Page 47 of Playing Dirty
I grip her thighs and haul her back up the cinderblock wall, her legs locking around my waist as I drive home with one deep, possessive thrust. She moans, her body arching to take all of me, and the feel of her—hot and tight and bare—nearly wrecks me on the spot.
"Fuck." I bury my face in her neck, breathing hard, every muscle locked against the urge to come right then and there. "Fuck, sweetheart. You're squeezing me so fucking tight."
"Oh my god." She pants it against my temple, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her arms locked around my neck. "Cillian, you're—you're so big, oh?—"
"Take it." I grind into her, watching her face. "Take every fucking inch of me, Ace. Just like that. Christ, you were made for this."
I can't find the patience to be slow. I need her now, right fucking now, and she grabs at me, her nails digging into my back as she tries to pull me deeper, wanting me as rough as I need to be. I start driving into her in earnest, and I've never felt more at one with another person.
She arches into me as I hoist her higher, driving up into her while her whimpers echo off the concrete. I cup her jaw with one hand, the other gripping her ass, and tilt her face to mine,pulling back just enough to see her properly. Cheeks flushed dark, mouth swollen, eyes glassy. The thin gold chain at her throat is bouncing against her collarbone with every thrust.
"You have no fucking idea what you do to me, Ace," I groan. "I have never wanted anything in my life as much as I want to keep fucking you against this wall."
"Come in me," she gasps, her forehead pressed to mine. "I want you to, Cillian, it's all I can think about. You can have me. I'll do anything you want."
"Fuck." I nearly lose my mind just hearing her say it.
"I want all of it." Her voice is ragged, desperate. "I want to walk out of here with you dripping down my thigh. Please. I'll do anything you want me to, just come in me."
"Margot." The word comes out strangled as I fight the urge to unload. "You need to stop talking or I'm going to finish right now."
"It's true." Her hand fists in my hair, dragging my mouth back to hers. "Every word."
That admission goes straight to my cock, and I thrust into her harder, pinning her to the cinderblock wall as my mouth crashes back to hers. Any thought of my teammates, the media circus waiting tomorrow, or the wreckage of my professional life is losing the fight for space in my head. Right now, there is only her.
I feel the swell of her peak coming, her body tightening around me, her thighs trembling where they're locked around my waist.
"That's it, love." I drop my hand between us, finding her clit, working her in tight circles in time with every thrust. "Come on my cock this time. Let me feel you."
"Oh god, I'm—Cillian, I'm gonna?—"
"I know. I've got you. Right fucking now."
"Oh my god, I think I'm going to come again," she gasps as I fuck her. "Yes, Cillian, I—oh!"
She shatters with a cry I'd kill to hear every night for the rest of my life, her eyes locked on mine the whole way through, and the look on her face as she comes apart is going to live in my head until the day I die.
She clenches around me in long, rolling waves, her thighs locked around my waist, and that's it for me. I let go, every primal instinct I have crashing through me at once as I unload into her, deep, pumping into her again and again like my body's determined to mark her, claim her, ruin her for anyone else.
"That's it, sweetheart." I pant it against her mouth, still thrusting through it, slower now, my cock pulsing inside her. "Take all of it. Every fucking drop. You wanted it, didn't you?"
"Yes," she breathes, her whole body trembling.
We stay there, panting, my forehead pressed to hers, her thighs still locked around my waist. I kiss her gently now, slow and lingering, brushing the damp hair back from her temple with a tenderness that feels almost obscene in the wreckage of what we just did.
Fucking hell.
12
Margot
I stare at the sports news station on my TV, huddled on the couch in my thickest cozy socks and a blanket, knees pulled tight to my chest as I try to process the wreckage.
Sabrina, Celeste, and Isabelle have all staged a morning-after intervention, descending on my living room for a gossip-fueled rescue mission. Isabelle even brought a box of her double-chocolate cookies—the big guns—so she clearly knows I'm in a state of crisis.
My whole body is humming with the lingering ache of last night, a constant little reminder of exactly how thoroughly Cillian wrecked me. And god help me, I'd let him do it again right this second.
"Oh my god, this is absolutely insane," Sabrina says, perched right next to me and gesturing wildly at the screen.
