Page 75 of Fire Island
“The food,” she protests. I lift the tray and lean over, sliding it onto the counter. Ice water sloshes over the rims of the glasses.
She’s all worked up over nothing.
These clothes have to come off. The sweat-soaked T-shirt comes away easily enough, and I tug at her tiny shorts as she lifts her hips. She lies on the kitchen table in nothing but her pale-blue lacy underwear, and I pause a moment, taking her in.
Fucking perfection.
As pretty as they are, the lacy things are coming off, too.
Spreading her legs, I step between them and lean over, plucking up a sweet, hard nipple in my teeth. Arching, her hands fly to the sides of the table, fingers closing over the edges. I slide a hand around her, releasing the clasp.
She huffs a laugh as the lacy bra leaves her skin, hitting the floor.
The most incredible fucking tits fill my gaze. Christ, she’s magnificent.
She’s mine.
All fucking mine.
“Caileag luachmhor, I couldn’t live without you even if I wanted to.”
“Precious girl,” she whispers.
She knows the phrase. Of course she does. Some of my most sacred memories of her and me are lined with Gaelic phrases myfather reserved for my mother. From Henry to Merri. The depth of understanding of what they had hits hard, knowing that’s what Evie and I have.
Now, I truly understand it.
Evie reaches for me, and I come down, hands tracing up her ribs, mouth dusting kisses up from her belly, between her fleshy, addictive mounds, to the space where her neck meets her jaw. She writhes underneath me already. My rock-hard cock digs into her soaked center. Even through my jeans, I feel it.
So fucking wet.
Panting, she shoves on my shoulders. “Please, Cal. It’s been so long.”
It has. It was before she left since our souls have been tangled together. Since I’ve been buried so deep in this woman it’s impossible to tell where one of us ends and the other starts.
And, fuck me.
Overwhelming need spirals, crashing out my breaths.
Sliding a finger behind the band of her panties, I hold her gaze as I trail them over one hip and then the other. With her pussy bare, I spread those pretty thighs wide.
A growl puffs from between my parted lips.
Evie pants where she lies, as wound up as I am.
She’s dripping wet. My cock aches painfully. The only cure for my madness is the woman spread upon the table before me. Evie sits up, pulling her legs up so her feet rest on the edge of the table. She grabs my T-shirt, pulling me into her space.
My girl, taking what she wants.
A man has never been so fucking proud.
Or so fucking desperate.
I want to touch her. Taste her. Sink balls-deep into this pretty pussy that’s mine. I want to take her rough.
Take her, period.
But after all I’ve put her through, I’m letting her call the shots.
