Page 75 of Iron Blade

“Eoghan, I…” I wanted him to stop, while simultaneously craving more.

It was absolutely filthy, being in the backseat of a car, with another person right on the other side of a divider who knew exactly what we were up to.

Eoghan moaned into my pussy right as I came, the vibrations of his voice sending extra jolts through my body. He didn’t stop right away. He didn't pull away but kept on licking and nipping at my skin, as if he wanted to taste every bit of my orgasm, and I was too spent to care.

My head was swimming with all the sensations he had ripped from me. When he righted my dress and crawled up my body to plant a deep, loving kiss on my mouth, I was ready to die of ecstasy. And it wasn’t just the immense pleasure that my body couldn’t contain. It was so much more.

It was the fact that in the silence of our passion, we had shared a completely honest moment that I knew we’d never have again. I would never be able to tell him who I truly was.

He didn’t know Kira Green any more than he did Kira Kekoa, and he never would.

Chapter twenty-six

Picasso

Eoghan

The French call an orgasm a petite mort, or a little death. The feelings of surrender, and mortality from the act of pleasured procreation could create complicated feelings, especially when society placed so much emphasis on the act. Some people regulate, exult, or condemn the act, and all of those things seeped into our consciousness to bring out surprising responses when the body felt the cosmic joy that a good orgasm could bring.

In Kira, it brought tears. Tears that I rapidly kissed away, tasting the salt on my tongue. I swallowed the bitterness of them because she was my wife, and they were my responsibility. Mine to mend.

And I relished the challenge.

“I’m scared, sweet Muse,” I said, kissing the back of each of her hands, before kissing each cheek again. “I thought that making you my wife would help quench my cravings for you, but it’s only grown tenfold.”

I kissed her throat and she moaned, her parted lips the picture of fatigued arousal.

“I’m scared of hurting you because I want you so much. I want to do unspeakable things, like placing bruises on your skin, and tattooing my name over your heart.” She shuddered at my words. “I thought putting my mum’s ring on your finger would be enough, but it isn’t.”

She gasped, as my lips trailed down her throat, to the swell of her breasts, taking the delicate bit of cleavage into my teeth - marking her, just as I wanted. I didn’t let her go until an angry red mark of my teeth was on her skin.

Her hooded eyes fluttered, as I went to the other breast, and did the same.

“I think you’ll like what I want to do, because you and I are two parts that make a single soul,” I whispered against her skin. Her light whimper made me shudder with unmet desire, my cock threatening to break free from behind my zipper. “But I have to keep you safe.”

Christ, I was doing it all wrong. I should give her space, time to breathe, so that we could talk about this without the haze of lust that clouded my vision.

“You…” I cleared my throat, feeling the heaviness on my tongue, her taste still on my lips. “You need to pick a safe word, my darling.”

She didn’t say anything, her eyes floating closed, as my hands traveled down her breasts to her torso.

“Eoghan,” she moaned.

She was falling asleep. Her orgasm made her drowsy in its aftermath.

“No, love… you can’t pick my name, since you’ll be screaming it in ecstasy.”

I should wait until she was more alert, and not coming down from the high of pleasure.

“Mmm,” she moaned, as I sat up on the bench, pulling her over to me so that her head fell to my chest, and I cradled her in my arms.

“Pick a safe word, love,” I said, feeling desperate to get this out of the way before the honeymoon started… truly started.

“Mmm?” her breaths grew heavy, her voice starting to even out into sleep.

Just as I despaired that I’d have to revisit this later, instead of delving into what I truly wanted - to ravish her to within an inch of her life - a soft word left her lips. I almost missed it, but it was enough.

“Picasso.” She yawned and slumped into me, trusting me to hold her in the vulnerable state of slumber.

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