Page 29 of Arrogant Bastard

When my parents decided to go a step further and sabotage my college scholarship to MIT, I hitchhiked to Cambridge and camped on the dean’s doorstep with my acceptance letter. He listened to my story with heavy skepticism but decided to give me a chance. I faked a résumé to land a part-time job so I could pay for my board, and I never went back home.

Matt took the option of tripling his hate for me for not being there when my parents were plunged into disgrace. I didn’t lose any sleep over it. When I learned my parents had left everything they owned to him, I didn’t lose any sleep over that either. In fact, except for the rare occasions when our paths crossed, I barely thought of my brother at all.

Until his name came up at the agency. Next to a prominent Arkansas businessman named Grant Carson. Faith’s father. Another man whose true character she had no clue about.

I decide that bundle of emotional C-4 is best left to tackle another day. “He’s gone, baby. We need to move forward with our lives. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you deny yourself that life because you think what we did was wrong.”

“You can’t—”

I slam my mouth on hers. Because enough already. I’ve denied myself for long enough. Over four years apart and a whole twelve hours since she was back in my arms.

Like last night, the kiss is everything I dreamed it would be. And so much more. She attempts to resist me. Of course she does. Her mouth remains closed, and she struggles in my arms. I propel her against the wall, trap her with my body, and spike my fingers into her hair to hold her still. My tongue takes a glorious swipe across her lower lip. That’s when I feel it. That hint of a moan. That tiny shudder that shakes through her. The faintest parting of her lips.

I swipe at her mouth again, and damn if that doesn’t make my cock swell to epic proportions. The thought that I could blow my load just by performing this small act is both humbling and hysterical. I flick the tip of my tongue between the seam of her lips, and she shakes again. I keep up the pressure for a minute. Until her breath emerges in heavy pants and her thighs squirm harder against mine.

I raise my head the tiniest fraction. “Let me in, sweetheart,” I rasp against her lips.

She makes a sound in her throat. A dying attempt to fight the inevitable. Her hands are still hanging by her sides, but her fingertips flutter against my thighs, as if she’s resisting the urge to touch me.

“Touch me, baby,” I urge. “Please. Dear God, I need you so much.” I’ve never been afraid to beg. Not with her. Not when I realized very early on that it was a perceived weakness she could never resist exploiting. She may consider it a flaw. I consider it a strategy that gets me what I want.

I get what I want now as she gives a ragged moan and her glorious lips part to allow me entry. My racing heart slams harder as I taste her lips properly for the first time in a hellishly long time. We both gasp when our tongues meet, slide, and greet each other in a dance so heady that stars explode behind my closed eyelids.

The flutters along my thighs turn to grazes, and then I feel the imprint of her fingers on my pants. Testing. Kneading. Relearning everything she left behind.

I don’t dare move or risk breaking this spell. But my cock demands closer contact. My mouth craves a deeper taste of hers. Fuck it. I grab her hips, tug her into me, and shamelessly rub the length of my cock against her belly. Her hot gasp feeds my arousal, and I roll against her again. That earns me a full-body shudder.

I pull back a fraction and stare into her semi-glazed eyes. “Feel that? It’s all for you, baby. Take it. God, please take it,” I plead against her mouth.

She continues to stare at me for a long moment. Then her hands move from my thighs to my hips. She reaches between us. I hold my breath. I plant kisses on her swollen mouth. And I hope. Her fingers drift higher to graze my fly.

Christ.

Once she decides, she doesn’t beat around the bush. My button pops, and she takes control of my zipper. I fuse my lips to hers in a desperate, silent plea for her not to stop. She kisses me back as she slowly lowers the fastening.

My cock springs free. Eager and desperate. She takes me in her hand, and it’s all I can do not to shout. “Yes,” I groan instead, weak and useless as I pant for her. “Yes.”

Her hand glides over me, warm and smooth and heavenly. I pump to meet the next downward glide simply because I can’t help myself.

Her moan of approval makes me almost smile. Except I’m caught in the web of the magic she’s weaving, helpless to her ministrations. I give her a minute to remember how I like it as she continues to pump me. “Harder,” I command impatiently as I drop kisses along her jaw to the delicate skin beneath her ear.

She fists me immediately, knowing exactly what I want. I’m slick from the pre-cum drenching my swollen head. She catches a thick drop in her palm and spreads it over my length. Then she increases the rhythm. The sensation threatens to blow the top of my head off.

“Sweet Jesus…”

“Killian.” Her voice is a husky, powerful siren’s call that drags me from the sweet curve of her neck. I pull back a little until I can see her eyes. She’s waiting for me, her stare as bold as the grip she’s using to detonate my world.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Her eyes turn a moss green and her nostrils flutter, but she doesn’t say a word. Eyes glued to each other, we stare into our impure souls and breathe into each other as she pumps me faster, falling back into the rhythm she learned all on her own to drive me out of my mind. When my vision starts to blur, I blink hard. I don’t want to lose sight of her gorgeous face, miss a moment of each breath she takes. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

“Hmm…”

“Feels so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop…”

The weight of the climax bearing down on me threatens to disable me completely. My head drops forward. Our foreheads meet. Almost hypnotically, our gazes descend, and we watch what she’s doing to me. She pushes my pants further down until she gets access to my balls. She cups them in one hand without slowing the strokes of her other hand. Expertly, she rolls me between her fingers, stretching and fondling, dragging me ever closer to the edge. My balls tighten, pulling upward in preparation to blow.

“Jesus, I’m going to come.” My voice is almost indecipherable, my whole world focused on the beckoning rapture.

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