Page 78 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin
I sit beside him.
I look at his long hands resting on his knees.
I feel the heat of his body next to mine.
‘Can I kiss you?’ I ask him, when I can’t wait a moment longer.
His head slowly turns. He doesn’t answer me, he just leans in and his lips meet mine. He parts my lips gently with his tongue. Our tongues don’t touch for a moment, his exploring the roof of my mouth, and when they do touch it’s the most sensual experience I’ve ever had in a simple kiss. Donal lifts his arm, holds his hand around the back of my neck, those long fingerscaressing the skin, he groans softly in my mouth before we finally part.
We just look at one another and I can see the pulse in his neck throbbing. We are still illuminated under the soft orange light of the streetlamp outside. I run my hand over the simple white sheet that covers the mattress. There are two pillows and the top sheet is crumpled down the bottom of the bed. Donal bends over, unlaces his shoes and kicks them off. He removes his suit jacket, drapes it over the chair by the bed. He loosens the knot on his black tie and drags it down. My fingers find the zipper on the side of my blue chiffon dress. I pull it down, shake the chain spaghetti straps until they fall off my bare shoulders. Donal carefully unbuttons his white shirt, tugs it free from his black suit trousers and removes his arms from the sleeves. He drapes that on the chair also. He stands bare-chested, a small tuft of red hair runs up the centre of his torso. He has a large tattoo sprawling across his chest, it’s lines of writing that I can’t make out now.
‘I can’t believe how lucky I am.’ He flips the button on his black trousers, they hang open, exposing the white elasticated band on his boxer shorts.
‘I’m the lucky one.’ I get up, shake my shoulders and the dress falls to his floorboards.
I stand in my white pants and strapless black bra. He walks to me, his trousers still open and runs his hands over my hips, pulling me to him, and I immediately feel him. He rocks me across his body, ever so slowly. He parts my lips again with his soft, gentle kiss. It’s all agonisingly perfect.
‘You’re so gorgeous.’ He pants a little when he pulls away. ‘But also so much more. You’re the measure of my dreams already, Grace Algar, and I haven’t even got to know everything there is to know about you yet.’
It’s the most romantic thing that has ever been said to me.Then he lifts me in the air. He may not have a gym body but he has muscles from hard labour. I wrap my legs around him, cross my feet behind his back as he kisses me again and walks across the room with me. He sits me on the chest of drawers, drops soft, feathery kisses all along my shoulders and then up along my neck, nibbling at my earlobe before he moves his lips, harder into my neck. I arch my back and look down at his bare back where another large tattoo fills the entire area. And just when I think I’m going to explode with desire, he lifts me again, like I’m a feather, up off the chest of drawers. I wrap my legs around him again and he lays me gently on his bed.
‘Are you sure .?.?.?’
‘I am,’ I assure him as I hungrily reach up and pull him on top of me. ‘Make love to me, Donal,’ I gasp as I find his mouth with mine.
Chapter Forty
My mouth hangs open like some crazy-golf prop as I cradle my teacup, knees bent into Donal’s grey sweatshirt. I thought nothing could shock me more than his performance last night, but I was wrong.
‘Say something?’ Donal, who is buttering another slice of toast for me, looks up.
I can’t compute. ‘W-what do you mean, it’s all yours?’ Maybe it’s the exhaustion after we made love three times in the space of ten hours. Donal is the most tender man I’ve ever been with.
‘You asked me how many people live here and I told you, just me. It’s all mine.’ He slices the toast in quarters for me, puts the knife down and licks his long fingers. We’d decided to stay in for breakfast, because it was nearer the bed.
A memory of the girls – Amanda, I think – talking about Peter R. and Fitzwilliam Square and renovations drifts into my mind. But I’d been too busy fixing Belinda’s dress to pay enough attention to what she was actually saying. I hadn’t known Peter R. was Donal then. It hadn’t really registered. But now .?.?.
I put my tea carefully on the coaster on the table. ‘Can you explain?’
‘Cheese?’ he offers instead of answering my question.
Confusion rains down on me ‘No, thanks,’ I answer.
‘Jam?’
‘No! Explain, Donal?’
‘I own this house, Grace. I flipped the house I was in onGardiner Street and then I moved in here. I’ve notions or what?’ He throws his eyes dramatically up to the ceiling.
I can see the pride glowing all over his face as he slides the plate of hot, buttery toast towards me.
‘Hang on. But – but this house is worth millions? You told me you were in construction. You used to deliver Chinese food. How do you own this house? How can you afford this?’ I try to grasp his words.
‘Two point one million, to be exact. But I got it in the recession for less than the market value as it was basically falling down. I did enough work on it to make it presentable enough to rent out while I saved to do the reconstruction. It nearly killed me with the repayments. Every penny I have is pumped into this place, hence me doing Chinese deliveries to free up some actual cash to eat and pay my phone bill! I’ve been on this project for years. It took over my life. But now it’s my home.’ He leans back against the free-standing chrome double-door fridge.
I’m speechless. Utterly speechless.
‘So how did I afford it? Good question,’ he jokes. ‘I bought my first house for a pittance when I was twenty-one through the money I saved from my job in construction, and various weekend jobs I’d pick up.’
