He winds his belt around my wrists, tucks the ends under, and pins my arms overhead. Leaning down into my face, he stares deep into my eyes. His own are feverish.
“I’m gonna lick your pussy until you’re crying for me to let you orgasm. But I won’t let you. You can’t until I say you can. Understood?”
I know this delay is part of it, part of how he’ll make the sensation that much more intense for me. The longer I can hold back, the better the climax will ultimately be.
I’d still like to kick him in the nuts.
Seeing the fury and uncontrolled lust in my eyes, he smiles. Then he straightens, unzips his trousers, and takes out his stiff cock. He strokes it lazily, gazing down at me.
He keeps stroking it as he moves backward and kneels between my legs, then starts licking me again, his jutting cock thick and hard in his fist.
I want to suck on it. I want him to fuck me with it. I want him to make me choke on it while he spanks me with his belt. I’m out of my mind with need and euphoria, riding a cresting wave of pleasure as his tongue flicks and licks and he jerks himself off on his knees between my spread thighs.
The light in the room glows brighter. The crashing of the waves outside grows louder. My eyes roll back into my head.
Uh-oh. I’ll be punished for this.
If I’m lucky.
With a full body jerk and a scream muffled by his silk tie, I orgasm hard. My pussy contracts and convulses. My body bows against the bed.
As if from far away, I hear Declan curse. I feel a tug and a pull, and the tampon is gone. He falls on top of me, biting the soft flesh under my nipple and shoving his cock deep inside my body with an animal’s territorial roar.
With a hand around my throat, he thrusts hard and fast as I come, and come, and come, bucking wildly underneath him.
“Baby. Ah, fuck, baby. I love the way you feel.”
He’s panting, pistoning into me, fucking me as I ride out the most intense climax I’ve ever had. The muscles in my ass cramp from clenching. The line between pain and pleasure blurs as he bites my nipples and squeezes my throat until I’m gasping.
He shudders. Moans long and low next to my ear. With one final thrust, he spills himself inside me, speaking in passionate, garbled Gaelic as he does.
“Tá tú mianach, cailín milis. Mianach.”
He tucks his face into my neck and whispers my name like a prayer.
I wonder how I ever thought I’d known happiness before.
When we’ve finally both caught our breath and stopped shaking, Declan withdraws from me carefully, unwinds his necktie from around my jaw, and kisses me gently. Then he tells me not to move.
I lie staring at the ceiling as he goes into the bathroom, picking up the discarded tampon along the way. I hear water running. After a while, he returns, minus his clothing. In his left hand is a towel. In his right is a wet washcloth.
I close my eyes as he silently cleans me between my legs and dries me with the towel.
When I hear the sound of a paper wrapper tearing, I say, “I’m not going to let you put that in.”
He says softly, “Show me how.”
“God, no.”
“Total trust, remember?”
“Nice try, Casanova. Even my gynecologist doesn’t have those privileges, and I’ve been spreading my legs for him for years.”
He chuckles and relents. “Give me your wrists.”
I lower my arms from above my head, and he unfastens his belt, releasing me. He rubs my wrists, then kisses both my palms, one at a time. It’s a sweet gesture, a nurturing one, and it makes me feel treasured.
Gazing at me with soft eyes, he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful, lass.”
I smile at him. “So beautifully sore.”
“I’ll get you aspirin. And some cream.”
He goes into the bathroom again, giving me time to insert the tampon he left beside me on the bed. I grimace when I see what’s become of the poor duvet underneath me and roll over, kicking it to one side. I flip it over on itself and push it off to the floor.
When Declan returns, holding a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of lotion in the other, he sees me lying there on top of the sheets, the duvet discarded. He quirks an eyebrow.
“It looked like a crime scene.”
“It’s only blood.”
His tone is entirely nonchalant. I think of the blood on the collar of his shirt, realizing he’s numb to the sight of it because he’s seen it so much. Like an emergency room doctor.
Or someone who kills people for a living.
He sets everything on the nightstand, helps me to a sitting position, drops two aspirin into my palm, and hands me the glass. I’m so thirsty, I drink the entire thing.
He takes the glass away and gently pushes me back down again, rolling me onto my belly. Resting my cheek on the pillow, I close my eyes as he lightly rubs lotion into my burning skin.
“You have the most perfect arse I’ve seen in my life.”
Sated and drowsy, my limbs heavy and my heart full, I have just enough strength to laugh. “Right? It should really be memorialized in plaster. No, something longer lasting. Cast in bronze.”
His chuckle is low. “Someday you’ll tell me how you got that self-confidence.”
“You have self-confidence, too.”
“It can’t hold a candle to yours.”
“Like your IQ.”
“I’ll let that go for now, considering the state of your arse, but I won’t forget it.”
We’re quiet for a while as he continues to carefully spread the lotion all over my throbbing cheeks. It’s strange that hands used to such rough business as his can be so tender.
“Declan?”
“Aye?”
“I don’t want you to die.”
The hand rubbing my ass cheek stills, then slides down to my upper thigh and squeezes.
He says quietly, “I can’t promise I won’t.”
“Have you ever thought about quitting?”
His pause is so long, I start to get nervous. But I don’t move an inch. I simply wait, my heartbeat picking up speed.
“A man can’t quit the thing that makes him who he is.”
“A gangster isn’t who you are. It’s what you do. There’s a difference.”
There’s another long pause, this one charged with tension. It’s like he’s fighting with himself over what to say. When he speaks again, his voice is so low, I have to strain to hear it.
“Tell me I can trust you with my life and mean it, and I’ll tell you if I’ve ever thought about quitting. And what would happen if I did.”
I turn my face to the pillow and exhale the breath I’ve been holding. “Tell me I won’t have to choose between you and Nat and mean it, and I’ll say you can trust me with your life.”
“It’s not only her you’d be choosing. It’s everything and everyone else.”
I whisper, “I know.”
“I’d never ask you to make that choice, lass.” He pauses. “But she might.”
“No fucking way she would.”
“The Irish Mob killed Kazimir’s entire family. Did you know that?”
Stunned, I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”
He nods. “His parents were murdered over a missed protection payment. And both his young sisters, too.” He looks away. His voice lowers. “They had other things done to them before they died. Worse things. They sent Kazimir the pictures.”