Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street 4)

They struck her ass, the resulting burn making her grit her teeth. Her muscles coiled tight with tension and arousal. Then the flogger dropped down onto the mattress just inches from her face. She stared at it, panting as she felt Kam grab her hips, adjusting her slightly. The bed was high, ideally suited for this position and his tall body.

“Oh!” She gasped at the sensation of the hard knob of his cock nudging her pussy, forcing her delicate tissues to part for it. He firmed his hold on her, his thumbs digging into her stinging buttocks. He drove his length into her with one hard thrust. Her squeal was nearly drowned out by a boom of thunder. She immediately began bobbing her bottom. It hurt a little, but her hunger far outweighed the slight discomfort of his complete possession. She needed more friction. She required it. He lifted his hand and spanked her.

“Stay still,” he demanded in a tight voice. “You’re a trial enough as it is without bouncing around like that.”

•   •   •

Kam hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he’d never been strung so tight on a rack of need as he was at that moment. She’d surpassed his expectations yet again, her responsiveness stunning him. It was like she’d been fashioned from his fantasies, so sweet, so giving, so trusting.

He flexed his hips, thrusting into her clinging warmth.

So beautiful.

Her ass blushed pink, but her pussy was a luscious sexual confection, squeezing his cock, sucking at it as he drove into the soft, liquid center again and again. He knew he should stop staring at his cock moving like a well-oiled piston in and out of her—he was going to come faster for it—but the vision was too compellingly erotic. A red haze of lust edged his vision. His pelvis smacked against her buttocks in a hard-driving rhythm. He gathered her plump buttocks in his hands, pushing the flesh together, squeezing his thrusting cock even more.

Lin screamed. He paused, concern fracturing his rabid lust. Was he hurting her? But then he felt the walls of her pussy convulse around him. She was coming. He lost all vestiges of control then, his arm muscles flexing painfully as he crashed her ass against his pelvis, serving her pussy to his raging cock . . .

. . . to his raging need. It was so great, only Lin could quench it.

Climax slammed into him, the spike of pleasure ruthless. He lost the ability to think as he tightened in a rictus of bliss. Something seemed to rip loose inside him. Then he was pouring himself into Lin, giving himself in a way he never had before, giving himself in a way he hadn’t known was possible until that moment.

Chapter Seventeen

Kam came back to himself to the sound of rain pounding on the windows. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and leaned up slightly. He’d been slumped over Lin, trying to recover from his thunderous climax. He straightened, recognizing she was vulnerable, restrained as she was with his upper body weight on her. She moaned softly when he stood and regretfully withdrew from her body.

“You were keeping me warm,” she murmured, her voice a throaty, sexy murmur, a result of her screaming while she sucked his cock so deep, no doubt. He unhooked her cuffs and took one of her hands, guiding her. She came off the bed, elegant and fleet in her movements even in a state of satiation. He pulled back the covers and nodded for her to get into the bed first. He came down next to her on his back and pulled the bedding around them. She curled up next to him, her head on his chest. He removed the clip from her hair and stroked the silky tendrils. For several languorous minutes they remained like that, listening to the rain pounding against the windowpane and the rumbling thunder, their bodies slowing. It was sublime. Kam breathed Lin’s scent and the fragrance of their combined arousal. She snuggled closer to him, and he was overwhelmed with tenderness for her. Like his former blinding need, it was unexpected and sharp as a newly forged blade. He stroked her naked shoulder, his lips moving in her hair. She felt so small next to him, so feminine, her body seeming to pulse with vibrancy and life.

“Are you warm now, ma petite minette?” he rasped.

“Yes. I feel so good,” she said so softly he barely heard her above the crash of the rain on the windows.

He ran a hand along the curve of her hip. “I’ll say you do.”

He felt her smile against his skin. “Did you ever have a kitten?”

“What?” he asked in puzzlement, pausing in stroking her.

“You always call me your little kitten,” she murmured. “I just thought . . . from the way you always say it so fondly . . .”

He resumed stroking her, her words making him thoughtful. “How well do you know French?” he asked.

“Not very. I understand it better than I can speak it.”

“They are terms of endearment, mon petit chaton, ma petite minette. Not that I used them regularly. Ever, really,” he mused. “It’s just that you remind me of a kitten; you’re small and sleek and graceful.” He cupped her hip and she snuggled closer. “And you curl up to me like one.”

She laughed softly. He smiled at the sound. “It’s because your body is like a furnace. So you never actually had one?” she added lazily.

He went still. She lifted her head and peered at his face when he didn’t respond immediately.

“I had one. Once. A long time ago, when I was a boy,” he said slowly. “I’d actually forgotten about it until just now.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, and she touched his chest, as if to steady him. “I was young. Eight or so, I think.”

He saw her elegant throat convulse as she swallowed. “What happened?” she whispered, and she could tell by the dread that tinged her voice that she’d caught a hint of his disquietude at the unexpected memory that her innocent question had dislodged.