by Nika Rhone
“My turn again.”
He dropped an exquisitely gentle kiss on her lips, building it slowly, nibbling at the lushness of her bottom lip before thrusting inside with slow, languid strokes. Thea fell into the kiss, never noticing when he released his hold on her arms and sent one of his hands down to her waist.
His fingers teased at her belly button, dipping inside in mimicry of things to come, before sliding past the elastic band of her yoga pants to the edge of her panties. Lace and silk, and no doubt a match to the luscious little scrap of a bra. He had a moment to wonder if she’d always worn such sexy underwear beneath her very proper clothes, then decided it was better he hadn’t known if she had. That kind of knowledge would have driven him insane.
Would drive him insane, every time he saw her from now on.
Pushing past the lace, his fingers found only smooth skin before dipping into folds that were already drenched. They groaned in unison, Thea rolling her hips up to meet his touch.
“You’re so hot and wet for me.” Doyle pushed his fingers further, making her lower body buck again. “So ready.”
“I’ve been ready for weeks.” Thea tossed her head back on a moan when he found the tight bundle of nerves he knew could throw her over the edge. He circled it, toyed with it, relishing the combination of whimpers and moans that he drew from her with every touch. He dipped back down to her opening and brushed it slowly with just the tip of his finger, back and forth, pushing just barely inside before pulling back and teasing again.
After his third foray, Thea growled and slapped a hand against the floor in frustration. “God, you’re making me crazy. Stop—Ah!” Her words cut off with a gasp and then a groan as he finally pushed his finger all the way inside. “God, yes!”
The combination of Thea’s breathy cry and the sensation of her tight passage clinging to his finger was nearly Doyle’s undoing. His dick throbbed once, twice, and it took every ounce of concentration to hold back the orgasm that was just another throb away. He pressed his face to Thea’s breasts and panted with the strain.
No way in hell would he come in his pants like some kid on his first date. When he finally went, it would be inside her, riding the waves of Thea’s orgasm, knowing he’d taken them both to paradise together.
Thea’s hand petted the top of his head. “Brennan?”
The sound of his name in that breathy voice, his first name, the name she’d never used before in all the years they’d known each other, almost ruined his control.
“I just…need a second here.” He grit out the request, struggling with the fierce emotion that one simple word caused. To distract her, he moved his thumb up to her clit while his finger remained buried deep inside. The first brush made her gasp, the second whimper, and the third drew out a groan so sensually charged that all of his efforts at holding back were very nearly shot to hell.
With speed born of desperation, Doyle jerked his hand free, ignoring the sense of loss, and scooped Thea up in his arms. She gave a startled squeal but threw her arms around his neck willingly enough as he stalked toward her bed. He needed to get her there, now, before he took her on the floor like some rutting bastard.
Finally, finally, they were there, and he tossed her onto the silky red comforter with a growl of satisfaction before following her down.
Chapter Twenty-One
The sensation of flying through the air was fleeting, ending with a soft impact on the feather-top mattress that forced a surprised gasp from Thea’s lips. She barely had time to recover before Doyle’s mouth closed over hers again, the kiss both tender and a bit frantic, and everything she’d ever dreamed of on those long, lonely nights in this very bed.
So many fantasies, and not a single one of them lived up to the actual event in any way, shape, or form.
Not surprising, when her entire previous sexual experience had been limited to Dave, the schmuck who gave less pleasure during the entire five months he’d spent in her bed than Doyle already had with just his mouth and hands in less than half an hour.
Who knew that there was so much more to be had when the man in your bed was actually a man, and not some college kid whose entire knowledge of how to make love came from the Forum section of Penthouse?
Doyle’s mouth slipped from hers and worked down to her ear, nipping at the tender flesh just below it, then soothing the sting with his tongue. A shiver rolled through her at the sensation. God, it was amazing, these things he made her feel. Hot and cold, shivery and frantic…every one of his touches set off a new sensation, and every one of them zinged straight to her core. She already felt hot and swollen there. By the time they finally got to make love, she was afraid she might just implode at the first stroke.
Slowly, methodically, Doyle kissed his way down her neck, to her shoulder and then to her breast. She caught her lip in her teeth as he suckled first one hard nipple and then the other, finally unable to hold back the groan that had been building inside.
That seemed to be what he’d been waiting for because he dropped a final kiss on each peak before moving further down her body, his lips questing over her belly to the small indent of her navel. He laved the rim in a lazy circle before dipping his tongue inside, just as his finger had earlier.
It shouldn’t have been erotic—it was just a belly button, for God’s sake—but the small penetration sent a shaft of empathetic heat to her already superheated vagina.
God!
Fisting her hands in the comforter, Thea fought not to squirm as Doyle’s hot breath touched the sensitive skin just above the edge of the stretchy yoga pants that he had pulled low on her hips. She wanted, needed him to get where he was going, but he seemed intent on taking the scenic route, pausing to admire her hip bones and draw little circles on them with the tip of his tongue, driving her crazy and stringing her nerves so tight she was certain she was going to shoot right off the bed at any moment.
“Brennan,” she groaned, finally giving in to the need to squirm, hoping he’d take the hint.
“Patience is a virtue.” There was laughter in his voice.
“Not right now, it isn’t,” she replied on a growl, wondering how she could possibly have enough brain cells still firing to come up with the correct movie quote. Maybe because it was true. Now wasn’t the time to be patient. Now was the time to be demanding.
Only she didn’t know how.
Lucky for her, Doyle was through teasing. He pushed back from her and grasped the band of her yoga pants, yanking them down her legs and tossing them aside. Then he froze. Thea’s breath caught at the look of sheer masculine admiration on his face, and she made a quick mental note to thank Lillian for her insistence on the new undies. She couldn’t imagine feeling quite so sexy in her usual plain white bikini briefs.
Recovering from his momentary brain-freeze, Doyle slipped two fingers under the black lace and drew her panties down and off. Once again, he stood and stared. It was difficult, but Thea fought the urge to reach for the edge of the comforter to shield herself, although her cheeks heated and her insides twitched. Aside from Dave, nobody except her doctor and the nice lady who’d done her recent waxing—so embarrassing!—had seen this much of her.
The panties slipped from Doyle’s fingers unnoticed. “Jesus wept,” was all he said, but it was enough.
Emboldened, Thea smiled and lifted her chin toward his unbuttoned but still zipped jeans. “You, too.”
The speed with which his shoes, jeans, and boxer briefs hit the floor was startling, leaving only a second to admire the perfection of Doyle’s nude body before he grasped her ankles and tugged. She gave a startled yip as she felt herself slide on the smooth silk toward the end of the bed.
He pulled until her butt was near the bottom of the mattress, her legs dangling but not reaching the floor. She looked up at him quizzically and got another of those smiles that belonged on a Scottish Highlander, or a Viking marauder.
“Still my turn.”
Before she could protest, or even consider
if she wanted to, he went to his knees and put a hand on each of her inner thighs. She drew in a breath that went out again as a shaky moan when his warm tongue slid slowly up the crease of her folds, bottom to top and then back. Then he did it again. And again. The fourth time, he found her clit and circled it with the tip of his tongue in a teasing swirl.
Her hips grew a mind of their own, lifting toward the sensation, shamelessly begging for more. Doyle obliged, closing his lips over the tiny bud and suckling ever so gently.
It was like someone had put an electric charge to her body. Her back bowed, and her hands, too far away to touch him, flexed then fisted instead on the comforter as her head thrashed from side to side under the onslaught. Every pull sent a new wash of sensation through her, until she was panting out an intelligible garble of oh Gods and ahhs and “Yes. Yes. YES!” There was a familiar tightening inside her, building and intensifying, and she wasn’t certain if she wanted to embrace it or hold it off just a little longer.
As if reading her mind, Doyle took the decision from her, inserting one strong finger into her as he continued to lick and suckle, and then a second. He stroked in and out slowly, and the added stimulation took her over the edge between one heartbeat and the next. Her body convulsed, the pleasure whipping along her nerve endings and dimming her vision to a starburst of white and black, a hoarse cry of primal pleasure ripping from her throat as she rode the waves of pulsing completion.
She’d only ever climaxed on her own before; Dave had never managed to pull off even that small achievement, always too focused on his own orgasm to pay attention to whether or not she was with him at the end. The difference between what she’d felt before and what she felt now was like the difference between a sparkler and a Roman candle. She felt consumed. Burned. Reborn. And yet…
It wasn’t enough.
As she slowly came back to her senses, she looked down her body to see Doyle still kneeling at the foot of the bed. Waiting. When she met his expectant gaze, he smiled slowly, pressed a single kiss to the inside of each thigh, and stood.
Oh. My. God.
She’d had only a quick glance of him before. Now, she drank in the sight: tanned skin, hard muscles, lightly haired chest glistening with a faint patina of sweat, and rampantly, urgently erect. His penis stood out from his body, curving back toward his belly, the tip so engorged it was very nearly purple. Thick veins ran its length, and as she stared, she swore she could see them pulse as they sent even more blood to the already swollen head.
Doyle muttered something under his breath in what she thought might be Gaelic, and reached for her hands. She allowed him to slide her the rest of the way off the bed and onto her feet, although her legs wobbled under her for just a second. Doyle grabbed the comforter and gave a ruthless yank, stripping it from the bed and tossing it aside, pulling the blanket and top sheet down as well in one swift motion before urging her back onto the bed.
She scooted up toward the middle, never breaking eye contact as he climbed onto the bed and crawled toward her like a beast stalking his prey.
“Why?” she asked, meaning the comforter. She’d enjoyed the cool smoothness of the silk against her bare skin.
Still moving on all fours, he said, “No traction.” She barely had time to form her lips into an “oh” of understanding when he was on her.
This time, the kiss was anything but gentle. It consumed, ravished, devoured, and she sank under the heady sensation of Doyle’s loss of control, the one thing he valued above all else. That she could bring him to this state told her that this wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just lust run rampant. This was more. And it was mutual.
Doyle tore his mouth from hers and muttered again. Definitely Gaelic.
“I didn’t bring…” He made a sound deep in his chest of frustration and annoyance that she felt through their touching bodies, sending a shaft of something electric to her core.
“In the drawer.” Thea flung a hand out in the general direction of her nightstand. She fought the urge to giggle when Doyle practically dove for it, coming out with the sealed box of condoms she’d found wrapped up with a bow in one of the bags of new lingerie, with a sticky note attached with the words “Stage 4” written in Lillian’s distinctive handwriting.
He ripped the box open and grabbed one of the foil squares, swiftly sheathing himself in the ultrathin latex with hands she was gratified to see were shaking just a little bit. Good. She was feeling kind of shaky herself. It was nice to have company.
Then he was over her, his knees gently pushing hers apart, his hazel eyes a vivid green with his arousal as they stared down reverently at her face. Waiting.
“Yes,” she replied to the unspoken question. Yes, she wanted this. Wanted him. Now. Here. Like this, in the bed where she’d spent so many restless nights fantasizing about this very thing. This was her fairytale. Her greatest, bestest wish coming true
With infinite care, Doyle placed the head of his erection at her opening, teasing in a little and then retreating, again and again, sliding a fraction deeper each time, until the thickness of him forced apart the walls of her channel. The sensation of him filling her was almost overwhelming, nerve endings sending pulses of pleasure out with each stroke, making her writhe and squirm and arch, instinctively trying to take more of him, all of him, inside her, and not just the small increments he was allowing.
Her hands ran along his ribs and found his ass, squeezing the hard muscles and trying to urge him deeper, faster. Doyle chuckled—rather evilly, she thought—and kept to his set pace, one that was meant to drive her insane before he was through.
“Brennan, please.” She hated that it sounded like begging, but she was beyond caring. She needed more of him. All of him.
Now.
Two more strokes, three. On the fourth—hallelujah!—he finally, finally sank all the way home.
And stopped.
Feeling the need to wail, Thea looked up at him, about to protest, but was caught by the expression on his face. He looked…enraptured. Like he’d found something he hadn’t known he’d been looking for. They stared at each other for several long seconds, and Thea felt a well of emotion in her chest that echoed the look on his face.
“Mo chroi,” he whispered. Then he moved, slowly at first, keeping each stroke measured and even, but soon his tempo changed, speeding up just a little but still not enough to satisfy the need clawing inside her. Realizing she would in no way be able to influence his choice of speed, Thea released her hold on his buttocks and instead drew her hands up his back, letting her nails graze the damp skin in a long, lazy path along his spine.
She felt it then, the small stutter in his previously rock-steady tempo. She stroked him again, pressing her nails just a bit harder, and felt it once more. Definitely a stutter. She grinned, knowing that she’d just found the chink in Doyle’s armor.
With infinite deliberateness, she scored a wavy line along his lean back, following the spine on the way up, feathering across his ribs on the way back down, sussing out the spots that affected him the most and using them shamelessly. Within minutes, all smoothness was gone from Doyle’s movements, and finally, with a harsh curse, he planted his hands at the sides of her head and gave her exactly what she’d wanted, pistoning his hips with a speed that would have had them bumping the headboard had they’d stayed on top of the silk comforter as she wanted.
Pleasure built inside her with every strong stroke, filling her as surely as Doyle did, until finally, finally, she couldn’t hold it inside any longer and it burst, dragging a cry from her lips and making her dig her nails deeper into Doyle’s back as she pulled him closer and deeper, wanting him with her in the climax.
And then he was, his back bowing as he came with a growl of primal pleasure as he stroked through his release. He thrust once more, deeper than any before, and held himself there, head back, eyes closed, as though absorbing every last sensation before he relaxed, his body curving back down over hers.
He met her eyes a
nd smiled. Not the Viking smile, but the one that said all the tender things that men seemed genetically incapable of uttering aloud except in instances of extreme duress. Her mother had warned her once that getting a man to say “I love you” was akin to landing a man on the moon: it seemed impossible at first, but with a lot of patience, invested time, and dedication to the cause, it could be done, though rarely duplicated.
“Mo chroi, m’anam.” With those whispered words she didn’t understand, Doyle leaned toward her. Lifting her face for the expected kiss, Thea was shocked when his lips fell short of the expected target. Instead, he placed a single, gentle kiss on her chest, between her breasts.
Right next to her heart.
Who needed words, anyway?
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Will you go to Mellie’s engagement party with me?”
Doyle was on his back in the middle of Thea’s queen-size bed, Thea tucked up against his right side. Still caught in the lazy afterglow of what had to be the most intense sex he’d ever had, he was confused for a moment by the question. His brain wasn’t exactly back up to functioning speed, which was the only excuse he had for the inane answer he gave.
“I’m already going.”
He could feel Thea smile against his shoulder as she continued to trace small circles through the short, dark hair on his chest. “No, I meant will you go with me, as in with me.”
“Ah.” Another brilliant response. God, if an hour in bed with Thea could destroy this many brain cells, he’d be a drooling idiot by the end of the week. Of course, getting to that state would be a hell of a lot of fun.
Just the thought of a week in bed with Thea was enough to warm his blood again. He would have sworn he was too spent to recover so fast, but the proof against that was stirring between his legs. Good thing they’d drawn the sheet up partway before collapsing into an exhausted pile after he’d taken care of the condom. If Thea thought to go another round, she just might kill him.