I don’t need a fucking schoolgirl crush on this man right now. Jesus Christ. Maybe I should cross myself again after my experience in that church, only this time to ward off the demons of temptation.
Nevermind.
“I am,” I say, getting to my feet. “What have you been up to, Doyle? No good?”
I want to get back to the banter. To being in control around him.
“Of course,” he responds, grinning toothily. Asshole. “I assume you’ve been up to the same?”
I debate telling him what I’ve learned and decide to keep it to myself for now. “Some shady shit going down.”
It’s vague. It’ll do for now.
He knows I’m hiding something but doesn’t push. We head downstairs to his car.
“You want to drive?” he asks.
“Are you serious?”
He tosses me the keys.
I pull the seat way up, and I don’t even begrudge Ronan that sly smirk as I do it. It takes me just a few minutes to adjust the mirrors before we’re off. He gives me directions, and we’re pulling into the brewery parking lot before long.
“Handles like a dream,” I say, tossing his keys back to him.
He gives me a once-over that makes me shiver.
“That she does. Let’s check this place out, shall we?”
11
Ronan
It’s not the first time I’ve driven up here, but I’ve never gone in the building before.
I have a man on the inside, who I met with this morning. Management has been in overdrive lately, preparing for an important visit. My guy says it’s never been like this before, so my hunch is that it’s the big boss coming to check in on operations while he decides how to integrate what he acquired after Ian Nolan’s sudden death.
At least I assume it was sudden. There’s been no news that they’ve found him yet.
It’s a fight to resist the urge to place my hand on Ruby’s lower back. She was sleeping when I got up, so she didn’t hear the long jerk-off session she inspired while I showered. Haven’t been worked up like that since high school.
I didn’t want to have to explain where I was going, either.
The O’Dooleys’ brewery produces numerous types of beer, each with unique branding. It’s why everyone refers to it as “the Brewery” rather than by the O’Dooley name.
It serves Michael O’Dooley’s purposes better that way. The brewery staff know him vaguely, but think of him more as an absentee landlord who left his people in charge.
Most workers outside of top management have no idea about the secret operations organized by the third shift.
Besides, everyone knows third shift folks are always a little bit off.
My inside man owes me a favor. Owes me many favors. I suggested he get a job here, and he ended up liking the work.
A win for everyone, really.
Except the O’Dooleys, of course.
Ruby looks back at me as we get to the visitor’s entrance. There’s something she’s not telling me, and I imagine licking her pussy until she screams all her secrets.
I imagine her begging me to do it.
She’s doing nothing for my concentration.
I pull the door open, letting her in ahead of me. A sign indicates the next tour leaves in five minutes. An exuberant young employee checks us in, and he eagerly begins the tour, right on time.
He gives a brief history of the brewery. This was defunct farmland. One of two old family farms. It was overgrown and Prescott was a dying town until Saint Michael O’Dooley bought the land and turned it into the successful business we see today.
“The brewery funds numerous charities, including the police officer pension fund, the cancer ward at Springfield Memorial, as well as sustaining historic buildings such as the old church.”
The tour guide is so invested in his spiel he doesn’t hear Ruby’s derisive snort.
“One of his relatives runs the church,” she whispers.
“Buying atonement? Old-school.”
We chuckle, following behind our guide as he explains the importance of how the brewery’s hops are grown and maintained, the various kinds of wheats and barley used, and then he goes in-depth into the chemistry of the fermentation process.
I could give a shit, naturally.
I’m too busy memorizing the layout of this place. My contact had given me plans, but it’s different seeing it in person. I’m sure O’Dooley has heard that I’m in town by now, so I want the lay of the land before I make my move.
First, I need Ruby to distract his corrupt cops.
She’s paying as little attention to the tour as I am. She’s gathering data, too.
“Is there a bathroom?” she asks, suddenly.
The young guide is taken aback. He was in the middle of explaining the bottling process, and the diversion from his speech throws him.
“Yes. There’s one back in the lobby…”
“Ooh,” Ruby says, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it all the way back there.”
The look of panic on the guide’s face is incredible.
Ruby’s incredible; but that’s not new news.
“Is there a staff bathroom?” I venture. “I’d really like to hear more about bottling. Maybe we can finish that while she uses the restroom?”
The guide seems relieved to be back on familiar ground. Does no one ever go off track here?
“Of course.” He points to a door labeled ‘staff only’ behind a labeling machine. “You can tell them I said it was okay.”
“Thanks!” Ruby replies, beaming at him. He’s distracted again, this time by her smile.
“So is there a special kind of glass that’s used in the bottling process?” I ask. His eyes light up, and Ruby’s all but forgotten.
I settle in for what promises to be a long, excruciating recounting of the process.
Twenty minutes pass and I’m almost out of questions about bottling when she finally returns, slipping next to me like she’d been there the whole time.
Our guide turns around, elated at my interest. “Any more questions?”
God, no.
“No,” Ruby replies sweetly. “You’ve been an incredible guide, Greg. So knowledgeable. I had no idea how complicated making beer is.”
He’s full-on beaming as we make our way back to the front of the building. It’s a big plant and takes about ten minutes to walk from end to end. It takes a hell of a lot longer when you have to stop every three feet so Greg can explain where the steel fermentation tanks were originally developed.
I’m beyond tired of the pungent, yeasty smell when we finally exit into the fresh air.
“Oh my god,” Ruby drawls dramatically. “Wait till I tell you about the paper the labels are made on. It’s a special paper developed in Bavaria before the unification of Germany.” I toss Ruby the keys.
Let her think she’s in charge.
“Thrilling,” she says, climbing into the car. “Were the bottle caps fashioned from a mold of the Kaiser’s asshole?”
“Of course. Only the best.”
She takes us back to the bed-and-breakfast, driving a little faster than she probably should.
It’s hot seeing her in her element, but it’s even hotter as I see her sharp edges beginning to soften. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as she’d like to. I can’t wait to find out the intel she gathered on her long trip to the bathroom.
“So what’d you learn?”
We’re up in our room. She’s sitting in an overstuffed chair in the corner.
“What do you mean?” she asks in an overly innocent tone. “I really just had to go to the bathroom.”
“Bullshit,” I toss back.
She’s teasing me. She’s so goddamn sexy.
“Okay. I wasn’t in the bathroom. I was just taking a break from Greg’s lecture.”
I walk over to the chair and crowd her space a little.
“Oh yeah? You learn anything on that brea
k?”
“Hmm? Not much. It was just a run of the mill staff space.” She’s examining those pink fingernails nonchalantly.
“Good furniture?” I ask, stepping in closer. “Ergonomic?”
“Totally ergonomic.”
“What else?” I prompt, tipping her chin up so she has to look at me.
“A few vending machines. Nothing healthy.”
She’s smirking.
“Are you going to force me to make you talk?” I ask, finally. I have a feeling it’s what she wants. She has no idea what she’s asking for.
My little detective craving that danger.
“I thought you’d care about the vending machines, seeing as you’re always hungry?”
At that, I scoop her out of the chair and have her on her back on the bed. She’s pinned under my weight, and I’ve pulled her shirt up, exposing her waist.
“What did you see?” I ask, my fingers hovering over her bare skin.
“Lots of junk food,” she offers.
“Wrong answer.”
I tickle her mercilessly with one hand, holding her down with the other.
She squirms underneath me, her shrieks muffled against my chest. She’s rubbing against my cock as she tries to get away, and I’m hard in an instant. I straddle her, grinding my hips against hers. She gasps and stops struggling. I almost miss the squirming, but the way she responds to my signals is even hotter.
She arches her hips to meet mine.
“This okay?” I murmur, leaning close to her.
“Yes,” she says.
“You’ll tell me if anything isn’t okay. You say stop, any time, we stop. Got it?”
Her eyes have gone nearly black. Her arousal is such a fucking turn-on.
“I need you to say it.” I stop the movement of my hips. “I mean it, Ruby. You say stop, and we’re done. You understand?”
My heart hammers out of my chest while I’ll wait for the words to pass her lips. “God,” she whispers. “Yes. I understand. Don’t fucking stop.”
I growl low in my throat.
“Clothes, off.” A command, but also an invitation.
Her wide dark eyes meet mine. Create a space for my pleasure. Create a space where it’s safe for me to let go, they seem to say.
Her pants are off in seconds, as she eagerly raises her hips to let me tug them down She has little black lace panties on, and it’s time to find out the answer to my earlier question. I pull her shirt off over her head.
A matching black lace bra.
Fuck.
My mouth is on her immediately, sucking on her nipple through the rough lace of her bra. She mewls underneath me. She wants me to make her lose control, and I’m more than happy to oblige.
Interesting thing about giving up control.
Losing control.
Taking control.
The illusion of all those things is easy. Doing it, in reality, is much harder.
I tongue her nipple slowly, languorously. She tries to arch against me to get more friction, but I push her back down on the bed.
Eager woman.
Not really surrendering her control then.
“Uh-uh,” I scold, circling her nipple through the bra with a finger. “I’m the boss here, Ruby. Unless you want me to stop, you’ll let me fuck you however I want, for as long as it takes.”
She whimpers.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I wait, each second denying her what I can see she wants.
What matter is that she realizes that she wants it.
And gifts me that desire to do with as I will.
“No.”
I shoot her a feral grin before going back to teasing her nipples through the lace with my lips and tongue, and tracing one finger lightly over the crotch of her panties.
One finger. Enough to awaken sensation.
To lightly stoke desire.
But to offer no relief in sight.
As much as I’d once enjoyed seeing Ruby come undone with anger, I am committed to taking her to that edge with pleasure.
“I heard you touching yourself last night.” I slide her bra underneath her breasts.
They’re fucking amazing.
Pink, pert nipples begging to be sucked. While I enjoy every second of taking the lead, this woman’s beautiful body, the way she responds to my touch, the aching openness with which she accepts what I ask.
There’s power in that to, and it’s possibility in making me come undone is very real.
Her breasts are a study in perfection, and I take my time first with the right one, grinding my tongue over the hard peak, increasing the pressure before scraping it lightly with my teeth and moving to her left breast. My hand is still at the crotch of her panties. The way she writhes beneath my touch, the sounds she’s still trying to keep a little quiet, it’s enough to drive a man crazy.
“You’re soaking wet,” I murmur. “Do you touch yourself a lot, Ruby?”
“No,” she gasps. “Not a lot”
I slide a finger against her clit.
“That’s a shame.” I move the panties over her hips. I’m dying to sink my fingers deep inside her, but my goal here is to make her come apart. I trace my finger down the seam of her lips. There are times it pays to be a patient, ruthless, methodical man.
“Please,” she gasps.
Ignoring her pleas, I continue to tease her entrance with one hand while I caress, pinch, and flick her nipples with the other. She’s wild with desire and watching her struggle to keep from bucking against me is so fucking appealing.
She knows I’ll draw it out even more if she does.
Even as she fights for control, control over her body and her reactions, I can see her sinking in an awareness of what this means.
How to please me.
Most importantly, how to let me please her.
In my wildest fantasies about Detective Ruby Williams, I’d never dreamed we’d connect on such a primal level.
I finally dip one finger into her. She feels amazing. Hot, tight, and wet. Her body clenches against me, begging for more.
“Please,” she says, louder this time and her voice ragged with wanting. “Ronan, I can’t…”
“I think you can.” My tone is light, even encouraging, but also a little dangerous.
Play by the rules, Honey.
I don’t want to have to leave you wanting.
I push my finger deeper inside her before drawing it all the way out. Over and over, slowly, I keep going until she’s grabbing at the quilt, those beautiful tits thrust up as she pants her arousal.
It’s a pretty goddamn picture, and I reward her by slipping in a second finger and picking up my pace. She’s so wound up that I can tell she’s seconds away from coming, but I’m not done yet.
“Yes. Ronan, please, don’t stop. I want more.”
The rules.
The undoing of Ruby William.
One lick, one stroke, one promised orgasm at a time.
For this, I can be the world’s most patient man.
And when she really and truly gives herself over, lets go, and just loses herself in the experience?
I will apply everything I have to delivering a pleasure this woman will never forget.
But at the demand, I pull my hand away, and she howls in frustration. She’s furious but too turned on to do anything about it.
I push her legs further apart.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I growl, before shoving my face against her pussy.
She tastes incredible. Sweeter than honey. Her legs fall together, as if the sensations too much as I lick her relentlessly from top to bottom, dipping my tongue into her center before swirling it around her swollen clit. You can feel the tension building in her core.
I hold her thighs apart and suck on her clit. She starts to close them, to try to hold me there. I stop.
She bucks against me, and I pull away.
“No,” she screams. “Goddamnit.”
T
he fierceness of her exclamation has me grinning. And turned on as hell.
A very patient man.
“Is that a stop?” I ask.
“Ronan.”
I duck my head so she doesn’t see the wicked smile shaping my lips at her agonized voice.
“Is it?”
“Please!”
Her desperate begging is so fucking sweet.
“Please what?” I ask.
“Fuck me! I want you to make me come. Please!”
“Since you asked nicely.” My face is back against her pussy, and I lash her clit with my tongue. I slip my fingers back into her dripping wet center, thrusting in and out of her at a rapid pace, pausing to twist them inside her every few thrusts, pushing against her g-spot.
“Oh my god. Ronan. Oh my god. Oh god!”
She comes hard against my mouth and hand, her greedy pussy grabbing at my fingers. I’m guessing my little detective is multi-orgasmic, and I don’t give her a second to recover before I’m rubbing her clit with my thumb again.
“Ronan!” she gasps. “Please, give me a second?”
A searching question, more than a demand.
“If you want me to stop, you know what to say.”
But she doesn’t want that.
I’m rubbing and pushing her clit with my thumb, watching her face this time. I want to see the desire on her face. I want to see her shatter. She’s slick, and it’s not easy to get good friction. Normally I’d use a vibrator on her at this point, but I’m not sure if she brought one. Before yesterday I would’ve thought not. Not so sure now.
But I don’t want to stop now and lose momentum.
“Pinch your nipples.”
“What?” Her voice is hazy from her first orgasm.
“Pinch your nipples, Ruby. Pinch them for me.” Her hands automatically go to her breasts and watching her pink-tipped fingers squeeze and pull her nipples is going to be a favorite fantasy of mine for a long time to come.
I continue to stroke her clit while I pump my fingers in and out of her tight core. Her hands start to fall away from her breasts.
“Don’t stop unless I tell you.”
She’s great at following orders and is back to teasing her hard peaks.
Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 8