CHAPTER 2

Who was this guy?

Irish...

He was my fantasy man.

I need to stop reading so many smutty books. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex. Really good sex. Sex. Any sex. That I was ready to indulge in this madness. I wanted him. I wanted his sex all night.

I managed to push my ho session with Irish to the back of my mind as I chatted with a few associates from the legal society. That didn’t last very long. Sometimes being tall has its disadvantages. I winced at what I saw.  He had a new fan club now.

There were over a dozen groupies surrounding him now. Yep groupies, it was obvious that they were hungry for his time, his money and obviously his dick. Even the sisters were representing.

They were all looking a bit too thirsty for my taste, though. I know….don’t judge...yada yada yada. I am lawyer remember; my job is to read through the bullshit all day long and those tarts right there…. Any who….

The women were swarmed around him as if he was doling out dollar bills on to the stage. Irish was gorgeous and all, but they were all standing around hanging on his every move waiting to be the chosen one. If they only knew; he had already made his intentions known.

None of you tricks will make it through the door to meet his mama. But hey do you chic.

Trust me, I was trying my hardest not look. But it was like driving upon an accident, I just couldn’t look away. Have they no shame; come on ladies, at least play a little hard to get. You all look silly fawning all over him. He’s not taking any of you seriously. Who wants what is offered so freely or easily handed to them.

Breathe. I didn’t understand why he was affecting like this. I’ve never been this boy crazy. Why do I care about who gets to meet his mama?

You care because you are judging them by the way you think that Irish has already judged you. He did have you ready to spread ‘em a few minutes ago. I reminded myself.

Irish…

Aargh!

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The party was bumping and the guys were hot enough but my mind was still stuck on our steamy interlude.  My plan for the rest of the night was simple. I was going to flirt, tease and dance with every man that showed the slightest interest in me. All while avoiding him, for the rest of the night.

Simple, right?

Physically it should have been easy; but mentally, he was getting the best of me. He was eating up all the attention from those hussies; much to my annoyance. Sipping on the last of my cocktail, hoping that it would calm my crazy, I was surprised when the VIP hostess came over with bottle service for me. Grey Goose vodka, cranberry juice and Sprite.

Irish…

I knew that his eyes were on me. I felt it. I couldn’t stop thinking about his big hands and mouth roaming all over my body. But I couldn’t look over to him. I knew that I had to play this thing with Irish coolly, but it was hard. 

Damn you Irish for turning me into one of those crazy, insecure, sniveling female clichés. I am the wrangler damn it.

I felt…jealous, maybe disappointed? I’m not sure but I knew that I didn’t like what I was feeling. This was not me.  This was not the Ambrosine Hewitt that everyone knows. No. The wrangler wouldn’t go out like this. No. It is totally out of character for me to be so needy, so wonton, so reckless.

No. This is not me. This…this…is all, Evis. Ok, last one I swear.

Could this night get any worse? First, I let Pressley talk me into wearing this stupid angel costume and now I am shaking because I want to sleep Irish? Well not sleep, but…

I want him to want me, I need him to need me, I’m begging him to beg me…I’ll stop there. Cheap Trick doesn’t want me ruining one of their greatest hits.

I sighed, looking over to my friends who were all laughing at a story that Said was weaving. I have to go, I can’t stay here. Maybe I should just call it a night. I mumble to myself.

Shake it off. I tell myself. I can’t. My whole body throbbed recalling the way Irish rolled my nipples around his fingers. I practically let some random guy screw me in public and I loved it. I’ve never felt so alive, so wanted, so desired before. If he could make me feel that way with clothes on, can you imagine…

I wanted him. Really, wanted him. Damn it. If Irish had asked me to spread my legs, just then I probably would have. He gave me such a rush letting me rub my swollen kitty against his fat fingers, wet panties and all. I was practically begging him for relief and he was oh so willing to oblige me.

I cringed and wanted to kick myself, as I thought about how desperate I must have seemed to him.

Slut.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst part about our encounter for me was seeing the smirk on Irish’s face, once he realized how he was affecting me. He had me hot and bothered and ready to spread ‘em. Just like those other tramps who were previously glued to his side and he loved it.

I was going to change that. I had too. I was different from those chits.

Truthfully, I was feeling a little hurt that Irish didn’t even come over to talk with me or acknowledged what we shared, though.

I looked up and I saw him staring in my direction. He seemed to have put away his toys for the evening too; he was alone now, watching me.

Thank you, I mouthed to him taking a sip from glass.

He simply smiled and mouthed cheers darlin’ and raised his in return.

Rolling my eyes at this typical good ole southern cocky charm, I was forced to acknowledge that the attraction between us was real. I felt it when Irish touched me and I saw it in his eyes each time he looked at me. It was strong and neither of us could hide from it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with it, yet.

Irish. I wanted him.

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Maybe this is just a case of real intense lust. I’ve read stories about it. Right here on this site. Even after all of my crazy musings I had to admit that I still wanted him. Really wanted him. Even if he thought I was hot to trot.

 What was wrong with me? Get a hold of yourself, I screamed in my head. This isn’t lady like behavior, Ambi.

“I refuse to be fodder for boy’s night out.” I declared, tossing back another drink.

“What was that?” both Evis and Pressley asked at the same time. I was surprised that either of them was even paying attention to me now, since they had been so caught up with Said and Roman.

So now these wenches want to stop cheesing with the hotties to talk to me. Get back.

I mixed and then gulped down one more cocktail, waving off their questions. I swear that I’m not an alcoholic. I’m just frazzled.

My night could still be saved. I was going to have fun and not sit back and watch my friends play with their ken dolls or sit around hoping for a guy to come holla.

I am the wrangler damn it.

I don’t get played. I do the playing. I stood up to assess the situation. It was more, akin to scoping out a victim. I’m sorry guys, but someone has to pay for Irish’s crimes tonight.

Being without a man has never really bothered me. OK sometimes it bothers me.  Tonight, for example. I was painfully reminded that as much as I think that I have it going on, I’m still sitting here alone. Honestly, I like being in a relationship. I love companionship. I love doing things and going places with my guy. I love discovering new things with my guy. I love laughing with him, touching my guy and him touching me. I missed that…I missed sex. Real sex.

Damn I’m…horny. I’m sorry. Classy women are not supposed to speak like that. Even if it’s the truth. Don’t tell anyone, but I have been daydreaming about getting smashed to bits for the past few weeks; ok months.

Ladies, take my advice and stop wasting money on sex toys. I spent two bills on a triple motor platinum jack Rabbit, it should have kept my kitty from potentially getting juiced by a stranger in a night club, right? Instead it only made me long for that thing that I want more anything right now…to be on my back screaming for Irish to…

Stop it. Stop it right there.  Don’t act like I’m the only one who has ever spent over $100 on a toy.

Through the smiles, slight touches and flirty laughs, I managed to snag my fair share of numbers, dates and dances earlier.  Now, my plan was to go full steam ahead. Search, capture, and conquer a lion tonight. A mere distraction for the rest of the evening; fodder for my girls night out, later on.

I know that’s cruel but I was on the prowl now.

I was shaken from my thoughts when, Justin, Jason or something like that, came over and claimed his dance that I promised him earlier. I forgot about that, I made many promises, too many cuties.

‘J’ was a real cutie, though. I’m talking Jared Leto from My So called Life, cute, with the same dark hair and dazzling sky blue eyes. I asked him to unclip my wings so we could really have some fun. He did so, eagerly. I guess he thought he was in there.

I smiled. Men are so simple that way. It was all for naught, though. After that naughty make out session with Irish, these other guys didn’t have a prayer in hell.

Stop saying that I needed to let it go. If Irish was interested in more, he would be the one unclipping your wings right now.

Smoothing his hands down my back, Jaime whispered, “All eyes are on you tonight.” Jaime that was his name.

“You think so?” I asked coyly; already knowing the answer.

“I know it. These legs are insane.” For good measure he stopped moving, so that his eyes could travel their entire cocoa length.

“Thank you, handsome.” He was right. I was looking very good.

Fuck you very much, Irish. Take that, take that, take that.

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We danced to quite a few tunes, laughed and talked. Jaime was a real sweet heart and funny. Basically we created our own private party on the dance floor. I closed my eyes and got lost in his arms. Why didn’t I dance with him earlier? If I had, I wouldn’t have spent half the night hungry for Irish.

“I think your plan is working.” Jaime observed.

I didn’t even notice that the music had changed from the upbeat tempo to a more chill vibe, until I opened my eyes and realized that fewer people were dancing around us, now. We were dancing front to back. His front was glued to my back.

It was nice. Seriously, if I had met him before I did, Irish, this would be a completely different story.

“What do you mean?” I asked casually.

Jaime was no fool. “Irish.” He pulled me even closer to his body and then flattened his palm against my stomach. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you, since we started dancing. Are you two together?”

“No.” And that was the truth.

“Really? Hmmm, that’s odd, especially since he seems so intent on throwing daggers at me right, now.”

I wanted to look at Irish and see for myself. But I wouldn’t. “Everyone in here can clearly see that I have something he wants.”

“Strange…we’ve only just met through mutual friends, tonight.” I replied nonchalantly; though I was beaming inside.

I placed my hands on top of Jaime’s, which still rested on my upper abs and guided it down my stomach to sit on the waist band of my costume’s skirt.

How do you like those apples, Irish? That shoe on the other foot is feeling mighty tight right about now, huh?

Jaime bit my neck and laughed. “You’re so bad, you know that?” He knew exactly what I was doing. “I’ll play along, for now.”

He spun me around and I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands were now just below my waist, not quite gripping my ass but not that far away from it either.  

“You’re too good for him, Ambi.”  Jaime uttered.

I was surprised at his words. Looking into his eyes, I saw the sincerity there. Where did that come from?

“So, you know Irish?”

“Who doesn’t?” Jaime replied.

I wanted to tell him, that I didn’t. “What do you know about him?”

“Enough.” He evaded. “I know that you deserve to be more than just his trophy for the night.” Out of nowhere he planted a kiss on my lips. Lips parted soft and warm, gentle; but no tongue. Nice. But that came from left field and left me a bit baffled.

“You truly are a prize, Ambi. That man should be chasing you and not the other way around.” I was confused by his statements and asked him what he meant by that and the kiss.

I didn’t know either of these men really, so what did it matter; this wasn’t anything serious. I was just having some fun, right?

Before he could answer, Irish was there and he was visibly pissed. “Let’s go.” He barked. Jaime slipped away before either of us could say anything to him.

Let’s go? Was he talking to me? Oh so now he’s talking to me.

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s go.” He repeated firmly.

“Go?” I asked. “Go where?”

Irish meant business and was pulling me off the dance floor, through the crowded lounge area and down a flight of stairs; before I knew what was happening. He was holding onto my arm tightly and I had no idea where we were going. We were moving through the crowds with such swiftness, that I had to focus on my movements just to keep pace with his steps. Still I managed to smile at all the dirty looks those hoochies were giving me once they realize that Irish had left them all hanging for me.

Take that, take that, take that mitches.

Finally, we were standing in front of this big metal door and he pushed it open into some type of parking garage. It must have been for the VIP valet. We valeted, but not in here. The man in black told Irish, that he would bring his car around in just a few seconds; without asking for a ticket or which car was his.

“Let go of me, you’re hurting my arm.” I quipped. More for my wounded pride from being shoved off the dance floor than any real pain in my arm.

He loosened the grasp he had on my arm and I started to walk away from him. Was he jealous of Jaime?

What the hell was that about?

In two quick strides, he was practically blocking my path. “I’m sorry, angel” He reached down and softly started to rub the arm that he may have bruised.

His touch had my stomach fluttering like crazy. I watched his hands massage my burning flesh as he lifted my arm to his perfectly shaped pink lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He was kissing away the pain that he caused. “I’ll make it up to you, later. I promise.” His kisses moved up my forearm and traveled up to my neck.

I swear I wanted to melt right there on the pavement.

The sound of the valet pulling up to the curb, caused us to snap out of our trance. Stroking my cheek, he whispered, “Let’s go.”

He started moving but I stood fixed where I was. He may have had me under his spell, yes. But I don’t fold that easily, pretty boy.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.” Was Irish’s easy response.

Home? I am not one of his bimbo bitches. He just can point to me and say ‘you, me, fuck, now go.’ Again, who does he think he is?

“Home? Are you asking me or are telling me?”  I questioned. He didn’t respond, he only pulled a few bills out of his pocket, tipped the valet and opened the passenger side door.

“Get in the car, Ambi.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

“I’m not fucking you, Irish.” I firmly declared. Righteous indignation and all.

I don’t know why I said it; knowing good and well that I wanted that more than anything. But Irish had to learn that not every chic is that chic. Come on, he only paid for bottle service.  He didn’t buy me a condo or anything.

No. If he wants me to be with me, then he is going to have to work for it. I was standing firm on this one. With my hands at my waist, legs slightly parted and my breasts heaving, so that he could see just how serious I was about not fucking him.

Irish stood to his full height with his strong arms crossed over his taut chest, but didn’t say anything. Fire was building in his green pools that never left my questioning brown eyes. He looked me up and down, then slowly stalked over to me. His ears were fire engine red, and a little steam was shooting out of them. Ok, no steam, but he was hot.

Without uttering a word Irish grabbed me around my waist. My hands gripped his shoulders for support as my breasts smacked against his body. Take me now Irish, please.

He picked me up off the side walk and didn’t stop moving until he put me down next to his awaiting car. Irish opened the car door, pulled my body into his and murmured just low enough for my ears, “I swear if you beg me to fuck you one more time, Ambi, I am going to forget that you are a lady and that my momma raised me right. I will drag that sexy little ass of yours back into that club, find the nearest darkest spot inside and slide so deep into you, I guarantee you that you’ll choke on my cock. So unless you’re game, I suggest you get in the car.”

Did he just call me sexy, again? Work it, Ambi, work it.

My eyes fluttered in surprise at his words. No one has ever spoken to me like that. So forcefully, decidedly, so boldly. My nipples tightened against his body and my kitty was now officially over heated.  His voice alone makes me want to do naughty nasty things with him.

For some reason, I wasn’t moving, though. He held the car door open, still challenging me not get in. I wasn’t sure if I should go off with him. I didn’t want him to think that I was an easy conquest.

I don’t why I cared what he thought; I just did. I know. I was sending him conflicting messages. A few minutes ago I was sure of what I wanted. Now...

He was becoming impatient as I hesitated. What was my problem?

“You know what, don’t get in.” Slamming his car door he walked away muttering something and then turned around and came back to me. His nostrils flared and there was a visible tick in his jaw. His eyes were stone cold and fixed on mine. “I don’t have a problem fucking you, right here. Right. Here. On the hood of my car; right now.….”

Was this a joke? He’s testing me, perhaps? This must have been his version of a Chipotle test?  I passed that one, also. I love Chipotle.

Was he serious? My body started tingling and then shuddered at the possibility. Searching his face for a hint of mirth, I could easily see that Irish was serious. His eyes said as much. I saw the same lust brewing in his, as I was sure quite evident in my own. My eyes slid from his, over to where the valet was standing and then back to the hood of his car. I was envisioning if we would get away with it.

Irish could smell the lust gushing from my pores and easily read the crazy in my eyes; because he asked, “You’d like that, too? Wouldn’t you?”

My body fully processed his question as my heart rate speed up. My kitty was throbbing uncontrollably. I wanted to rip off our clothes right there and tell him to do it. I’ve never had public sex before. He could get it right now, if that’s what he wanted.

Slowly I nodded yes. What can I say? I really was feenin’ for a taste of his pink meat. If he was going to put it out there, then….

Pulling me towards him, he hugged me tightly as his mouth found mine. I kissed him back urgently, ravenously, desperately. His hands began kneading my ass cheeks and I felt his heat grind against me. 

Yes, yes, yes.

Suddenly he picked me up and carried me to the front of the car. He stopped kissing me only long enough to push me back onto the hood. My back flattened against the warm metal as Irish nudged my legs apart.

His actions jolted me from my fantasies. He was for real. Irish was real. This was real. He wasn’t playing around. 

Damn. This was happening for real, like in one of those trashy stories you’ve read on Literotica. I know you peep those stories too.

“Irish, what the hell are you doing?” I cried trying to get up. But his hefty paw on my stomach, kept me glued in place.

He didn’t have to answer me. The huge bulge in the front of his jeans was all the reply I needed.

 “This is what you want, right?” he asked as his fingers traced the edge seam of my wet panties; intending to slide them to the side.

“Irish wait…” I looked over to see if the valet was watching us. He was.

The valet wasn’t shy about wanting to watch the free show that we were about to put on. He was grinning, like he’d found money on the street.

Wow. I thought that shit only happened in clips on Youporn. Hey, don’t judge me. Porn has helped me get through my drought.

“No, wait…Irish.” I pleaded as he began unbuckling his jeans and moved so that his body was on top of mine.

Get a hold of yourself damn it!

Irish…

Being horny was making me stupid and reckless. What am I doing? I asked myself. I’m an attorney with a reputation to maintain for fucks sake. Here I am laying on some guys hood, acting like a $20 ho on the stroll; for real.

Alas, common sense kicked in. “Irish. Stop. Please.”

He didnt even flinch. He was off my body within seconds. What the hell was I thinking? I was shaking. Not from fear but because I was seriously wanting to go there with him.

I lay on the hood to catch my breath, while Irish fixed his clothes.

Stupid, proper, upbringing; always rearing its ugly head when I am prepared to do something foolish. Not really, y’all. I got scared. The wrangler punked out. I’m a fraud. I guess I’m not as ride or die as I think I am.

“Stop playing games, Ambi. Just say it. Tell me what you want.” Irish muttered, tucking his shirt back into his jeans. “For an attorney you seem to have a serious problem communicating to me exactly what it is that you want from me. If you want to act like a hooker, I’ll treat you like one. But I think that we both know that’s not who you are.”

Oh no he didn’t just call me out like that.

He wasn’t looking at me. Irish had also been watching me all night long. He was perceptive enough to call me on my bullshit and I was being too arrogant to see that there was more to him, than what I thought.

Oh god, I wanted him even more.

“I’ll make this easy for you. Get in the car, so that I can drive you home or say ‘good night Irish’ and I’ll have Carlos call someone to escort you back up to your friends. Either way, I am getting in my car and leaving, no more games. Which is it going to be? ” he asked; finally looking over to me, still sprawled out on the hood of his car.

Too stunned to utter a response to his directive, I did what any other self-respecting female would have done in my situation.

I took the hand that he held out to help me off the hood of his car, got into the passenger side seat and didn’t utter a single word until he asked me for my address to put in the GPS.

Our little cat and mouse game was officially over for the night.

It was time put up or shut up.

By getting into Irish's car, I had just agreed to put out.