“Oh, grow up.” But she laughed. So typical.
As he pushed the door open, revealing an expanse of hardwood floor, a thought seemed to strike him. “Humor me?” he asked, sounding amused. Nell nodded her assent, waiting to see what he wanted. “I’m going to lift you.” And that split second of warning was enough to keep her from going fully into self-defense mode as he scooped her up in his arms to carry her over the threshold.
“Put me down,” she told him. “I don’t like being picked up.” She’d instinctively taken a solid grip on the back of his jacket collar as an anchor point, and actively considered moving into a choke hold instead if he didn’t put her down right away.
“I’m not going to drop you,” he said, laughing.
“I don’t care.” And then she did slide her hand around to grab the front of his collar so she could put some pressure on the side of his neck with her forearm.
“Ow.” He set her on her feet, only a few paces inside the house, with the front door still open. “That was supposed to be fun.”
She gave him a hard look. “Yes. If I thought you were actually trying to hurt me, you’d be incapacitated at this point. But I asked you to put me down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And he snapped to attention and bowed, just as she’d taught him. Kidding around, but also with a hint of an actual apology behind it, and definite admiration. “Fuck me, your ninja skills are sexy, woman,” he muttered, turning to close the door. “Anyway, welcome to my home. You want a glass of wine? Beer? Or tea, or I’ve got Perrier or lemonade.”
Nell reached instinctively for her pocket, for the phone she no longer had. Can’t even check the time. “It’s probably not four o’clock yet.”
“So? If you want a glass of wine now, you’ve had a hell of a day and more than earned it. Merlot?”
She sighed. “Yes, please.”
He waved toward the furniture around the fireplace in the front room — a pair of green suede loveseats faced each other across a glass coffee table, masculine and solid. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” She chose one of the loveseats and sat down, cross-legged with her feet tucked up, as though she were on a mat rather than a couch.
He cocked his head at her, eyeing the way she sat, all knees and elbows and nothing to snuggle up to. “You’ve still got your prickles out. I’m sorry.” He crossed to a dark wooden cabinet against the far wall and opened it to reveal a fully stocked bar and wine rack.
“Well, what were you thinking?” she asked. “Did you really expect picking me up would end well?”
That made him smile. “I don’t know. I just thought of carrying you inside and right upstairs to bed, all romantic, like Gone with the Wind or something.”
“Apart from the whole movie being problematic, you do realize that when Rhett carries Scarlett up the stairs in Gone with the Wind, he’s explicitly intending to force himself on her, right?”
Eamonn handed Nell a glass of wine, looking nonplussed. “Fuck me, no, I thought it was supposed to be all passionate and stuff. I’ve only ever seen a clip. So — totally not romantic. Got it.” He stood there, holding his glass of wine. He looked at it, then at her. “Well, cheers.”
She held up her glass and clinked it against his. “Cheers.” When he sat down on the other loveseat, facing her, she grimaced. “Mood-killer, that’s me.”
“Oh, babe, not at all.” He stretched out his legs and took a sip of his wine, a small smile threatening to break out into full sunshine as he looked at her.
“You’re amused?” she asked, stunned. “Do you like it when I go into self-defense mode on you, or something?”
He nodded slowly, his eyes intense, and she knew before he spoke that his voice would be thick and deep with arousal. “I find it incredibly sexy that you can make me behave if I get out of line. I wouldn’t try to trigger you on purpose, I swear, but it doesn’t turn me off at all.”
An uncomfortable thought struck her. “I have to ask — is it a kink thing? Do you like being hurt, or something?”
He shook his head, not even remotely offended by the question. “I don’t enjoy pain. I can tolerate it, like getting a tattoo or playing a concert injured, but… definitely not my thing. You?”
“I don’t think I could voluntarily let someone hurt me. I’ve got a pretty strong instinct to defend myself.”
That made him chuckle. “I’d noticed. Ninja woman, I’ve found it far too easy to have my way with anyone I wanted, and I hope like hell they were all as willing as they seemed at the time. You make me think; you make me listen. You demand respect, and I don’t know why that’s hot, but it is.”
Eamonn’s words washed over Nell, soothing balm to her heart after the humiliation of being fired. She sipped her wine and let some of the tension go. “I didn’t want to like you, but I kind of do,” she told him, remembering what she’d thought of him when they first met, surprised at how much her opinion of him had changed.
“Enough to go to bed with me?” he asked idly, his voice so deadpan casual that she took a sharper look at him and realized he wasn’t relaxed at all. He seemed on edge, his lounging pose not consistent with the taut muscles she now noticed.
“Are you… nervous?”
Instead of denying it, he blew out a long breath and then raised his hands in a what can I say gesture. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he admitted.
“It’s just sex. You make sure I come, I make sure you come, it’ll be all right.” Nell couldn’t suppress a bubble of laughter at the surprise on Eamonn’s face. “What? I’m practical about these things.” She stood up, looked at the rest of the wine in her glass and chugged it down, then carefully set the empty glass on the coffee table before walking around it to stand in front of him. “You want to show me your bedroom?”
He gazed up at her, and the world went still for a moment. She saw his throat move as he swallowed. “Now?”
“Yes, now.”
He reached up and caught one of her hands in both of his. She thought maybe he’d pull her down onto his lap or something, but he only stroked her palm with his thumb for a moment, a subtle caress that sent tiny shivers of chemistry tingling all over her.
Then he stood up, and since she’d been nearly leaning over him on the couch, that put him inside the boundaries of her comfort zone, close enough that if she leaned forward even a tiny bit, she’d be pressed up against him. But she stood, straight-backed, leaving that tiny inch of space between them, waiting. Her pulse raced.
“I promised you the whole night,” he murmured. “Are you ready for that?”
“Bring it on. If you can make me forget this crappy day, I’ll be impressed.”
“Challenge accepted.” He grinned. “I’m going to blow your mind, Nella-bella.” Then he settled his free hand on the small of her back and pulled her gently against him, closed that last tiny gap between them, and bent his head to kiss her.
He tasted of wine. This was no hesitant lip to lip kiss — there was nothing gradual or coy about it. No pretense that they were going anywhere except to bed, and soon. Her mouth was open to taste him before he’d even got there, and his tongue plunged deep in a sensual caress that she met with glorious urgency. His hand slid down to get an unrestrained feel of her butt, as he broke the kiss just enough to murmur, “Upstairs?”
Part of Nell wouldn’t have cared at that point if he’d just bent her over the sofa, right there in the front room with the drapes open, but with some remaining shred of dignity, she managed to say, “Okay. Upstairs.”
With a last squeeze and a murmur of pleasure, Eamonn took his hand off her backside and put a little space between them, but his other hand had never let go of hers, and he didn’t release her fingers now. He tugged her toward the stairs. “After you.”
“This ‘ladies first’ stuff isn’t—”
He shook his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Honestly, I want to look at your ass while you
go up the stairs. All right?” He was right behind as she climbed the steps, close enough to still be holding her hand. She could feel his eyes fixed on her, so she put a bit of a wiggle in her hips and laughed out loud when she heard an admiring muttered “Fuck me” in response. It felt good, to have him looking at her like that.
She reached the top of the stairs and stopped, looking around at the small hallway, wondering which of the four closed doors led to the bedroom. With a gentle tug on her hand, Eamonn twirled her around to face him and then they were kissing again, even as he moved them to one of the doors and pushed it open.
His bedroom made her think of sunshine, with yellow walls and creamy curtains, and a sunburst patchwork quilt on a vast king-sized bed with an old-fashioned metal frame. “Are you still feeling cold?” he asked, releasing her and crossing to the gas fireplace opposite the foot of the bed. “I can turn this on.”
“You’re warming me up all right,” she told him. “But I’ve never had sex in front of a fireplace. Might be nice.”
He flipped the switch and an instant fire sprang to life behind the glass. “Come on, then.” He leaned against the mantelpiece, waiting for her, one eyebrow cocked.
Suddenly, the expanse of bedroom carpet between them seemed miles wide. It’s just a bit of fun, Nell reminded herself. Two consenting adults scratching a mutual itch, no big deal. But the tense anticipation running through her as she closed the distance between them was unusual, unlike anything she’d felt before. Maybe it’s the day I’ve had. Strange circumstances, and all that.
She stepped into his personal space, hyperaware that she was putting herself within his reach. This wasn’t a sparring ring, and yet, she had a clear sense of stepping inside his guard. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder before running his hand down her arm until he could take her hand in his. His grip was warm and comforting, with fingers callused from the strings of his instrument. “So, how d’you want it, then?” His voice sounded casual, but his gaze held a delicious intensity, pupils so dilated with desire that his eyes seemed dark rather than blue. “I know we’ve joked about you needing to be on top, but… is that something you need tonight? Or would you rather just lie back and let me take charge, or what?”
“I…” Nell drew in a deep breath, a little overwhelmed. Sex is just sex, isn’t it? We get naked and do the thing? But she didn’t like to be pinned down; she usually did find herself on top. And the thought of letting go of that, of having Eamonn’s big body covering hers—it was too much: overwhelmingly sexy, and the mental image of it made her bite her lip to hold in a wanton sound, but… too much. “Yeah, I think I need to feel in control of things right now. On top would be good. If you don’t mind.”
That earned a soft chuckle from him, a husky, intimate laugh. “Either way is good for me, Nella-bella. I’ll do whatever you need.”
Her knees felt unaccountably weak at the offer. Wanting to deny it, to maintain the upper hand, she perched on the end of the bed and said, “Strip for me, rock god.”
“Fuck me, you don’t mess around, do you?” he muttered. “All right. Game on.”
He took his phone from his pocket and fiddled with it for a minute before setting it down on the mantelpiece, a dirty grin on his face. Moments later, she realized what he was up to, as the opening to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” filled the room. He met her raised eyebrows with a wink and swaggered across the room to take up a spot in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch, just as the lyrics kicked in. He started to move, completely unselfconscious as he danced, taking evident pleasure in the sensuality of it. She tried not to stare at the thrust and grind of his hips, and then his hands went to the hem of his t-shirt and he began to work it upward.
She could feel her face getting hot. “I didn’t really think you’d—”
“You asked, babe. Just enjoy it.” Inch by inch, to the rhythm of the music, he uncovered the inked skin of his abdomen, taut and lean, with a fine trail of dark gold hair running down into his jeans. He kept going until the t-shirt was up around his shoulders, giving her a good look at the tattooed angel and how extremely good he was at rhythmic movement. Then, as his face disappeared under the fabric for a moment, he put a little extra bump and grind into his hips, drawing her attention to the evident arousal there, straining the denim.
The t-shirt hit the floor, and he was grinning at her, all too clearly enjoying his performance. He clasped his hands behind his head and did a smooth body roll, showing off his control and muscles. It was unabashedly sexual — a promise, a demonstration. He’s owning this. Reveling in it, even. And he really did have a spectacular body to show off.
He kicked off his boots, then brought his hands to his belt, playing with the buckle before slowly unbuckling it and sliding the leather free, stripper-dancing with it like he’d been on the wrong kind of stage all his life.
The belt dropped to the floor and Eamonn thumbed the button at the waistband of his jeans as if to ask, are you ready for this? Nell felt her mouth go dry. She nodded.
He slowly unbuttoned his fly and shimmied the denim down his thighs, revealing black boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. Very nice. He gave his hips a little pump to the music, pushed the jeans down farther — stopped with everything bunched around his knees. Their eyes met. There’s no graceful way to remove tight jeans while standing up, Nell thought, unable to suppress a bubble of laughter at his predicament. So sexy and slick, but those jeans weren’t coming off easily.
“A stripper wouldn’t wear jeans like this,” Eamonn muttered as the song came to an end. He came and sat beside her on the end of the bed, skinning out of his pants and socks and kicking them away. “Now you’re overdressed,” he said, putting a hand on her thigh. His palm felt hot against her leg. She felt as though, with the slightest slip of her self-control, she could burn up like a parched forest in fire season.
“I despise work clothes. Business flipping casual,” she said, starting to unbutton her blouse.
“Want me to do that?” he offered.
“I’ve got it.” Her voice sounded a touch firmer than she’d intended. I’m in charge of how this will unfold; I refuse to get swept away. And his fingers fiddling with buttons down her front, near but not quite touching her breasts, felt like handing control of the situation back to him. Trying for a lighter tone, she said, “You looked like you were enjoying that. Dancing.”
“I like dancing,” he agreed. His hand stroked her thigh, and she almost squirmed.
“And the stripper moves?”
“Choreography for music videos. You didn’t see the one for ‘Human Lollipop’?” He stood up and did another body roll, close enough that she could pretty much count it as a lap dance. Cupped himself and gave his erection a stroke through his underwear, his eyes steady on her with overwhelming desire. “Dancing for you, lovely…” He shook his head. “You’ve got me so hard, I can’t think about anything else. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to throw you down on my bed and fuck you senseless.”
“You couldn’t throw me anywhere,” Nell reminded him, refusing to acknowledge the thrill his words gave her.
“I know. I’m just telling you I want you.” He was already standing between her thighs, and he cocked an eyebrow in question before he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and bent his head, giving her plenty of time and room to evade his kiss if she wished. But she lifted her mouth to his, instantly delighting in the pressure of his lips against hers, opening to his tongue and licking into his mouth in turn.
A rush of heat washed over her, stripping away all the hesitation as his mouth moved to her ear, her neck. Now. I need this, him, now. She fumbled open the last couple of buttons to get rid of her blouse and he helped her push it off her shoulders — then he murmured something inaudible as he ran a finger around the scooped front of her athletic bra. “I don’t do lacy lingerie,” she said, thinking he might be less than thrilled by the plain black spandex.
“You don’t need to.” He cupped her breasts and stroked his thumbs across her nipples through the stretchy fabric, causing her to arch her back and lean into his touch like a cat being petted. And then he was watching her disentangle herself from her bra, and the look on his face reminded her that this was the first time he’d seen her bare. “Fuck me, you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,” he told her, lowering himself to his knees in front of her so he could use his mouth, licking and sucking and gently nipping until she was squirming and moaning in a haze of pleasure. She barely heard him when he said, “Stand up for a second, babe. I want to take your pants off, all right?” But she felt his hands at her waist, undoing the annoying hook-and-bar fastener of her pants and lowering the zipper, and then his hands on her hips, encouraging her to stand.
It was only when she stepped out of the pants that she realized he’d slid her underwear down too, and he was still kneeling in front of her, staring at the triangle of hair between her legs as though she had some kind of heavenly dessert there for him to eat.
In a strained voice, he said, “I’m dying to taste you — may I?” And his hands were guiding her to sit again, to spread her legs wide for him.
But that was altogether too intimate.
“I don’t need foreplay; I just want you inside me,” she said, pulling away from the terrifying temptation, scooting herself backwards toward the middle of the bed where she got onto her knees, a stronger position. And he still knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, gazing up at her in such blatant admiration that she arched her back and stuck out her chest proudly because for once she felt gorgeously sexy and desirable and fabulous. The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, he’d said. “Come and lie down so I can ride you, all right?”
He groaned and chuckled at the same time, and complied, getting up and stretching out on the bed beside her, still wearing his boxer briefs. He hitched his thumbs into the waistband, preparing to remove them, then paused. “Aww, gorgeous, I’m afraid I won’t last long enough for you — just looking at you has me almost to the edge.”
Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2) Page 15