Irish Cream

  A Spicy MFM Novella

  G. Eilsel

  Copyright © 2024 G. Eilsel

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to anyone who's ever fantasized about having two men in kilts spit-roast you for an entire weekend.

  And if you’re following the count, the word "cock" is used 168 times over 140 pages this time.

  You're welcome.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Shopping list

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Books In This Series

  Shopping list

  This book does not have trigger warnings, because if you're triggered by much, you're in the wrong place. This book is filled with nothing but nastiness.

  If you're ready to read one-handed, continue. If not, don't say I didn't warn you.

  Here's the good stuff:

  Deep throating, irrumatio, praise, exhibitionism/voyeurism, threesomes, cum play, domination, minor degradation, biting, spanking, face riding, snowballing, bukkake, binding, blindfolding, whipping/flogging, edging, begging, choking, double vaginal penetration, and two leprechauns with enormous cocks.

  Oh, and creampies.

  So. Many. Creampies.

  Chapter 1

  Regan

  “No…. no, no, no!” Thick white smoke billows from under the hood of my car, following the pop and whizz that can’t mean anything good. “Not now,” I groan, my foot pressing harder on the gas pedal, as if that will make the problem disappear.

  Like I could outrun it.

  “I wish shit like this didn’t always happen to me.”

  Karma has been a bitch lately, apathetic to my cries for help while refusing to throw me a bone, and today is no fucking different. The acceleration of my twenty-three-year-old car dwindles, sputtering and lurching, as if it too has given up on my dreams of escape.

  Palms slamming on the steering wheel, I scan my surroundings to see where I’ve stranded myself at ten o’clock on a Friday night. There’s only one building lit up on this stretch, so I cruise forward, continually losing momentum. With the speed of a dying turtle, I finally roll into their lot. My parking job is haphazard, the steaming car sputtering its final breath before I can align it properly, but I’m not stuck in the road.

  The street sign next to me says that I’ve stranded myself on Rainbow Avenue.

  At least it sounds pleasant.

  Thankful for the warm summer evening, I slink out of the car, my senses heightened by the unsettling blackness of the parking lot, where my sage green dress emits a soft glow. The single streetlight casts eerie shadows, its flickering bulb offering no comfort.

  The whole scene gives me the creeps.

  I grab my bag out of the backseat in a rush and my hurried footsteps lead me to the only building with signs of life, where the scent of roasting meat makes my stomach growl. As I open the door, a small bell hanging above it jingles with a merry ring, and I realize I’ve stumbled upon a cozy, dimly lit pub.

  It’s unexpected—strange and out of place in this deserted stretch of road.

  “Be with you in a minute,” a deep, velvety voice with a thick Irish accent calls out, its owner out of sight. “Sit anywhere you’d like to.” The atmosphere is quiet, with only a handful of patrons who are completely absorbed in their dark brews, paying little attention to anything else. With a shrug, I make my way to a booth at the rear of the room, positioned to have a clear view of the door.

  Just in case.

  That same rich voice calls out, “Evening, lass,” and a man in his late twenties appears in front of me. My mouth falls open as my eyes venture up his enormous frame. With a height of at least six-foot-four, he has a powerful build with ridiculously toned muscles and a broad chest, curly coppery locks cascading down the nape of his neck. He has a jawline so sharp it could cut through the meat he’s roasting in the back, clean shaven and a hint of a five o’clock shadow.

  “Evening,” I finally respond, my face turning beet red as I twirl my dark, boring hair around my finger, feeling a pang of jealousy towards his dazzling mane.

  He throws me a panty-melting smile, and I notice he’s wearing a kilt; forest green, cream, and black. I wonder if the colors hold any significance.

  “What can I get for you tonight? A pint, something to eat?”

  “Oh, well, I actually swung in because my car broke down in your lot… I, uh, I don’t exactly have much cash to spare right now.” My voice falters and fades away, leaving behind a stillness that makes me squirm, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. The little money I’ve saved is all I have for a fresh start.

  Mesmerized by his striking grass-green eyes, which never once waver from my blue ones, I’m at a loss for what else to say. This man is simply beautiful. His infectious grin brings out deep dimples on both sides of his lips. “Now, I understand we’ve just met, but you must not think highly of me to believe I’d let a pretty lady go without. It’s on the house.”

  “You don’t have to do that…” My objections are met with a shake of his head, and he slides a menu on the table. The Pot o’Gold is printed at the top, along with a list of beers on tap and a decent food selection.

  He surprises me when he slips into the booth across from me, leaning in as we speak. “Iain,” he says, his intense stare never breaking.

  “Regan,” I say with a hint of awkwardness, offering my hand.

  Another smile lights up his face as he takes my extended hand and pulls it against his mouth. Those enticing lips, so perfectly shaped, command my full attention as one side tips up in a slight smirk. I realize I’m staring and withdraw my hand as my eyes flicker away. “Well, Regan, let me grab you a bite to eat and then you can tell me about your car troubles. Maybe I can help.”

  “Really, it’s unnecessary...” I say, but my words are cut short as he stands tall, planting his hands on his hips, and the prominent bulge pushing against his kilt becomes impossible to ignore. It’s clear that he’s not wearing anything underneath, as the outline of his long cock is clearly visible against the soft material.

  Holy shit.

  My current situation should be my priority, but the sight of his impressive size has my mouth dripping like a faucet, and between my legs? It’s a waterslide in there.

  Inappropriately, my attention is glued to his crotch as he inches closer, and it becomes more pronounced with every movement. Forget a skin flute; that’s an entire saxophone, ready to be blown.

  “How about shepherd’s pie?”

  My guilty eyes dart back up to his, another flush rising from my neck and painting my cheeks. “That’d, uh, that’d be great,” I force out, my words faltering, and I’m met with a knowing, sexy smirk.

  “I’ll have it out in a few.” He vanishes behind a closed door, but not before I have time to glimpse a muscular ass flexing as he walks away. Phone in my hand, I try to do some quick researching, but there’s no signal here.

  Of course there isn’t.

  I only made it to the neighboring town in my attempt to flee, but hopefully this place is secluded enough where Aaron can’t track me down here.

  Deep green fabric swishes in my peripherals, and I whip my head around, eager to spot my red-headed wonder. To my surprise, I’m met with the sight of an unfamiliar face smiling down at me.

  Another incredibly handsome face.

  “Evening!” he says, putting a plate of steaming food down in front of me. “Iain told me to come out and get you set up. What type of beer do you prefer?”

  “Oh, it’s unnecessary,” I say, the words rolling off my tongue like a broken record.

  He waves his hand, ignoring my objections. “Dark or light?”

  “Dark,” I finally concede, recognizing that they won’t be deterred. “Thank you…” I look at him pointedly, silently waiting for him to share his name.

  “Craig,” he says, adopting the same confident posture as Iain, hands on his hips. Now that I’m paying attention, I would wager that they are related. Craig appears a few years older but shares that intimidating stature. His hair, a rich, chestnut brown, takes on a reddish tint when the light catches it perfectly, with a neatly trimmed beard to match. Thick and sturdy, he has a bit of a belly and legs as solid as tree trunks. And between those thighs, an equally big…

  My cheeks burn once again as I glance back at his face, amusement twinkling in his eyes as his left eyebrow arches ever so slightly. This constant embarrassment is going to boil every drop of the blood from my body—I’m sure of it. “Thank you, Cra
ig. I’m Regan.”

  “I know,” he says with a wink, before turning and heading to the bar. When he returns, he brings two tall beers, their deep, almost-black hues contrasting with the creamy caramel froth on top. He eases into the booth, placing the glasses on the small table with a clink. Once he settles in, he assumes that confident stance that men have, reclining and spreading his knees apart.

  The table provides a welcomed distraction, as my mind wanders to the image of his kilt draping over that thickness that hangs at his thighs. The mere thought of it is like someone pulled the kink out of a water hose, causing a sudden rush of dampness in my center—one I haven’t felt in a long time.

  A deep, rumbling growl rolls from my stomach, so I grab a bite of the food before me and let out a drawn-out moan. “This is delicious,” I declare, stealing a glance at him and seeing that serene smile on his face.

  “So, Regan, my brother said you broke down?”

  My hand covers my mouth as I nod and chew, waiting until I swallow to say, “Yes, I’m hoping to find a cheap mechanic in town tomorrow so I can get on my way again.”

  “No mechanics open until Monday, I’m afraid.”

  My heart sinks at his words. “I can’t stay still that long,” I blurt, fear and anxiety bleeding out of my words.

  “What do you mean by that?” he asks, his tone becoming more demanding and his posture tense. A flicker of danger passes over his otherwise gentle face.

  I take another bite to kill time, but it’s clear he won’t be sidetracked from my slip of tongue. Finally, I gulp down a long swig of my beer, the carbonation tickling my nose, before I respond. “I just left my boyfriend, and he’s not a good man. The plan was to get further away so that he couldn’t find me.”

  “What would happen if he found you?” His voice has transformed into something deeper and more menacing—something predatorial. Unexpectedly, rather than intimidating me, it gives me a sense of protection.

  “Nothing good,” I whisper, not able to meet his eyes.

  Honestly, I have no idea what Aaron would do to me. I never challenged him enough to witness the full force of his rage, but I know it would be a terrifying sight.

  “There’s an extra room upstairs,” he says suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts. “You will stay here until your car gets up and running, and we can protect you.” He talks like they’re some sort of bodyguards, and I guess at their size that’s not a far stretch.

  His offer floors me, and he’s indifferent to my objections as I stutter and stammer through them. “There’s no way I could burden you with that, considering how incredibly kind you both have been.”

  “Nonsense, it’s a done deal.” Once more, he assumes The Stance, hands placed on his hips, and my eyes are drawn to the clear shape of his cock, more fantasies playing through my head about what he could do with it. “Do you have a suitcase or anything you need?”

  With a flick of my hand, I gesture towards the small bag sitting beside me in the booth. “I brought it inside already.” Knowing he’s waiting, I devour my food and gulp my beer, quicker than my usual pace because I don’t want to waste his time.

  After a few minutes, I drain the last drops of my drink, and he motions for me to follow him. He leads me up a narrow stairwell that creaks under our weight, and we emerge into a long hallway. “Back in the day, this was an inn as well, so there are a few rooms. Iain and I both have our own, but there’s an empty one between us.”

  He opens the door and clicks the switch, and the room is instantly illuminated, revealing a neat and meticulously arranged space with a massive bed. “You always keep this prepared?” Everything looks incredibly clean, and the linens are fresh.

  “Just in case,” he says, his smile widening as he winks. “Bathroom is through here.” He walks through another door across from the bed, leading me into a bathroom the size of my last living room with a deep tub and walk-in shower. It’s more luxurious than I was expecting, with stone tiles and lots of fancy jets.

  Back in the bedroom, I turn around to see him standing just a few feet away, and my eyes once again gravitate towards the undeniable bulge that still demands attention between his brawny thighs.

  “Regan,” he groans, a whole different sort of predatory edge to his voice, and my gaze roams up his body to meet his eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve looked at my cock. If you want him to come out and play, all you have to do is ask.”

  Chapter 2

  Craig

  Her eyes widen in surprise, maybe even disbelief, as they meet mine, realizing that she got caught and is being confronted. Did she think she was being cunning, practically drooling as she shamelessly sized up what I have? She probably thought I’d ignore it while she gawked.

  Well, I won’t.

  My cock strains as I stalk towards her, captivated by the sight of her lips parting in a hushed gasp. She’s going to be making a lot more noise than that if I have anything to do with it, and her mouth is going to have to open much, much wider. Her eyes dart to my crotch again, staring at the unmistakable shape straining against my kilt. “Four,” I say, watching her expression closely. “That’s four times now.”

  She’s been timid and uncertain of herself ever since she walked in, so it completely catches me off guard when she reaches out and touches me, sliding her palm down my full length. Another pulse runs through my cock as it flexes against her touch.

  “That’s it,” I mutter, inching closer to her and letting out a low hum as she curls her fingers around me, the soft material of my kilt still serving as a shield. I guide her until her back is pressed against the wall and her hand is slowly stroking me.

  The fabric of her dress bunches around my wrist as my hand ventures up her leg. My touch begins just above her knee, trailing upwards until I’m nearing a very naughty area. She’s so lost in the moment that she doesn’t even notice the soft moans escaping her lips as her hips rock forward.

  God, she’s hungry.

  As I run my hands over her shapely, supple body, her thighs and hips leave me in a state of utter fascination. She has more curves than a winding mountain road, and I’m ready to navigate each one.

  We usually maintain a safe distance from visitors, aware of the potential dangers, but with her, my self-control dissolves.

  “Are you okay with this?” I question, grazing her inner thigh as my excitement grows from nearing my goal. With each passing moment, my body becomes more rigid, the throbbing of my cock pounding like a bass drum.

  “Yes, but you should know...” she hesitates, and a flicker of uncertainty crosses her face that causes my hand to pause on her thigh. “I don’t have much… experience. Probably not very skilled.” Her eyes dart away, unable to meet mine, as if her embarrassment and shame have taken on a physical form that steals her attention from me. And, well… I can’t have that.

  “What do you mean?” I question, my lips gently nuzzling her jawline as I trail a line of kisses down the sloping curve of her neck. The pressure of her touch against me reassures me she wants this as much as I do, but I want to address her worries.

  “It’s just that… my ex, the one I recently left? With him, everything was extremely one-sided. Once he was done, that was the end. He was never concerned with…” She trails off as she looks away again, her hand still tightly clutching me as she moves it in gentle, rhythmic strokes.

  It’s quite the struggle to uphold these gentlemanly qualities while she’s jerking me off.

  Her words hang in the air, and it takes a few seconds for my addled brain to unravel their hidden truth. “Wait… he never got you off?” As she shakes her head, she bites down on her lower lip, casting her eyes elsewhere. “Never?” I ask, incredulous.

  With a sigh, she finally confesses, “It was never a priority.”

  “Well, that changes everything.” I retreat a step, my cock slipping out of her hand with a reluctant tug. It fights me, straining forward and jutting out from my body, wanting back into the pleasure of her grip. Even though I ache for release, my focus will be showing her what it’s like to be made a priority.