I don’t know how he’s feeling about all this, but I, for one, am terrified about what might erupt from my mouth next.
I’m in danger of composing more hasty and humiliating odes to his godlike beauty, so for the moment, I’m pretending to be a mime.
The filet is delicious. The asparagus is perfectly cooked. The mashed potatoes are pillowy, buttery perfection. All of it slips past my lips in small forkfuls that my new husband provides with the intense concentration of an explosives specialist defusing a ticking bomb.
In between bites, he lifts a glass of wine to my lips so I can sip from it.
It’s a testament to my new state of permanent mental disability that I don’t find any of that odd.
When I indicate I’ve had enough with a little flick of my fingers, he feeds himself. It’s like watching a National Geographic special about starving lions. It’s messy, savage, and over in ten seconds flat.
Then he shoves aside the plates, tears off both our fluffy hotel robes, picks me up, and takes us back to the bed again.
He settles his naked body on top of mine and kisses me ravenously.
“Ow.”
He pulls away, panting. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
With my tongue, I test the raw spot on my lip where he bit me. “Am I bleeding?”
“A little.” Looking pained, he licks the spot gently, then murmurs another apology. He’s about to withdraw from the bed, but I squeeze his shoulders and shake my head.
He says gruffly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, lass.”
“I know,” I say softly, gazing up into his eyes. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. It’s never okay. I—”
“You’re not him,” I interrupt. “You’ll never be him. That was an accident, which is very different. Okay?”
I know I was right about what he was thinking when he hangs his head and hides his face in my neck. He whispers, “I’ll kill anyone who ever hurts you. Including myself.”
“I’ll remember that the next time your ego flattens me. Also, that’s disturbing.”
“It’s true.”
I say crossly, “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about hurting yourself. I don’t like it. The only person who’s allowed to hurt you around here is me.”
He lifts his head and peers at me.
I warn, “Don’t you dare say another word, Quinn.”
“I have to. Because that almost sounded like you care.”
I close my eyes and growl in frustration.
He kisses my neck and whispers into my ear, “Tell me you care if I live or die, viper.”
Pressed between my legs, his erection is hard, hot, and eager.
I realize with a sudden start that maybe I’m not the only one with a newly discovered praise kink.
My heart begins to pound. My breath hitches. I say tentatively, “I…um…of course I care if you die.”
“Why?” he challenges. “Because you won’t have anyone to insult anymore?”
Do I do this? Do I go ahead and try it and see what happens?
What’s the worst that can happen, you embarrass yourself a little more? Give the poor man a break, Reyna. He’s not asking you to donate a kidney!
I take a breath to steady my nerves. Then I reach up, thread my fingers into his hair, and say softly, “No. Because I won’t have this gorgeous face to look at anymore.”
He licks his lips. His breathing goes ragged. And I swear to God, that monster dick between us just twitched.
Encouraged, I continue. My hands drift down to his thick shoulders, then to his bulging biceps, which I squeeze. “Or these big strong muscles to touch.”
His pupils dilate until his eyes look black.
With a weird thrill running through my body, I move my hands to his back, stroking my palms over his smooth, warm skin. When my fingers graze the hard rounded swell of his ass, he shivers.
Looking deep into his eyes, I whisper, “Or this beautiful hard body to make me feel so safe and protected.”
The groan that escapes his lips is low and guttural. His eyelids drift shut. He rasps, “I don’t even care if you’re lying. That’s the hottest fucking thing any woman’s ever said to me.”
“I’m not lying. I’ve never felt safer before than I do right now, here with you. My gorgeous, masculine, badass Irishman who I haven’t stopped thinking about since the day we met.”
He’s wearing an expression I’ve only ever seen before on people right before they faint.
Hoping to avoid that outcome, I pull his head down for a kiss.
He kisses me back hungrily, sinking his fingers into my hair and rocking his pelvis against mine. We go at it until I’m squirming with need underneath him.
“You’re such a good kisser,” I say, panting. “I love the way you taste.”
He moans. “Jesus fucking holy hell, you’re trying to kill me.”
“Not at the moment. I’m just enjoying how delicious you are.”
His eyes roll back in his head.
“Will you please fuck me with that amazing fat cock of yours now? I love having it inside me.”
Very faintly, he says, “I’ve died and gone to heaven. That has to be it.”
The only word I can find to describe the feeling of his reaction to me praising him is power. Giving him what he needs makes me feel strong, bold, and powerful as fuck.
Is this what it feels like for him, too? When he calls me his good girl and I melt, does it make him feel this incredible? This euphoric?
This seen?
When he scrambles down my body, shoves his face between my legs, and starts to feast eagerly on my pussy, I decide it doesn’t matter. If he’ll do this every time I say something nice to him, I’m going to be a goddamn cookie dispenser from now on.
Sinking my fingers into his hair, I spread my legs wider and whisper, “I love your tongue, Quinn. That feels incredible.”
He moans into my flesh. His fingers dig into my hips. Stiff and bobbing, his cock hangs between his bent legs, the crown flushed a deep berry red. Veins stand out all over it. The tip glistens.
In a frenzy, his tongue lashes back and forth over my engorged clit.
Euphoria beating like a heartbeat inside me, I whisper, “Your cock is so gorgeous. So long and thick. Just looking at it excites me.”
He grips it in one hand and starts to play with it, pumping his hips as he strokes it from crown to base and back again, stopping once every so often to run his palm over his balls.
Close to orgasm, I moan. My fingers tighten in his hair. My hips move in time to the strokes of his wicked tongue. Making muffled sounds of pleasure as he eats me, he strokes his dick faster.
I arch my back and grind into his face helplessly. My nipples are hard and sensitive, aching for his mouth or his touch. When I tell him that, he moans, his eyes closed and his cheeks hollowed from sucking.
Watching him, I whisper raggedly, “You’re going to make me come. Please don’t stop that. I love it just like that. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Quinn—oh—God—”
My orgasm steals my breath. I bow from the bed, shaking and sweating, loving every hot swipe of his tongue over my clit, though it’s exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive. I come and come, pulling his hair and moaning, until he sinks two thick fingers inside me, and I sob.
“You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he snarls, finger fucking me as I jerk and gasp. “And you’re all mine, aren’t you, baby?”
I babble something. I don’t know what. Whatever it is, it makes Quinn chuckle darkly.
“Aye, you are. Tell me you want my cock.”
“Please yes please give it to me!”
When he sinks it inside me, I’m still coming. I cry out in ecstasy, my pussy clamping around his thick shaft. Convulsing rhythmically around it, like I’m trying to milk the cum right out of him.
He says something in Gaelic. A curse or a praise, I can’t tell. But his voice is strained and his hips are snapping. Sitting up on his knees with my legs spread open around his hips and his hands clenched into my ass as he holds me up, he plunges his cock into me over and over again.
He’s rough, but because I know it’s passion, not anger that fuels his roughness, I welcome it.
His thrusting falters, and he shudders, moaning.
“Yes! Come! Let me feel you let go!”
He surges forward, falling onto his elbows on top of me. He grabs my face. With his eyes wide open, he kisses me, then climaxes with a primal grunt and violent, full-body spasm that shakes the bed.
Buried deep inside me, his cock pulses as he empties himself.
The entire time, we stare into each other’s eyes.
He gasps my name.
I wrap my legs around his waist.
And that tall cliff I was worried about earlier?
I just jumped right the fuck over, headfirst.
27
Spider
We lie entangled on the bed in the dark.
I don’t know how long we’ve been like this. Hours, maybe. Days? Years? Who fucking knows. I’ve lost all sense of time. All I know is that I’m here, in a place I never dreamed I’d be, with a woman who makes me feel like life might be worth living after all.
Her head rests on my chest. Her legs are twined between mine. Her warm hand is pressed flat over my beating heart.