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How did the tables turn so fast?One secondIwas threateningher, and now she has me immobile, my cock in her hand, her mouth, pushing down into her throat as dizzying pleasure floods me, and I’ve forgotten why I was angry, why I wanted to punish her. All I can think about is her hot, perfect, sucking mouth, the way it feels as if she’s pulling my cum up from my balls with it, her hand moving in perfect rhythm, and I know I’m going to come soon. No one makes me come as hard or as fast as Saoirse does, no one makes me feel as if I’m losing control. It’s like she’s cast a fucking spell on me, and it infuriates me even as it makes me want to shut us both in a room and fuck until neither of us can walk any longer.
She gags a little on my cock, her nose brushing my abdomen as she takes every inch in her throat again, and I know if I let her go on much longer I’m going to end up spilling in her mouth instead of her pussy. I grab her the instant she slides off my dick for a second, my hand closing around her upper arm as I yank her none too gently to her feet, and I hear her gasp and see the cocky smile on her face the instant before I toss her facedown over our brand-new bed.
In the space of a second, I have her skirt flipped up over her ass, and I grab her panties in my fist, ripping the lace as I tear them away from her. Saoirse cries out, but it’s so far from a sound of protest that no one could mistake it as that, and the instant her panties are gone I see her perfect pussy framed between her thighs, the lips swollen and parted, her arousal glistening.
“Fucking hell,” I swear as I thrust forward, sinking myself to the hilt in one long stroke that splits her open like a ripe peach, her juices spilling around my cock as she cries out in a long, high-pitched wail of pleasure that every neighbor we have definitely heard. “You’re so goddamn wet—”
“Just fuck me,” Saoirse hisses, and she doesn’t have to ask twice.
“Come if you can,” I grunt, and I start to thrust.
There’s no drawing it out, no foreplay, no effort to do anything but come in her hot pussy as hard and fast as I possibly can. I grab her hips, her ass, squeezing her perfect flesh in my hands as I sink into her pussy again and again, groaning aloud at the exquisite pleasure of it, feeling my cock swell inside of her, almost too tight of a fit. I pound into her, already on the edge from her blowjob, and Saoirse’s cries of pleasure fill the room as I slam into her once more, hard, groaning.
“Ahfuck, right there—yes—” I feel my balls tighten, pushing up on my toes to sink into her as deeply as I can as I feel myself starting to come. Saoirse moans, long and loud, her pussy fluttering and clenching around me, and I rock against her until the last jolts of pleasure have rippled through me and I’m certain every drop of cum is inside of her.
I pull out, tucking myself back in, and look down at her. She’s a mess, her skirt over her ass, her panties shredded on the floor, her red hair tangled and slightly sweaty around her face. She turns her head to one side, still gasping for breath, and I grin as I look down at her flushed face.
“Did you come?” I reach down, picking up her ruined panties. “Who am I kidding. Of course you did. You couldn’t have my cock in you andnotcome.” I shove the lace into my pocket, turning on my heel. “I’m going out to dinner, Saoirse. Alone. Don’t bother waiting up.”
16
SAOIRSE
Idon’t let myself cry until Connor is gone. When he leaves, slamming the door behind him, I sink down onto the plush carpet of our new bedroom and let the tears start to fall.
I can’t remember the last time I cried. I’ve tried to be strong through all of this, to look at what I’m gaining, at my successes. To draw on my strength and not let Connor cow me. But today pushed it the slightest bit too far.
I’m not crying because he fucked me. I don’t feel violated—I could have left, and I don’t believe he’d have forced me. If I flat out, seriously told Connor to stop, I’m certain he would. I’d chosen to take the upper hand back, go down on him, knowing I’d end up quite literally fucked at the end of it.
I’m crying because of what a fucking mess this all is.
“I want him,” I whisper to the silent room, angrily brushing away tears. What he makes me feel—I want it. I want more of it. There’s been a few moments in our relationship so far when he’s forgotten for a moment that he’s trying to keep me at arm’s length and when I’ve forgotten to be wary of him, and it’s been magical. The rides on his motorcycle, the night at the sex club, our banter on our wedding night—all glimpses into what we could be together if we’d both give in to it, if we’d stop fighting each other. We could be good together—but neither of us is willing to cave first. Connor is afraid if he wants me, if he loves me, that he’ll become my puppet and my father’s. I’m afraid that if I let myself fall for him that he’ll break my heart—and he almost certainly would. Iknowhe would.
He’s never going to give in. Which means once he gets me pregnant, I’m going to live a lifetime of wanting a husband who doesn’t want me, who avoids my bed unless he wants another child, knowing he’s with other women, trying to take some measure of comfort in the fact that I can have other men. The only man who’s even come close to making me feel what Connor does is Niall, and it’s still not the same.
It’s such stupid fucking irony.I’d hoped to fall in love with Liam and he with me, and that hadn’t worked out—and now I’m falling for his brother, who seems like he’d rather cut off his own hand than actually admit he wants me, much less fall in love with me.
Next to me, my phone lights up, and my chest tightens automatically when I see that it’s a message from Niall, as if my thoughts somehow summoned him. I haven’t spoken to him since the night of my bachelorette party, and a part of me thinks I should delete it without reading it. Of all the men I could be with other than Connor, Niall is the one most likely to cause trouble—and the one most likely to want more than I can give him.
But right now, what I want more than anything else is to feel like I matter. And I know Niall can give me that.
Unless, of course, he’s texting to apologize for his silence, but say we shouldn’t speak anymore.
I pick up my phone, wiping away the rest of my tears, and click on the text.
Saoirse, I’m sorry we haven’t spoken. It’s nothing to do with you, I promise. Can we meet?
I hesitate. I don’t know when Connor is coming back, and I doubt he’d be pleased to come home to find me gone—but why do I care?He’s acted like an ass, and besides, I’m not expected to just sit at home and wait around on him.He’ll probably come home drunk and go right to bed anyway.
Sure. Where do you want to meet?
My apartment, if that’s alright. I’ll give you the address.
He texts it to me, and I push myself to my feet, feeling my heart start to beat a little faster. The last time we spoke we went further than we should have, and I can’t help wondering what will happen tonight. I can’t let it go too far—but there’s an element of excitement to it, and a feeling that I can get back at Connor, just a little, without actually doing anything wrong.
I know he wouldn’t have any compunction about doing the same. He’s been trying to detach from me since we came home to Boston, trying to put distance between us—and I can’t pretend that he didn’t warn me, because hedid. He’d told me from the very beginning that there would be no love between us, no faithful marriage filled with passion and affection. We’d be distant partners in a business arrangement dependent on both of us filling our roles.
Nothing more. If I want more, then it’s my fault if I get hurt.
