and then her mouth, sliding my dick into position as I went.

When she couldn’t stand it anymore, I would press the head of my cock up against her warm and wanting hole.

I pictured her in my mind’s eye. I loved her feminine curves and her gorgeous smile.

Continuing to stroke my shaft, I imagined stroking Maggie’s pussy with my hand, keeping her excited and soaked. When she was ready, I would shift slightly and ease deep inside her, causing a long moan to emanate from the depths of her soul.

Moving slowly, I imagined starting to pump, inching deeper with each thrust, until I was almost all the way to the hilt, picking up speed as she got used to my width and length.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Hot cum spurted over my hand, and I blew out a raspy breath.

I couldn’t wait to do this for real with my fake fiancée.

And, if I had my way— which I fully intended to, because I always got what I wanted when it came to women, although Maggie was the only woman I had wanted this bad, ever— we would do it again, and again, and again.

Chapter Eight – Gavin

It was odd, how quickly or slowly a week could pass. It could feel like either the longest or the shortest amount of time in the world. On a much-awaited vacation in Hawaii, seven days hardly seemed like much.

Banged up and sitting in a jail cell, on the other hand, could make it feel like an eternity. Don’t ask me how I know. Let’s just say I had my share of fights back in Ireland. It came along with the nature of being from a fucked up family and having to defend my father’s honor, or lack thereof, as well as from chasing away any bullies of my younger brothers.

Now, though, time was passing as a sort of combination of the two variables, which I guessed would be something like waiting in jail for a Hawaiian vacation.

I couldn’t wait to see Maggie again, but waiting was exactly what I had to do. Since it was for such a good cause, I did my best to take it in my stride, hoping that the waiting would make the actual event all the sweeter from the anticipation.

I had sped home from the meet and greet with the cast of the sitcom I’d been cast on, Flogging Molly blasting on the car stereo all the way there.

Still humming “The Devil’s Dance Floor,” I went to my bedroom to get changed.

When I came over from Ireland, I’d only brought jeans and T-shirts. But once I arrived, I realized that wouldn’t cut it in some circles, so I decided to “invest in my future” by blowing a chunk of money on a bespoke, tailored suit.

Even after all that fuss and bother, though, I had only worn the bloody thing twice since. The third time’s the charm, as they say.

It wouldn’t quite make up for the money I’d spent, but if I could help show up Maggie’s evil ex and Raquel the Revolting at their own engagement party, it would still be worth it.

I stared at my watch, willing time to go faster so I could go pick Maggie up. It worked about as well as asking the tide not to come in, but time did eventually get there of its own accord.

I was fairly sure I left a vapor trail behind when I ran out of the house to the car. I turned on the ignition, and Flogging Molly picked up right where they’d left off.

During my whole drive to Maggie’s place, I was sure that tonight would be the beginning of something special.

Once I arrived, I tried to calm myself lest I break the button, pushing the buzzer for Maggie’s apartment and awaiting her reply.

“Hello?” came her sweet voice through the intercom.

“Your chariot awaits, darlin’,” I said, bowing deeply, even though I was sure she couldn’t see me.

“I’ll be right down,” she told me, sounding clearly as excited as I was.

“I shall await your arrival with bated breath,” I said, keeping up the pseudo-Shakespearian hoo-ha and laying on a comical Irish accent.

I thought she would like it, and they had made us learn Shakespeare in school, so I figured I might as well put it to some good use.

“You look great,” she said as she came through the door, seeing me in my bespoke finery.

I didn’t say anything in return. I was far too busy returning my jaw to its proper position after lifting it up off the ground to pretend to speak in Shakespearian bedazzlement anymore.

My gaze fixed mostly on the mid-section of the dress Maggie wore, particularly the lacy bit on her torso. The effect was only reinforced by the fact that her hair hung in loose curls.

I had no idea how long it was, reaching easily down to her waist. The only mechanism of control that she had added to her hair was a thin silver wreath of tiny metallic leaves encircling her head. She looked like a