Page 27 of Wild Irish

He chuckles. “I’d have been surprised if ye hadn’t been sick, the way ye were drinking. How are ye feeling now?”

“Better.” Tipsy, but sober enough to know what I want.

“Good.” A small grin plays on his lips. “Now come here and let me undress ye.”

A thousand butterflies take flight in my stomach as he reaches for me. How am I supposed to keep my sanity when he strips my control with just a touch?

His fingers find the hem of my shirt. “Lift your arms.”

I obey as he pulls the material over my head, then tosses it to the floor.

Warmth spreads through my body, not only from his touch, but from the heat in his eyes.

He reaches behind his back and pulls off his own shirt.

My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t help but reach out and touch the dark patterns that mark his arms and chest. “You’re perfect.”

He chuckles, tilting my chin up with his thumb. “I think ye’re still drunk.”

“What do they mean?” I trace the patterns on his arms.

“Celtic symbols.” He places my hand over the ink on his chest. “This one means strength.”

“It’s beautiful.” I run my fingers down his chest, over his abs, the sensation sending little electric-like shocks zipping through my fingertips and straight to my core. When I reach his belt, a small tremor of anticipation races through me.

“Ye’re beautiful,” he says. One eyebrow quirks up and he grins, then reaches past me and hands me my toothbrush. “But ye need this.”

He laughs when I take it from him, and I give him a little shove as I move to the sink. Standing behind me, he trails his knuckles across my shoulder and leans down, pressing his lips to the back of my neck while I brush my teeth.

I shiver as his hands continue to roam across my back, over my hips. When I rinse my mouth, he spins me around and kisses me.

“Much better.” He nips at my bottom lip, chuckling, his hands never leaving my body.

There’s no rushing, which I’m grateful for. As much as I want this, want him, I’ve never done anything like this before.

Sure, I’ve had sex, but only with Matt, and only after we’d been dating for almost a year. And even then, it had never been anything like this.

I loosen Cillian’s belt and lick my lips as I continue to unbutton his jeans. My fingers are shaking slightly. He must notice, because he takes my hands and brings them to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Ye all right?” His voice is thick and rough, and my core clenches in anticipation as the sound slips across my skin.

I’ve never been this nervous. Not even the first time.

But desire outweighs my fears.

I nod. Every cell in my body is screaming for his touch.

Slowly, he removes my pants, sliding them down my thighs, the callused tips of his fingers rough against my skin.

I watch him as his hands go to the waistband of his jeans. His long fingers unbutton the top metal button, exposing his dark boxer briefs. Curling his fingers in the material, he peels the jeans and briefs down over his thighs and his enormous erection springs free.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let my gaze linger on the thick length of his erection. Heavy veins strain against satiny flesh, and a small drop of pre-cum glistens at the tip of the bulging head.

Even his cock is gorgeous.

He takes my hand, his other palm resting on my waist, as he guides me into the shower.

Warm water sprays over us, but even with the heat, I can’t help but shiver when he reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckles across the swell of my breast.

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