A Passionate First Meeting

Okay, here it is. For all the obvious reasons, you have to click into the story itself to read it. The following post will have all the information within it; such as music, videos, and actors that inspired this particular story. As always, any feedback you have would more than welcome. As a writer, I try to keep my personal emotions out of the criticisms, but it still will kill me if someone has something negative to say about it.

I feel him from across the room, his eyes burning into my back, thinking things that cannot be said in public without raising a few eyebrows. All I want him to do at this moment is rain soft kisses on my face. The heat of his penetrating stare causes the room in which I stand to become very uncomfortable, and I have to go outside to the chilling autumn night air.

Maybe he planned this, the stranger whose brown hair and stubbly face sent a wicked vibe through me when I first saw him that night. Because within mere moments of stepping out for fresh air, there he was. His medium-length hair gently moving in the breeze, standing there all dark and smouldering in the moonlight. Despite it being below fifty degrees outside, I was suddenly very warm again.

“Hello,” he spoke, stepping out into the moonlight.
“Hello,” I managed to choke out. He was very intimidating in the darkness. Intimidating, and very sexy.

“Escaping the party?”
“More like catching my breath,” I replied. “It became stifling for a minute in there.”

And now it’s stifling out here, I thought to myself.

“What brings you out here?” I asked.
“The same, actually. Except it was a beautiful woman who made me all hot and bothered.”

Oh boy…

“You see, I was very attracted to her beauty when I first saw her pouring herself a glass of wine, and quietly sipping it on the couch inside. There was something intrinsically lovely about her and her comfort in not having to schmooze as you would call it, as society dictates for such social gatherings.”
“Are you even from the 21st century? I have never heard a man use words the way you do, except in period dramas by the BBC,” I replied, trying to remain composed.

He smiled, and took a sip of his red wine.

“I was an English major in University,” he whispered.
“And clearly European,” I returned, noting the accent I suddenly noticed.

He just smiled, which sent even more warmth through me.

“She is smart, this woman. In addition to being smart, she also is comfortable within herself to not conform to dinner party socialization.”
“Perhaps she is shy, and the one person she did know was otherwise engaged?”
“The fault runs to the host, for ignoring the person in their distress, and not introducing them to others,” he replies.

His eyes become even more seductive as he speaks, his hand slowly circling the bottom of his wineglass.

“Even when she was engaged with others, she was breathtaking. Something in how her hair fell across her shoulders as she spoke, it just captivated me, I guess you could say. I couldn’t help but stare. And when I left to refill my glass, she disappeared. I sought out the host of the party, and learned more about her.”
“And what did you discover?”

“Her name is Aoife, but she prefers to go by her middle name, Michele. She loves to read and write, and her favorite poet is John Keats. She is deeply romantic, prefers the scent of roses to any other flower, she deeply desires to visit Europe, and loves the ocean. She’s also incredibly beautiful,” he smiles, stepping toward me.
“I think we’ve established you find her beautiful,” I remarked.

Now, he’s standing in front of me, close enough to touch. He smells of dry-cleaning, Lacoste cologne, and of something I can’t put my finger on. In the moonlight, his brown eyes are dark and mysterious, and I can’t read him.

“What brought you out here then, if your mystery girl is inside?”
“Well, as it turns out, the mystery girl is you,” he smiles, reaching a hand into my hair.

He leans forward just slightly, and softly presses his lips to mine. I sigh softly, bringing myself closer to him and the kiss. The kiss slowly grows more intense, more sensual and intoxicating. His hand reaches further into my hair, until his fingers are literally massaging the back of my head. I wrap my arms eagerly around his waist, pulling him closer to me, which causes him to moan in surprise and favor at the same time. He walks toward the side of the house, our mouths still attached, until I am backed up against the house.

We pulled apart, gasping for breath.

“I knew I was the mystery girl,” I smiled. “I just didn’t want to interrupt your speech.”
“You see?” He smiles, kissing my head, “You’re something.”
“I suppose,” I reply back, stroking the stubble on his face.

He groans pleasurably, and plunges his lips onto mine.

My hands instinctively run through his hair, which makes him moan into my mouth. His hands run up and down my back, occasionally stopping at the base of my neck, where his fingers reach up into my hair.

“We should go back inside,” I gasp as he kisses just below my ear. “They’re going to wonder what’s happened to us.”
“Ah, they can figure it out, can’t they?” He replies, kissing me deeply. I moan in response, and we spend a few more minutes kissing at the back of the house.

We went back inside some time later, after fixing ourselves back up. No one asked any questions, but it was obvious something had occurred, because we kept looking at each other. And when we were standing next to each other, he would touch me or say something in my ear in such a way, I would begin smiling and giggling like a teenage girl. If it wasn’t my giggling, it was him, kissing my neck and my ear. His hand would lightly move up, down, and across my back, leaving little prickles in their wake. It became increasingly apparent we needed to leave the party, so that’s what happened.

I left first, making an excuse to go home and curl up with some Downton Abbey. My friend bought it, even if her expression betrayed her true thoughts. She wished me a good night and to call her in the morning. He left five minutes later, saying he had scheduled a Skype session with his younger sister in London. Our friend didn’t buy this excuse for a second, and told him to behave himself.

His smiled mischievously, and replied, “Don’t I always?”

We had set up a rendezvous point, nameless man (yes I had made out with a man, and didn’t know his name and only that he’d been an English major in University. Oh, and that he was Irish and incredibly sexy) and I. The rendezvous point ended up being my little house in a quiet neighborhood beneath the outside light by my front door.

I was nervous, but also incredibly wound up. I didn’t have much time to be alone with my thoughts, because I heard a car coming around the corner. And knowing my neighborhood got no activity after nine-thirty, I knew it was him. Sexy Irishman arrived in style, driving up in his black Mercedes like his house was on fire.

He strode up to the rendezvous point, grabbed my neck and pulled me to his lips. I squealed in surprise, and wound my fingers into his hair. We stood outside my door for a minute, getting reacquainted.

“Would you like to come in?”
“It’s the best question you’ve asked me all night,” he grinned.
“The night is still young,” I flirted back, unlocking the door.

The first thing to greet us was my German Shepherd, Sampson.

“Don’t worry, he’s very friendly,” I smiled, laying my purse and jacket on the dining room table. Sexy Irishman knelt down and rubbed his head.

“Not much of a guard dog, is he?”
“No, not really. I am sure that one day if I were truly in distress or burglars arrived, he’d protect me.”

I smiled down at the dog.

“Would you like a drink? I have some wine, a bottle of Dos Equis, water, and I think a can of Guinness from when a friend house-sat and watched an Irish football match.”

“I’ll take the Guinness, if you have it,” he replied, now rubbing Sampson’s belly.

I walked back from the kitchen and held out the can.

“Thanks,” he smiled, taking the can from me.
“Are you okay drinking that out of the can? I can get you a glass, if you prefer.”
“This is fine, Michele,” he grinned.

He rose from the floor, and kissed me again. I didn’t linger in the kiss, realizing I still didn’t know his name when he’d known mine.

“Is it the Guinness? I can go rinse out my mouth.”
“No, no it’s not that. Trust me; there have been much worse tasting ales in my mouth before. No, it’s that I’ve been kissing you for the last hour and some odd minutes, and I don’t know your name. You know mine, and that’s just an awful advantage. Besides, it seems a bit wrong.”

He smiles back at me, his eyes crinkling.

“This is true. I’m Declan. Declan Byrne.” He said, holding out his hand.
“Michele Fowler,” I replied, shaking it.

I sat down on the couch, and he followed suit, sitting beside me. He wrapped his arm around me, drinking his Guinness, his hand rubbing my shoulder. I laid my head on his shoulder, occasionally glancing up at his face. He kissed the crown of my head, and softly stroked my hair.

“I feel so comfortable with you,” I murmur.

I look up at him again, and he looks back at me, his lips taking in the last traces of his Guinness. He looks intently at my face, and brings his mouth to mine. I can taste the Guinness on his lips, the bitterness of the Irish ale on my mouth as we go deeper and deeper into this kiss. I sigh softly, and his hand travels down to my side.

He pushes up from the back of the couch, leaning toward me, and I pull up with him. Declan turns me with his hand on my side, pushing me back toward the arm of the chair, until I gently fall back against it, my leg between us. Still kissing me, he moves my leg out of the way, so that our bodies are connected. He is above me, kissing me deeply.

I melt into the couch cushions, Declan’s hands expertly moving all over me, sending shock waves that course through me. He is sighing and moaning, making me tense with desire. He pushes my shirt up, so he can explore my stomach, his lips trailing over my collarbone, causing me to arch up in response.

“Do you like that?” He whispers between kisses. “Do you like when I kiss your collarbone like that?”

All I can manage is an “Mmm…” followed by quickened breaths. Declan smiles devilishly, and continues taunting me.

“Declan, kiss me below my ears,” I whimper as his hands run over my hips.
“Your wish is my command,” he smiles, his Irish brogue becoming stronger the more aroused he becomes.

Declan’s hands go crazy in my hair as he lays slow, deep kisses below my ear. My breathing goes shallow, becoming nothing more than fervent sighs of pleasure.

“Oh god, that’s amazing,” I murmur, smiling.

I pull Declan’s face away from my ear, and I look at him. The hunger is shining in his eyes, saying more than any words could. I plunge my lips onto his, taking the kiss deeper and deeper, reaching almost unbearable depths. I manage to roll on top of him, straddling him in my jeans. I take his face into my hands again, and kiss him deeply, my hands pulling at his hair. He sits up, wrapping his arms around my waist, groaning as he kisses me deeper. After sitting up fully, I wrap my legs around his waist, and he stands up, still kissing me.

“Should we do this?” He asks, looking me directly in the face.
“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly. “I just hope it doesn’t mar the image of the beautiful woman quietly sipping her wine on the couch.”
“Not at all. I think it rather enhances her beauty,” he replies, walking down the hallway, towards the bedroom.

–The End–


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