Page 107 of Reckless Seduction
“Have you been a good boy?” I shoot back, then gasp when he smacks me sharply. The sting blooms bright and hot, cutting through the haze in my mind.God, that feels good.
“We’re the ones in charge here,mo fraochÚn beag.”
It doesn’t bother me the way I think it should, the degradation. Because when it slips from his lips, there is nothing cruel behind it. Nothing but possession wrapped in safety.
“Understand?”
I nod, unable to force words past the rush of sensation flooding me.
He groans against my throat. “So fucking tight and ready for us.”
Seamus, who has been standing back and watching his brother work me while he strokes himself, grins like the devil himself.
“Let’s see if we can stretch her out a bit.”
“The mouths on you two.” I moan helplessly when Seamus’s mouth closes over one of my nipples.
“Speak fer yourself, lass.” Seamus smirks against my skin. “You’ve got the mouth of a drunken sailor.”
“And your mouth, lad,” I tease, fingers threading into his wet hair. “Should be busy giving me orgasms.”
“Aye, aye captain.”
He winks before dropping to his knees.
Then his mouth is on me, worshipping with wicked intent while his brother holds me upright. The room fills with steam and ragged breathing and the slick sound of water hitting tile.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan. “Please…”
Kiernan’s hand leaves me, and I feel the loss instantly, but Seamus is already there, giving instead of taking, chasing every shudder that wracks my body.
“Holy—” I cry out when Kiernan surprises me from behind.
“What do you think, Bailey?” His heated breath brushes across my damp skin, making every nerve flare awake. “Think you can take both of us again?”
“And again,” Seamus pipes up.
I don’t get the chance to answer before Kiernan spins me around and hauls me into his arms as if I weigh nothing.
“Better hold on.”
His name falls from my lips in a broken plea. They move together like they were made for it, practiced and seamless, every touch calculated to keep me present, to keep me here.
“Remember, Bailey,” Seamus murmurs near my ear, voice suddenly serious beneath the teasing. “If this gets too much, just say whiskey.”
The tenderness in that nearly breaks me more than anything else.
“Okay.”
That is the last coherent word I manage the rest of the night.
I am lost between them.
My beautiful Irish gods.
FORTY-FOUR
You can do this.
