With the other men I’d been with, sex hadn’t been great. I’d been too shy to ask for what I wanted and they’d assumed someone timid like me would want it slow and gentle. In reality, that wasn’t what I fantasized about at all. Corrigan, though...he was different. He’d be utterly ruthless in seeking out what made me come. He’d command me to tell him.
Command. I kept thinking about the way he said Beckett.
My ass began to grind against the sheets as I imagined big, warm hands gliding up and down my inner thighs.
Before I was really aware of what I was doing, my panties were tangling around my ankles and then they were lost in the bed.
I could almost feel the weight of him, pressing the mattress down between my legs. His knees spreading mine. His hand cupping my pussy—
I drew in my breath. I had my hand down between my thighs but it was his fingers I felt teasing me, stroking me, his fingertips that started to nudge inside, finding me hot and shamefully wet. I stared up into the darkness and saw him, eyes gleaming down at me, the light from the window catching the edges of his broad shoulders and the hard slabs of his chest.
And then he was leaning down to kiss me, burying his fingers in my hair as his lips sought me out and claimed me, spreading me and exploring me, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. And I felt the first touch of his cock on my inner thigh, throbbing and ready and God, so thick and hot. I panted through the kiss, my ass grinding in circles on the bed in anticipation, and I felt him smile.
He lowered himself atop me, his hips sliding up between my thighs to open me more, his big body pinning mine. I felt the touch of the arrow-shaped head of his cock against my slickened lips and my breathing sped up.
He nudged against me, teasing me, once, twice...and then—
My head rocked back against the pillow at the glorious, silken stretch of him entering me. Hot and thick and unstoppable, plunging deep and God, I was soaked, he’d be able to feel how wet I was for him. He went deep, right up to the hilt, and I clawed at the muscles of his back as he filled me completely. He stopped for a second, and I panted, looking down the length of our bodies as the covers slid down his back. The hard cheeks of his ass were just visible in the room’s dim light, my pale thighs spread wide around them. The proof that he was buried inside me.
He began to move, a slow drumbeat under the music he whispered in my ear. Irish silver that told me to let go, that took away all the shyness and set me free. Each silken push sent pleasure spiraling out through my body until I was twisting and gasping, grabbing at the sheets. As he started to thrust faster, it all started to spill out: all the need I’d been bottling up, all the fantasies I thought I should be ashamed of. My knees rose either side of him and I started to claw at his back, then his ass, pulling him in deeper and grinding up against him.
I panted as we kissed, our mouths open and urgent. God, he was as out of control as me, his whole body hard with lust, his hips slamming between my thighs. The pleasure built and built, hot ripples spreading out from my groin, crashing together and filling me up. Come for me, he panted, his lips just touching my ear.
And I did, the climax a wave that lifted and carried me. My back arched, my heels dug into the mattress and I shuddered and rocked against him, calling out his name.
When the pleasure finally died away, I came back to myself. I was lying in my bed, knees wide, my fingers sticky with my juices, my whole body gleaming with sweat. I could feel my cheeks flush red in the darkness.
I rolled onto my side and burrowed down into the now-warm bed. How the hell did that get so out of control? But I knew the answer to that: Corrigan. He woke something in me, something I couldn’t fight. How am I going to look him in the eye tomorrow?
And what would happen when I did?
12
Dominic
THE NEXT MORNING, the sky was still blue, but the temperature had dropped by a full ten degrees and my rented pickup grumbled before finally rumbling into life. I was a little slow to get going, too. I’d had another restless night, this time thinking about Beckett.
I liked her more than I wanted to admit. I’d never thought I’d meet another woman who I liked in that way, after Chrissy, but I liked Amy Beckett. It wasn’t that they were the same: they couldn’t be more different and maybe that’s why she’d blindsided me. I hadn’t known I wanted someone like that.