Page 47 of Fighting for Irish
“I want my night with you. But I’m scared I’ll slip inside myself again. I mean, what if I can’t be with a man without doing that? What if somehow I’m broken?”
“Baby, you’re not the one who’s broken. The assholes who mistreated you, they’re the broken ones. You did what you had to do to survive them.”
Worry etched her face as she shook her head. “But I did it with you just last night and I knew you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I wanted what we were doing.”
She was right. Something had triggered it and neither of them knew what. He’d give anything for a psychology degree right about now. “So we’ll go slow and if I see you start to fade, we’ll stop. There’s no pressure, and you can lead. I won’t make a move unless you do.”
Again she shook her head. “No, I don’t think— Can…” She took a deep breath and pleaded with her light blue eyes. “Can you lead, but do the going-slow thing?”
Aiden wanted to wrap her up in his arms and hold her close forever so no one could ever put that look in her eyes again. The people who wronged her when she was young should be bound and tortured as they’d done to her, whatever it was. Maybe someday he’d do some hunting, but his only concern now was to give her what she wanted—what they both wanted—and show her how good he could make it for her.
“Ah, kitten, I can do more than that.” Picking up the end of her braid, he slid the elastic from it and began to unweave her hair. “I wanna make you feel things you never thought possible.” He brushed the golden-red waves behind her shoulders and sank his fingers through them at her nape. “I wanna give you nothing but good things to remember from now on. So the past can never touch you again.”
And with that promise, he kissed her.
Aiden entered her mouth and stroked her tongue with his, guiding her in the erotic dance. Not fast or forceful, but slow and deliberate. He took his time with each step before progressing to the next. He wanted her to feel every moment, every connection their bodies made.
They broke apart, their breaths sawing in and out. With every exhale, a measure of tension left her body even as her pulse raced beneath his thumbs. Blue eyes bright with desire caged him. Swollen cherry lips tempted him. He breathed her in, then went back for more.
…
They kissed with an earnest restraint. Their breath, erratic as air, became secondary to the need for each other. Hands roamed and groped, but with a slowness that defied their intensity.
Aligning their bodies, he rolled his hips, pressing his hard length against her sex. He hit a certain spot and a hot spark of pleasure set off deep in her belly. She gasped and her knees buckled for a split second. It was intense, unlike any sensation she’d felt before. And she wanted more of it. Lots more.
“Do that again.”
“What, this?” He did it again, harder. She swore and dropped her head back as she relished the tingles that zinged along her nerve endings.
Irish attacked her neck. Licking. Sucking. Biting.
Oh, damn, that feels good.
That shouldn’t feel good, should it? Biting should hurt. It would leave marks.
So then why do you want him to do it again?
Because she was fucked up, that’s why. Good girls—normal girls—wouldn’t like it. But she wasn’t either of those things, so there was no use dwelling on it.
He reached down with one hand and grabbed her ass. She palmed his erection over the fly of his jeans. He hissed in a breath and bucked into her hand. “Fuck, baby.”
She whimpered as her hips rocked back and forth of their own volition, her body clenching on an emptiness that made her want to cry.
“Shh, I know. A little at a time, sweetheart.” Irish pressed one of his thighs between hers. Her pelvis rolled forward yet again, but this time she rode the unyielding muscle against her core. She gasped as the friction and pressure eased an ache inside her while igniting an entirely new one that tightened by fractions deep in her belly.
He rucked up her tight skirt and pulled the elastic waistband of her thong down so it hooked beneath her ass. His talented tongue continued to distract her from her fears as he cupped her bare flesh, each of his large hands encompassing a cheek with his fingertips tucking into her crevice. Wanting to assure herself she affected him as much as he did her, she ran the heel of her palm down the length of his rigid cock. He groaned in her mouth and his hands squeezed reflexively, pulling her ass apart and stretching the delicate skin between.
She inhaled sharply at the slight sting and cried out as her womb clenched even tighter and trickled more liquid heat onto his leg.
He buried his face in her neck with a mumbled, “Jesus Christ.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He pulled back enough to look at her. “In fact, something’s very right.” She furrowed her brow, not understanding. With the pad of his thumb, he smoothed the worry from her forehead. “Stop worrying. Your body’s just telling me what it likes, is all.”
“It is?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yeah, it is,” he said with a quirky smile. “And the last thing it said was wicked pissa.”
