A gasp escaped me. "That’s why you started doing that thing with your fingers." I squeezed his hand. "Cheat!"
"Talk of decapitations get your brain whirring, little one," he joked. "I had to bring you back down to earth." He surged forward, not stopping until there was a scant inch of space between our noses. "The journalist is hot. She makes you accept my fucked up world, but it’s the woman who sets me on fire, Savannah. It’s you who makes me hard all the time."
A shaky breath whispered from my lips as he pressed our mouths together. I groaned into the kiss, a whine escaping me as he slipped his tongue against mine.
I shifted into a taller position so that I could lean into him. His hands moved around my waist and to my ass so he could squeeze it, before they slid down my thighs and back up again. That caress zinged all the way to my toes.
I knew he wanted to feel all of me, have his imprint on me, but he didn’t have to worry. He’d done that years ago with barely a touch between us.
Three meetings, one where he’d let me live, the other where he’d respected my intelligence enough to believe in my investigation and its findings, followed by a simple meal and that was it. A life changing day.
The thought urged me into moving, and I pressed my hands to his shoulders and pushed him away, gently, as I slid my fingers down his chest. He knew I wasn’t pulling away, so he rocked back into the armchair, and I let my hand continue its voyage down, with his gaze on mine, as I reached for the zipper on his jeans.
Our eyes still glued together, I delved between the folds of his fly and reached inside to grab his cock.
You knew a man was beautiful when you wanted to drop to your knees the second you saw him in a suit.
But when he was in jeans and you still got wet? That was hawtness to the nth power.
With my hand around his shaft, that power in my hand, I murmured, "I know I’m not wearing any lipstick, but let me please you."
He was always so focused on me, and while I wasn’t going to complain, giving back was a pleasure. An honor. I knew it was only a blowjob, but to me, it represented more. It was taking control of him and owning it. I knew he’d probably had thousands of blowjobs in his life, but none by me.
A bark of laughter escaped him, and he reached out, rimmed my mouth with his finger, then rasped, "You can wear lipstick next time."
Grinning, I dipped down and pressed my lips to the tip of his length. As I explored him, circling the glans, enjoying the thick spongy skin against my tongue, slipping down and experiencing the contrast of veins and smooth flesh, iron and silk combined, I tasted him much as he did me. Savoring him like he was a treat.
He scented of soap from the shower he’d had before dinner, but deeper than that, there was just his essence. Inherently him. It was delicious. He was delicious.
When he groaned as I slipped my lips along his shaft, finding the same rope-like veins and the thick flesh that I’d explored with my tongue, I lost myself in the moment. Lost myself in his pleasure.
His hands came to my hair, and he tugged and pulled, his hips bucking as I tuned into him, wanting to ease his concerns, to give him an escape from the intensity of the past few days.
He wasn’t gentle, but neither was I. I nipped and sucked, using the thick saliva that coated his cock to take him as far down my throat as I could. When I nuzzled my nose in his groin, I sucked in air that was scented of him and was pretty sure I’d just gotten high.
With a gasp, I pulled back, releasing all of him, and though his hands encouraged me to return, I didn’t. I pressed his length against his belly, and let my tongue trace that thick padded flesh which ran down the underside of his erection. I shuddered when he did, then moaned when he grabbed both my hands and twisted them to the side so I couldn’t move them.
I squirmed, shifting slightly so that I could dig my heel into my pussy, letting me grind against it as I started to lick his balls. When he grabbed them and lifted them with his free hand, I nuzzled into them, weakly struggling against the hold he had on my wrists, not to escape, just to test him.
Knowing he’d shackle me to him until the end of time, I wanted that.
Needed that.
Craved that.
He growled as I pulled one ball into my mouth, sucking down hard on it before I gifted the other with the same treatment. His hips bucked, and I groaned, loving his taste, needing more, needing all of it. Lips traversing the length of his shaft once more, I slipped them around the tip, and sank back down. This time, I bobbed my head fast, wanting his cum, demanding it.
Just because I let him order me around didn’t mean that I couldn’t do the same.
This particular Irish Mob boss needed a lady boss, and I was more than willing to take that job.
When he came, his seed slaloming into my mouth, I swallowed as quickly as I could. Jizz was never going to taste like Cherry Twizzlers, but fuck, if it could taste good, his did. Which was how I knew I was a goner. For real.
He growled as I took everything, sinking it back like fine wine, and he grabbed my hair again, tightened his grip on my wrists, and bucked into me as he thrust my mouth deeper around him. I gagged, but I groaned too, loving that his control broke as he rode those final few waves, and loving that I did this to him.
When he let go of me, I knew I probably looked a mess, but his hands released me, and they cupped my cheeks before drifting down so he could press his thumbs against the various hickeys that concealer wasn’t doing that great a job of hiding, touching me as if I were the most precious thing in his world.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I wanted to be that.
He stunned me by kissing me again, thrusting his tongue against mine the second I parted my lips. Apparently Aidan hadn’t received the memo that guys didn’t kiss once a girl had given them head, but then, why would he do anything the normal way?
Hallelujah.
Forty-Four
Aidan
"Wake up!"
Immediately, I jolted awake, sitting upright and doing a pretty damn good impression of Dracula coming out of his coffin as I demanded, "What is it? The Sparrows? Russians? Italians?"
"No, it’s Christmas, Aidan."
I jerked back like I’d been shot, then I blustered, "Conor, what the fuck are you doing in here?"
"Waking you up," he groused back.
Casting Savannah a glance, seeing she’d somehow slept through the alarm that was my younger brother, I grabbed the sheets and hauled them over us when I saw a sliver of her nipple peeping out. Her legs were also bared, the bandage covering up some of her modesty, and I growled, "Turn away, Conor. Right this fucking second."
"I got my own woman. I ain’t interested in yours," he scoffed. "Anyway, hurry the fuck up. You know we can’t open presents unless everyone’s downstairs."
I blinked. "Since when do you have a woman?"
Naturally, the one thing I wanted to know, he didn’t answer. Just scurried away like the pain in my ass he was.
Flopping back into the mattress, I yawned as I peered at the clock, cursing when I saw it was four AM.
"Fucker," I grumbled, before I turned on my side and hauled Savannah into me.
She came, cuddling into me the second she resettled against my side. Skin to skin. Christ, did she know how good she felt?