Her Irish Twins - Madison Faye Page 0,1

me. At times, we’ve been mistaken for twins, but in truth, Ben’s older by ten months.

…What can I say, our parents knew how to get busy. You can insert your own Irish Catholic joke here.

So, we’re not twins, just “Irish twins” that happen to look pretty damn identical. Identical enough that we used to have fun messing with our teachers at school, and later, even more fun showing up to dates with each other’s girlfriends and seeing how long it took them at the door to realize they were getting had. Of course, later, we found out there were girls out there who were only too happy to have the mostly identical brother show up, and happier still to keep him there once they figured it out.

…And then there were the girls who wanted us both, and well, that made for some interesting tales.

And yet, here we are, both getting closer to thirty than we care to think about, and nothing’s ever stuck. There’ve been girls, of course, and some we’ve shared. But nothing that ever took hold. There’s never been girls we wanted to stay with forever, nor have there been any girls who wanted us for more than a wild story.

But life is life, I guess. And working in the line of work we work in, doing dirty jobs for the Irish Crime Syndicate, it’s not like we’re about to find our fairytale happy ever afters anytime soon.

“Fuck me,” Ben groans, shaking me from my thoughts. I look back to the screen, and my jaw tightens as I watch her run her soapy hands all over her body.

I growl, mesmerized by the fucking goddess on our screen, who in actuality is only ten or fifteen feet away in the next room over from ours in the seedy Southie hotel.

Her name is Charlotte Halsting, and it’s our job to watch her every fucking move.

She doesn’t know she’s being watched, of course, even if we’re pretty sure she’s a pro. See, the reason we’re here isn’t just Ash disappearing. It’s Ash disappearing and then her immediately being seen prying into all manner of Syndicate business here in Boston. She’s been poking around a lot of our fronts and asking people in the know a lot of questions. And she’s been doing so much of it, that it’s been brought to the attention of the Kings back in Dublin. And really, there’s only one place all of these threads lead: her being law enforcement.

She’s not CIA, Clay and Eamon had Phoebe check. She’s not the state or city cops, because we’ve got enough guys on the take on the inside to know if she was. Which just leaves one option: FBI. And that’s a big, big fuckin’ problem.

Local cops, state cops? Yeah, we can grease palms and talk to who we need to talk to in order to keep things running smoothly. But you don’t even try to bride the FBI. Even dumb-shit low-level criminals know that. And her poking around can only mean that the FBI is looking to do some crack downs. The thought is also that this is why Ash is missing—that he’s been yanked into some sort of black-site interrogation shit by these cocksuckers to be pressed for details ahead of an impending crackdown.

So, yeah, that’s why we’re here—to watch her watching us and do something about it. Except right now, the only things I can even think about doing is either barging next door, waltzing into that bathroom, and taking her in my arms as I slide my fat cock deep in her pretty pussy, or else just pulling it out right here, because one way or another, I’m about to burst.

On the screen, Charlotte suddenly moans softly, which pricks my ears. I turn the volume up a little, and I groan when I realize what she’s doing.

“Oh, fuck me,” Ben hisses. “I can take a lot, brother, but this?”

“Yeah, fuck,” I grunt.

Because sure enough, there on the screen, Charlotte is fucking moaning as she rubs her hand over her slippery pink pussy. The girl—our mark—is fucking touching herself, with one of our hidden surveillance cameras watching the whole damn thing in high definition. My cock aches for release, my balls swelling with cum as I watch the blonde goddess on the screen. And all I fucking want is to feel her against me. All I want is to taste those lips—the ones on her pretty face and the ones between her thighs.

All I want to