Page 67 of Dublin Beast

The cardboard doesn’t have a chance.

I shred the box, foil wrappers spilling out and raining on the table. Swiping my hand through them, I grab a handful and pass them back.

His body shakes behind me, but I don’t care if he’s laughing at how desperate I am. I’ve been dreaming about his cock in me for days now.

I want him and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

He doesn’t say a word and accepts the condoms.

Bent over the table with both my hands flat against the surface and my legs spread wide, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been.

“Ye look fuckin’ sexy with not a stitch on but my gun holster and bent over for me to take ye from behind. I’ll be replayin’ this moment in the shower for years to come.”

The hum of the street beyond the window fades, swallowed by the pulse pounding in my ears. The tear of the foil wrapper makes my pussy clench and another rush of moisture warms my core.

Then silence.

Then him.

The hand pinning me to the table slides down my back, slow and sure, tracing the line of the holster still strapped around me. He palms the curve of my ass with both hands, squeezing—separating—before he hikes my hips up a bit and pulls me toward him.

A thrill shoots through me.

“Yer certain?” His voice is deeper than I’ve ever heard it before.

“I am,” I say, breathless already.

One of his hands grips my hip, anchoring me. The other skims forward, fingers slipping between my thighs. Two fingers push inside my pussy and my insides clamp down, throbbing.

“Och, yer pussy is greedy today, trouble. Yer fucking drenched.”

I know.There’s nothing to be done about it. He brings something feral out in me.

I want him—my body wants his.

He pumps his fingers inside me, teasing me enough to make me moan. I’m seconds away from begging, my entire body trembling with need.

“I love how yer body weeps for me, trouble,” he growls, leaning in, his lips pressing just below the leather strap where it crosses my spine. “It’s going to make this so good.”

“So good,” I breathe.

He pulls his fingers out and I mourn the loss, but then I look back and see him suck his fingers—coated in my arousal—into his mouth. A deep rasp of pleasure tears from his throat and he meets my gaze. “A feast fit for kings. Let’s put that cream to use, shall we?”

Stepping tight against the back of my thighs, he draws the head of his cock through my folds and slicks himself. Then, he presses at the entrance of my pussy and hesitates. I groan and press back, wanting him inside me.

The gentle pressure of his presence makes me feel unhinged. I need more. “Please,” I pant. “Don’t tease me.”

Thankfully, he takes pity on me. He pulls my hips as he sinks into me from behind, thick and slow, stretching me in the best kind of way.

My breath catches and I brace myself against the table, my back arching as I take him deeper. His fingers tighten at my hips as he buries his cock to the hilt.

When he’s fully inside me, his powerful thighs pressed tight against mine, he lets out a long, ragged sigh. “Och, ye squeeze me so tight—it’s like ye were made for me.”

Like we were made foreach other.

Because he’s right, the way he fills me is beyond perfection. Or, at least, I think so until he starts to move…

Pure, mind-blowing pleasure.

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