Page 46 of Ireland

Her nipples tightened into hard points. “Then stop staring and take your clothes off. Let me see you.”

His sinner’s mouth curved in a smile that didn’t soften his piercing focus. “If you want to use my body to pleasure yours, I’m at your service. Any time. Any place. Except for right now, when you’ll have to come over here and take it.”

“Why? I’m right here by the bed.”

“And far too tempting for what little restraint I have left. Come set the pace,cher.”

Ireland bit her lower lip and threw caution—which she exercised so little of anyway—to the wind. She descended the short steps and closed the distance between them, wishing she’d kept her heels on for visual impact. When she stopped in front of him, she took a moment to relish the unusual feeling of being petite next to his tall frame. Without her stilettos, she was at eye level with his collar. She watched as his tanned, strong throat worked on a hard swallow, betraying his reaction to her.

Placing both hands on his chest, she felt the heat and strength of his body and the elevated beat of his heart through the material of his dress shirt. Her fingers flexed, finding hardly any give. She surged onto her tiptoes, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck. He absorbed the sudden press of her weight with a hoarse laugh, his hands catching her hips to steady her.

Nuzzling, Ireland breathed him in with a soft hum of delight. The scent of his skin was familiar now and as decadent as the rest of him. The fragrance—smoky, intoxicating, and sexy as hell—was wickedly alluring for a man with no vices. It resonated inside her, making her feel safe and highly attuned to him.

She licked the salt from his skin in a long, slow lap. He shivered violently and cursed, his hands gripping her too tightly.His erection was like steel against her lower belly. Her low laugh was exultant.

“I’ll have you again,” he said gruffly. “If you want mercy when that happens, you’d best show some now.”

“Your threats have the opposite of their intended effect, you know.”

He caught her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping into the hollows beneath her cheekbones. The contradiction of his tender touch and imperative desire moved her. “I can’t decide if you’re a punishment or a gift.”

“Maybe I’m a little of both.”

Her fingers went to his shirt buttons and began undoing them. His big, warm hand claimed her breast and squeezed, plumping it. She didn’t have much to play with, not enough even to have worn a bra under her dress, but Ronan didn’t seem to mind, his gaze openly lustful as his thumb circled her nipple.

Parting the halves of his shirt, Ireland revealed him to her gaze and tightened her thighs against the sudden ache between them. Golden skin stretched taut over slabs of rigid muscle. His abs were so perfectly defined she traced them with her fingertips, making them leap beneath her touch as he laughed and twisted away.

“You’re ticklish,” she said with wonder, finding that endearing.

Ronan’s eyes glowed with an inner fire that lit her up inside.

“I’ll have you know I’m a champion tickler,” she warned.

He caught her wrists and pressed her palms against his chest. “I’ve ways to torture, too. Tread carefully, or you’ll discover what they are.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she breathed, reaching for him again but using more pressure, her fingers sliding into the neatly trimmed hair.

His dry laugh was both amused and resigned.

He was so physically superior to any other man she’d known previously. The lankiness of men her age had seasoned into broader shoulders and thicker, heavier muscles. But more than the obvious—and delicious—physical maturity was the sheer animal attraction he radiated. It intoxicated her, made her a creature of wants and needs without rational thought.

Still cupping her jaw in one hand, he outlined the curves of her lips with his thumb before pressing between them. She caught him between her teeth, stroked the tip with her tongue, then suckled firmly and rhythmically.

“It won’t be now,” he murmured, his eyes on her in the filthiest of stares, “but soon, I’m going to fuck this sassy mouth and slick your lips with my cum.”

His coarseness intensified her desire, and she whimpered, suddenly thirsty and so hot that perspiration misted her skin. She nipped him, and he yanked his hand back with a muttered curse. Beyond aroused, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing his shirt off his shoulders, restraining his arms with it, and rubbing her body against his.

“Dieu, give me strength,” he groaned.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth, her hands busy pulling his shirt the rest of the way off. He caught her up and took her mouth, the kiss so ferocious she was bent backward over his arm, yielding and pliant in his embrace. He grabbed her butt and squeezed, pulling her into the hardened steel of his cock.

Hands in the mass of his hair, Ireland held on and drank him in, the taste and feel of his lust overriding any possibility of shame or inhibition. She felt free in the most dangerous way, no expectations, no rules. Just raw need and the man who encouraged it.

“Fuck me,” she muttered into his mouth, “before I lose my mind.”

He softened the kiss, nibbling and licking. “You won’t regret this?”

“Not even a little. Although you might. I’m a little wild about you if you haven’t noticed.”

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