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“Do we?” he panted, searching her eyes. “Your call, Macushla.”
But it didn’t need thought. Her head shook slightly, brushing her lips back and forth on his. The sweet solid girth of him forged forward inside her, slow, steady, his eyes assessing hers as a searing curl of pleasure coiled up through her gut.
Her eyes drifted shut. “Conn…” she breathed his name against his lips.
Catching the back of his neck, she moved, wriggling closer, arching and bowing, writhing against the delight she hadn’t thought could get better. Damn, had she been wrong.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, his forehead landing on her head. “This was a mistake.”
“Baby?” she asked, trying to stop moving, though it was near impossible. Her hand slid from the back of his neck around to his jaw, forcing him to lift his head to meet her eye. “Want to stop?”
“I couldn’t pull out now if I had a damn cannon to my head.”
Tipping her chin, she bounced higher, snagging his lower lip in her teeth.
As it slid free, she salved it with her tongue. “Fuck me, baby,” she whispered, kissing his chin, his jaw, his throat. “Come in me. Inside me. Please.”
Slowly, he withdrew only to surge in faster and pull out again, right to the cusp of her pussy, teasing her. His next harsh thrust wrung a yelp from her throat. The astute bastard knew what he was doing, exactly what he was doing. As proven when he took her hips and angled them, forcing her shoulders into the wall to hit her even deeper.
“Conn,” she gasped as he sped up, slamming into her and sliding out, varying his pace as one arm hooked around the curve of her back.
Holding her there, he massaged her clit, accepting her clawing fingers and desperate cries as he forced her into the oblivion of orgasm. She called for him. Called for more. Begged for mercy. She didn’t know what she wanted, what she needed. That didn’t matter, he knew it.
“Conn! Conn!” she screamed.
He drove into her hard, yanking her body against his. Her muscles tensed, all of them, holding him in place as they reached their completion.
Something was… wrong. Different. What was…? Hard against him, him still inside her, there were blurs in her vision, prickling in her extremities. Her stomach was tight, her chest sore.
“Shit, Macushla,” he breathed, his words as heavy as his exhales. His face was still in her hair; she couldn’t see him. “You’ve never screamed for me like that… And I get you every time.”
He did. With him, her needs were always met. Just like they’d started, he scooped up her face and married their mouths.
Was it the trust? Was it the lack of a barrier? That had been more intense. Hotter. More profound than anything they’d shared in the past.
“So this is doing business the Midwest McDades way?”
The female voice that interrupted their kiss startled her.
Connel twisted to look toward the door. “Doherty.”
“McDade,” the woman said.
He backed up to put himself away, giving her space to push down her dress and cover herself before he turned around.
She peeked by him expecting to see one woman. Instead, there were two, and a tall guy right behind them. Tall like Connel. Dark hair. The eyes…
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “That’s Razer McDade.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“A REDHEAD,” the shorter woman said. The stranger couldn’t be more than an inch or two over five feet. “Is it natural?”
“Aye,” Connel said as she slid off the unit to find her feet.
“Is she Catholic?”
“You don’t give a shit,” Razer said and shoved the other woman forward. “We have a problem.”
