Page 23 of The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
“Not even to a stud?”
“Ah, when you put it that way.” He stepped through her bedroom door and turned to catch her and snatch the quilt away from around her. “Now, you have to walk in front of me to the bed.”
He watched in shock as a tint of pink flushed her cheeks. “Are you blushing?”
She lifted her chin but didn’t quite meet his gaze. “I’m forty-nine years old. And not an athlete.”
He couldn’t believe it. Running his hands down from her shoulders to her hands to hold them out from her sides, he let his eyes skim over the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her belly, and lower. The reaction of his cock was unmistakable. “Frankie, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She shook her head. “You’re blind, but I’ll walk to the bed for you because you blarneyed me into it.”
Frustration wedged in his chest. “It’s not blarney, ye gobdaw. And I’ll prove it to you.”
He turned her and gave her a nudge toward the big bed with its snow-white sheets exposed by the lack of the quilt he’d stolen from it. Being Frankie, she strode toward it with her head up and her shoulders back. Then she pulled the sheet back and climbed under it.
“No,a stór, no covering that gorgeous body. I want to worship it.” He tugged the sheet down to her feet and began there, massaging her high, strong arches, kissing the bone on the inside of her ankle, inhaling the scent of woman and evergreen and a whiff of arousal. But something was missing. He looked up to find her watching him through half-closed eyes.
“You don’t smell of chocolate anymore,” he said.
“Do you miss it?”
“It was part of you.”
“I’ll rub some candy bars on my skin next time.”
“No, I will. Melted candy bars. Then I’ll lick the chocolate off you.” He heard the hiss of her breath being sucked in.
Then he told her, in detail, where he would rub the candy bars as he kissed each place. And he told her, in detail, how lovely all those places were. The curve of her calves. The back of her knees. The soft skin inside her thighs. The convexity of her belly. The swell of her hips. Oh, dear God, everything about her breasts. The line of her clavicle. The vulnerable hollow at the base of her throat. The sensitive spot just behind her ears.
She was moaning and twisting and clutching at the sheets and at him before he skimmed his lips down the center of her torso, dipped his tongue into her navel, and then moved lower. He found the exquisite wet pinkness between her legs and licked, adding his moans to hers as he tasted the salt and musk of her. Her fingers combed through his hair and then held there. She opened her legs and let him suck and plunge and revel in the liquid heat of her response. When he slid two fingers inside her, she arched up and shouted his name as her inner muscles slammed closed and open, so that he could feel the pressure and the moisture of her release. He used his tongue and his hand to keep her orgasm going until she begged him to stop. “It’s too much,” she gasped. “I can’t….”
As he slipped his fingers out, her muscles clenched again. “You did,” he said.
He lifted his fingers to inhale the aroma of her, rubbed them against his tongue to savor the taste of her. Kneeling between her sprawled legs, he let his gaze roam over the delicious curves he was beginning to know intimately, the sexual flush on her creamy skin, the spread of her silver hair over the sheets. Her soft lips were parted and her chest heaved as she drew in deep breaths while she came down from her climax. He brought his fingers to his nostrils again, pulling her scent in so that it seemed to ripple down to wrap around his erect cock.
She opened her eyes. “That was worth waiting twenty-three years for.”
He threw back his head and laughed, letting a tension he’d been carrying for a long time spill out of his mouth. He knew he was a deft lover. Enough women had told him so. But this was Frankie, and he’d wanted it to be perfect for her.
“And I see that you’re still waiting,” she said, her gaze dropping to the erection rising from between his thighs.
“I can wait a wee bit longer,” he said, circling his fingers around one of her ankles to bend her leg so he could roll her and stretch out beside her, his cock snugged between the cheeks of her bottom. He could easily come just by rubbing himself against the ripe roundness there.
As though reading his mind, she shifted backwards to nestle him closer in.
“You’re killing me, Frankie.”
“Just keeping your interest up until I can return the favor.”
He slipped a hand around to cup the velvety weight of her breast. “This will help.”
“Ah, but whose interest are you keeping up now?” she asked, pushing her tight nipple into his palm.
The hard press of her on his skin nearly undid him, but he held onto his control. He could feel tiny shudders still running through her body, and smiled with satisfaction. Then a fist of emotions, so many he couldn’t name them all, lodged in his throat as he enfolded her small, strong body in his arms. The touch of her skin against his thighs, his belly, his chest. Her heat radiating through him. The sound of her breathing, the thud of her pulse, the silky brush of her hair. His dreams had not prepared him for the sweetness of the reality and it nearly overwhelmed him. He swallowed, his eyelids squeezed closed against a burn of tears.
She was right. It was too much.
“Liam, could you ease up a bit so my ribs stay intact?”
