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It doesn’t last, of course, and I curse under my breath as I pull back the bed covers to reveal the smooth expanse of Maricela’s toned belly where my oversized t-shirt has ridden up, and her impossibly long legs are bare and far too appealing considering she’s dressed, once again, in a pair of my boxer shorts.
I might have taken the edge off, but at just that small sight, lust skates through my body all over again. Because she looks so tempting like that, even though she's sleeping.
Fuck my life. Throwing the sheets down, I stalk to my small personal bar and pour myself two fingers of good Irish single-malt whisky. The realization that I desire Maricela so badly is almost overwhelming, but I have to remind myself she is just a pawn in a much larger game.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MARICELA
I stay absolutely still, forcing myself to breathe deeply, and pretend I’m fast asleep.
I’m pretty sure I heard Ciaran jacking off in the shower, but it doesn’t seem to have put him in any better mood if the way he huffs off and the impatient clattering of glass that follows is anything to go by.
I put away the erotic image that knowledge conjures and crack an eye just enough to see him throw a large whiskey back in a single swallow, and when he sets down his glass with a lead hand, I know he’s staring at me even though I’ve stopped looking. But the heavy tension resonating through the room makes it impossible for me to keep my eyes closed any longer.
As soon as my gaze catches his, he mutters an oath and stalks back to the bed with all the predatory grace of a big cat, never taking his eyes off me.
He’s gloriously naked except for a small white towel slung loosely around his waist, showing off far too many swathes of damp, tanned skin, and my suddenly parched throat is desperate to lick him.
I swallow hard, feeling my pulse kick up into a higher gear as Ciaran crawls onto the bed and looms over me, his midnight hair slicked back, and his blue eyes darkened by lust and anger. But I hold my ground, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and bravado, daring him to make the first move.
For a long moment, we stare each other down, the anticipation between us palpable.
I can feel his hot breath on my skin as he leans close, and that's not the only thing I can feel. For someone who just got himself off, I can't believe he's so hard again already.
And why the hell does he have to smell so goddamn edible? All fresh and clean and slightly spicy.
Delicious.
Argh! What the heck is wrong with me?
I struggle not to react, but it's hopeless. My nipples tighten, aching to be touched and my insides clench. I can feel my whole body quivering with nervous energy just at his proximity, and it has nothing to do with any thoughts of seduction.
Okay, I’m lying, so sue me.
But it’s not only lust. It’s him.
For a long moment, I don't think he's going to do anything, and I hate the disappointment that colors my judgment. Then, without warning, Ciaran lunges at me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head. I yelp in surprise, overpowered by his strength, but that doesn’t stop the wetness that suddenly coats my thighs.
No matter how much my head screams an instinctive ‘danger’ warning, my traitorous body has a mind of its own.
His mouth descends upon mine in a frenzied kiss, his lips rough and demanding as he takes what he wants from me. I struggle against his hold for the briefest of moments before giving in to the passion coursing through me, my own desires sparking in response to what can only be described as a brutal, claiming duel of mouths.
His tongue thrusts between my lips, tangling with mine in a desperate dance, his body pressing against me, hungering for more than just a mating of mouths. I can feel the heat of his skin, the hardness of his chest, and the pulsating need that emanates from every fiber of his being.
As the kiss intensifies, I can hardly breathe. A part of me wants to push him away, to scream at him to get off me, but another part, the bigger part of me wants to surrender to the raw, animalistic desire that’s consuming us both.
In the midst of our passion, I can almost forget the anger and tension that had previously filled the room. But as he thrusts against me with nothing more than the ineffectual barrier of fabric between us, I still feel the rage simmering beneath the surface, a dangerous combination of lust and fury that leaves me both exhilarated and terrified.
This is such a bad idea. Ciaran Maguire isn’t the kind of man you mess with, and I know we’re both on the brink of doing something that could have profound consequences.
My heart hammers, the beat erratic against my ribcage as his lips continue to devour mine like he’s starved, and the grip on my wrists tightens, his fingers digging into my skin.
I can feel his ragged breaths mingling with my own, but I’m not so far under his spell that I don’t recognize that this is not some romantic encounter, but rather the raw expression of the explosive tension that’s been building between us.
I groan into his mouth, unable to resist the primal urge to submit to his dominance. Our bodies press together, his arousal hard and insistent against my thigh.
Our passion becomes a raging inferno, consuming any trace of apprehension. I let go of the last vestiges of my resistance, allowing myself to be carried away by the raw, unbridled passion raging between us.
