Page 80 of Irish Fury
Not just for the obvious reasons, the curve of her waist, the sleepy warmth in her eyes, or the way her hair fanned across the pillow, but also the quiet familiarity of her. The way she watched him was like she already knew every thought crossing his mind.
He loved having her eyes on him. As she took in his physique, her teeth snagged her bottom lip. She followed his hand intently as he brushed over his abs to firmly grasp his erection, slowly stroking his length.
As her eyes traced him, her fingers began to lightly touch and swirl over her collarbones and between her breasts. It was his turn to be fascinated.
He kneeled between her spread thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles along her hips, his sex desperate to sink into her body.
“See?” he murmured, voice rough with lust and love. “You’re already reconsidering that wholecan’t live with themidea.”
Mags huffed a quiet, breathless laugh and sat up, her hands sliding up his arms until they rested around his shoulders.“You’re ridiculously confident for someone who just broke into his girlfriend’s flat before coffee. Very cocky, Mr. O’Faolain.”
Jonathan leaned down, brushing his nose against hers.
He led one of her hands to his aching erection, moaning when she stroked him base to tip. Very, very cocky,” he hissed.
Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make his chest tighten. The teasing spark in her eyes softened into something warmer, deeper—the look she only gave him after all the joking fell away.
“Jonathan,” she said quietly.
The way she said his name did things to him. Always had.
His hand moved to her cheek, thumb stroking along her jaw before he kissed her—slow at first, unhurried, like the morning belonged only to them. The kiss deepened naturally, the kind that came from knowing someone completely. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
They were new and insatiable, but with their history, there was also comfortable familiarity and trust. And love.
Mags arched slightly against his chest, brushing her tight nipples over his skin. “Are you ready for me?” Jonathan asked before watching two of his fingers disappear inside her body, moaning as she moaned.
“You’re wet, baby. I bet I can make you come all over my fingers. Should I try, Mags?” He asked, groaning as her hips started meeting his strokes faster and faster.
“Don’t. Stop. Jon!” she screamed as her body bucked and pulsed, squeezed. He watched, amused, as she sighed in contentment and fell back on the mattress, groaning louder when his fingers slid out.
“It’s not naptime yet, baby,” Jonathan chuckled, bending over her lax body to kiss and bite at her neck, earning more satisfied sighs.
“You still with me?” he asked softly.
Her answering smile was lazy and certain.
“Always.”
That was all he needed.
Jonathan gathered her closer, kissing her again as the quiet morning wrapped around them—the soft rustle of sheets, her laughter mixing with his, the sunlight creeping higher across the bed.
“Mmm,” she whimpered as the kiss became more demanding, his length sliding insistently between her wet folds.
She turned her head to break the kiss, panting and demanded, “Roll us over, Jon. I think you’ve been in control long enough.”
“Say no more.” Burrowing his hands beneath her body, he fisted her ass tight and rolled. Her squeal of delight made him chuckle.
Once she was situated over his lap, her hot center driving him crazy as she shifted her hips up and down, enough to tease, she announced, “We’re calling in sick today. I’m decreeing it.” She raised her fists in the air and whooped in excitement, driving her further against his sex.
Grasping her hips to keep her still, he growled, “I’ll call in sick for a week, baby, but for the love of God, let me in your body already. You’re killing me.”
She leaned down and placed a quick kiss on his lips, his neck, then his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipples.
“Mags,” he groaned, running his fingers through her hair until he gripped a bunch of strands, trying to move her mouth back to his lips, but she shook him off.
Jonathan felt his abdominal muscles ripple and tense as she kept the brush of her lips moving ever south over the ridges and planes of his stomach.
