“Christ, Sayre. I’m so damn sorry,” he groaned, and the next thing she knew, he was right in front of her. His hands pushed their way into her hair, and then he claimed her lips with his, ravaging her mouth like he was trying to brand her with his need. The carnal, devastating kiss was heated and hungry, demanding everything she had to give, his slick tongue rubbing against hers in a way that was guaranteed to melt her down. But no matter how tempting it was, she couldn’t let him distract her from what was important.
“Why did you do what you did?” she gasped against his mouth. Her trembling hands curled around his strong wrists as he held the sides of her head in his hands, the masculine sprinkling of dark hair tickling her skin.
With a serrated groan, he broke away from the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “Because I can’t lose you. Not like that. I can’t let him hurt you. I’d rather die.”
“If you really feel like that—if you would be willing to die for me, Cian—then why are you fighting this? Why not just claim me?”
“Because I’m bad for you, little witch.”
She moved her hands to his broad, muscular shoulders and pushed until he finally relented and pulled his head back to look at her. “Do you really believe that?” she asked him, staring into those smoldering, tormented eyes.
A gritty, bitter laugh burst past his lips. “Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you the same thing.”
“I’m not interested in what anyone else has to say, Cian. I only care about what I feel and see. And I see the good in you. The more time I spend with you, the deeper I see it.”
“You’re seeing what you want,” he muttered.
“No,” she argued, willing him to believe her. “I want you. Not some fairy-tale prince. You’re not perfect, and I don’t care. I’m not perfect, either. But together, I think we might be. If you would just give it a chance,” she finished softly, keenly aware that she’d just made herself incredibly vulnerable—but believing he was worth it. Worth fighting for.
“You deserve more than that,” he grunted. “More than me.”
She blinked up at him, giving him a shaky smile. “More than a life spent with the only man I’m meant to be with? More than the promise of a family with that man?”
His scowl deepened. “Use your head, Sayre. You know exactly what kind of family we would have.”
She flinched, feeling as if he’d just slapped her, and pushed away from him. “If you think I wouldn’t love and adore my children, no matter their breed, then it just goes to show that you really don’t know me at all, Cian.”
“Sayre,” he sighed, “that’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” he muttered, shoving his hand back through his hair again in a telling gesture of frustration. “I just...I don’t want to screw things up for you.”
“And what about you?”
“Lass, my life was screwed to hell and back a long time ago. And no one is to blame for that but me. You said so yourself, when I found you in West Virginia.”
God, he frustrated her! “Cian, I was wrong. When I said it was your fault that I was in trouble, I was angry. And I was wrong. It’s not. You’re not responsible for what your brother does.”
“Like hell I’m not.” They were raw, graveled words. “I should have ended him a long time ago, when I had the chance. But I chose not to—I chose wrong—and now his actions are a result of that choice. Of that mistake.”
“You know what, Cian? It’s time for you to shut up.”
“Sayre.”
She glared up at him as she stepped back into his body, then reached up and curved her hands back over those broad, rugged shoulders. “I’m serious. Your words are just pissing me off, and I’d rather kiss you than listen to you put yourself down.” Then she tugged him down as she rose up on her toes, and kissed him like she was going to die without his taste in her mouth.
He shuddered, then wrapped those strong arms around her, jerking her even closer as he thrust his way past her lips and raked the inside of her mouth with his wicked tongue. She opened her mouth wider, wanting to take in even more of him, desperate for all of him, body and soul. She didn’t even care that her busted lip was stinging like a bitch, her desire for him burning through her like a wild, rushing flame, her power breaking free in a shimmering burst of those tiny, flickering points of light.
“God, your mouth is so damn sweet,” he groaned against her lips, and she could feel the emotions burning in those husky words, the hunger and need and craving that went deeper than the physical, and it made her want to shake him until she could get to the truth. But she was too busy trying to open his jeans so she could get to even more of him, while he literally tore her clothes off her body, her underwear shredding beneath his hands as he pushed her back onto the bed. Everything was moving hard and fast and furious, their harsh breaths filling the air as he shoved her to the middle of the bed and came down over her, that hot, slick tongue curling around one of her sensitive nipples, the sensation so intense it made her toes curl. He gave the same attention to the other breast, sucking on her nipple like it was a juicy piece of fruit, then turned her to her stomach, moved the fall of her hair to the side and latched that talented mouth on to the owl she had tattooed there.
She hadn’t thought that particular patch of skin between her shoulder blades would be an erogenous zone, but boy, had she been wrong.
She trembled, gasping, her hands clawing on to the bedding, her blood pounding as he made a hard, thick sound deep in his throat and turned her over again, his mouth going straight for her belly this time.
“I need you in my mouth,” he growled against her navel. He flicked the ink there with his tongue, then licked at a patch of skin just beneath it. “Need to taste you so fucking badly, Sayre. Can I?”
Instead of giving him a verbal response, she simply pushed hard on those mouthwatering shoulders and spread her thighs as wide as she could, holding her breath with anticipation of his tongue touching that most private part of her. But it didn’t. Instead, she felt his soft, warm lips brush against the tiny symbol she had tattooed high on her inner thigh.
“A beautiful little Celtic cross. For Ireland,” he murmured, and she knew that what he really meant was for me. And he was right. It had been for him. A way for her to carry him with her, even when she’d so badly wanted to hate him, but couldn’t. Her dark, tortured Irishman. So eager for connection, though he would never admit it.
“It’s fitting,” he said huskily, “seeing as how this part of you is like my own personal holy ground.”
She was still laughing softly when he turned his head and pressed his open mouth right over the hot, drenched center of her sex, her laughter choking off into a breathless gasp. Oh...oh, wow. That was seriously mind-blowing. Bone-melting. He pushed his face into her, his tongue and lips everywhere, going at her with an aggressive, unapologetic hunger that felt so freaking good she could have cried, the guttural groans that he gave making it sound like he was feasting on something lush and sweet. Something he couldn’t get enough of, as if he’d been starved for the taste of her.
Though Sayre had fantasized about this moment an embarrassing number of times, she’d had no idea it would be like this. That he would spend so much time with his dark head buried between her thighs, pulling pleasure from her writhing body as if it were his to control. His shoulders kept her spread wide and his thumbs held her tender folds open as he did things that would have shocked the hell out of her, if she hadn’t discovered a love of steamy romance novels. She’d thought, given her extensive reading, that she had a good handle on what this would feel like. But the heroes in her books didn’t have anything on Cian.
It wasn’t just his skill, though the man was clearly incredible at it, every part of him made for sin. But even more than that, it was the way he didn’t try to hide
how badly he needed it, letting her feel every bit of his hunger. A craving that was as visceral and primitive as the animal that lived inside him. He moved his tongue inside her body like he might die if he didn’t get more of her, his mouth nothing less than voracious as he licked and sucked at her slippery flesh, consuming her. Driving her out of her mind with pleasure. And then she was coming in a hot, mind-shattering rush, hoarse cries spilling from her lips as she trembled and pulsed, melting against his mouth in wave after wave of release, while he growled dirty things against her sensitive flesh, telling her how perfect she tasted. How he couldn’t get enough of her. How he wanted her to keep coming for him...harder and deeper and wetter. And so she did. Over...and over...until she was as boneless as a rag doll, arms and legs flung wide, her head foggy, thoughts drifting somewhere out there in a glittering, throbbing darkness.
She didn’t know how many minutes had passed by the time she finally came back to herself. He was still nuzzling her with his open mouth, lapping at her with his tongue, the sounds he made telling her how much he was enjoying himself. And while it was incredibly lovely, she was eager for her chance to return the favor, her mouth watering at the thought of getting that thick, beautiful part of him between her lips.
“What are you doing?” he growled, locking his gaze with hers when she sat up and pushed against his shoulders, shoving him to his back. She quickly moved to kneel between his thighs, wishing she’d gotten the jeans off him as she flicked her gaze up. Her breath caught when she found him watching her with a hot, heavy-lidded stare, his mouth and chin glistening with her juices.
“Don’t even think about stopping me,” she told him, tugging the waist of his jeans down enough that she could curl her hands around that thick, steely shaft, the head so ripe and succulent looking she couldn’t wait to get her first taste. “This is mine.”
Something hot and wicked flared in his eyes as she made that pronouncement, and she knew she had him.
“You want me in your mouth?” he asked in a graveled voice, licking his slick lower lip as he braced his upper body on his elbows, looking so freaking sexy it was unreal.
Desperate for him, she answered the question with actions instead of words, as she leaned down and covered the broad, wet tip of him with her mouth and swiped at his hot flesh with her tongue. Flicking her eyes up again, she caught him watching her from beneath the thick black fringe of his lashes, his color high, marking the sharp crests of his cheekbones, his sensual lips parted for his ragged breaths. In that instant, she realized that she could so easily get addicted to this. To the raw intimacy of the act, and how right it felt as she started to suck on him, taking him deeper while she stroked the bottom inches of his shaft with her hand, knowing she was making the most powerful male she’d ever known tremble with need. Her senses were in overdrive, her body vibrating with a fine tremor as she tried to soak in every part of him, from his warm, musky scent, to the salty, exquisite taste that sat on her tongue like that was where it belonged.
“Finish me,” he growled, keeping his head lifted as he dropped down to his back, his eyes glowing like bright chips of molten silver.
“With my hands?” She whispered the words against the very tip of him, laving the moist flesh with her tongue. She knew exactly how much he liked it by the way he gasped, the muscles in his abdomen rippling as his fingers speared hard into her hair, clutching her to him. “Or with my mouth?”
“Christ,” he hissed, his expression so intense it was almost a scowl. “Are you trying to make me crazed?”
“No. You just make me hungry.”
He stilled, holding his breath. “For what?”
“Everything,” she whispered, letting her lips rub against the hot, sensitive crown, the thick shaft throbbing in her hands. “All of it. I want to crawl inside your head and live in your thoughts. Taste your emotions. Feel your pleasure.”
“You are my pleasure,” he growled, the tendons in his strong, corded throat straining beneath his skin.
“Then show me,” she told him, taking the succulent head between her lips again, ignoring the sting of pain from where Aedan had struck her when she’d tried to get away from him. Forcing that dark thought from her head, she focused on her male, making her mouth as hungry and as wet as she could for him, greedy for his release as her hands stroked the broad inches she couldn’t reach. She loved his raw, gritty curses and the way he gripped her hair as he got close, but she was crazy for the way he shuddered and shouted when he came, his feet planted flat on the bed, hips pumping as she stayed with him, doing everything she could to make it good for him.
When she finally lifted her head, he grasped her by the arms and hauled her up over his chest, surprising her with the way he took her mouth, kissing her as if he would go mad without the touch of her tongue against his, their mouths moving together as they fought for a deeper angle, a deeper way to taste—until he suddenly made a sharp, guttural sound deep in his chest. Before she could react, he quickly rolled her onto her back, his big body caging hers in as he braced himself over her on all fours.
She started to ask him what the hell was wrong, only to break off with another gasp when she saw the fresh smear of blood on his mouth from her bleeding lip. It was clear from the way he’d reacted that the taste of her blood had been a shock to him, the way he was taking such deep, rough breaths and eyeing her mouth telling her he was still struggling to get himself under control.
Then he slid her a dark, glittering look from beneath his thick lashes, and there was a...a precision to the way he was watching her that told her he was up to something. That his clever mind had just come up with an idea...or a plan of some sort. One he had no intention of sharing, judging by the hard cast to his masculine features.
“Cian,” she whispered, her eyes going wide as he moved his hand to her face and pressed the pad of his thumb to the cut on her lip. Then he trailed the crimson-stained pad down the front of her throat, over the hammering beat of her pulse at the base, and lower, trailing it between her quivering breasts. Wetting the pad with her blood again, he coated both her nipples, then traced his thumb around her navel, lower, down into the strawberry-blond curls on her mound.
When he was done, he snagged her heavy-lidded gaze and murmured, “Trust me,” as he leaned down and pressed his open mouth to her throat, his warm tongue lapping against her bloodstained skin.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, shivering with poignant arousal. Watching his beautiful mouth follow the same path that his thumb had taken was the most erotic experience of her life, her power so charged it was literally arcing from her body in shimmering bolts of light. He took his time licking her sensitive skin, the thick sounds he made in the back of his throat telling her how much he loved it. Especially when he’d followed the crimson path right into her curls, and lower, his mouth just as ravenous as he’d been before, making her come twice before he suddenly lifted his head and jerked away from her, crouching on all fours at the foot of the bed.
“Cian?” she whispered, moving to her knees so that she could reach out to him, his tortured expression tearing at her heart. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t care if you want to or not,” he groaned between his harsh breaths, his hands fisting the bedding as he lowered his head, hiding from her gaze. “I just need you to listen to me, Sayre, and I need you to do as I say. Get dressed and get the hell out of this room. Then...run as fast as you can.”
“What?”
“Go to Jillian and Jeremy’s.” He lifted his head, and she gasped when she saw that his eyes had turned completely crimson again. “Run, Sayre. Now!”
“No,” she breathed out, unwilling to leave him.
“Goddamn it, woman! Get the fuck out of here!”
She shook her head, and he curled in on himself, shuddering so hard it looked painful, every hard, powerful muscle in his magnificent body coiled tight beneath his damp
skin.
Careful not to make any sudden movements, Sayre shifted closer to him. “I’m not afraid of you, Cian. Please, let me help you.”
He ground his forehead against the bed and groaned like a man in agony. “Christ, you’re impossible.”
“I don’t mean to be,” she said softly, carefully inching her way closer. “I simply care about you too much to run away from you when you need me.”
He shivered like someone with a raging fever. “Even when the things I need aren’t something I deserve?”
“I don’t think you get to make that decision.”
A raw, fractured sound tore from his throat, muffled against the bedding. “Damn it, lass, I’m trying to do right by you.”
“Hmm. Have you ever thought that maybe you should just do me instead?”
“Don’t!” he barked, breathing in rough, uneven bursts. “Christ, don’t do that. Don’t flirt with me right now. I can’t take it.”
“Then just let me comfort you,” she murmured, reaching out and stroking his broad back with a gentle touch. They stayed like that for untold minutes, until his breathing had finally slowed and his body was no longer gripped in that terrible tension. He rolled to his side and let her put a pillow under his head, his expression still strained, though his eyes had returned to their natural silver.
When she laid down beside him and rested her cheek on her bent arm, he reached out and stroked his hand over her hair. Then he wrapped his arm around her and yanked her against him, tucking her head under his chin as he threw his long leg over hers. Burying his face against the top of her head, he spoke in a low, husky tone that was so solemn it made tears burn at the back of her throat. “No matter what happens, my biggest regret will always be that I wasn’t able to claim you as mine.”
Clutching on to him with desperate hands, Sayre had to fight back the urge to shout at him to open his damn eyes, look in a mirror and see the truth she could have sworn burned in that silver gaze every single time he looked at her. But what good would come of it? He wouldn’t see the truth until he was ready. Until he finally allowed himself to move on from the past and was ready to fight for his future. To fight for her. Not in the way that he was fighting to protect her from Aedan, but for her heart. For the future she prayed they could have one day. That she so desperately wanted.
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