Bending, he kissed the tattoo on her ass before massaging the round globes, only letting his long fingers graze her sex and between her cheeks. She was panting and squirming in minutes with his teasing. He let two fingers enter her core. “Christ, baby. You’re so wet. Are you ready to take me again?”
“So ready, please,” she begged.
He placed himself at her entrance and slowly slid in. He couldn’t help the shout that left his mouth at how damn exquisite they fit together.
He kept slow constant strokes. Rowan was already close to orgasming, panting, and begging for release. Seating himself fully, he turned her to her back. She was so tiny he was able to grab her hips and lift them high enough to put him at the perfect angle to hit her G-spot.
“There, Hugh, there. Right there. Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she pleaded.
He went harder and faster, pistoning like a machine. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she came. His climax followed, a feeling similar to freefalling—a heart-pounding, breath-stealing, muscle-seizing moment.
He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t a dream. Rowan was actually beneath him—currently collapsed with him laid over her front—both sawing in deep breaths, sweaty skin slick between them.
“My vagina is calling a truce for at least a couple of hours. I love you, Hugh, but I’m not a Timex watch,” she snorted in amusement.
Hugh pulled out and disposed of the condom. “A Timex?” he asked while picking her up to move her to a more comfortable position on the bed.
She laughed outright then. “Don’t you remember the old Timex slogan? ‘It takes a licking and keeps on ticking.’ My dad would use it all the time. A pen, an old car...my mother. My sisters and I finally caught on in high school to what Dad meant when he said it about Mom, and Mom would blush.”
He sat down on the bed, running his fingers through Rowan’s miles of black silky hair. “Give me a few minutes in the bathroom, and then I’ll run us a bath. I don’t want you to stop ticking too soon,” he winked, making her laugh.
“I love you.”
“I love you beyond reason,” Hugh easily admitted. “Can you do me a small favor?”
“Of course.”
She sat up, her expression suddenly solemn as if whatever favor he needed she would take seriously, but watching the sway of her breasts momentarily interrupted his request.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Do you think you might...not share our sex life with your sisters or, God forbid, Bébhinn?” Bran and Patrick would live to give him a hard time if their wives enlightened them of their father’s bedroom activities—anywhere activities if Hugh had his way.
Rowan looked taken aback like he’d asked her to shave her eyebrows off or stop drinking Slane.
“How precious, babe. You’re shy,” she smirked.
“I am not shy, and you know it.”
“We like to put our experiences in, I don’t know, like an information bank. Like when you held me over your face…Bran and Patrick may not have done that to them, but when I tell them how amazing it was, they would suggest it to their husbands. See?” she asked, speaking slowly as if he were a simpleton who didn’t understand why privacy was a silly concept. “Don’t worry. We never tell everything, but did you know that River and Patrick had a video sex call once, and Pat totally ruined his keyboard with the mess?”
“Jesus, God. I don’t want to know anything you find out from your sisters. Ever.” Sighing, he’d known this was a battle he wouldn’t win, but damn, he could have lived happy the rest of his life without that visual. His boys endured the Byrne share fest, so he would too. Maybe.
21
Rowan was grinning like a lunatic while changing into her running gear. She felt different, light, and ridiculously happy. Mom always said that the best things in life were unexpected. Hugh wasdefinitelyunexpected.
Speaking of unexpected—Hugh had a big surprise waiting in the bathroom when he finally called her in. She could hear bathwater running and assumed he was getting things ready to soak in his huge clawfoot tub. She grabbed his t-shirt from the floor to throw on and pulled off the black band she wore around her wrist to put her hair in a bun before walking into the huge open bath.
She looked at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror—totally rocking the fresh from sweaty sex cardio class look. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a giant naked man standing to her left. She barely swallowed a scream—a clean-shaven Hugh O’Faolain was a shock to the system.
“Good Lord! You scared the heck out of me,” she gasped as she turned to fully face him, and then gasped again, almost tripping on her own feet when she really took him in. His beard had been sexy. Manly. A statement.
Beardless? She practically had to manually close her mouth…holy cow, the man would cause traffic accidents if he walked down a sidewalk without a mask. He was that gorgeous. His skin was smooth, flawless. His lips were soft and full without a trace of femininity. The beard had done a spectacular job of disguising his lean face, chiseled jaw, and…Jesus...cheekbones that were so sharp, hollows contoured below them.
Striking. He had been silently watching her with his dark eyes, waiting for the verdict. Putting her arms around his waist, she kissed his chest. “I loved your beard—like really, really loved it.” She kissed his chest again, running her hands across his wide shoulders before tracing the muscles down his arms. “Never grow one again.”
He chuckled at that, finally wrapping his arms around her. He lifted her then so she could wrap her legs around his waist—his preferred way of holding her, probably so he didn’t have to constantly bend to get to her level, she thought, smiling.
“I take it you like my face.” He grinned.
