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Grinding his dick harder against my ass as he anchors my back against his chest, Paddy’s breath tickles my ear. His right hand slides up my thigh and underneath my skirt, his middle and ring fingers plunging into me as I gasp.
“Feck, so wet for me, lass,” he groans into my ear, vigorously finger fucking me, the edge of the breakfast bar digging into my stomach.
Paddy’s breath is coming out in rough pants, harsh against my ear, and every time his fingers slam into me, the heel of his palm slaps against my clit. It’s sensation overload. Oh god. I’m not going to last.
“Come for me,leannán,” he growls into my ear. I have no idea what the Irish word means, but his words are such a heady mix of command and tenderness that I shatter around his fingers, gasping out his name as I do.
He presses his forehead against the back of my head, breathing heavily into my hair for a moment. My ass wiggles against his rock-hard dick, drawing a groan from his lips.
Paddy collects himself, moving back around the breakfast bar, stooping to collect my torn panties from the floor. He weighs them in his hands, shoving them into the pocket of his jeans.
My eyes follow him as he moves back to his bagel and picks it up, eating it like he doesn’t have a painfully hard erection bulging against the zipper of his jeans.
My breathing is slowly coming back under control as I move into the kitchen, feeling Paddy’s eyes on me as I pour myself a cup of coffee. There is a clatter as he drops his plate in the sink, and I place my mug down on the countertop, turning to face him as he gives me his usual spiel about not leaving the apartment.
“I promise not to go anywhere,” I quickly assure him. Paddy studies my face for a moment, nodding sharply. Between us, his dick is still bulging against his zipper, my tongue darting out to lick my lips at the sight.
This is normally when Paddy would stride out of the room without a backward glance, but he still hasn’t moved.
“See that ye don’t, lass,” he murmurs, raising his hand and running his fingertips over the bridge of my nose for some reason.
He cups my cheek with his hand, his thumb running over my lower lip as his eyes follow its movement hungrily. I don’t know what’s up with him and not kissing, but his eyes lift to mine, his gaze burning hard into them before he’s gone, the door closing firmly behind him, the lock clicking into place.
Sighing, I move into the bedroom to don new panties. The kitchen is calling, so I grab a bagel, spread it with cream cheese, and eat it over the sink. I’m feeling sated after my orgasm but a little off-balance over the lack of sex. My eyes land on my phone – specifically on the date – Tuesday. When Paddy fights. My theory from last week about sexual frustration comes back to me. Does that make you a better fighter?
Pushing my insecurities out of my mind, I mechanically wash the breakfast dishes. I want to clean the bathroom today. Then I’ll get back to my reading. I’m almost halfway through the book on the Irish struggles against the English oppression. Maybe I’ll finish it today. It’s slow going because I have to keep stopping to look place names up.
It is late when Paddy returns, but I have waited for him. My legs swing as I toy with my phone at the breakfast bar. The key rattles in the lock, and I look up expectantly as Paddy slides into the apartment, locking the door behind him, his eyes meeting mine.
Like after the other two fights, his knuckles are busted up again, and he has a faint bruise starting to darken on his jaw, but other than that, he seems fine. I slide off the barstool, waiting for him to order me onto my knees. That was extremely hot last week.
Paddy’s eyes hungrily drink me in. I’m still in my sundress.
“Naked, lass, in the shower. Now.”
Shivering with need, I turn, hurrying ahead as he stalks behind me, throwing his fight bag into the closet on the floor.
I drop the sundress on the bathroom floor as I step out of it, discarding my panties as Paddy tugs off his T-shirt and kicks off his sneakers, shoving his sweatpants down.
Paddy’s eyes are hungry as he steps into the water flow, quickly washing the blood and sweat of the fight away as I stand naked in front of him.
The second he is clean, he drops to his knees in the shower, grabbing my hips and moving me until I’m pressed against the cool, subway-tiled wall. Paddy’s eyes meet mine as he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder.
He finally breaks our hypnotic eye contact as his thumbs part my folds, his nose teasing my seam and his lips and tongue finding my clit. Shit. He’s wicked talented with that tongue.
Moaning, my eyes flutter closed, and my head tips back, resting against the cool tiles as my fingers slide through his thick, dark hair, gripping tightly.
“Feck, lass. I’ve wanted to do this all fecking day,” he groans, his teeth raking over my clit. I whimper at the feeling, bucking my core against his face.
A long finger spears into me, stabbing at my sweet spot, and his teeth rake over my clit again.
“Shit, Paddy,” I whimper, riding his face as I come.
“That’s it,leannán.”
He rises, his hands sliding under my thighs as he picks me up, pinning me there with his body as my legs wrap around his waist, and he thrusts deep.
Paddy’s lips taste my neck, sliding up, and his tongue swirls over a sensitive spot beneath my ear. A moan rips out of my throat as he sucks on that spot, pounding into me, my back slapping against the wall until I come again.
