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Category: Erotica/Romance
Description: In March, Limerick, Ireland might be the happiest place in the world to live. Its historic, naughty poetry sets a mood for randy and rowdy behavior. St. Patrick might have chased the snakes from Ireland, but men still seek forbidden fruit and pursue the lassies with gusto. Neither Dillon nor Tonya could have imagined their chance meeting at a petrol station would provide the fuel of love and lust, reaching new heights of ribaldry in the merry month of March. Neither had Tonya ever related the game of rugby to sex play, but Dillon would change that in a big way. As they say in Ireland, Erin go braugh.
eBook Publisher: Whispers Publishing, 2011
eBookwise Release Date: March 2011

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [34 KB]
Words: 5996
Reading time: 17-23 min.

How is it that we pick partners? Or is it all predestined? Our paths had crossed at a Petrol Mart of all places. Someone had keyed my car, and I was cursing like a salty sailor when Dillon walked up holding a sack of auto fluids. He told me he knew a mate who could fix my scratch at a reasonable price. His hair was black and thick, but his eyes were as green as an Irish field of clover and could produce an impish look if he chose.

In spite of his good looks, I gave him my number for one reason only. He looked into my eyes. I am blessed, or cursed, with large, nicely shaped breasts. Few men have looked into my eyes since I was twelve, but Dillon did and was rewarded. Now, of course, I love the way he turns on at the sight of my pink rockets, as he sometimes calls them.

The scratch on my car turned out to be the best thing to happen in a very long time. I'd been avoiding friends wanting to fix me up with someone new, avoiding the search for a romance everyone seemed so desperate for.

I didn't even pick up the phone the first time Dillon called, but I listened to his nice voice over and over and knew I had to call back. When I did, he gave me the name of the repair shop, but I wasn't as concerned about the car scratch as the itch that wanted to be scratched when I remembered Dillon's rugged good looks.

Darned if it wasn't me that asked Dillon for a date.

I invited him for dinner, and we drank wine. His smile was quick and his laugh richly masculine. His conversation and his gestures were affirmative yet gentle. Our discourse flowed easily, sliding comfortably into suggestive gibes at one another. When I no longer felt it safe for him to drive, I invited him to stay.

Looking into my eyes rather than staring at my chest had gotten my number, but actually listening to me was what got me in bed. Listening is the path to meaningful seduction and can be the sexiest act of all.

A month later, I moved in with him. I still hadn't gotten my car's scratch fixed but, oh, how Dillon had soothed those itchy places. He'd been a part-time athlete himself not so many years ago so he had a nice body to go with his sense of humor and his proclivity for all things sexual.

Before Dillon, rejection of all inhibitions had been as illusive as an honest barrister. He had opened so many sexual doors for me. His kisses proved to be as fiery as his words. Our romantic sessions remained hot and heavy, not for the inhibited or faint of heart. We made each other feel attractive, sexy, and wanted. We felt each other up at every possible passing.

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