Page 38 of Bargaining with the Devil

“Uh-uh.” He licked her collarbone. “Still haven’t actually said it.”

“Fine. I want you to touch my breasts.”

“I’d be glad to. ’Tis killing me not to, truthfully.” He kissed his way back down to the tops of her breasts, fingers tracing paths along the undersides.

Which was all the further he went in either direction. “Damn you, Quinn.” She was half desperate, half annoyed, and wholly aroused.

“’Tis possible I’m damned, sure. I wouldn’t doubt it.” His mouth coasted down an inch or two and hovered just above her nipple. “But you still haven’t said it.” He exhaled slowly.

Who knew that air could be such torment? “Fine. On my nipples.”

“Mmm. How shall I touch you? With my fingers? Lips? Tongue? Teeth?” Another slow breath out, directly over her nipple.

He’d be the death of her. “Any of them. All of them.”

“Well then, ’tis good you finally told me so.” And he obliged, thank God.

No relief though, not really; he had her twitching and squirming restlessly, body too tight everywhere. Still needing more, and he knew it, judging by his low laugh each time she tried to hold his head to her.

He brushed fingers over her nipples again, too lightly. “You’re so sensitive I think I could bring you like this alone, a mhuirnín. And we have the time here, sure, but also ’tisn’t the most comfortable situation for that sort of lingering.”

“This isn’t you lingering?” She was wet and aching and almost outside her skin with needing relief.

“No. ’Tis just me introducing myself to you.” He pushed back on his hands and knees, kissing along her throat. His cock brushed her belly: heavy, hot, velvet over iron when she gripped the base and slid a hand up.

His hips jerked. “Careful, a mhuirnín.” His breath hitched, cutting short the laughter threading his voice when she reached the head of his cock.

“Why?” Why should she be careful, she meant. It was obvious at this point what they wanted of one another. Firmer this time, gliding along his length.

“I want to . . .” His breath stuttered. “God above, I’ll be wanting my own pleasure soon enough, but I’m wanting to do something else for you first.”

“Not if all you plan to do is introduce yourself further,” she said tartly.

He laughed, ending on a gasp when she slid her hand along his cock again. “’Twill be a bit more than that if you’ll let me. And if you stop with that long enough so I don’t go off.” He gripped her wrist, halting her attempt to do it again.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

She relinquished her grasp. “As long as you don’t linger too much.”

“No promises there, a stór.” His voice lost its teasing. “So ’tis good with you so far?”

“Other than you lingering to the point of madness, yes.” She took a deep breath. “Truly, Quinn.”

“I don’t think you mind the lingering.” He teased around her nipples again, brushing them with his thumbs.

She rapped his knuckles. “Mind it, no. But I can’t stand any more of it right now.” And lest he misunderstand that or read the words the wrong way, she added, “It’s not enough. And don’t ask me to say aloud this time what I need.”

“I know what you need.” He kissed his way down her breastbone. Lower to her navel, where he paused. “I won’t make you say it, but I want to hear you when you get there, aye?”

She’d not fully understood what he meant to do until he’d caught her thighs in his hands and spread her legs apart enough to settle between them on his elbows. He opened her with his thumbs, the air briefly cool, and she realized his full intent just before his tongue, hot, slick, was on her sensitive flesh—and then slowly pushing into her on a deep lick, intimately tasting her. She nearly came off the pallet from the unexpected flood of pleasure.

He groaned low in his throat. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting that for this last little while.” He licked her again, sucking at various places. “Wanting to taste you and find out just what it did to you, me teasing you like that.” And then his lips found where she was most sensitive and started on that until she was breathless, gasping.

The deep pleasure, knowing it was Quinn’s mouth drawing each sensation from her, the feeling of his hair between her fingers as she touched his head, and his low appreciative hums brought her near the edge, so near, time and again, but every time she reached for it, it drifted away. She made a frustrated noise.

He pulled back, although not far, only enough to rest his chin on her pubic bone. “Let go. I’ll catch you, a mhuirnín. Let yourself go.” A hand palmed her, fingers lightly sliding lower, seeking entry.