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“I don’t have a condom. I wasn’t kidding about not doing this often.”
“There’s some in my purse.” Irish rolled over and grabbed it, removing the foil packet with a question on his face.
“There was a vending machine in the restroom,” she told him. “I wasn’t assuming. I just like to be prepared.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Like a sexy girl scout.”
“Whatever. Put it on. I need you.”
He winked as he ripped the foil and rolled the condom on. And then he was kissing her again, and she could taste herself on him and it tasted good.
Like he was hers. Even just for one night.
She ran her hand down his back, her fingers digging into his ass. He groaned and caught her eye. “Are you sure this is okay?”
She liked that he asked. That he wanted her consent. “I want you,” she told him. “I want this.”
She wasn’t lying. Her body was still pulsing with need for him. And when she felt the tip of him against her, right where she needed him, it felt like a tiny piece of heaven had fallen into a hotel room in New York City.
He kissed her again, tangling his fingers in her hair, and she kissed him back desperately. Her body opened up to him, welcoming him home as he slid inside, and he let out a low oath, his words making her shiver.
Almost immediately, she could feel the heat warming her again. The build up, the buzz, the pleasure. With every stroke of him it was getting stronger. He kissed her softly but made love to her hard, and the combination was intoxicating. A man who knew what he was doing, who knew exactly how to drive her to oblivion.
“J’adore te baiser,” he murmured against her lips, sliding his hand down her thigh to lift it higher, allowing him to go deeper.
Oh, she liked that. So much. The dirty French and the dirty fucking. She dug her nails into his ass. “Harder,” she whispered. “Please.”
He did as he was asked, lifting her other leg, rolling back on his haunches, fucking her until she tightened around him. Her breath was ragged as she called out his name, pleasure making her scrape her nails down his thighs.
He pushed one more time then groaned, his body stilling as he surged inside of her. He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his, kissing her like she was the air he needed.
She moved her hands up, stroking his hair softly. He pulled back and gave her a lopsided grin.
Something pulled in her chest as she smiled back at him. Making it feel tight. Making her feel emotional. The man knew what he was doing. Maybe that was why women liked older guys so much.
She knew she did.
ChapterThree
“Shit.”Her eyes widened as she looked at the clock beside Irish’s bed early the next morning. “I have to go.”
He rolled over, his eyelids heavy as he reached for her.
“What time is it?” he asked, kissing her brow. Oh, she liked that. Turned out he was a cuddler when he went to sleep. His chest had proved to be a surprisingly comfortable pillow.
“It’s almost seven,” she told him. “I really do need to leave now. I’m so sorry.” She was having breakfast with her parents at nine. They’d arranged to meet in the hotel lobby and then they’d walk to a diner that her mom loved. After that, they’d start the drive home to West Virginia, to the little town she’d grown up in.
She was going home and now she didn’t want to. She wanted to spend all day in bed with this adonis.
But he was leaving, too. And even though they’d done all the dirty things, she felt way too shy to ask if she could see him again.
“Can’t I take you out for breakfast?” he asked. His voice was sleep-heavy and she found it sexy that he could still form words in that state.
“I’m already meeting somebody.” She didn’t want to tell him it was her parents that she was meeting because that made her sound too young. “And then I have to leave town.”
He sat up, the sheet falling down around his waist. There was a bruise on his chest, mouth shaped, and she flushed, realizing she’d put it there.
She’d marked him. Dear Lord.
