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He groaned softly, one that was so deep and low I almost wondered if I imagined it.
“Will ye, lass? Will you let me kiss ye?” He sounded a little hesitant, as if he worried I’d actually say no.
Surely he could feel how much I wanted him.
I did lick my lips then, giving his hand a little squeeze, maybe more as encouragement for myself. His nostrils flared as if he was inhaling deeply, taking my scent into him. This moment felt so charged, almost primal in its intensity.
I opened my mouth to tell him that, yes, I wanted that with a burning fever, but the words were lodged in my throat. He must’ve taken that as a refusal, because the exhale he released sounded almost defeated, disappointed.
I felt him start to pull away and found the strength to rise up on my toes, wrap my other hand around the nape of his neck, curl my fingers along the short strands of his hair at the base of the skull, and press my chest to his. I instantly felt his body become hard as rock, his muscles flexing, tensing as if my very touch was almost painful to him.
We locked eyes for a prolonged moment, and then I exerted a little pressure on his nape, pulling him down toward me at the same time I rose up to meet him, our heads tilting at the same time, our lips touching lightly.
The kiss was as light as the butterfly wings in my belly. But the shockwave that went through me at the contact had my toes curling and my nails digging into his scalp. A gruff sound tore from his throat, and I gasped, my mouth opening slightly from the act. He must’ve thought it was an invitation, because he plunged his tongue into my mouth, startling me, causing me to moan at how good he tasted.
His tongue was stroking against mine, velvet and warm and addicting. He let go of my hand to curl his fingers around my waist, his touch possessive as he pulled me closer. My eyes snapped open wide at that touch, and I stared into his face, unable to stop my reaction as I felt the very hard, long length of a very evident erection pressed against my belly.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured against my mouth. “I canna help myself. Ye make me crazed.” He ground himself against me as if he couldn’t stop, a harsh noise leaving him once more.
Touch me. Don’t stop. Give me more.
My eyes closed on their own, and I fell into the abyss of all the sensations I felt with Cillian.
I gave myself into the kiss, drunk from his flavor and the endorphins that exploded inside my body, tangling up my very cells. I was pretty sure my heart was beating for this moment, a thump-thump, thump-thump that picked up speed with each passing second he devoured me.
The world spun, and I realized he gripped my hips securely and turned me around before starting to back me up. The smooth, stone wall stopped my retreat, and I placed my palms flat behind me, curling my nails slightly into the rock face.
Cillian kissed me as if he’d never get to do it again, as if he was taking a piece of me into him. And I was helpless not to just surrender, to submit to this very arousing—and aroused—male who brought out every feminine instinct in my body.
His cock was a hard rod between us, digging into my belly over and over as he ground himself against me. A gush of wetness spilled from between my thighs, my body so primed and ready for him. My nipples tingled, and my clit, that little bundle of nerves at the top of my mound, was swollen and sensitive, rubbing against the seam of my jeans.
He broke away and started trailing kisses along my jawline and down my neck. I gasped for air, the world spinning around me, the earth opening up and swallowing me whole. Then when I felt him slide his hand up the side of my body, over my ribcage, and between my breasts, I became even more lightheaded.
Cillian lightly curled those big fingers around my throat, gently adding pressure as he suckled at the pulse point beneath my ear. I was pretty sure I could orgasm from this alone.
“Cillian,” I whisper-moaned, sensations sparking mini fires throughout every inch of my body. He growled as if he was this wild animal that had the threat of its meal being taken away.
And I was that meal.
“I canna control myself with you, Aoife,” he murmured against my throat over and over again, as if he was shocked, as if he was trying to apologize for this moment.
I shook my head in response, even though he didn’t ask a question. I wanted him to know this was what I needed. And I hadn’t realized that until I felt his touch, took his scent into my lungs, and tasted his kiss.
