Page 163 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“Snap.” We say it at the same time as though we’re playing the childhood game, but this is now no game.

I stare at her before slowly backing her up against the glass we were once on opposite sides of because I know now that we’re on exactly the same side and always have been. My gaze drops to her lips, causing her to lick their pouty surface.

She wants me to kiss her. Rightly or wrongly, there’s no hesitation on my part this time.

She groans against my lips the moment they connect with hers. I silence her by thrusting my tongue deep into her mouth, tasting the perfection I’ve only been able to dream about all these years.

That’s when time stands still. That’s when the fates align. That’s when everything suddenly makes perfect fucking sense. That it has always been me and her. Her and me.

I need more. Way fucking more. I need all of her.

Now. Always. Forever.

My hand fists her hair as I devour her mouth.

Mine.

You need to stop, Paddy. She’s not yours.

I don’t fucking care.

I growl as her small hands tangle in my hair. Sucking her bottom lip possessively into my mouth, I bite down hard. I’m rewarded with her groaning her pleasure and her front instinctively pressing against mine.

Wanting more. Needing more. Demanding more.

I smirk against her mouth, and in retaliation, she bites my lip until I can taste blood.

My favorite fucking flavor.

I lift her feet off the floor. The moment my hard-on connects with the heat of her pussy, I thrust against her. I need to be inside her. Her legs anchor around my hips, and she grinds back her acceptance until she’s pressed tightly against my length with her nails digging welcomingly into my back—blood red.

My favorite fucking color.

Would we have willingly stopped? We’ll never know. Our mouths only part when we hear the sound of the church doors being slammed shut.

We both stare in that direction. This time, we have our phones, and we’re not locked in the safe room, so what’s the worst that can happen?

CHAPTERFIFTY-THREE

JAINE

St. Peter’s Church, Upper East Side, New York

What just happened shouldn’t have.

But you wanted it to happen, Jaine.My throbbing clit can’t argue with that.

I can still taste Padraig’s O’Connell’s unique flavor on the tip of my tongue, mixed with the metallic taste of his blood.

I’m wet. I’m aroused. I want more. Way more. I wouldn’t have stopped. I’d have kept right on fucking going.

Eoin and I aren’t together. He cheated. But I can’t just start something with Irish. Not without Eoin’s approval. I owe him that, at least, regardless of what he did. Irish doesn’t love me anyway.

Twenty generic words, remember, Jaine?

The only positive from the sound we both heard was that it stopped us from progressing from kissing to fucking. Because we would have.

My guts are telling me that my living on borrowed time may just have caught up with us both. That Irish was in the wrong place at the wrong time and has been caught up in my final countdown.

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