“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back,” he whispered. “I just needed you to know.”
“But I do. I mean, I know I don’t have to say it back, but I want to because I do. I love you so damn much.”
He smiled wide. Not the kind weighed down with the years of guilt and sadness he’d carried around. No, this smile was radiant and freeing and she planned on making it her personal goal in life to make sure he wore it as often as possible. Her man—her fighter—deserved nothing less.
Throwing her arms around his neck, Kat kissed him with all the things she wanted to tell him. He met her with equal force, their tongues colliding and sliding over the other between their fused lips. His hands roamed in erratic patterns like a butterfly indecisive on which flower to land on. Finally he settled on her breasts.
The rough skin of his masculine hands sent shivers through her as he dragged his palms over the tight peaks of her nipples. With an encouraging moan, she arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward like a decadent offering. One Irish wholeheartedly accepted.
Using his fingers, he tortured one of her nipples while the other received it from his mouth. On one side pulling, tweaking, pinching, and rubbing. On the other licking, suckling, circling, and biting. Each action caused a reaction at her center like electric currents traveling in a circuit from her breasts to her clitoris. The result was the wetness coating the inside of her thighs.
Finally, he gave her a reprieve and lifted his head. “Stand up, baby.”
The command took a second to make it through the pleasure-induced fog clouding her brain. Irish rose and helped pull her up, then turned her to face away from him. She now stood next to the back of the chaise, which came up to her belly button.
Sliding his hand down her right thigh, he said, “Place this foot up on the chair. Yeah, just like that.”
The position opened her up, the cool air stirring against her wet sex. They’d never made love this way because, although she’d gotten much better, she still worried about not being able to look into his eyes if she felt that familiar pull from her subconscious. Twisting to the right, she looked over her shoulder.
“Not that way,” he said, directing her chin to the left to face the window. “Look there.”
The recessed lighting above them illuminated their reflections almost as perfectly as a mirror. She watched him grab a condom from the floor, tear it open, and smooth it down his thick erection. Holding her gaze in the window, Irish positioned himself directly behind her, his foot braced on the chair next to hers, and nestled his erection in the slick folds of her sex.
With slow, short strokes, he rubbed her sensitive clit with the flared edge of his cock head, shooting arrows of desire straight to her core. Kat tried pulling forward an inch—just enough for him to slip inside—but he had a firm grip on her waist and held fast.
“Please, Aiden,” she managed between breaths. “I need you.”
“You want me inside you?”
“So much.”
Without hesitation, he positioned himself at her entrance and eased forward. Her inner walls were still swollen from her last orgasm, making her channel tighter and incredibly sensitive. She moaned, a shudder of desire rippling over her skin as she adjusted to his size.
A mix between an exhale and a groan rumbled from his chest as he finally seated himself completely. She tipped her head back on his shoulder. He kissed and nipped at the spot below her ear. Wrapping his arms around her rib cage, he began an achingly slow retreat, then pressed back in to the hilt and whispered, “Being inside you feels like coming home.”
Her melting heart warred for dominance with her quivering sex. Hugging his arms in front of her, Kat turned her head and found his mouth with hers. He kissed her with a sensuous reverence, worshipping her with his full lips in a soulful prayer.
As the pace evened out, they broke apart and she bent at the waist to lie across the back of the chaise. She studied him in the window. Inked muscles bunched and flexed with every movement like living works of art. Head bent and focused on where their bodies joined, shaggy black hair hanging forward, his hips thrusting behind her, revealing glimpses of his hard shaft with every withdrawal. He was a perfect male specimen in every way.