Page 68 of Dublin Beast

From the first thrusts, he fucks with purpose—like he’s as out of control as I am. He grips my hips with bruising force but the pleasure overrides the pain by a long shot. The air is filled with the sounds of skin-on-skin, my throaty cries, the table legs scraping the floor. Hard and steady, he rocks into me, hitting something delicious deep inside my belly.

I’ve learned the true meaning of the Dublin Beast.

Because with his cock thrusting inside me, he’s everything I hoped he would be. And it’s not just the rhythm or the power of him railing me—it’s the way his hands grip me, rough and possessive every time he bottoms out.

Like he can’t get far enough inside me.

Like his dark and possessive nature is claiming me.

Pleasure coils tight inside me, building fast and hard. I press my hands against the table, my pussy rippling around his cock as my orgasm takes hold.

I arch my back, meeting every hammering thrust as I scream his name.

The orgasm crashes over me, shattering reality.

He follows a heartbeat later, his hips driving deep one final time as a rough curse breaks from his lips. Shouting something in Irish, he spills into me, holding me so tightly we might never come apart again.

Fine with me.

* * *

Bryan

I give Harper every fucking thing I’ve got, the manic need to lose myself inside her finally easing enough that I can almost breathe again. Having her naked and bent over the table wearing my Sig Sauer holstered against her bare breast is something I didn’t know would turn me into a ravenous beast.

But it did—it’s fucking hot.

This woman isn’t afraid of anything. The more I let her see the real me, the wetter she got.

I’m in real trouble here.

Friends who fuck was supposed to keep things simple, to allow us to burn off the sexual chemistry we share while understanding that this is very temporary.

She’ll go home.

I’ll go home.

We’ll resume our separate lives.

Stepping back, I pull out of Harper and all the roaring heat in my body drains out of me and leaves me cold. The thought of this ending has me tangled up inside—and that’s all the more reason to not let myself get carried away.

Turning away, I remove the used rubber, wrap it in a piece of paper towel, and toss it into the kitchen bin. I’m so up in my head, it takes me a moment to register what I’m seeing when I see Harper straightening off the table.

Fucking hell.

My fingerprints are already bruising the flesh of her hips and the front of her luscious thighs have a patch of red abrasion where I fucked her against the table.

My heart sinks and I stagger forward, dropping to my knees in front of her. “Fuck, Harper. I used you too hard. I’m sorry. You should’ve stopped me.”

She snorts a laugh. “Why would I stop you? That was the best sex of my life. Nothing you did was unwanted.”

“But you’re bruised and welted.”

She shrugs. “Worth it.”

I’m not sure if I’m angrier at her for giving me a pass or me for letting my beast out and hurting her. “Don’t do that. Don’t let me off the hook.”

She lets off another soft laugh and moves to stand before me. Placing her hands on my hips, she tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “I love a great workout. Do you know how many times I’ve come home from kickboxing or a hockey practice with bruises? Every time.”

---