Page 31 of Bloody Knuckles

"Is this how you punish all your prisoners?" I taunt, grinding against his erection.

He lifts his head, intensity pouring from him. "Only the ones who haunt my dreams."

The confession strikes deep. I affect him—like he does me. I capture his mouth again, pouring months of confusion and unwanted desire into the connection. His tongue battles mine for dominance as his hands slip beneath my ruined dress, finding the edge of my panties.

"These are in my way," he murmurs, hooking his fingers in the lace.

With one savage pull, the delicate fabric rips away. Cool air hits my exposed sex, quickly replaced by his fingers exploring my wetness.

"Already soaked," he notes with satisfaction. "From the danger or from me?"

"Does it matter?" I gasp as his thumb finds my clit.

"It matters." He circles the sensitive bundle of nerves. "I want to know what makes Aoife Gallagher this desperate."

"You," I admit, the word torn from me as he slides two fingers inside. "God help me, you do."

“He can’t help you.”

Something shifts in him—possessiveness mingled with victory. He pumps his fingers deeper, curling them to hit that spot that makes my thighs tremble. Each thrust of his hand pushes me higher, coaxing whimpers and moans I can't suppress.

"Since that first night in the alley," he confesses, "I've thought of nothing but making you mine. Taking you until you forget your name—until you remember only mine."

My hips rock against his hand, chasing pleasure as tension builds low in my belly. "Talk is cheap, Donovan."

He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving me aching and empty. Before I can protest, he carries me across the room, depositing me on a glass dining table. The cold surface shocks my heated skin as he pushes me onto my back.

"Let's see if actions satisfy you better," he says, unbuckling his belt. His trousers and boxer briefs drop to the floor, freeing his impressive cock.

Long and thick, the head already glistening with pre-cum. My mouth waters at the sight, remembering how he felt against my tongue in the penthouse.

He stands between my spread thighs, running the head of his cock through my folds. The sensation makes me squirm, desperate for more. He teases me mercilessly, rubbing the sensitive tip against my clit before dipping just slightly into my entrance, never giving me what I truly need.

"Last chance to stop this, princess," he warns, his cock poised at my opening.

"Fuck me or I'll finish myself," I threaten, reaching between my legs.

He captures my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand. "Oh no. When you come, it will be because of me."

With his free hand, he positions himself at my entrance. Our connection intensifies as he pushes forward, stretching me inch by excruciating inch. The invasion burns despite my wetness—his size demanding space my body struggles to provide.

"Christ, you're tight," he groans, pausing halfway. "Relax for me."

I force my muscles to yield, breathing through the delicious pain of being filled so completely. When he finally seats himself fully inside me, we both moan at the perfect connection. The fullness is overwhelming—my inner walls gripping him like a vise, every ridge and vein of his cock magnified by my sensitivity.

"You were made for me," he murmurs, beginning to move. Slow, deep thrusts that hit places never touched before. "For this."

My back arches off the glass as he sets a rhythm that borders between pleasure and pain. Each thrust pushes me higher, building tension that threatens to shatter me completely. The glass beneath me creaks with each powerful stroke, our bodies joining with increasing urgency.

"Let me touch you," I plead, straining against his grip on my wrists.

He releases them, immediately bracing both hands on the table for leverage as he increases his pace. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving half-moon impressions in tanned skin. The new angle allows him to drive deeper, hitting my g-spot with devastating force.

"Say my name," he commands, driving deeper. His pelvis grinds against my clit with each thrust, adding another layer of pleasure to the overwhelming sensations.

"Cormac," I gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside me. "Fuck—Cormac!"

His rhythm falters at the sound of his name on my lips. "Again."

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