by Holly Hart
Does that count? I ask myself. I feel like a kid bargaining with the toss of a coin, deciding that what I really wanted lay on the other side of the toss.
I turn around. I don’t trust my voice to speak. But my actions are making my mind up for me. Kieran follows me in. The door swings closed, pressing against its doorframe with a gentle kiss of air. We are alone together: again.
Kieran walks behind me, without making an attempt to catch up. Before I know it, my feet are in the same spot they were in when he first undressed me. I feel like this is following a path, and that I have no control over what is going to happen to me.
“This is how this is going to work,” I say, not looking at Kieran. I don’t trust myself not to fall into his sparkling eyes. That should be my first warning. If I can’t trust myself around him, then why the hell am I pretending I’m capable of making a deal with him? I should be running as far and as fast away from here as I can: but of course, I don’t.
“Shoot.” Kieran says, with a calm lightness to his voice. He seems as relaxed and at ease as he would in the pub his family owns; or around the dinner table. I’m strung as tight as I’ve ever been, but Kieran? He could be anywhere.
“We don’t call: we don’t text; we don’t meet anywhere except this room. If I see you on the street, I expect you to walk straight past,” I say.
Kieran waits a couple of seconds to see if I’m going to say any more before he replies. He stretches the silence out for a few seconds more: almost as though he knows that I’m on pins and needles, waiting for his answer. I don’t know what I’ll do if he turns me down. “Go on…” he says.
“You don’t catch feelings, you understand?” I growl, perhaps more strongly than I intended. “I don’t need some lovesick puppy following after me. I’ve got a business to run.”
“I thought it was yer brother’s business?” Kieran asks. I see him cocking his head in the faintest reflection in the window.
I turn to face Kieran. I let out a breath at the sight of him. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d almost forgotten how physically impressive he is. The Irishman is half a foot taller than me, at least – well past six foot tall. His eyes glitter in the middle of a strong, imposing face, and every time I look at him my eyes are drawn to that patch of white in his hair.
“There’s one more thing;” I say, my voice hard, “we don’t talk about business. Understood?”
Kieran strides forward – one pace, then another, until he’s next to me, and then he’s past me, and he sits down on the bed. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Kieran smiles, as if he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me.
Get out, a voice inside me warns. While you still can. But it sounds quieter and quieter every second that passes. I, of course am strong; I choose to ignore it. I can handle myself, can’t I? I always have before.
Kieran licks his lips. “You’re my kind of girl.”
The little, half-meant, throwaway compliment sends a shiver rustling through me. “None of that,” I growl, hiding a smile. I like the way Kieran looks at me, and I like the way he talks to me, but I’m scared of where it’s all leading.
Kieran unlaces his shoes, and kicks them off, one by one.
“I said you were a hard woman to like, earlier,” Kieran says, his expression inscrutable. “How about you prove me wrong?”
He leans back on the bed. I hate the way nothing seems to bother him. I just dragged the man half way across the city with nothing more than a text, fired off half a dozen rules at him, and he still didn’t even blink an eye.
I wet my lower lip. There’s a heated pool of desire building inside me now, like the scorching touch of lava escaping the lip of a volcano. I don’t think I can hold it back. I don’t think it’s what I want.
“How?”
A smile tickles Kieran’s lips. He holds my gaze, and when I meet his, even his eyes dance with humor. When Kieran looks at me, it’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. No matter how hard I try to sabotage this, to try to cut the rope of desire that is pulling me on, I fail.
It’s chemistry. It must be. There’s no other explanation of why I’m so willing to ignore every lick of common sense. I’ve always been the smart one, the cold one, the one who got her homework done on time. And yet, I’m in this room, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, ready to throw myself at the brother of my family’s greatest rival.
“I’ll show ye,” Kieran growls.
Kieran licks his lower lip, and then teases it with his teeth. I follow every movement with my eyes, unable to tear them from him. This is it, the final threshold. If I don’t pull away now, then I never will. I watch, spellbound, as Kieran drags his fingers down his torso. He isn’t dressed to kill – he’s dressed like a man of action: work jacket, white T-shirt, well cut jeans. But I’ve seen him in a tuxedo, and while I liked it, I like this Kieran better. He seems more real.
Kieran’s fingers walk across his flat, toned stomach, and slow to a crawl. My mouth goes dry. I know where those fingers are leading. They stop on his brown leather belt and walk step by to step, to his crotch. His fingers stop, and his eyes fill with need.
I blink, searching for a way to buy myself time. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
Kieran relaxes back. I expect him to pull back from his confident, unspoken demand, but – of course – he does nothing of the sort. The fingers of one hand play over the fly of his jeans; the other rises into the air and beckons me over.
“Come here,” he says, his voice like gravel crushing itself into dust. I try to tell myself that Kieran has flat-out ignored my objection, but my own, traitorous body ignores me. I try to fight the sensation, but the air sizzles every time Kieran speaks. My legs are moving before I give them a command. I’m stumbling towards him; stumbling into this with both eyes open.
The bathrobe on my thighs caresses the mattress, and I take Kieran’s offered hand. His touch feels warm and inviting – but is truly much, much more. It bites me: grabs me; draws me in. I lift one leg up, the skin parting the front of the bathrobe, and rest it to the right of Kieran’s thigh. He bites his lip with satisfaction, and then I lift the other, and then I’m sitting on top of him, my ass coming to rest against his hard, toned legs.
Kieran’s heat jolts through me. It wakes me up: it invigorates and gives life to parts of me I thought I had forgotten. And then something inside me takes over.
I reach out and push Kieran backward. He falls, with a surprised, wrinkled frown on his face, and looks up at me. “What –?”
“Stop talking,” I reply. It’s my turn to growl. I’ve had enough of Kieran’s silver tongue. I’ve had enough of meekly following his every demand like Cinderella. Now, I’m taking control.
Kieran’s eyes follow me as I loosen the white tie holding my bathrobe tight around my flat stomach. I let it fall slowly. I’ve always known – instinctively – that the best part of desire is anticipation. I love it when a man builds me up slowly, patiently making me beg for every inch. I come harder, and longer, and I guess it’s the same for Kieran.
My right shoulder does a little dance, and the bathrobe falls away, revealing a small portion of my tanned skin. Kieran’s eyes flicker away from my face in an instant. He lets a little breath out, so tiny I could have missed it, but so significant. Kieran is enthralled by me. He doesn’t want to look away for a second, for fear of what he might miss.
“You like what you see?” I ask, a smile playing on my lips.
I like what I see beneath me, that’s for sure. Every one of Kieran’s thick abdominal muscles is outlined underneath his T-shirt. It clings tight to his body. I want to tug it off with my teeth; then lick my way down…
Kieran nods, his mouth opening. He blinks, as though his tongue has been stolen away by desire. I jump in before his mind has a chance to kick into gear. I reach forward, putting my finger on his lips to hush him.
“I told you – no talking,” I whisper. The flash of heat which rushes th
rough my body from the slight contact with Kieran’s skin shocks me. “Undress me.”
Kieran does as he’s told, his hands moving fast and smooth through the air. He tugs at the fabric of the bathrobe still clinging to my shoulders, and it falls away. I feel the kiss of air on my arms and the heat of Kieran’s gaze on my skin.
Kieran’s eyes widen. They glitter with desire.
“You like it?” I growl, my voice husky with need. I feel Kieran’s hardness rising beneath me, pressing against my thigh. “I picked it out just for you.”
The silk lingerie grazing my skin caresses my nipples every time I so much as flinch. It’s a deep, midnight black, edged with white lace. I modeled it in the mirror while I waited for Kieran to arrive. I know how good it looks. The longing building in Kieran’s eyes is the only proof I need.
His fingers pull the bathrobe away from my thighs with renewed vigor. I’m naked but for the underwear. I crawl down Kieran’s body, kissing his thick pectoral muscles, then a stomach so hard it feels like I’m kissing a steel beam.
“Take your jacket off,” I growl.
I feel Kieran’s body shifting underneath me, his hands rushing to tug his jacket and T-shirt from his body. The thought, that sensation, of having power over this man, sends a feeling shivering through me that’s hard to describe. I feel like the conductor of an orchestra.
My fingers struggle momentarily with Kieran’s belt, and then the metal clasp clicks. The buttons of his fly pop open one by one, and then I’m tugging the denim down, and then he’s naked beneath me.
Kieran’s cock is half grown – and it’s already the biggest I’ve ever touched, the biggest I’ve ever seen. My fingers dance across his growing member, and he groans with unfulfilled longing. He threads his fingers through my hair and grips it tightly. It sends a signal of pain speeding from my nerve endings, and a flash of desire through my body.
Kieran pulls at my head until I’m forced to meet his gaze. “You’re fucking hot, you know that, Sofia?” He growls – or groans, it’s hard to tell the difference through his breathy, ragged voice.
“I said no talking,” I mutter, hiding a smile.
Out of nowhere, warmth blooms throughout my whole body. But I can’t let him know. That would make this something different. That would take this someplace I don’t want it to go. Some place more real, more serious. I tug my head free, and dip my mouth to Kieran’s cock. I kiss the base of his shaft, and Kieran lets out a shiver of breath. His cock hardens in my hand, until it’s fully engorged, and my lips encircle the tip.
Kieran’s body trembles as I take his full-length in my mouth. It tastes salty, even musky. I don’t know why, but I can’t get enough. I could do this all day, every day. At least I could, if the heat building between my legs didn’t have other ideas…
I scrape my fingernails down the top of Kieran’s naked thighs. His muscles tense and relax every time I touch him. It’s a glorious feeling, having this much power over a man. I could do anything, say anything right now, and Kieran would nod along, smile, and wait in anticipation until I went back to giving him the ecstasy he desired.
I suck on his cock, twirling my tongue across the tip, and Kieran’s fingernails scratch the top of my head. It’s as if he can’t control himself, as if I’m sending him closer to the peak of his desire. I scrape my teeth against his cock – light enough only to build his pleasure, hard enough to remind him of the power I have over him.
Kieran groans. The sound sends shivers through my body, and he can’t take it anymore. I can’t either. Kieran grabs my hair one last time, tugging it until the roots scream – not with pain, exactly, but not with pleasure either – and he hauls me up his body. His skin is a blur, and then my face is opposite Kieran’s, his lips calling out to me. I press mine against them, and tease an earth shattering kiss from his mouth.
“Condom,” Kieran growls.
I bite down on his lip,hard enough that I see Kieran’s face recoil and wince. I don’t feel a moment’s regret. “How many times do I have to tell you,” I breathe, dragging my pussy across Kieran’s engorged, quivering cock “not to talk? Besides – I’ve got it covered.”
That’s all Kieran needs. He spins me over, moving so fast that I barely realize what’s happening before my back meets the mattress. He pulls my panties aside, and then the tip of Kieran’s cock is pressing against my pussy’s soaking, desperate lips. I feel them almost willing him inside.
“Ooooh,” I breathe, as Kieran’s full-length presses inside me.
It’s not a word, but it’s the only sound my mind is capable of producing right now. Kieran’s length stretches me, filling me, stuffs me to my limit. I don’t know how I’ll be able to take the whole thing. I might have done it before, but it tests me every time.
Kieran’s fingers slide underneath my back and unclip my bra. He tosses it aside, pressing me down on my left shoulder, his right hand tweaking my nipple. I throw my head back and bite my lip, and as I do, Kieran presses his cock as far into me as it will go. I groan with satisfaction
Kieran dips his mouth to mine. He grazes my lips with his.
I’m capable of saying one word, maybe two. I make the most of it. I catch Kieran’s gaze, showing him the full extent of the smoky desire inside them. My mouth opens in an ‘O’ as he thumbs my clit, and I hiss “don’t stop.”
Kieran nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Good, whatever corner of my mind is still functioning thinks. I trained him well.
Then both of Kieran’s hands are pressing down on my shoulders. He holds me down so I can’t move, so I can’t do anything except collapse into the pleasure he’s giving me. His hips angle until his cock pushes into me a half inch deeper, and Kieran makes the most of every damn fraction.
“Please,” I beg: though I’m not sure what for. Kieran’s giving me everything I need, perhaps even more than I can take.
My eyes open wide, then shut, then settle somewhere in between – my vision obscured by a forest of lashes. Kieran’s hips buck, again and again, pushing into me, sending jolts of electricity sparking through my body.
I bite my lip. My fingernails claw against Kieran’s back. I must be leaving red marks, but the blackness descending over my vision prevents me from caring.
I feel a flow of desire pooling inside me, then exploding out like a river flash flooding its banks. I squeeze my eyes shut; I feel Kieran shifting on top of me. He leans forward, touching my lips with his…
And we come together.
Chapter Eight
Kieran
I lean backwards on a stool in the old family bar off Dorchester Street, looking at walls covered in decades of memorabilia. My T-shirt tugs against the patchwork of scratches that Sofia left on my back. Every time I move, delicious stabs of pain dance through my body.
I don’t blame Sofia for any of it. If I could, I would do it – her – a hundred times over. I plan to do just that.
Last night – last night was something special. I’ve had more nights and slept with more women than I can count and a whole lot more than I can remember. Out of all of them, I’ve never had a night like the one I just spent with Sofia. I’ve never had a woman make my cock jump the way she did. I’ve never had a woman who acts like Sofia does in public – cold and unforgiving – then turn on a dime when she steps into the bedroom. Sofia Morello knows what she wants, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to get it.
Sofia got what she needed, and kicked me out. I like that in a woman.
“What are ye smiling about, ye dopey bugger?” Ridley slurs, pulling himself another pint after stepping around the bar to do so. He and Mac – the other set of twins – are the biggest of all us brothers. They’ve got an inch and a half on me and Kieran, and that’s no easy thing.
I glance up, and slide my glass down the polished wood surface of the bar. I allow myself a little smile as it comes to a halt just in front of the beer pump. “I’m having a good day, is all,” I grunt, wrestl
ing back control of my face. The last thing I need is Ridley, or any of the rest of my brothers finding out that I’m screwing a Morello. “Pull us another, will ye?”
“Already on it, brother,” Rid grins, reaching out for my glass.
A few drops of foam slide down the pint glass’s glistening sides as Ridley hands me my beer. The runoff forms a little pool around the base of the glass.
The wooden door to the beer cellar squeals open, and a tall, lean man ducks out. “Dickie, ye limey bastard,” I grin, grabbing my glass and saluting the bartender. “Join us, will ye?”
Dickie turns. His head misses the low frame of the door by half an inch. I wince.
“Yer a lucky boy, Dickie,” Ridley growls while reaching for another pint glass. The stack of glassware clinks.
Dickie holds his hand up in apology. “Sorry, boys. Promised me missus I’d be home for dinner.”
My forehead wrinkles. I glance at my watch. “Ye sure you’re going to make that, Dickie boy? It’s closing on eleven…”
The skinny bartender grins. “I never did say what time, though.” He grabs his coat from a hook, and his keys jangle. Dickie turns back to face my brother and me, shrugging his coat on. “Are you boys all good to lock the place up?” He starts walking for the exit without waiting for a reply.
I stand up, and notice that the floor isn’t as stable as I thought. I glance down at it, gesturing with dissatisfaction. Unfortunately, I do it with the hand holding my beer… Droplets of lager shower against the wooden floorboards.
Dickie grins, his eyebrows tenting. “You best clean up, too.” He shoulders the swinging doors to leave, but can’t resist turning for one last dig. “And they say the Irish can drink! S’all just good advertising, if you ask me. Take a trip down to Manchester – the real one, mind – and you’ll see you ain’t nothing special.”
Ridley stands up, cheeks puffed out. “English bastard,” he growls with mock-indignation. “Coming here, telling us how to act!”