Page 29 of Legacy Of Ashes
Conall leaps the coffee table with feline grace, tackling the last attacker. They crash into the bookshelf in a tangle of muscle and violence. Watching him fight—all controlled power and lethal beauty—makes cream gather between my thighs. I want those hands on my body, that strength pinning me down while he claims what's his.
A red dot appears on my chest.
Sniper. Outside window.
"Conall," I breathe, raising my weapon toward the threat.
He sees the laser sight painting my skin. His face transforms into something primitive and possessive, like he wants to kill every man who dares look at me.
Mine. The word blazes in his eyes as he throws himself between me and death.
The bullet meant for my heart punches through his shoulder instead. Blood blooms across his white shirt as momentum carries him into my arms. We crash to the floor together, his solid weight pressing me down behind the desk, and even bleeding he feels perfect against me.
"No." Terror and raw need flood my system as I catch him. His blood is hot and slick on my fingers, pulsing between them like the wetness between my legs when I think of him. "Stay with me."
He struggles to focus through the pain, gray eyes burning into mine with an intensity that makes my nipples peak beneath my torn blouse. "Not going anywhere, princess."
The endearment breaks something loose in my chest. Twenty years of him calling me princess while I fantasized about him calling me his dirty girl instead.
"Don't you dare leave me, Conall Devlin." I press both palms against his wound, feeling his heartbeat against my skin, strong and steady like I imagine his cock would be inside me. "I won't let you."
His mouth curves despite the pain. "Bossy little thing. Bet you're bossy in bed too."
Heat floods my cheeks at his crude words. "Your bossy little thing," I say before I can stop myself.
His eyes flare with dark hunger despite the blood loss. "Yeah. Mine. Every fucking inch of you."
The possessive rasp in his voice makes my pussy clench so hard I gasp. Even bleeding, even dying, he affects me like no other man ever could or ever will.
"Medical kit," he manages, his free hand sliding down to grip my hip possessively. "Bar cabinet."
I tear my silk blouse, wadding the expensive fabric against his wound. The movement makes my bra-clad breasts press against his chest, and I feel his sharp intake of breath that has nothing to do with pain.
"Fuck, Saoirse," he groans. "Even now you make me hard."
I glance down and see he's telling the truth. Even bleeding, even in mortal danger, his cock strains against his pants. The knowledge that I affect him this much makes me bold.
"Good," I whisper against his ear, my lips brushing his skin. "Because I'm so wet for you right now I'm soaking through my panties."
His hand tightens on my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Christ. You're going to kill me before the bullet does."
"Look at me." I cup his face with bloody hands, my thumb tracing his lower lip. "Focus on me and what you're going to do to me when you heal."
His eyes drift closed.
"Tell me," I demand, voice husky with need. "Tell me how you're going to fuck me."
The crude command snaps his attention back. Gray eyes lock onto mine with blazing intensity.
"Going to spread you wide and taste every inch," he rasps. "Make you come on my tongue until you scream my name. Then I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll feel me for days."
Fire races through my blood at his filthy promise. My pussy throbs, aching and empty, needing him to fill me.
"Tell me more," I breathe, keeping him conscious with dirty talk. "Tell me about that night in the garden when I was eighteen. What did you really want to do to me?"
His mouth quirks despite the pain. "You remember."
"Every second." My hands maintain pressure while I bare my soul. "You pulled away so fast I thought I disgusted you."
