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“Remember this,” she hisses, and for a moment I think she means the heat, the desperation. But then she continues, “Cliffside near here, meet me after the ceremony.”
Recognition slams into me. I know that place—it’s where I called Rook, where I thought I was onto something big.
“Got it,” I grunt, the words tight with effort as I wrestle with the impulse to take control. Instead, I obey, keeping my movements restricted to what she allows–between her thighs and not inside her tight heat, hidden beneath her dress.
“Good,” she says, her breath hitching as if in challenge or maybe pleasure. It’s hard to tell which. But her eyes never leave mine, fierce and bright, an anchor in the storm she’s steering us both through.
Pleasure sears through me, raw and all-consuming. Aisling rides the rhythm we create, a relentless push and pull that’s got my whole body strung tight. I buck beneath her, every muscle coiled with the need to be deeper, closer, but this is her show, her rules.
“Fuck, Aisling,” I grunt, fingers digging into the dirt beside us as I resist the overwhelming urge to flip her over and bury myself inside her. This skin-to-skin dance is torture when what I crave is to claim her completely. She’s so fucking wet, her pussy so soft, kissing at my shaft as it clenches.
I want inside.
I want inside so bad it might kill me.
So I listen to the goddess.
“Keep still,” she commands, voice low and ragged. Her dress hides the reality of our faked tryst, but nothing can mask the scent of our desire mixing in the heavy air.
“Can’t,” I gasp out. The edge is right there, so damn close I can almost taste it.
“Can,” she counters sharply, and there’s something like fire in her gaze that pins me to the ground more effectively than any chains could. “I’m mated, Luka. You can’t betray Gunnar.”
Her reminder is a bucket of ice water on my lust-fueled haze. My hands find purchase on her hips, guiding rather than taking. We move together, friction building, a crescendo that’s got both of us teetering on the brink.
“Damn it, Aisling,” I breathe out as that taut thread of restraint snaps.
Heat surges.
My knot swells.
She gasps, and I can’t resist reaching up and taking her breast in my hand, thumbing her nipple with only gauzy white fabric between us.
“Fuck!” she screams.
…and that’s it.
I’m coming hard between her thighs, a silent roar ripping through my chest. I can feel myself painting her inner thighs, sticky with cum, pent up with need. A shudder wracks her frame, and I feel the clench of her against me, her lower lips kissing my shaft when I wish she was clenching around my knot instead. I made her come…fuck, I made her come and I want to do it again.
And it’s not just the eros.
No…I’ve been wanting to make Aisling Faye come for months.
Her eyes lock onto mine, fierce and unyielding, even as her body tells a different tale—one of release, of surrender. I wonder if she’s about to tell me off for coming between her thighs, if I’ll get a reminder soon about how she belongs to Gunnar.
But that’s not it at all.
Instead, she leans down and captures my lower lip between her teeth, drawing blood. I groan and shudder, my cock still painfully hard and begging to be inside her—but I can only watch as she draws back, my blood on her tongue as she slides it over her lips.
“Look at us,” she whispers, breathless. “Perfect fucking chaos.”
Chapter five
Gunnar
I slide the knife through my steak, the juices pooling on the white porcelain. Across from me, Vance picks at his food like it’s a chore rather than a meal. The silence hangs heavy, nothing to talk about.
Because Vance doesn’t want to.
