Page 48 of The Irish Arrangement

I held her juicy ass, each cheek in my hands. She didn’t need my order to wrap her legs around my waist. Her long limbs clung to me immediately. Her arms slid over my shoulders, looping tightly around my neck.

Kissing her—making out like air no longer mattered—I carried her into her room and kicked the door shut behind us.

I set her down, rougher than I intended. There was nothing for it. Grace was out the window. I was feral and ravenous for her, and with my dick this hard, I struggled to walk closer before trying to get my erection adjusted under my jeans.

“What did I tell you?” I growled.

She stood there, wide-eyed with need and panting at me.

“Strip.”

18

CARA

“Strip.”

Goosebumps broke out over my skin at his command. The need in his stare taunted me, and I wondered if he was playing with my head.

He wanted to enjoy me. That was what he just told me in the hallway. It sounded like a dare. A challenge. An invitation to make him feel good while fucking me.

I knew he enjoyed it. I felt him twitch deep inside me twice now. Both times he’d fucked me hard, he came.

“I thought I already tried that,” I argued, too stubborn to just give in no matter how much my body wanted him. My nipples beaded up. So sweet and tense, an ache took form in my stomach. Already, my panties were wet from his looking at me like that. And the kiss. The second one, where he tasted me and finished the lip lock with a nip.

He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. Haughty and hot. Fuck, he was sex personified. The devil himself, all wicked and expectant.

Just an hour ago, I had tried to strip. And he’d rejected me. He’d told me no. When he shut down my offer, I felt lost and confused, hurt and disappointed because I’d looked forward to that sweet release of coming for him.

“Strip, Cara.”

Was it a matter of control? He wanted to tell me to do it rather than let me have the power to take the initiative?

I lifted my fingers anyway, beholden to please him. If I gave in, if I obeyed him, he’d see to it that I’d come. Hard.

Nothing was sweet about him, but he seemed to get off on making me come apart.

And that would do.

He watched me as I unbuttoned my shirt. His caress felt like a tangible, hot caress as I removed my jeans. After I kicked them aside, thrilled to have his attention on me like this, I felt dizzy under the heady pressure of power. Of mighty strength. I was doing this. His stare was locked on me. No one else.

I was the one making his dick harden under his pants. It was because of my actions that he growled and stared like he’d erupt before even touching me.

I’d never stripped for him. For anyone. I doubted it was sexy. I didn’t have the grace to dance or even pull off a sultry sway of my hips as I removed my damp panties, wet with my cream.

And as I reached back to unclasp my bra, I shivered at the promise in his eyes.

“Now me,” he ordered once I was naked.

I walked over to him, feeling confined with his instruction. Unlike all the worries that made up my life, this expectation felt good. Like a reward. Obeying my husband wasn’t a job to do but a treasure to explore.

I pulled his shirt off, taunted with the expanse of his taut skin. All his muscles were so hard and tense. His pecs. Those abs. God, his arms were so ripped and solid, he looked like a brutish warrior.

As I lowered my fingers to his pants, I sank to my knees. Trembling with the desire coursing through me, I tugged his pants and boxers down. I’d felt his thickness in my pussy. I recalled the wide stretch of him filling me.

When his penis was revealed, though, springing out hard and stiff, so long and veined, I gasped. I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock, tempted to taste the drops of moisture leaking from the tip.

Why not? I acted on impulse, deciding it wouldn’t hurt him if I chose to seek my pleasure too. I’d never taken a man’s erection into my mouth. I was clueless, ignorant and clumsy, but he didn’t protest when I swiped the tip of my tongue over his bulbous head.

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