He whispers, “Fuck, baby. Look at you.” He leans down and presses the gentlest of kisses right on my clit. When I inhale sharply, he glances up at me. Then he lowers his mouth to my flesh and starts to suck.
It feels incredible. The noise I make doesn’t even sound human.
He continues to suck, holding eye contact with me. The prude part of me is shocked at this intimacy, but it’s no match for the other part of me—the bigger, stronger part—that has gone full porn star. I moan, let my head fall back against the mattress, and rock my hips against his face.
He growls against my flesh and reaches up to squeeze my breasts as he eats me.
He pinches my nipples, then does it again, harder, when I react with a low, broken moan of pleasure. I writhe against his mouth, starting to sweat. I’m dying to feel him inside me.
“Please, Killian. I need you. I need—”
“You need to come in my mouth, baby,” he growls. “I’ll tell you what else you need after that.”
Oh god. The Australian accent. Chris Hemsworth is between my legs. I’m going to die.
He goes back to sucking my clit, sliding a thick finger inside me. He’s relentless, holding me down with one big hand splayed over my belly as I start to buck helplessly against his face.
When my orgasm hits, it steals my breath.
I stiffen and cry out. The hard contractions pound through my body like waves. It feels like all of me is splitting wide open. I’m falling apart at the seams.
Between my legs, Killian makes animal grunts of approval.
When the wild contractions have faded to the occasional twitch, I lie panting on the mattress, limp and sated, and watch as Killian rises to his knees and pulls his T-shirt off over his head. He drops it to the floor.
I get my first look at his chest and abs, and my eyes widen. I exhale a breath that feels like fire.
I say faintly, “Holy shit, gangster.”
Gazing down at me with hot, dark eyes, he smiles. “I wish I had a camera, lass. That look is priceless.”
He had to have been carved from stone by a master sculptor. He’s beautifully proportioned, from the breadth of his strong shoulders down to his tapered waist. His stomach is flat, except for where it ripples with muscles. His pecs are glorious. His biceps…there are no words.
And everywhere—blinding me—are tattoos.
Along with small round scars that I recognize instantly as made by bullets.
When I glance up at his face, he isn’t smiling anymore.
My heart beating fast, I whisper, “How many times have you been shot?”
“Shot at or shot?”
“Shot.”
“Twelve.”
Twelve. I think that’s astonishing, until he adds, “Shot at, probably in the thousands.”
“That can’t be true.”
“I don’t lie to you.” He rips open the fly of his jeans. His voice drops an octave. “You and only one other person alive.”
Before I can process that, he yanks my panties down my legs and tosses them over his shoulder. He rips the rest of my flimsy dress open down to the hem, then rolls me this way and that, tearing it off me. He discards my bra, opening it with a professional flick of his fingers, then pushes me facedown onto my belly and grasps the back of my neck, holding me down.
I lie still, staring at the wall, clutching the bedspread with my heart in my throat, as he stands silently and looks me over.
After a moment, he exhales. His voice barely audible, he whispers, “Lass. You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
He bends, pressing a gentle kiss to the small of my back. His other hand squeezes the back of my thigh, then slides higher. He puts a knee between my thighs, pushing them farther apart.
“Killian—”
“Hush. I won’t do anything you don’t like. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I moisten my lips, but it doesn’t help. My mouth is so dry. My hands are trembling. It’s not fear I’m feeling, just pure adrenaline.
He slides his lips to my tailbone, his touch feather light. His hand creeps higher, squeezing my flesh. He cups my bottom, then nips it, his teeth sinking into my tender skin.
“So goddamn beautiful,” he whispers again, to himself it seems.
His fingers find the center of me, still wet from his mouth. He strokes my clit. He tugs on it. He pinches it, crooning when I gasp. When he slides his finger inside me and I arch back to meet its press with a moan and a shudder, he mutters, “Bloody fucking hell.”
I don’t know why he’s going so slow, but I’m over it.
I need him inside me, and I need it now.
I say crossly, “Do you need a minute to take your heart medication, old man? Because I’m about to set this bed on fire.”
My answer is a chuckle, dark and low. “Ah, lass. That smart mouth will be the death of me.”
He flips me over, drags me to the edge of the mattress, and throws my heels up onto his shoulders. From the back pocket of his jeans, he produces a condom and tears the foil wrapper open with his teeth. He unsheathes his enormous erection from his briefs, rolls the condom on, and shoves his hard cock deep inside me.
I grab onto his steel biceps. My eyes roll back into my head. My gasp is so loud they can probably hear it down in the lobby.
He growls, “Are we done with the sassing?”
I shudder, unable to speak. I’m impaled on his cock, stretched open by the size of him. I love it so much it’s quite possible I could burst into tears from sheer pleasure.
“That’s what I thought,” he says between gritted teeth, and starts thrusting.
This time when he kisses me, it’s savage. He bends over me, pressing my thighs down until my knees are over his shoulders, and takes my mouth with a hard, rough kiss, his teeth clashing against mine.
Propped up on his elbows as he fucks me, he tangles his hands into my hair.
I dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his back.
From somewhere deep in his chest, a groan rises.
The motion of our hips falls into sync. Soon I’m cresting that wave again, riding it high into the sky until I think I’ll be blinded by all the heat and light we’re producing.
I grab the hard globes of his ass and come, jerking.
His voice hoarse at my ear, he says, “Ah, fuck. You’re coming. God, yes, give it to me, baby. Give it to me.”
He slows his thrusts until he’s unmoving, buried deep inside me, groaning in pleasure as I convulse around him. I sob, grinding my pelvis against his and digging my fingernails into his ass.
He kisses my neck and starts to whisper to me in Irish as I arch against him, crying out, delirious. I hear that word that he said meant “beauty,” and know he’s praising me. I know from the passionate but tender tone of his voice that this one-night stand of ours is as intense for him as it is for me.
I also know one night isn’t going to be enough. It could never be enough, not with a man like him.
He commands, “Open your eyes.”
My eyelids drift open. My gaze meets his. Another hard contraction deep inside me makes me shudder.
Our gazes locked together, he starts to thrust again, slowly, driving into me through every contraction, wringing them out of me with the steady motion of his hips. He watches every nuance of emotion in my eyes with rapt fascination, like he’s gazing into a crystal ball to discover his future.