House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3 (15 page)

She kissed all around the tip first, then the top.  Michael nearly passed out when she pulled back slightly and licked her lips again, giving a little breathy exclamation of delight when she tasted the tiny drop of pre-cum she’d already managed to draw from him.  She licked the tip, then paused, tasting him.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed softly.  “So this is what you taste like.” 

He thought he might just lose his mind.

Maggie held him loosely with one hand, the other still working him as she kissed her way down the length of him.  Her lips were wet; every now and then he would feel her tongue coming out to moisten them.  She took her time, her lips and tongue retracing the paths her fingers had taken earlier, leaving no small part of him untouched, untasted.

She reached the base, and her tongue dipped lower.  One hand pushed back lightly on his cock, giving her mouth full access to the area below.  Half-lidded eyes looked up at him, questioning, seeking his approval.

“Yes,” he breathed.  “Fuck yes.”

Her tongue came out again and she licked along his seam, easy, curious strokes up, then down.  Michael’s hand covered hers, tightening her grip, guiding her up and down.  She opened her mouth wide and took one side of him in her mouth, rolling it over her tongue, savoring it.  Then she repeated the process upon the other.  Her unengaged hand had come down; her thumb pressed lightly, making little circles on the skin just below.

Michael had never felt anything like it.  It was insane.  It was beautiful.  And the best part?  She was loving every minute of it. 

“Damn, Maggie.  Suck my cock, please.”  His voice was strained from the tight controls he’d placed on himself.  But if she didn’t take him in her mouth soon he was going to lose them all. 

He felt her smile against him, taking great pleasure in his response to her ministrations.  Maggie released his balls from her mouth, giving them each one last long, loving lick.  Immediately her hand replaced it, keeping him warm.  He loved the way she held him, took care of him.  It was incredibly arousing to be constantly fondled and sucked at the same time while she was working him.  Clearly the woman had natural, intuitive skills.

She rose up on her knees.  He could feel the rock-hard tips of her nipples through the flannel.  He wanted her naked, wanted to feel her bare skin against the insides of his thighs, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her touch for even the few seconds it would take to pull the shirt over her head.  Instead, he grabbed the shirt and wrenched it apart, sending buttons flying across the room.

Her hand was still around him, firmer now, more confident.  Maggie was a quick learner.  In no time at all the tip was glistening again.  Michael groaned when he saw the hungry smile on her face as she spotted it.

All at once, her mouth descended upon him.  She sucked him tentatively, letting her tongue swirl around him. 

“Ah, baby,” he gasped.  “That’s it.  Just like that, just like that.”  She suckled him for a while, experimenting with hard pulls and tender strokes of her tongue, monitoring his response by the quickness of his ragged breaths and the way he rippled beneath her.

“More,” he pleaded, pushing down on her head as his hips rocked.  Her hand dropped down to the base and she took more of him, her head bobbing in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

It was too good, too fucking good, watching himself disappear in her sweet mouth, over and over again.  Her tongue was wicked, swirling; she pressed the underside against him, mimicking the sensation of being all the way inside her.

“Relax your throat,” he rasped, feeling his control slipping away as the sweat covered his body.  “Take me deeper, Maggie.”

She did.  She tilted her head and opened for him and he was able to slide in deep enough to feel the back of her throat.  Tiny, careful movements – he didn’t want to overwhelm her - sent colored lights bursting behind his eyes; his balls began to tingle with the warnings of his rising seed.  He pulled back and she clamped down around him with her lips, sucking hard.

“Fuck!” he cried out, grasping her head.  “Maggie, stop.  It’s too good, baby.  You’re going to make me come.”

She didn’t stop, the defiant little wench.  She sucked him harder, dropping down over his shaft and taking him deep again, snuggling her body closer against the inside of his legs.  “Baby, stop, please.  I’m going to come in that mouth – that sweet fucking mouth...”

One hand continued to stroke in time with her pulls, the other stopped fondling to give a gentle tug, followed by a light squeeze.

He couldn’t stop it now, it was coming,
he
was coming, and it was going to be hard and fast.  Afraid that she might not take well to that, he tried to pull back, but she fought him.  The first jet hit the back of her throat and she swallowed.  The second hit the roof of her mouth as he held her head in place while he retracted his hips.  The third covered her lips.  Still she struggled against him, reaching greedily for more.

“Maggie...”  He moaned her name in agony, in ecstasy.  When he finally released her, shuddering as he fell back, she took him in her mouth again, more gently this time, and cleaned him from base to tip.

He reached down and pulled her onto him.  She curled up onto his chest as he held her tightly, afraid to let go for even a moment, because she was the only thing anchoring him at that moment.  His mind, his heart, his soul were soaring somewhere far away, but Maggie would hold onto him, help him find his way back.

So beautiful
, he thought later, as he stared upon her face. 
Like an angel
.  An angel who only a short time earlier had taken him well beyond anything he’d ever experienced.  It wasn’t the act itself that had awed him.  It was the selflessness, the way she had completely given herself over to pleasing him.  He felt not just her hands and mouth, but the love and need she had for him, and it was his undoing. 

There were no words he could speak, nothing he could say that could remotely begin to express what he felt in his heart at that moment.  He knew only that without a doubt, he would never, ever let her go.

“W
ell?” she asked the next morning as Michael inspected her leg. 

“It doesn’t appear to be any worse,” he said finally. Reluctantly.  He’d wanted to find something, anything that would give him a reason to make her uphold her end of their bargain.  She’d had a restless night, yet when he asked her about it, she refused to admit anything was wrong. 

“What did you use in the poultice?”

“Slippery elm, marsh penny, vervain, -“

Michael was grudgingly impressed.  All of those things had been utilized for their healing properties for generations.  He’d been doing a lot of research on organics over the past year on Lexi’s behalf.  Lexi suffered a rare blood disease that made even the simplest injuries life threatening.  The medicines she’d had to take were sometimes worse than the disease itself, but she was thriving on ancient homeopathic remedies consisting of exotic-sounding roots and extracts. 

“You have all that?”

Maggie nodded.  “My grandmother didn’t put much faith in the modern healthcare system.  She kept her own garden, and taught me to do the same.”

At least now he was beginning to get an idea of where Maggie’s aversion to medicine came from.  A sudden memory struck him.  “Wait a minute.  Your grandmother – she was the healer, wasn’t she?”

“She never claimed to be a healer,” Maggie said carefully, “but many came to her for help when traditional medicine didn’t work.”

“My father swore by a paste – used to call it Angels and Demons or something...”

“Probably a mixture of Angelica and Devil’s Claw,” Maggie said thoughtfully.  “Gram used to make a compress that was good for things like arthritis or deep bone and joint injuries.  Lots of people used to come to her for it.”

Michael’s jaw dropped.  “Do you know how to make it?”

Maggie shrugged.  “Sure.  I still make it regularly for some of Gram’s old friends.  Takes a bit of time, though.  You need to extract the oil from the Angelica and steep the Devil’s Claw for the better part of a day.  Why?”

“My father says it was the only thing that ever helped him.”

The corners of her mouth quirked.  “Is it now?”

For some reason, that hint of an Irish brogue that slipped into her speech sometimes drove him wild.  He resisted the sudden compulsive urge to toss her onto her back and give her a good, old-fashioned tuppin’, as she would say.  Instead, he gave her a rueful grin, adopting a brogue of his own.  “Aye, Maggie, ‘tis true enough.”

She laughed, sending waves of warmth through him.  “And that’s hard for you to accept, isn’t it?”

“Not as much as you might think,” he answered honestly.  “I’d choose a natural remedy over an artificial one every time, providing it works.”  He placed his hands on the bed at either side of her hips, effectively caging her in while he pinned her with that clear blue gaze.  “But at least my father let me run tests to properly diagnose the problem first.”

Maggie wiggled free.  “I bet he just did it to stop you from nagging him constantly.”

It was Michael’s turn to laugh.  “You might be right.”  He turned, reaching out and catching her easily.  “I don’t give up easily, you know.”

She leaned heavily against him, avoiding his eyes, but he was not fooled.  “Please, Maggie.  Just let me take you in and give you a thorough exam for my own piece of mind.”

“A deal’s a deal,” she said, false brightness coloring her tone.  “You wouldn’t go back on your word now, would you?”

His lips thinned.  “No, but - ”

“Good,” she said, interrupting him.  “Then that’s settled, and we don’t have to speak of it again.”

Michael left with a growing feeling of unease, exacerbated by the fact that Maggie seemed to be hurrying him along.  “Go!” she said, playfully swatting him.  “I’ll meet you at the wedding tomorrow.”

He’d wanted to come and pick her up himself, but she would not hear of it.  He had too much to do, she’d said, and insisted she would be fine.

* * *

T
he moment Michael left, Maggie nearly collapsed against the closed door.  The pain behind her eye was excruciating; it had been all she could do not to let Michael know.  He suspected something, she was sure of it, but thankfully, he was still reluctant to push too hard.

She half-walked, half-crawled to the bathroom.  She poured a few of the pain pills he’d left her the other night into her palm and gulped them down with a cup of water.  Without even bothering to undress, she sat down in the shower stall and turned the hot water on full blast.  The excessive heat and steam dulled the pain temporarily until the meds had a chance to work.  Then she forced herself to make the short trip back to the bed.  Peeling off her wet clothes, she buried herself under the covers that still smelled of Michael and sex, losing herself to the blessed darkness.

––––––––

S
aturday dawned clear and sunny.  After sleeping for nearly twenty hours straight, Maggie forced herself out of bed.  She was moving slowly, but she was moving.  The pain in her head had reduced to a dull ache.  Her vision was somewhat blurry, but she chalked that up to the meds.  Whatever they were, they were powerful.  In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have taken as many as she did, but there was no sense worrying about that now.

It took her a while to realize the ringing was coming from her telephone and not her head.

“Hello?”  The word was slurred.

“Maggie?  Maggie! Are you alright?”

She yawned.  “Michael?”

“Damn it, Maggie, why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I guess I fell asleep.”

“I’m on my way over there right now.”

“Don’t be silly, Michael.”  Another yawn.  “I feel much better.  Refreshed, even.  I’ll see you at the wedding, okay?”

Silence hung heavily over the line.  “Michael?” 

“If you are not there I’m coming for you, Maggie, wedding or not.”

She sighed, sensing it was no empty threat.  There was no way Maggie would want him to skip out on his brother’s wedding because of her.  She would be mortified.  “I’ll be there.”

“Maggie?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.  I’ll be waiting for you.”  Michael hung up before she could reply, leaving her to stare at the phone.  Okay, she thought. 
That
cut through the fog.

* * *

M
ichael paced back and forth along the vestibule.  He and his brothers – Ian and Jake excluded – were seating the guests as they arrived. 

“Relax, Mick,” Kane said under his breath.  “You’re acting like you’re the one getting married.”

Michael checked his watch.  Twelve fifty-five. Far above, the church bells tolled, signaling a last call.  The wedding would be starting in five minutes.  He saw the priest signaling them toward the back.  “She should be here by now.”

Finally he spotted her.  Somehow she’d slipped in along the side and was quietly making her way into the back pew.  She caught his eye and smiled apologetically.  He took one step toward her before Kane caught his arm.

“That her?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank God.  Now let’s go.” 

Kane forcibly guided Michael toward the front of the church where the groomsmen were lining up – not an easy thing to do, but Kane was the oldest and biggest among them.  Michael looked back, but Maggie had already vanished.

It took a while for him to spot her again.  She was in the very back corner, sitting in the shadows of one of the alcoves.  Throughout the ceremony, Michael kept her in his peripheral vision, afraid that she might attempt to sneak out before he could get to her.  Something was wrong, he felt it in his very bones, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he could look into her eyes and see for himself that she was alright.

At the conclusion of the Mass, Michael made a beeline for that section.  He caught her just as she tried to slip out one of the side doors.

“Going somewhere?”

She turned, a mixture of surprise and guilt on her face.  For several moments, he was speechless.  Her hair was drawn up, held in place by antique silver combs that allowed narrow waves of dark red to cascade around her face.  Her eyes were lightly outlined in a dark charcoal gray, accentuating the crystalline green.  Her skin was pale, but flawless.  The dress she wore was simple, but exquisite; a sheath of dark gray silk that fit her like a glove from the hips up, falling into an irregular cascade down to just below her knees.