Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I can almost see it in my mind, children racing down these halls, thick accents and big tempers, rough affection and fierce loyalty.
“This one,” he says, stopping in front of a black door. “This room’s mine. Has been since I was a small lad.”
He opens the door, no lock, unlike the heavy, bolted ones back at my house, and closes it softly behind me. I inhale slowly.
My heart slows as I take in the space. It’s stark. Masculine. Impeccably clean. Like his house, everything about the room is so intensely him, though a simple vase with red roses on a shelf tells me Caitlin was here.
Once the door clicks shut, he turns to me and reaches for my chin. The kiss he gives me isn’t rushed. It’s not wild or needy, but gentle, intentional. A quiet claim.
I melt into it.
The heat between us builds, not fire, but something slower. Smoldering. An intimacy that feels like comfort and danger all at once. His touch is reverent, like he’s reminding me this is us now. This space. This night.
“Tonight, we rest,” he whispers. Then, after a beat, ”Or… perhaps tonight we try for that baby.”
I blink. “Try for a baby…”
“Aye,” he says. “Your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm.” I nod. I still think it’s a solid strategy that neither his father nor my brother could argue with.
He kisses me again, but this time it's softer.
“Seamus.”
He pulls away a touch. “Aye?”
“I… don’t want our lovemaking to become a duty.”
He shakes his head, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Neither do I, love.”
“I’m not on birth control,” I tell him gently. “And by my calculations… I’m definitely ovulating.”
His brow quirks up, amused. Interested. Dangerous.
“Are you?” he says.
“Yes,” I answer, fingers threading together as I watch him watch me.
And that’s when I note his hard length. He’s already hard. The idea of making love to me, of claiming me like that, is enough to undo him.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be a duty,” I whisper, thinking aloud. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be because someone else told us what to do. Maybe it’s just because we love each other… and we want this.”
“Hush, lass,” he nearly growls.
And then I’m in his arms. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist. I hear the solid click of the lock behind me, and he’s already striding toward the bed like a man on a mission.
My body heats with every step. I feel his erection pressing against me, solid and demanding. When he lays me down, I remember. I remember the way he’s spanked me, the way he’s made me burn with need, the way he’s never let me forget how much he wants me.
“You’re a good lass,” he murmurs against my ear. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?”
I nod. Yes. I’m his good girl. Maybe the only time in my life I’ve wanted to be one.
“I want you on your back, legs spread, darlin’,” he whispers, his accent thick and seductive. “Let’s get you stripped.”
Our clothes fall away like wrapping paper, each layer peeling back to reveal the gift underneath. Naked. Vulnerable. Open.
He kisses every inch of my body like it’s sacred.
When he finally finds my pussy, his tongue strokes me in one perfect lick. My hips jerk of their own accord.
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs against me.
“You’re good at it,” I whisper, and oh god, yes, I do.
“No rules tonight,” he says, his breath hot on my inner thigh. “Do whatever your heart desires, angel.”
And I do.
I spread my legs for him, shameless and aching, and his tongue finds my clit. My head tips back, my fingers curling into his hair like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. His inked shoulders are strong, a vision of masculine power. I grind into his mouth, overwhelmed.
He tongues my core. Licks. Suckles. Nips, until I’m nearly screaming.
“Please, Seamus,” I beg. “Please. I want to come.”
“Come, love,” he says. “Tonight’s yours, lass. Tonight’s your reward.”
The scruff of his beard scratches my thighs before he gives one last, wicked lick, and I break. My orgasm tears through me. My hips rise off the bed, and I stifle a scream as he licks me through every last wave of pleasure.
Then he’s on me. His weight, his heat. His need.
He pins my wrists gently, his breath ragged. “On your knees,” he growls. “I want you on your knees.”
I’m a little scared; it’s still new. We’ve only done this a few times, though each time has gotten easier. Better.
He spreads my legs. My chest hits the bed, my palms flat, bracing.
“Back down,” he whispers, pressing his hand to the small of my back. His voice is rough silk. “Good girl.”
It’s different here, not like home. At home, I feel free, reckless. Here, the walls feel like they have eyes. Watching. Judging.
And yet… I kind of like it. Maybe I have a touch of voyeur in me after all.