Happy St. Patrick's Day! Welcome to the blog hop. If you need to start this wearin' of the green ride at the beginning, click HERE. To start, I thought I'd share one of my favorite Celtic-theme pictures. This is one vision of Epona, the horse goddess. ~~~~~~
Mr. Future Man
“Why is it green?”
Sherrilyn’s alarmed squeal for the word ‘green’ roused Donnell out of a deep sleep. Blinking, he attempted to assess the situation. “Green?” he croaked, then propped himself up on one elbow.
Holding the bed sheet like a shield, the woman he’d made love with several times, and was fast coming to desire like no other, stared and pointed at his groin.
Realization slammed into Donnell like a nasty cudgel strike to his head. A feeling he knew well, having trained as a fighter for the Cause.
Reluctantly, he followed the point of her long sexy fingernail. Her nails, polished with a coppery glitter, nearly matched her mane of riotous curls.
“I hope that’s not a St. Patrick’s Day joke.” Her tone swiped at him, fierce as the wildcats of his homeland.
Donnell gazed at his proud cock. It was still partly wrapped by the silk scarf they’d played with after a long, hard, and sweaty ride toward a climax that had left both of them stunned and unmoving.
No damn blarney about it, his eager shaft was tinted with a vibrant shade of viridis. “A lot of green beer?”
“You don’t drink beer,” she snapped. Huffing with temper, she announced, “I’m leaving.”
Donnell leaped from the bed. Hopping over his leather boot, he used the superior speed he’d never demonstrated to her before. It would have raised too many questions. Just like his green, aching-for-her cock did now.
Donnell couldn’t let her leave for two extremely good reasons. One, she would be in danger from the phase-shift assassin who had been dogging his trail for the last two days. Here, inside the farmhouse he’d remodeled, they were safe because of the future-world tech he’d used to surround it.
The other reason, Donnell didn’t want her to leave. It would be like wrenching his heart and guts out.
Sherrilyn brought him to life in new ways. Lord knew he needed it, given the outer rim war he’d fought in recently.
Besides, they were ten times nova in bed.
She stiffened as he gripped her elbow, but didn’t fight his hold. “Wait, luv. I can explain.”
She whirled, her emerald eyes blazing like dragonfire. “Explain, then.”
Donnell made his voice as dry as possible. “I’m half past human.”
Her eyes registered shock, then widened. “You’re serious.” She drew in a breath. “What does that mean?”
He watched her anger flare high again. She jerked out of his grip, and backed away from him.
Launching forward, he caught her before she collided with his bedroom’s brick fireplace. “Caught ya, luv,” he purred teasingly.
Her small fist walloped his shoulder. “Let go.”
“If I let go your beautiful ass is likely to get bruised, scraped and charred.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh.” Arching against his arm, she thrust out her chin and scowled. “Quit prodding me with that green giant...thing.”
“You weren’t complaining about my ‘giant prodding’ earlier.”
“Of all the...! Your cock wasn’t green then.”
“Sherrilyn, I come from a future Dublin.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
If he’d thought she scowled earlier, now she seared him with eyes like a wrathful goddess.
Daring more of her fury, Donnell idly swept his hands over the heaven-is-woman curves of her waist and hips, then her ass. “Forgive me, luv. You’re likely in shock. Why don’t I pour out a shot of that good malt whiskey we enjoyed last night, and...”
“No.”
Donnell hauled in a breath, and took the icy plunge. “Sherrilyn, I came here from the future. From the year, 2101.”
“From Dublin, right?” She arched a skeptical brow. Somehow she managed to fold her arms, and keep the sheet between them.
The blatant display of her nipples outlined by the black satin sheet caused his breath and his straining cock to hitch. Donnell ripped his gaze away quick.
“Dublin is a haven city during our time. It’s a huge metropolis of beneficial technologies and a center for the arts. You could say Star Trek meets the Renaissance.”
She tilted her head, a glint of interest in her wary gaze. “So, what if I even believed that, Mr. Future Man? Because, I will admit, you are odd in a Buck Rogers sort of way...”
“You noticed.” Donnell tried a smile meant to charm a Leprechaun into handing over his pot of gold.
“Damn it, quit that! And stop fondling my ass.”
“I’m a human hybrid.” As he spoke, Donnell mentally switched on his ability to glow in the dark.
After her eyes shot open in astonishment, the woman in his shamrock green arms fainted dead away. Sweeping her upward, he carried her to the couch facing his large fireplace.
Carefully, he laid her down. Donnell ran his gaze over her lovely face, then touched her temple. Utilizing his psi-skills, he internally scanned her body.
Relieved when he found nothing wrong, he retrieved the sheet, and draped it over her. Watching her, he swiped his hand through his tousled hair, and tried to think fast.
Because, holy hell, he’d just screwed the monkey android, in the parlance of his time. Though, in rare called-for circumstance, the truth was allowed, Donnell doubted the Blarney Stone Brotherhood, his team, would give him a pass.
Still, in his mind he’d had no choice. After dragging his fingers through his hair again, he spun, heading for the book that held his bottle of medicinal Scotch.
He’d brought the prized tonic with him because it was energized with every frequency needed for healing. After splashing a swallow into a shot glass, he returned to his sleeping beauty.
Swiftly dipping his finger in the Scotch, he knelt, and set the glass on the small coffee table. As her eyelids fluttered, he shoved his fingertip past her lips, then beneath her tongue.
His reflexes saved him from a nasty bite. Donnell smiled inwardly at his woman wildcat.
“What the hell! That tastes terrible.”
She jerked upward, but he palmed her shoulder stopping her. Their gazes collided.
“What are you trying to do? Poison me?”
“I’ll make it taste better.” Diving toward her mouth, he sealed their lips with a savage kiss.
He forced her head downward, into the cushion, and ground his mouth against hers. His wildcat beauty struggled at first, then she was fisting his hair, her passion belonging to him.
She belonged to him.
Tugging hard on his hair, she devoured his lips with bites, and fierce quick nibbles.
She writhed against his chest, a wicked little she-cat, and Donnell leaped on top of her.
Even as their tongues battled for supremacy, their hands were everywhere on each other. With a lusting frenzy that defied description, they rolled within the confines of the couch.
Knowing what it would do to her, he trapped her beneath him, and flicked her earlobe with his tongue.
“Oh God, is it still green?” she gasped out.
“Yeah, babe, Sherrilyn, it means I love you.”
Donnell took advantage of her sudden stillness, to aim his cock and strike inside her wet welcoming pussy. He locked his gaze with hers as he raised himself above her.
“Donnell, I...” Doubt clouded her gorgeous eyes.
He wasn’t going to debate anything. More explanation could be saved for later. He would cuddle her, talk to her all day and all night. Whatever it took to keep her.
Donnell plunged deep inside her like a fiend, and he didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to. Wrapping her legs around him, she sang her pleasure to him like a banshee.
~~~~~~
Here he is! I just can't leave Adrian Paul out. Somehow, this particular picture of him appealed. Imagine meeting him in this setting on St. Patrick's Day. Now, that would be ultra fantasy luck.
