Page 70 of Playing Dirty
I pull back just enough to breathe, my fingers trembling as I help him yank his shirt over his head, finally revealing the full reality of him. He is a masterpiece of hard muscle, and god help me, the size of the man is enough to make me dizzy with desire. Thunder rolls in off the Atlantic, and it's still not half as loud as my own heartbeat.
He smiles down at me, that heavy, hooded gaze never wavering as he tugs my sweater over my head and tosses itaside. I sink back onto the mattress with a soft thump, a breathless giggle escaping me as he makes quick work of my jeans, peeling the denim away until I'm exposed to the cool night air.
I desperately wish that I'd worn something sexier, a matching set of lace perhaps, instead of this practical nude comfort bra and a pair of navy cotton granny panties. But Cillian only looks at me with a reverence that borders on worship, and I feel a strange, fluttering shyness take hold as he drinks me in.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, sounding entirely mesmerized. "I couldn't have dreamed you up if I'd tried, Ace."
I reach for him, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "You are something else, Cillian."
I pull him down to me, his hands tangling in the sheets on either side of me as we sink into the mattress, and the heat of his skin sends a fresh jolt of electricity through my entire system. He runs a palm down the length of my side, tracing my curves with a possessive urgency, and I make a sound I don't recognize, dizzy with how badly I want him.
He settles the full weight of his body on top of me, and as we kiss, a sudden, unwanted thought crashes into my mind.
That fucking gossip piece.
All the women he's been with, the legendary nature of his history. And like a sudden sickness, the fear that I'll fail to measure up takes hold—the nagging doubt of what if I'm not exciting enough, or as skilled in the bedroom as the others?
He nips at my bottom lip, grounding me, and I desperately shove the thought away. It's a juvenile anxiety, the kind of thing twenty-year-old me would have obsessed over, not a grown woman with a healthy amount of experience.
I kiss him back fiercely, as if I can physically block out the mental noise. I need to silence the doubts and just surrender to the present. His hands slide lower, his fingers hooking into thewaistband of my underwear, making his intentions to go down on me very clear, and the internal panic only intensifies.
"Are you alright?" he suddenly rasps, both of us panting in the shadows of the room.
"Yes, I'm fine," I say, my voice sounding a note too high. "Are you kidding me? Of course I am."
“Really?” His brow furrows with concern. "You're doing that thing again where you disappear, like you're suddenly a million miles away."
It's beyond humiliating how well he can read me. "No, really, it’s nothing. I just... I was in my head for a minute."
"Margot," he says, his voice dropping to a low, firm register.
"Younevercall me by my name." I manage a small, defensive pout while he looms over me, arms braced on either side of my head, pinning me under the full weight of his attention.
"Aye, well, I'm not usually this worried about you." He studies me. "What’s the matter?"
Lightning washes the room silver for a brief moment, lighting him up, and thunder cracks somewhere out over the sea, the rain hammering the window as hard as my heart is going. I let out a heavy sigh and drag my hands up to hide my face.
"Ugh, fine. I just... I got stuck on that ridiculous gossip piece, and then the girl at the game talking about your sex life, and?—"
"The girl at the game talking about my sex life?" He tilts his head, confusion flickering across his features.
"That part doesn't matter." I wave it away. “Anyway. That article about you being some kind of legend in bed. I know you've been with women who are way more experienced than me. Not that I'm a complete novice, but I haven't exactly done anything particularly wild. And our first time didn't really count, because we were half out of our minds against a wall. I'm just worried you'll be disappointed and?—"
I trail off as a slow, infuriating grin spreads across his face.
"It's not funny!" I hiss, the flush radiating down my neck. "This is a legitimate concern. Sexual compatibility is important, Cillian. And don't get me wrong, I'm game for plenty. I just, I hope you won't be crushed if it turns out I'm not some sex goddess like whoever the tabloids have you paired with. Stop laughing!"
He's still chuckling low in his chest as he presses his forehead against mine, then pulls back to look at me.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm only laughing because if you had any idea how desperately I've wanted you, you'd realize how crazy that sounds."
"You're not helping your case by laughing harder."
"I know. I'm a terrible man." His gaze goes serious then, those blue eyes locking onto mine. "I mean it, though. I don't give a damn about any of that noise. It's static. If you want slow and sweet, I'm all in. And if you want something filthy, I'll happily ruin you for anyone else."
I swallow hard. "Well. I could certainly get behind the second option."
"Yeah?" He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. "You ready to find out exactly how filthy I can be, Ace?"
