Page 68 of Wild Irish

“Don’t.” I won’t be able to resist him if he touches me again. And if I’m going to hold on to what’s left of my shredded heart, I need to resist him.

“Ye want me to go?”

No. I want you to stay. I want you to fight for me. For us.

I swallow hard and nod.

His nostrils flare, and when he turns to walk away my throat sinks in my chest.

At the door, he stops, his back to me, and every muscle in his body is tight with tension.

He curses under his breath, then turns and storms towards me.

“What are–”

His fingers bury in my hair and his lips crash down on mine before I have the chance to utter a protest.

The moment he’s touching me, the second his hard body is pressed against mine, I know I’m lost.

His scent.

His taste.

They undo me.

All I can do is submit to his body and mouth.

When he finally pulls back, his expression has changed. It’s wild and possessive. And for a split second, I allow myself to hope.

“What are you doing?” The words come out breathy, need mixed with uncertainty.

“God, Delaney,” he says roughly against my lips. “I’ve missed ye.”

“I missed you, too.” I place my palms on his chest. They’re shaking. My whole body is now.

He tilts my chin up, making me look at him. There’s something in his eyes, a flicker of hope, that makes my chest tighten. I see the need there, the hunger for more than just words.

He kisses me again. This time slower and gentler, and I swear I can feel my heart slowly mending with each caress, each touch – and it scares the hell out of me. Because it only means he’ll be able to shatter it again when he leaves.

Chapter 32

Cillian

IknowI need to take things slow, but the need for her touch, her body, her kiss, is too much. The past four months of my life have been hell, and now that she’s with me again, I finally feel like the piece of me that was missing is complete.

Tightening my fingers in her hair, I kiss her harder and moan into her mouth, “I need ye.”

She doesn’t hesitate, her hands are on me, fingers grasping at my clothes, trying to connect flesh to flesh.

We barely make it to her bedroom before I’m shedding my pants, my shirt, my boxer briefs. I remove her tank and pajama pants, and my mouth and hands roam across every inch of her body, like a man drowning, and her my only source of air.

“God, Delaney. Ye have no idea how much I’ve dreamed about touching ye again. How much I’ve needed ye.”

She lets out a small whimper in acknowledgement, and weaves her fingers through my hair, tugging my mouth back to hers.

Gripping her ass, I lift her so that her thighs straddle my hips and carry her to the edge of the bed. I crawl across the mattress with her still clinging to me as I pin her to the bed.

Our mouths collide, reckless and demanding. Her taking as much as I can give, which is everything. Every fiber of my being. I’m completely and utterly lost in her.

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