One King's Way (On Dublin Street 6.5)

I reached for him, forgetting everything but the euphoric way he made me feel. I kissed him, nipping hungrily at his mouth. Craig groaned into me and flexed his hips against me so I could feel how hard I was making him.

He broke the kiss suddenly. “Let me take you home?” he murmured sexily, his lips trailing lush kisses along my jaw. This time we both knew what he was suggesting.

I shuddered with want at the thought. “I don’t know,” I breathed out softly, fragments of my concerns slowly piecing themselves back together after they were blasted to smithereens by his seduction.

“You do know, Rain. Stop over-thinking this.”

“I’m not.”

Both his hands were suddenly cupping my breasts. He squeezed them as he pressed his dick deeper into my belly. “Do you want me inside you?” he growled in my ear.

Yes, yes, YES!

“I—I— I don’t know,” I stammered.

He flicked his tongue against my earlobe. “I think you do know. I think you want my mouth between your legs, my tongue making you come first, and then my cock.”

Excitement flooded me in a torrent of shivers, and I gasped. “Craig . . .” I moaned, suddenly not so sure which one of us had the power anymore.

His lips brushed mine and I reached to transform the kiss into something deeper, something wetter, but he pulled back. “Admit it, Rain. Admit you want me inside you.”

“Don’t hurt me,” I found myself begging all of a sudden.

Craig pulled back to stare at me, the heat now mingled with tenderness. “I will never intentionally hurt you.”

Was that good enough?

Say yes! Oh my gosh, say yes before you expire on the spot!

Just staring into his beautiful, smoldering eyes was making me ravenous for him. I tugged his head down, our lips crashing together. His arms encircled my waist, fusing our bodies together as our kiss turned hungry again. Craig’s kiss turned deeply sexual, voicing his impatience for him, and his strong hands slid their way down my back and under my butt, squeezing me harder against him. I gasped into his mouth. “Yes.” I broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Yes, I want you inside me.”

*   *   *

I barely remember getting back to my flat. I do remember fumbling so much with my keys that Craig had taken them out of my hand and opened the door. As soon as we were inside I strode down the hall toward my bedroom, hearing his footsteps following behind me. I stared at my bed—a studded, upholstered boudoir bed with a curved headboard and curved footboard. Very feminine. Very me. I glanced over my shoulder at Craig. He was so very masculine. Perhaps the most masculine man I’d ever kissed in my life. The idea of him on my bed sent a possessive thrill through me.

Rain, you are so screwed.

A flutter of nerves mingled with anticipation awoke in my belly as I stood in my bedroom, feeling his intense energy at my back. I wasn’t a virgin by any means, but as the heat of him pressed against my back, as his fingertips coasted lightly over my bare arm and his breath whispered across the back of my neck, it seemed more than it ever had before . . . everything was heightened to a level of sensation I’d never experienced.

Craig’s hands rested on my waist for a moment before sliding down over my hips. He caressed me, almost in a reassuring, comforting way. And then he slowly pulled the zipper on my skirt down. The material clung tightly to my body so he had to guide its release, his hot breath scattering over my bottom and the backs of my legs. I tingled with need. I stepped out of the skirt and Craig turned me to face him.

I lifted my gaze to his and felt that power overwhelm me again at his expression. His eyes blazed, and his jaw was set with need and determination. Yet despite the fierceness of his countenance he was physically gentle and patient. Eyes still on mine, he plucked at the buttons on my shirt, unhurriedly, one by one, until my chest was heaving with my labored, excited breaths. Craig eased the shirt open, his fingertips teasing my skin as he nudged it off my shoulders with excruciating slowness. It dropped to the floor on top of my skirt.

Craig’s eyes traveled downward as his fingertips trailed back up my arms, across my collarbone, and down toward the rise of my breasts. He followed the rise, goose bumps prickling my skin in the wake of his touch. My breasts swelled and my nipples peaked with anticipation.

“Craig,” I murmured hoarsely.

In answer to my needy plea he gripped my hips, gently pulling me against him so I could feel the hard rigid length of his arousal.

“Take your hair down,” he said, voice thick and low.

“Craig.” His words for some bizarre reason intensified my need, slickening the heat between my thighs. I reached up with trembling fingers and began to pull the pins out of my hair. I let the pins fall to the floor as my hair fell in waves around my face.

“Fuck,” he breathed reverently as he cupped my face in his hands. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Do you believe me?”

Perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps I should have hardened myself against his compliment, but there was a ferocious sincerity in his eyes—like he needed me to believe him.

“I believe you,” I whispered.

His thank-you was a slow, sexy kiss that had me swaying in my heels.

His hands moved to my hips and cool air whispered between us as he stepped back a little to discover me.

And discover me he did.

With light strokes he learned every inch of me with his touch—my ribs, my waist, my belly, my bottom, my thighs, the backs of my knees . . . The tormenting gentleness of his hands only increased my anticipation and arousal.