Page 142 of Morally Black Betrothal
“You must be really stressed out.” I couldn’t stop staring. He looked like AI made him. “Did you work out today?”
His shirt fell to the floor. “No. But I’m about to.”
He toed off his shoes and socks before undoing his black tuxedo pants and letting them crumple next to his shirt. And then it was just him, all long legs and lean muscle, chest dusted with dark hair that narrowed down his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his black boxers.
He was beautiful.
There was no other word to describe him.
Somewhere between a classical god and a warrior, nobility mixed with the bloodlust of his past, the remnants of some ancient Spanish raider who had invaded his ancestors’ homelands in Ireland and planted the seed of the dark-haired prince now invading my space, pushing me back on the bed and trapping me in the billowing linens as his lips found mine again.
“Fuck, angel. I’ve been dying for this forweeks. You know that?”
“I—know.” I could barely get the words out. I needed that mouth, that tongue, that taste.
His hands slid down, then back up with my skirt, pulling me up to remove it so that there was nothing but a few bits of thin fabric between us: the scrap of lace that I wore as underwear and his simple black boxers.
I moaned as my legs wrapped around his waist again. It wasn’t nearly close enough. I wanted to sink into him, to melt into his skin, to know the exact size and shape of him inside me.
But it had been so long…
Did I even remember how to do this anymore?
“Brendan, please,” I whimpered, tugging at his waistband.
“Please what, angel?” The sweet words were still a growl as he nibbled down my neck.
“You. I need more of you.”
“Fuck more. I needallof you.”
His groan echoed around the room as he reached down and yanked his boxers down his legs so he could kick them aside.
How could one man’s kiss ruin every other thought, every sense of reality I had? His mouth was so thorough that I barely noticed as his hands found their way down my body as if to memorize its curves, cupping my breasts, my hips, taking two handfuls of my ass so he could slide his considerable length between my thighs, guarded only by the scrap of lace that would be so easily torn…
“Rip them,” I murmured into that hot, searching mouth. “Please.”
“Since you’re asking so pretty.” His fingers hooked the lace, and the rip of lace cut through the room like a knife.
He sat up on his knees, eyes dilated even more as he took in the sight of me in nothing but my skin.
“Christ, Simone.” His words were labored, like he could barely manage to find them. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever fuckin’ seen.”
I sucked in a harsh breath. “I…I wanted to look good. For you.”
“Baby, you looked perfect to me the first time I saw you in that hospital room. You’d look good in a paper bag. It’syouI want, angel. Not the clothes or the jewelry or anything else. Justyou.” His mouth quirked with a bit of humor as his gaze darted over my bare breasts and the pendant lying between them. “Although I do like you in diamonds. And nothing else.”
He touched one finger to the pendant, then drew it slowly over my skin, down to one nipple, then dragging the back of his hand with a sweet pull of his nails over the other.
I sucked in a tight breath. “More, Brendan.”
Brendan leaned down and pressed another kiss to my lips, then to my cheeks, my jaw, and down my neck until he hovered over one of my nipples. With unnervingly slow licks, he twirled his tongue around the pebbled nub, then sucked it to the back of his mouth with sudden intensity that had me arching off the bed.
“Oh!” I cried as he continued that delicious torture.
Just as quickly, he released me with a pop and sat up again, though his eyes glowed with need. “Patience, angel.”
His fingers traveled down, alternately stroking and scraping over my skin until his thumb lingered over my clit while the other, much larger part of him nudged my entrance.
