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His eyes flared with white hot fire.
My discomfort, my plea, satisfied him.
God, I should have hated him then. Should have loathed him for this, but I didn’t. Something inside me was panting like a bitch in heat at his dictates.
“Are you going to touch yourself again?”
“Not without your permission,” I said immediately, my eyes widening as far as they could while I tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Good answer,” he mumbled, rubbing his chin, his frown turning pensive as he stared at me. “You can shower.” Just as joy leaped through me, he murmured, “Just don’t wash your pussy. I want my cum leaking from you all day.”
Though his words made me blush, everything inside me screamed that this was exactly what I wanted, too.
My eyes closed in delight at the command, and though I rocked my hips to try to satisfy the ache deep inside, I didn’t mess around. Finn was never very patient, and the last thing I wanted was him taking away my shower.
As I climbed out of bed, I felt his eyes on me. Mostly on my tits and ass. As he was standing near the door, I had to pass him, and when I did, he grabbed my arms and dragged me to him.
Before I could even gulp in a breath, he was there. His mouth on mine. He fucked his tongue into me, thrusting it hard and fast against my own. I was left panting and shaken against him, clinging to him for support as he robbed me of air, as he claimed my lips for his own.
When my fingers bit into his leather coat—something I knew he only wore to church because, and I quote, ‘it was fucking freezing in St. Patrick’s even when it was high summer’—he released a growl.
Pulling back, he stared deep into my eyes as he shoved a hand between us and slipped his fingers between my legs.
“Do you want to come?” he grated out, his voice a harsh rasp that made my nerves sizzle.
“O-Oh, God, y-yes,” I half-sobbed, my body flaring to life once more at his touch.
He dipped his head and gave me his customary kiss—a harsh bite of my bottom lip that had me rocking onto tiptoes and pushing myself harder against him.
I knew this wasn’t in his plan, but I was just glad he’d changed his mind. Until I realized what he was doing.
He pressed two fingers to my clit. Left them there, just covering it, then he whispered, “Get yourself off.”
A whimper escaped me, but I didn’t argue, didn’t complain. I just pushed my forehead to his chest and rocked my hips, trying to grind down against the minimal pressure he exerted against my hungry nub.
The gasps that escaped me sounded tortured, and that was because they were. I was in agony, absolute agony. My stomach muscles burned, but there was no way I was moving away from him without coming. And yet, after God only knew how long, he moved his fingers away with a tut.
“Time’s up.”
I wanted to scream. I could feel it burst inside me, the rage and the indignation curling in my veins as my hunger, a hunger that only this man could appease, roared to life.
I loved the way he bossed me around in the bedroom—I truly did. It turned me on something fierce, so why I countermanded that, I’d never know. I leaned up, bit his lip as hard as he did mine, and spat, “Fuck. You.”
His eyes flared at that. Deep in their ice-blue depth I saw warring emotions. Wrath, which made my own anger pale in comparison, but satisfaction, too. The latter made no sense, but when he pushed me back and I landed on the bed. I wasn’t surprised when he pulled his cock from his pants again.
He was hard.
Thick.
Like he hadn’t just climaxed moments before.
When he shoved it inside me, I released a keening shout of relief.
“Thank you,” I cried out, and repeated the two words like a litany.
“Your pleasure is mine,” he ground out, bracketing my head with his forearms as he pumped into me. “I own it, and I own you, Aoife.” He fucked me so hard the bed rocked, and I didn’t even care if my neighbors knew what was happening. Didn’t care if they could hear. I just needed this man inside me, needed to come so badly I felt like I’d go insane.
When I just kept on saying ‘thank you,’ his pistoning hips stopped. Before I could sob, he grated, “Say it, Aoife, say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
