Page 24 of Irish Legacy

Trish didn’t drop her hand. She tugged Quinn toward the archway, stepping back just enough to let Quinn steer them toward the stairs. Trish kept their fingers locked tight, setting the pace from half a step behind, her thumb pressed hard against Quinn’s pulse.

Quinn guided them down the dim hall, the taste of the wine still thick on her tongue, entirely undone by the fact that she wasn’t the one in control.

17

Trish closed the bedroom door. The latch clicked with a soft finality that settled low in her stomach. She didn’t give either of them time to think. She stepped forward until Quinn’s back met the wood, the actress’s blue eyes widening just enough to show the first crack in that famous confidence.

Fifty today. Trish had decided. She would let herself be wanted completely by this woman eighteen years younger, and she would do the wanting right back without apology.

She slid the navy waistcoat from Quinn’s shoulders. It dropped to the floorboards. Her fingers found the clasp of the bra next and freed it. Quinn’s hands rose immediately, reaching for the silk of Trish’s open purple blouse, but Trish caught both wrists. Not roughly. She laced their fingers together, lifted Quinn’s arms, and pressed the backs of her hands flat to the door above her head.

“Not yet.”

The words came out low, right against Quinn’s mouth. Trish held her there with her gaze alone while she released the wrists and dropped her own hands to the waistband of those striped trousers. The zipper gave easily. She pushed the fabric and the delicate lace underneath down long, smooth legs until everything gathered at Quinn’s feet. Quinn stepped out of her shoes and kicked the bundle aside along with her socks. Trish stood back up slowly, taking her in.

Golden shoulders. The tight dip at her waist. The flush spreading across Quinn’s chest and the faint glistening sheen already visible between her parted thighs. Trish’s own pulse beat heavy in her throat. This woman had walked into her pub like she owned the world, and now she stood naked against Trish’s bedroom door, breathing fast, waiting for what came next.

Trish shrugged the purple blouse from her shoulders and let it fall. She unzipped her black trousers, stepped out of her shoes, peeled off her socks, and pushed the trousers down. They joined the growing pile on the floor. She kept her black bra and matching underwear on. The cool fabric grounded her against her own warming skin. Her body had changed in twenty years. The curves were softer now, fuller, and undeniably hers. The old uncertainty was gone. Only the sheer luxury of wanting and being wanted like this remained.

Quinn’s hands twitched at her sides, clearly fighting the urge to reach again. Trish tracked the effort in the tight line of her jaw, the way her fingers curled then straightened. The actress was used to directing every scene. That control was slipping now, and the sight of it sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through Trish.

She stepped close again until their bodies nearly touched. Quinn’s nipples had tightened in the cool air of the room. Trish dragged her gaze down the length of her in one deliberate sweep, then back up. Quinn tried to steady her breathing. It didn’t work. Her chest rose and fell faster, the flush deepening across her collarbones.

Trish lifted one hand and traced a single fingertip from the hollow of Quinn’s throat down between her breasts. The skin there burned. Quinn’s stomach tightened visibly at the contact. She made a small sound in her throat, something between a protest and a plea. Trish didn’t smile. She simply repeated the path with two fingers this time, watching Quinn’s eyelids flutter.

“You’ve been patient,” Trish said. Her voice sounded rough even to her own ears. “All week you’ve been patient with me. Now it’s my turn.”

Quinn’s head tipped back against the door. Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Trish⁠—”

Trish pressed two fingers to Quinn’s lips, silencing her. The younger woman’s mouth parted under the touch. The warm, wet drag of her tongue against Trish’s fingertips shot straight between Trish’s own legs. She had spent years behind that bar telling herself this part of her life was finished. Standing here now, half-dressed while Quinn stood completely bare and trembling, Trish understood how wrong she had been.

She replaced her fingers with her mouth. The kiss started slow, almost careful, but Quinn opened for her immediately. Trish took what she offered, deepening it until Quinn’s hands came up to clutch at her shoulders. Trish caught them again, guiding them back above Quinn’s head, pinning them there with one hand while the other slid down the actress’s side. Her palm caught every shiver and small shift of weight as Quinn tried and failed to keep herself composed.

Trish broke the kiss to breathe against Quinn’s ear. “I’ve thought about this. More than I wanted to admit.”

Quinn’s hips jerked forward at the words. Trish caught her with her thigh, pressing it firmly between Quinn’s legs. The slick heat there surprised even her. Quinn rocked once, twice, then seemed to catch herself and tried to still. The restraint cost her. Her arms trembled where Trish held them.

Trish kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the sensitive spot just below her ear. She kept her thigh exactly where it was, holding the firm pressure there without giving her any room to chase it.

Quinn’s breath came ragged now. “Please.”

The single word landed heavy in Trish’s chest. She had never heard that tone from Quinn before. Not the polished actress. Not the woman who had charmed half of Hollywood. Just Quinn, reduced to the raw ache underneath it all.

Trish released her wrists. Quinn’s arms dropped, but she didn’t reach for control. She simply waited. Her chest heaved, and every line of her body tuned to whatever Trish decided next.

Trish took Quinn by the waist. The skin there burned like a fever under her palms. She walked the younger woman backward two careful steps until the edge of the mattress caught the backs of Quinn’s knees. A small push, nothing forceful, and Quinn sank down onto the pale linen. The sight of her there, completely bare against the cool sheets, sent a fresh wave of heat through Trish’s belly. This woman had ordered a beer in her pub like any other stranger, and now she lay waiting on Trish’s terms.

Trish climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight. She slid her body over Quinn’s, letting their skin meet fully for the first time. The soft weight of Quinn’s breasts pressed against her own, the lace of Trish’s bra the only barrier left between them. Their bare thighs slotted together, Quinn’s legs parting wider to make room. Trish’s long dark hair fell forward, spilling across Quinn’s collarbones and brushing the tops of her breasts. The shock of contact snapped through her. Trish had forgotten the reality of another woman’s body against hers, how the simple press of skin could make her own pulse throb between her legs.

She buried her mouth against Quinn’s throat. Salt met her tongue first, mixed with the faint trace of something expensive that still clung to Quinn’s skin. Trish licked a slow line up to the hinge of her jaw, then kissed her properly on the mouth. Quinn clung to her back immediately, fingers digging into the muscles along Trish’s spine. The sharp, desperate grip grounded her. Trish kissed her harder, tasting the wine they had shared earlier, tasting the need that had built between them all week. When Quinn started to moan into her mouth, Trish pulled back and trailed lower.

She closed her lips around one tight nipple, the dark peak hardening further against her tongue. Trish swirled slow circles, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure when Quinn’s back arched clean off the bed. A ragged moan tore from Quinn’s throat, nothing polished or practiced about it. The sound went straight through Trish. She had spent years pulling pints and listening to other people’s stories while her own body stayed quiet and untouched. The sound of Quinn falling apart like this unlocked something she hadn’t known was closed.

Trish shifted down the mattress. She drew Quinn’s thighs apart with both hands, hooking the younger woman’s long legs over her hips so she could settle between them. Quinn lay open in the dim light from the hallway, flushed and dripping. Trish stared for a long moment. The sight of her like this, ruined just from what they had already done, made Trish’s mouth water. She had told herself she was past wanting anyone this much. The lie had been infinitely safer than the truth.

She leaned in and dragged her tongue in one long, flat stroke from the bottom of Quinn’s folds all the way up over her clit. The taste hit her immediately, sweet and sharp and unmistakably Quinn. Trish did it again, slower this time, savoring every inch. Quinn’s hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling tight in the dark locks, trying to tilt Trish’s head exactly where she wanted it. Trish let her pull for a second, then caught Quinn’s hips in both hands and held her firmly against the bed.

No rushing. Trish kept the strokes deliberate, licking with broad, steady pressure until Quinn’s thighs began to shake on either side of her shoulders. She slid two fingers inside next. Quinn was drenched. The heat enveloped Trish’s fingers at once, tight at first and then yielding as she pushed all the way in. Quinn made another broken sound above her. Trish curled her fingers upward, searching until she found the swollen ridge along the roof of Quinn’s channel. She stroked there with steady pressure while her thumb circled over Quinn’s clit in tight, slick loops.