Tully (Dangerous Doms 7)

I flip the page on a gasp as the nuzzles become suckling, and little tendrils of arousal pulse through me. I keep reading.

My voice becomes tremulous when I feel his hands at my thighs, gently parting my legs while he continues to suckle my neck.

“Read,” he orders. “If you stop, I’ll whip you.”

“Hey!” I protest, and he only gives my bare thigh a sharp slap.

“I warned you.”

I cringe, but keep reading.

His fingers are at my core, spreading me apart, lazily stroking, and my hips jerk at his touch. He chuckles, the sound low and sexy as he whispers, “Keep reading.”

I swallow hard. And I do.

I read, not even processing what I’m saying or what’s going on, and my voice goes between husky and sexy depending on what he’s doing. And still, he works his fingers between my legs like a magician as I read on.

He moves one large hand to my breast, and cups the left, then the right, dragging his thumb along the peaked nipples.

I pause too long, lost to the sensation, when I feel his punishing grip on my thigh.

“What’d I say?” he growls in my ear.

I swallow hard and part my legs, my voice rising in pitch as I continue to read. For the love of God, why couldn’t he pick something sexy? This book is mind-numbing, the words incongruous against the sexy touch of his hands on me.

I quake a little when we finish the first chapter. I’m nearing orgasm, and not sure he’ll allow it.

Will he? God, will he?

He’s punished me before by not letting me come, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again.

The book nearly falls from my hand as I near release, but his low voice in my ear warns me.

“Keep reading,” he whispers. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I read on, as I start to lose control, my thighs jerking and my hips rising as spasms of pleasure overtake me.

“Read, McKenna.”

I read, as the words nearly blur on the page and my hand shakes, pleasure gripping me so hard and fast it’s all I can do not to not let the book drop, let alone read.

“My God,” I gasp, as pleasure ricochets through me, and still I read.

“And Gulliver,” I say, my voice not much more than a whisper. “Lived happily ever after.”

I slump against his shoulder, exhausted and sated, and hopeful he didn’t realize I just totally phoned that in.

His chuckle leaves me hopeful.

“And they all lived happily ever after on page fifteen? Really?”

I shrug. “Well, you know. I had to do what you told me to, but it was getting a little… hard.” I give him a wink at the feel of his thick, hard cock beneath my arse.

He shifts me to the side and unzips his trousers, removes his cock, and lines it up at my entrance.

“Now, lass,” he says. “I want you to sing.”

* * *

Four hours later, we’ve made love three times, and he’s made me read, sing, and recite poetry while he did wicked, devious things to me.

And it was wonderful.

I imagined it would be awkward, climaxing while I sang the lyrics of the old Irish ballads I learned as a little girl.

“And Molly Brady, no longer afraid, for she—oooohhh.”

I’ll never forget it, not ever.

It’s late into the night when he orders hot tea and scones.

“They’ll get your cats in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

He turns down the thick, quilted duvet. “It’s the least we can do.”

How’s he so genial, now? I wish I knew how to tame that wildness in him, to keep this man with me. I suppose bringing me to climax so expertly might have a thing or two to do with it.

Finally, I get ready for bed and nestle under the thick, cream-colored sheets.

“My God, they’re like silk,” I tell Tully, running my palm over the soft, velvety sheet with a gentle sheen.

“Glad you like them.”

He’s lying at my back wearing only boxers, one heavy arm draped over me. “Now, get some sleep. You must be exhausted.” But his admonition ends on a large yawn.

I turn around and kiss his cheek. “We both are.”

Moments later, he’s snoring softly behind me. I close my eyes, his heavy arm somehow more comforting than the duvet that lies over both of us. At home, my sheets are cheap and functional. I didn’t even know there were sheets like this. I keep my flat cool to keep the cost of heating down, and it feels incredibly luxurious to sleep with my toes fully warmed. I fall asleep in a hazy sort of wonder.

I dream fitfully, my mind a jumble of things I haven’t yet sorted out. I’m at school, but Tully’s the headmaster, and Mary’s my teaching assistant. I walk into the classroom to find not my students, but the men of the Clan assembled, shoved into desks too small for them, their knees nearly stuck beneath the desks.