“Harder,” she says, and somehow I know she means her diddies, not the action going on below.
I’m sucking hard now, giving a soft bite here and there, and she jerks, crying out. “God, yes, just like that.”
She lifts her hips off in a shallow move—I’m betting because she doesn’t want me to be letting go of her breast. I lavish attention on it and circle my hand inward until my thumb reaches her clit. While she slowly rises and falls, I’m working my thumb hard against her.
Soon she’s gasping and squeezing like a vise around my cock, over and over, as she has a drawn out, almost lazy orgasm. I stare in awe at her face, blissed out and pure beautiful.
When her last shudders fade, I’m lifting her off me. She looks down, her forehead wrinkling in adorable confusion. “But you haven’t—”
“Hold on, yeah.”
I set her down on her knees and scoot around so that perfect arse is facing me. I’ve never been comfortable flipping my bedmates around as if they’re dolls, so I do the moving. She glances at me over her shoulder. I can see her debating the idea of me taking the upper hand, but she lowers herself onto her elbows.
Fuck, yeah. I know enough about her to know that ceding control to me is massive.
“You better not be going for the back door, buster.”
I laugh. “No worries. Maybe later, yeah.” I wink at her. Then I grip her hips and drive hard inside her. I wanted to take it slow, but now I’m a greedy motherfucker.
She gasps, which turns into a gratifying moan, and I ease out. I look down, and the sight of my cock leaving her, coated in her juices, makes heat coil in my lower back. I’ll not last.
I adjust her hips and ease myself back inside, looking for that spot.
I must hit it, because she gasps, “Holy shit,” and clamps down on me hard. Taking care to be hitting that spot again, I ease out and drive back in over and over in controlled thrusts, urgency flushing my skin hot and tightening my bollocks. The pressure continues to build at the base of my spine, and I grit my teeth, trying to hold back spilling into her.
Claire reaches up and strokes her clit. Her taking charge of her pleasure like that is a huge turn-on, plus it means it’ll be a matter of seconds before she’ll come as I keep pounding into her.
She cries out with her third, yes, third, orgasm—fuck, yeah!—and she’s milking me hard. I drive into her one more time and shout her name as the heat and power of my orgasm streaks down my spine, and I’m emptying, emptying, emptying myself into her.
I can feel the lad jerking inside her, the pleasure drawn out because she’s still gripping me. Fucking savage.
I collapse over her back, and we roll to the side, somehow with me still buried deep.
I snug her tight up against me, tucking her bum close to me. Our breaths rasp in and out as we work to regain our breathing.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph if that wasn’t the fiercest sex ever. And while part of me is feckin’ delighted, another part is feeling that familiar panic. This girl, I’m starting to fall for her. I want everything with her, but do I have anything to be giving her? In a peculiar way, her directness blunts the panic. She’s not someone who’d string a lad along for years if he wasn’t making her happy.
And I want to make her happy.
Chapter 14
Claire
Whoa.
My heartbeats are finally settled, but the sweat’s still cooling on our bodies and already I’m getting antsy again. I’m cuddled up with Conor after receiving some spectacular orgasms, and my mind just has to churn with what-ifs and what-does-all-this-mean?
“I’ll just be disposing of the condom, yeah.” Conor slips from the bed and pads into the bathroom. When he returns, he tucks back up against me.
This isn’t just sex. It’s more, and I’m feeling a little unsure of myself, which peeves me. I check my walls, though, and they all still feel in place. No urges to change myself just to please him. No twinges of worry that I don’t have a model-thin body.
I must have tensed during my mild freak-out—for me—because Conor says, “What has you worrying?”
He strokes my stomach, and I nestle further into his warm body. He smells delicious, like his own blend of unique and unknown scents, which all add up to a concoction called Conor that I just want to eat up. Wow. This is new.
“Nothing,” I answer.
“None of that now, yeah.” He squeezes my hip.
I turn around and prop my head on my hand. His red hair frolics dark in the candlelight, and a line forms between his brows as he contemplates me.
“Was thinking about how the hospital couldn’t reach me at first. And our cell phones will be running out of batteries soon.” While not exactly what I was thinking at that exact moment, it does also have me worried. “It’s scarily easy to forget that there’s a hurricane out there.”
“Am I keeping you distracted?”
I chuckle. “Yes. And a deadly job you’re after doing, yeah,” I say in a horrible imitation of his accent.
He gives my butt a light swat, his mouth turned up on one side. “That’s a terrible attempt,” he says in a pretty good American accent.
I skim a finger around a freckle on his shoulder. “I don’t like being out of touch like that.”
“You like being in control.”
“Why do you say that?”
His face splits into a grin, and he squeezes a butt cheek. “You love being in control when we’re riding.”
“Riding?”
“Having sex, yeah.”
“Noticed that, did you?” But he’s not quite right. “Yeah, I like control there. I know what I want, and that ensures I get it.”
He envelops me in his strong arms and squeezes tight. “That’s a fine thing. And I’ll be giving it to you, yeah.”
I smile. “And you do. No, I don’t think I have to be in control with everything in my life, though. The phone-hurricane thing is a general worry.”
“I’m understanding. It’s humbling being at a storm’s mercy.”
“That’s it.” I nuzzle my cheek back into his chest and hold him tighter, not wanting to examine more closely how safe he makes me feel.
He’s quiet for so long I wonder if he’s fallen asleep until he says, “Are you thinking it’s the storm, though, that’s…”
When he doesn’t finish the thought, I look at him. “The storm that’s what?”
He runs a finger across my cheek. “That’s providing the glue.” His eyes have gone dark, shuttered.
“You’re speaking in riddles. The glue to what?” I whisper, aware in some strange way that this is a delicate moment in getting to know him better. I’ve always admired his loyalty and dedication to his team, but in the short time we’ve been holed up in this room, I’m seeing a playful and tender side, and it’s doing strange things to my insides. What if…what if I earned that loyalty too?
“The glue to us. It’s exciting, yeah, and… Forget it.”
My heart does a weird squeeze. Holy shit. He’s unsure of himself. This big hunky Irishman. “Conor, what’s this about?”
“Never you mind.” He gives me another playful swat and a grin, but he’s not fooling me.