An Irish Affair (Heart of Hope 2)

forward through the foot-wide chasm between us and plant my lips on his. What kept me from following that urge was that his statement suggested that, as a man, he wouldn’t be able to control a sexual urge. I was practically throwing myself at him, so if he was a slave to his urge, he’d have taken me up on my clear offer. That meant he didn’t feel an urge with me. Of course, he didn’t. He saw me as a college kid, not a sensual woman.

Realizing I’d started leaning toward him, I shifted back, swallowing the burn of embarrassment.

“I’ve hurt your feelings,” he said, his voice soft and concerned. His empathy was another thing I loved about him. Why couldn’t he be a jerk?

I shook my head. “It’s not your fault that you don’t find me attractive.”

His brows narrowed. “I never said that.”

I pursed my lips in annoyance. “You just said men can’t control their urges. If that’s true, it means you have no urges around me.”

He stared at me for a long moment, and I had a feeling he was having a tug-of-war with himself.

“I have an urge,” he finally said.

“Don’t patronize me.” For some reason, his lying about it hurt me more than knowing I didn’t turn him on.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No.”

Again, he stared at me like he was trying to decide his next move. Finally, he took my hand and pressed it over his groin. My eyes widened as I felt the steel length of his arousal. I slid my fingers around it to gauge its girth. I ran them along the length. Like everything else about Dylan, it was impressive.

He hissed a breath. “See? Urge.”

My gaze went to his eyes, which were now blazing. It made my body heat up to scorching. I felt like I’d die if he didn’t touch me.

“I want to see you,” I said, my words coming out breathless.

“Tessa …”

I squeezed his dick hard, making him gasp.

“I’m not asking for something you can’t give.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice was rough.

“I do. I’m not naïve, just inexperienced. I want to learn. I want you to teach me.” I stroked his dick again, loving how it felt. I desperately wanted to see it. To touch it without the barrier of his jeans.

“Ah, fuck, Tessa.”

I’d never heard him use the f-word before, and the sound of it, gruff and desperate, made my pussy throb.

I wouldn’t have thought of myself as being sexually brazen, so I wasn’t sure why I said, “I’ve had orgasms before. I think of you when I do.”

“Jesus … you don’t play fair.” His breathing was harsh as he looked at me. I could see need in his dark eyes and it made me feel powerful.

“I’m not playing, Dylan.” Taking a move from his book, I took his hand and put it over my breast. I gasped when his palm covered my sensitive nipple through my t-shirt and a wave of liquid desire washed through my body straight to my pussy. “I’m wet, too.”

He growled as his fingers pinched my nipple. “We’re going to regret this.”

I didn’t have a chance to deny it, because then his mouth captured mine. His kiss was hard, desperate, and all-consuming, sending a blaze of liquid heat through my veins. I gripped his head, wanting to stay like that forever. He tasted exactly like I thought he would, dark and sexy.

His hands slid under my shirt, pulling it up. I yanked it off and tossed it aside as he undid the front clasp and freed my breasts.

“Fuck.”

I looked into his face, wondering if he was going to stop.