See?
Biggest heart this side of Boston you’ll ever encounter.
My mother looks at the house behind us and gives Rosa a genuine smile.
“I think my Tiernan might be a little sweet on ye if he’s gonna buy you that huge mansion of a house. Probably has some ideas on how to fill up all those empty rooms, too. You’ll be walking around barefoot and pregnant in no time, by the looks of it. Can’t say I’m too upset about being a seanmháthair soon, either. I sure do miss the smell of a baby’s head and nibbling on their chubby legs. It’s when they grow up that they become a real nuisance.” Ma tilts her head over at me.
“Hardy har har.” I laugh.
Rosa doesn’t say a word, too tongue-tied to pull one out of her mouth with how my Ma is going on and on about babies.
“Are you going to see some more next, or do you have time for an early lunch? I’m making my famous Irish stew.”
“I could eat. What about you, petal? In the mood for some home cooking?”
Rosa doesn’t even have enough time to nod her consent before my Ma laces her arms through hers and pulls her in the direction of our house just two blocks away.
An hour later, Ma has Rosa crouched over the sink, peeling potatoes, while she goes on and on about how much of a hassle her children were growing up. Rosa laughs at all of Ma’s witty anecdotes while I lean back in my chair, hands behind my head, watching the two women bond in utter awe.
It’s only when I laugh a little too loudly at a certain memory my Ma is reminiscing about, how Tiernan used to let Iris piggyback ride him, while she yelled for him to go faster and make horse noises just because Athair refused to buy her a pony for her fourth birthday, that both women stop what they’re doing and look over their shoulder at me.
“Aye, ye think that’s funny, do ye? How about you get off that arse of yours and start working for your supper? Set the table at least, lad. Don’t you know that idle hands are the devil’s workshop? Get moving, Shay, before I get my wooden spoon and show Rosa here how I got you to do your chores.”
I jump out of my seat and wrap my arms around my Ma’s waist, kissing the side of her cheek repeatedly until she is puffing for air with how much she’s giggling.
“Joke’s on you, Ma. I always wore more than one set of boxers just in case that wooden spoon ever got out of its drawer.”
“Get off me, lad.” Ma continues to giggle, slapping my hands away.
“Aye. I was going to run upstairs and get a quick shower before lunch anyway. You know what they say, cleanliness is next to godliness.” I wink, walking backwards to the door to make my great escape.
“You see that, lass? That’s the face of the cheeky devil I was telling ye about. Only knows scriptures when it suits him. He would sweet-talk Saint Brigid herself if he thought he could get away with it.”
“I can see that,” Rosa mumbles, her brown eyes turning the same molten hue they did yesterday when her pussy was strangling my cock.
Great.
Not only do I need a shower, now I’ll have to beat my cock into submission, too.
Who am I kidding?
My excuse for taking a shower before lunch was so I could jerk one off anyway. Just knowing she’s so close that I can almost taste her is doing a number on my restraint.
I make a mad dash upstairs, lock myself in my room, and sure enough, five minutes later I’m cumming in my hand with the fantasy of Rosa’s soft lips around my dick. After that, my shower loses all its appeal, and I hurry just to wash the evidence of my weak will off my body, dress up, and hurry downstairs.
I’m just about to close the door to my bedroom when I feel Rosa’s presence in the hallway.
“Hey, petal. What are you doing up here?”
“Your mother told me to fetch you. She wants you to get some red wine from the cellar. Is that your room?” she asks, pointing to where I just left.
“It is. Want me to give you a tour?” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
“I thought it was that one,” she dismisses my poor attempt at getting her alone and points to the bedroom door everyone in this family avoids even looking at.
“That’s Patrick’s,” I mumble, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets.
“Patrick,” she repeats the name, rolling it on her tongue like it’s some secret she should avoid saying out loud.
She’s not that far off.
“Your mom was just talking about him after you left.”
Of course, she was.
Leave it to Ma to only talk about her dead son when neither of her children or Athair can hear her do it.