Page 122 of Broken Blood Ties

“Ye excite me, Summer.”

I fumble with my steel stick, almost dropping my marshmallow into the flames. Burn it all, I don’t care. I just don’t want him to stop. He drags in a lungful of air against my neck and comes to sit next to me.

“Careful. Looks like yer marshmallow is done.” I blink, noticing the gooey thing practically dripping off the stick and successfully puffy. I pull it back to blow on it, testing it with my fingers until it’s cool enough to touch.

With it in my hand, I hold it up to him. “Want some?”

The fire snaps and hisses as flames lick the wood in the pit, sending sparks into the night air while my question looms between us. The distant hum of traffic drowns out the gentle breeze that carries the smoky scent of the fire, and underneath it all, a soft quiet settles as I wait for him to answer me.

He reaches out to wrap his fingers around my wrist, bringing the marshmallow and my hand near his mouth. “Ye have no idea how bad.”

He opens his mouth while guiding my hand to place the dessert in his mouth. I stare as he devours it whole, and I can’t decide where to look. His lips. His jaw. I flick between both as he skims a swirling thumb over my wrist.

His throat works a swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he brings my finger into his mouth, sucking and licking the remaining stickiness off. I can’t breathe while his tongue swirls and flicks alongside the subtle tug on my skin. I clench my thighs, wondering how such an act can be so deliciously provocative.

He moves on to the next and then the next—I gasp, and my eyelids flutter closed.

When the cool night air tickles my wet fingertips, my gaze pops open. He’s staring at me, leaning in. And I … I’m simmering despite the fire almost out.

A beat passes as we stare. Then, yanking me over him, he kisses me. The sweet taste of marshmallow mixed with the notes of whiskey on his breath intoxicates me. I climb over him, straddling his hips. His mouth opens instantly, and I move my tongue in, needing more. Both his hands cup my face, holding me in place, and when he kneads my flesh and nibbles my bottom lip, I moan into his mouth.

My hands find purchase in his hair, and I run them through it softly, gripping harder as he kisses me. I rock into him, and he shudders, finally moving his hands away from my face to land on my hips and pull me tighter against him.

I hiss at the feel of him.

I pride myself on the fact I didn’t need anyone for those seven years alone in Boston, but god, I need him now. I need him always.

Biting my lip, I try to keep the sounds threatening to escape my throat buried there. But when he trails his lips across my clavicle, I let out a whimpering moan, letting my head fall back and urging him on.

He chuckles, and the sound has me curling my toes. “That’s it, love. Let me hear ya.”

I reward his words with another groan, and he stands abruptly, taking me with him. His hands splay under my thighs as I wrap my legs around him. He kisses me as he walks to the back door of the kitchen, and without releasing me, he fumbles with the door handle. It opens, and once he’s through, he kicks it shut.

His skin is on fire as I let my hands roam under his shirt. Thick abs tighten as I drift over his muscles, stroking and touching as much as I can. Without stopping, he walks us up the stairs and straight to his bedroom. Once inside, he sets me down, then turns, quietly shutting and locking the door.

I spin, taking in the room. The space is fairly minimalist. A king bed with crisp white linens is flanked with sleek, dark nightstands, and there’s an en suite bathroom and walk-in closet. Both simple and organized.

I smile, then yelp as Kieran sweeps me off my feet and carries me to the bed. He lays me down, standing above me, warm yet dominating. And in this moment, I want him to dominate me.

Take me.

Use me.

The soft expression on his face begs me to trust him.

“Is this, okay?” he asks, pained. His stormy gaze snags on where my shirt has ridden up my stomach and he extends a single finger to trace circles there creating prickles of goose bumps in his wake. To my surprise, he kneels on the floor beside the bed, the old wood creaking beneath his knees, and he presses a reverent kiss over my belly button. My head falls to the side as he presses another kiss there.

“I need yer words, love.”

“Yes,” I whisper. Yes, yes, yes!

He stands, and I push up on my elbows to watch him strip off his shirt. He comes down on me, hands skimming up under my shirt and teasing me while I wrap my legs around his hips.

I can’t take this. Every touch is sending me into a spiral and I’m dizzy from it. “Please,” I murmur.

“Patience, love,” he says, breathing out a groan. “I’m going to savor every inch of ya.”

I let his words wash over me, and I let go, enjoying each exploring and tender touch. Instead of shying away, I lurch headfirst into this feeling. I run toward him in every way possible.

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