I’ve waited for this for so damn long.
Katie’d still had the capacity to refuse Rill until he’d muttered those words. Forget that what he’d said was probably forgotten in his whiskey-addled brain the second after he’d said it. Never mind that she was nothing more to him in those seconds than a willing female who would ease his pain, if only for a few short moments.
He’d spoken her wish as if it were his own.
It wasn’t his wish, of course. If an angel had, indeed, dropped on his doorstep and offered him one wi
sh, Katie knew what he’d wish for, and it wasn’t her. His cock had just been doing the talking for him tonight. Since his wife, Eden, had died, Rill had existed in almost constant torment. Katie found that she had no interest in denying him a few moments of pleasure and forgetfulness.
Not that her acquiescence was completely altruistic.
She shook with excitement as she leaned over that bed. Rill may not know her from a fantasy conjured up in his drunk mind, but Katie was stone-cold sober. She gave her desire to him in the same way she would offer him a bandage if he’d come to her bleeding.
She stood with her rear end in the air, her hands on Rill’s mattress. The thick head of his cock probed her entry. The scent of him rushed into her nose: a hint of spicy soap, the lingering salt of his sweat . . . the musk of his come.
It should have turned her off, to know that the man of her fantasies hadn’t washed his sheets in weeks . . . maybe longer. She was typically fastidious about her boyfriend’s hygiene. What if Rill’d had sex with a parade of faceless females in this bed before that moment?
But it was Rill, and instead of allowing the thought to dissuade her, she spread her thighs an inch and sent her tailbone higher.
She bit her lower lip to suppress a cry when his cock sank several inches into her pussy. It was like harboring the Titanic in that narrow, burbling creek she’d passed on her way up the hill.
When he made a sound that was a mixture of choke and grunt, she exhaled shakily. The cry she’d trapped in her throat leaked out against her will.
“Shhhh,” he soothed. “Your pussy is as tight as the rest o’ you.”
She clamped her eyelids closed at the sound of his Irish accent. It always became thicker when he drank, not that Rill had ever been a big drinker before Eden died.
It was surreal to hear his familiar voice saying something so intimate . . . so illicit.
Emotion and pounding sensation overwhelmed her as he stroked her hip and ass soothingly with one hand in the type of gesture she fully identified with Rill. The fact that he held her other hip firm and steady while he worked his cock into her struck her as both bizarre and wildly arousing.
He began to pump, gentle but insistent.
“God must save pussies like this for dying men.”
She jerked up, stopping only when he grunted and prevented her from moving farther with both hands at her hips.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded over her shoulder.
He thrust and his cock drove into her body. Katie gasped. Her hands dropped once again to the bed, bracing herself instinctively for the coming storm.
“Just being overly dramatic. It’s why I never could have been an actor,” he said in a choked voice. He withdrew and plunged into her to the hilt.
“Oh God,” Katie moaned. His cock was harbored deep, deep inside her. Did drunk men get this hard? He was hot, too. Was he feverish? She swore she could feel his heartbeat throbbing at the very core of her.
“All right?” he asked. She blinked. His voice had sounded very Rill-like all of a sudden, concerned and gentle.
She didn’t have the ability to speak with his cock lodged so deep in her person, so she just nodded.
He began to fuck her. Her vocal cords froze. He stroked her hip with one hand as though in reassurance, but the rest of his possession was purely primal.
“Aw, you’ve got a cunt so tight you’re gonna squeeze the life out of me, every . . . last . . . drop,” he mumbled, pumping his hips to emphasize his words. Katie’s mouth gaped open as sensation overwhelmed her. Rill was as lustily loud in the midst of his pleasure as she was silent. The deep, throaty sounds of his groans as he thrust in and out of her filled her ears; he grunted in satisfaction each time his balls slapped against her ass.
Katie would have loved to show Rill Pierce that she was an experienced, sexy woman. But she couldn’t do much of anything at that moment but allow pleasure to slam into her, each successive wave more powerful than the last. She’d never been filled in the way Rill filled her. He ducked his hips slightly when he pumped into her, straightening slightly when he withdrew, creating an extra jab of stimulation that had her clit sizzling.
Previously, Katie had jadedly believed that the G-spot was an urban legend perpetuated by Cosmopolitan magazine.
Rill taught her different.