Page 51 of Destroy Me
God, yes.
She couldn’t wait for him—she grabbed his head and brought it to hers. Her mouth opened to just the right angle, fitting to his, allowing his tongue inside like she’d kissed him a thousand times. In her dreams she had, but nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared her for the reality of Fionn’s gravelly voice in her ears, his tongue in her mouth, his stubble rasping her sensitive skin. His body coming down over hers. His weight was the best thing she’d ever felt in her life—until the head of his cock grazed her clit. She cried out into his mouth, her eyes going wide.
Fionn’s smile was the slightest bit strained. “I’ve got you, love. Don’t you be worryin’.”
He shifted to one side and reached for the nightstand. Inside the drawer he grabbed a small foil packet—a condom. The thought of birth control hadn’t even entered her mind. Stupid. But Fionn was taking care of her, just like she’d known he would.
A few seconds of fiddling and he got the condom on. She sucked in a breath, preparing for pain when he entered her, but not yet. Instead he leveraged a bit off her and brought his mouth to her breast again. Nipping and sucking. Biting. Exploring. Her eyes rolled back in her head—he was so good at that, it made her want to cry. And beg. And scream in pleasure. She couldn’t believe it could possibly get better.
Until his fingers slid along her slit, opening her up.
“Oh!”
Sharp teeth scraped her nipple. Two fingers began a slow massage around her clit.
“Fionn!” Her legs fell open without her command, opening her body even more, exposing herself to anything he wanted to do. Anything, if he just kept making her feel this way. “More, please. Please.”
“There’s always more where that came from, pretty wan. Always.” His fingers slipped inside her, just barely, pulled back out, circled her clit. Over and over and over, deeper and deeper each time. When she tensed in discomfort, he moved to her other breast and sucked her in, hard, until she moaned and arched her hips into his touch. Till she begged.
Then he pushed all the way inside. Deep, just like he’d promised. He felt too thick, too long inside her—why were men’s hands so big?—but she clutched his head to her breast and raised her hips to meet him, wanting it, needing to get through this part so it could get even better. So much better.Eyes on the prize, Lyse.
When a third finger joined the rest, she flinched at the pinch of pain, sucking in a hard breath. “Fionn?”
“That’s it.” He pulled his fingers out and eased back in. “All good, love.” Straightening up, he brought his mouth to her ear. “I’m gonna come inside you, Lyse. So deep you’ll never get me out. I’m gonna ride you hard and make you scream, then come back for more.”
The words echoed in her head, created vivid, erotic pictures in her mind and sparks in her body. The pain became a distant memory. “Yes. Please. Now.”
And then his tip was against her again. Fionn straightened onto an elbow, his stare boring into her, green eyes glistening with determination and lust and a hunger so deep she couldn’t doubt that it was real. “Keep your eyes on me,” he told her.
She did. It was embarrassing and hot and the most intimate thing she could imagine two people doing, but she stared into his eyes and felt his cock slide inside her body. He filled her, and filled her, and filled her some more until she thought she would tear, the fit was so tight, but she didn’t. Fionn knew what he was doing. Her slick body welcomed him until he hilted deep inside, nudging her cervix in a way that both made her squirm and want to beg him to do it again. But he didn’t wait for her to beg; he slid out, then did it again.
“Fionn.” Pleasure tightened her throat, strangling his name. “Fionn.”
“I’ve got you.” His gaze held her, his hands gripped her tight, and his body invaded hers over and over, sending pleasure sizzling through her pelvis, up to her breasts, even down to her toes. And then came the moment when he shifted the slightest bit, thrust inside her—and something totally different sparked. Something breathtaking. Something very like what she’d felt when she’d made herself come in the past, but a thousand times brighter, a thousand times better. She clutched him to her and whimpered, and he did it again, a grin lighting his serious face.
“That’s it, Lyse. Come for me. Squeeze me tight and make me come with you. You feel so good, love. So good.” His breath was coming harder, faster, his thrusts too. “Get me wet and make me come, love.”
And when he thrust again, once, twice, and pressed a thumb hard against her clit, that’s exactly what she did.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He’d been wrong.
His entire adult life, he’d thought he knew what sex was all about. He was “the Irish,” the man whose accent made panties drop and whose cock made women come the minute he gave it to them. He’d gotten his ride and he’d shot off too, just like his partners, but it had been all fun and games. Nothing serious, nothing involved beyond a few nights of pleasure, if that. Until this morning.
He stood just inside the closed door of their room, a damp cloth in his hand, and stared at the woman in his bed. She lay flat, sprawled without pillow or covers, a fan of dark, tangled hair spread out beneath her head. One arm at her side, one curled over her chest, palm flat on the silvery-pink scar that bisected her breastbone. Her knee was tilted to one side, allowing him a glimpse of pretty pink lips that still bore traces of blood he could see from where he stood—hence the cloth.
And yet he couldn’t seem to move from this spot. Couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at the woman who’d shattered every idea he’d had about what good sex could be.
She’d shatteredhim.
Even now, after she’d drained his balls of every drop they’d contained, he felt his cock stirring as his gaze traced her body. How he could have a semi after coming so hard he’d seen stars, he didn’t know, but… Lyse had always been special. It seemed that after so long denying it, his body wanted every last bit of sensation it could wring from her.
“Fionn?” She shifted onto her side, a wince hitting when she rolled over the wound along her ribs. That would be sore today, he knew. Though healing well, she’d just put a lot of effort into using those muscles. Her body would protest—and not just her ribs.
His name on her lips broke the spell holding him in place. “I’m right here, love.”
The word was a habit, like sayingdearorhon. Did she know her face softened when he called her that? As if every time the endearment came from his lips, he was sayingI love you; that’s how she looked. He’d never told any woman but his mamI love you, didn’t think, after the life he’d lived, the things he’d done, that he had love in him. And yet the melting in her eyes when he said it…love. That was love staring back at him. It had been love in her eyes when she’d surrendered to him.
