Page 84 of Hard
‘Oh, don’t! Put me down, Keir!’ I begin pummelling his back, giggling like a schoolgirl as the blood rushes to my head.
‘You know,’ he says, jogging away as I bounce upside down, ‘I don’t think I will.’
But when I begin to pull down his shorts, he does.
The drapes blow in the afternoon breeze as Keir wraps his arm around my waist, kicking the door to the villa closed. He gathers my hair and pushes it over my shoulder, his fingers teasing the skin as he slips my beach cover-up from one shoulder, then the next.
‘Keir,’ I whisper, pulling free from his arm. The villa is set high in the bay, but the whole place is open right now—the shutters pulled wide—exposing the interior to the elements. And to potential eyes.
I step from the pool of gauzy fabric, placing my sunglasses on the table, then make my way to the shutters with the intent of closing them.
‘Leave them.’ His voice is one of absolute authority as, from behind, his fingers stroke my spine as he toys with the string tie of my orange bikini, before pulling the knot loose.
‘People will see.’ I turn my head over my shoulder, even as I let my bikini top fall. As it drops to the floor, I cover my breasts with my hands as I turn.
‘You are so fucking sexy.’ Keir draws the words and his compliment out, his body so tanned and so strong, his gaze igniting my skin. Electricity pulses between us in short bursts, like an understanding or an acceptance of what this moment means.
Because these moments mean everything.
My breath hitches as he steps towards me, hooking his thumbs in the sides of my bikini bottoms and dragging them down my legs until I’m standing before him bare and shivering, every inch of my body aching with need. His hand begins to stroke and touch, to squeeze and hold like he doesn’t believe I’m here—that I’m real.Like he can’t quite get enough.His eyes intent on mine, he splays my fingers farther, exposing my nipples to the warm air. He looks unholy, wicked, and all kinds of delicious and wrong as he begins to tease between theVwith the point of his tongue. My nipple stiffens, and I throw my head back, the echo of the sensation beating between my legs.
‘I want you,’ he whispers. ‘All the time and everywhere. But right now, I want you on your knees because I’m going to eat you out.’
This man owns me—owns me with his dirty promises. Owns me with his body. In less than a moment, I’m there, on the bed, my hair splayed out against the comforter, the embroidery tantalising my nipples as he spreads my thighs farther apart.
‘Fuck, what a sight. I love this arse,’ he growls, his hands kneading and touching my flesh roughly. He slaps each cheek—once, twice—an absolute first, causing my breath to catch in my throat with a gasp that’s electrified.
‘You like that, darlin’.’ It’s not a question, but a proclamation as I push myself up on my palms.Push myself farther into his hands.
His fingers stroke my cheeks, slipping to where I’m wet. When he pushes two fingers inside, I cry out, arching my back and impaling myself on his hand. In seconds, I’m writhing and whimpering as his fingers work me into a frenzy. And I’m glad—glad for the distraction. Glad of the release building in intensity inside me. I’m not thinking about the window. I’m not thinking about what awaits us back at home. There is only this. Keir and me. And our ecstasy. Our unspoken love.
His fingers slide from my pussy, his voice part groan, part wonder. ‘You’re so slippery, darlin’.’Covering my body with his, he rubs the evidence between his glistening fingers and thumb in front of my face. ‘So wet. Just for me.’
‘Yes!’ Just for him. And only for him.
He pulls back, and with a rustle of fabric, he hooks his forearm under me, adjusting my position at the edge of the bed. Then, with a groan of pure masculine appreciation, his tongue slips between my legs. I cry out, the sensation of this one swipe enough to turn my legs to Jell-O.To make my entire body ache for him.One lick and I’m done for, sobbing as my fingertips ball in the bedding, but I’m unprepared for the sensation as he buries his face between my legs.
As he works me with his tongue—with his fingers—as he savours me like I’m a banquet and he’s a starving man, he murmurs to me.
He tells me how much he wants me.
How beautiful I am.
How delicious I taste on his tongue.
How he could drown in me.
His words and his body drive me to the brink of insanity. I’m so desperate to touch him, my hands grasping and groping blindly for him. I want him—all of him. Harder, faster—I want him more than I can remember ever wanting anything.
‘Keir, please,’ I pant, ‘please.’
‘You want somethin’, darlin’?’ His words are puffs of air against my skin, mere wisps swallowed by his seeking tongue.
‘I need, need, need you.’ I chant a litany of pleasure as the sensation builds between my legs, white hot and blinding but just beyond my reach.
In a spark of realisation, I slide my hands between my legs to touch my clit. Or at least, I would, if Keir didn’t grab my wrists—first one, then the other—pulling them to the small of my back.
‘That’s cheating.’ He chuckles, wrapping my wrists in his hand.
