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My stomach is a twisted tangle of nerves and lust and guilt. I have no idea what his reaction will be when we get up to the room, and a part of me wishes that wewouldbe alone there, that I could find out where this goes, what the culmination of all this desire is. I’ll find out eventually, if our plan works—but I know it won’t be the same then, when Connor knows who I am, knows he’s been manipulated and tricked.
It won’t be this raw passion, and I feel a small pang of loss for something I’ve never even had, even as he’s devouring my mouth, pushing me back against the wall as his hands squeeze my hips, and he grinds his heavy erection into me.
I can feel him straining against his jeans, bigger than I’d imagined a man could be, thick, and as demanding as his kiss. My mouth opens for his tongue, the heat of it startling as it tangles with mine. I gasp aloud as his hand slides around to my flat stomach, pushing up the edge of my top as his fingers slip beneath the edge of my jeans.
They’re too tight for him to get his hand in, but as he kisses me feverishly, he has the button undone in the space of a second, before I really realize what’s happening, the zipper is down. His fingers graze against the lacy front of my panties, and he groans against my mouth.
“You wore these for me, naughty girl,” he murmurs, his lips still brushing against mine as his fingers slide further down, still over the lace. I can feel myself flushing, knowing he’s going to find the wet spot there, feel how aroused I am, but I can’t stop him. I’m aching in ways I never knew I could, my clit tingling and throbbing with the need to be touched, and I’m wetter than I ever knew I could be.
“Christ,” Connor swears against my lips as his fingers brush against that spot, sticky and damp with the evidence of my lust. “Youarea dirty girl.” His hand slides up, his mouth pressing firmly against mine again as his fingertips hook in the lace of my panties. I open my mouth to tell him, no, to stop, but his lips are devouring mine, and then his fingers brush against my clit—and I forget how to speak.
I’ve touched myself before. I own a vibrator, hidden deep in my underwear drawer. I’ve had an orgasm, and I know how to bring myself to climax. But nothing,nothingcould have prepared me for what it would feel like to have Connor’s rough-tipped fingers slide over my slick, hard clit, pressing down in small, tight circles until I’m not sure if I could have told him my own name if he asked it.
I don’t know what floor we’re on. I don’t know how long we have left or how long it’s been since we got in. All I know is that Connor’s kiss feels heavenly, better than anything I’d imagined. His fingers better still, that if my father wasn’t waiting in that hotel room, I don’t know how far this would go.
I hadn’t started out the night thinking I would want Connor McGregor in bed, but now I think I might sell my soul for the chance to lose my virginity to him.
Which, by the end of the night,I remember with a flush of guilt,he’ll likely be of the opinion that you’ve done.
His hand pushes down further in my panties as if he plans to slip his fingers inside me. I feel a stutter of fear, reminding me that I’m not supposed to be doing this tonight, that I was warnednot to let him take liberties. He’s taken several already, and I have a sudden, lustful thought that if I let him fuck me here in this elevator, he’d have taken my virginity, and my father could demand he marry me. He’d have no choice but to come back to Boston, to do what we want–
I almost laugh out loud at the thought. I might be styled the “Irish Princess” at home, but we’re not inBridgerton, and I can’t metaphorically lead Connor into a garden to get caught with me. He’s not going to marry me to defend my honor. If he marries me, it won’t be to get my virginity, but I need to protect it nonetheless.
I grab at his wrist, stopping him from going further and intending to pull his hand out of my jeans, but his mouth is still on mine, and I gasp as his fingers slide across my clit again. My hand tightens on his wrist, and he takes it to mean one thing and one thing only—that I want his fingers there, on my clit where they can bring me the most pleasure.
“Greedy girl,” Connor murmurs against my mouth. “You want me to make you come? Right here? Now?”
The words send such a shock of absolute lust over me, weakening my knees, that I can’t say yes or no. All I can do is whimper as his fingertips make those tight circles, pleasure spiraling out from my core and through my veins. He pushes closer to me, his mouth suddenly at my ear as his fingers move faster, harder.
“Then come for me, love,” he whispers into my ear, his fingers grinding inexorably against my clit, and I’m helpless against the onrush of pleasure that they bring.
Then and there, in a London elevator one floor away from the hotel room where my father is waiting for us, Connor McGregor is the first man to ever make me come.
