Page 111 of Brutal Vows
The groan that escapes his lips is low and guttural. His eyelids drift shut. He rasps, “I don’t even care if you’re lying. That’s the hottest fucking thing any woman’s ever said to me.”
“I’m not lying. I’ve never felt safer before than I do right now, here with you. My gorgeous, masculine, badass Irishman who I haven’t stopped thinking about since the day we met.”
He’s wearing an expression I’ve only ever seen before on people right before they faint.
Hoping to avoid that outcome, I pull his head down for a kiss.
He kisses me back hungrily, sinking his fingers into my hair and rocking his pelvis against mine. We go at it until I’m squirming with need underneath him.
“You’re such a good kisser,” I say, panting. “I love the way you taste.”
He moans. “Jesus fucking holy hell, you’re trying to kill me.”
“Not at the moment. I’m just enjoying how delicious you are.”
His eyes roll back in his head.
“Will you please fuck me with that amazing fat cock of yours now? I love having it inside me.”
Very faintly, he says, “I’ve died and gone to heaven. That has to be it.”
The only word I can find to describe the feeling of his reaction to me praising him is power. Giving him what he needs makes me feel strong, bold, and powerful as fuck.
Is this what it feels like for him, too? When he calls me his good girl and I melt, does it make him feel this incredible? This euphoric?
This seen?
When he scrambles down my body, shoves his face between my legs, and starts to feast eagerly on my pussy, I decide it doesn’t matter. If he’ll do this every time I say something nice to him, I’m going to be a goddamn cookie dispenser from now on.
Sinking my fingers into his hair, I spread my legs wider and whisper, “I love your tongue, Quinn. That feels incredible.”
He moans into my flesh. His fingers dig into my hips. Stiff and bobbing, his cock hangs between his bent legs, the crown flushed a deep berry red. Veins stand out all over it. The tip glistens.
In a frenzy, his tongue lashes back and forth over my engorged clit.
Euphoria beating like a heartbeat inside me, I whisper, “Your cock is so gorgeous. So long and thick. Just looking at it excites me.”
He grips it in one hand and starts to play with it, pumping his hips as he strokes it from crown to base and back again, stopping once every so often to run his palm over his balls.
Close to orgasm, I moan. My fingers tighten in his hair. My hips move in time to the strokes of his wicked tongue. Making muffled sounds of pleasure as he eats me, he strokes his dick faster.
I arch my back and grind into his face helplessly. My nipples are hard and sensitive, aching for his mouth or his touch. When I tell him that, he moans, his eyes closed and his cheeks hollowed from sucking.
Watching him, I whisper raggedly, “You’re going to make me come. Please don’t stop that. I love it just like that. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Quinn—oh—God—”
My orgasm steals my breath. I bow from the bed, shaking and sweating, loving every hot swipe of his tongue over my clit, though it’s exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive. I come and come, pulling his hair and moaning, until he sinks two thick fingers inside me, and I sob.
“You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he snarls, finger fucking me as I jerk and gasp. “And you’re all mine, aren’t you, baby?”
I babble something. I don’t know what. Whatever it is, it makes Quinn chuckle darkly.
“Aye, you are. Tell me you want my cock.”
“Please yes please give it to me!”
When he sinks it inside me, I’m still coming. I cry out in ecstasy, my pussy clamping around his thick shaft. Convulsing rhythmically around it, like I’m trying to milk the cum right out of him.
He says something in Gaelic. A curse or a praise, I can’t tell. But his voice is strained and his hips are snapping. Sitting up on his knees with my legs spread open around his hips and his hands clenched into my ass as he holds me up, he plunges his cock into me over and over again.
