Page 46 of Legacy Of Ashes
My pulse pounds as understanding dawns. "You want us to?—"
"I want you to claim what's yours. The business. The power. The man." Mother moves toward the door. "This office locks from the inside. You have an hour before Petrov expects his answer."
She pauses at the threshold, looking back with maternal satisfaction. "Try not to break anything important."
The door closes with a soft click, leaving us alone. The lock engages with a sound that seems to echo forever.
Conall turns to face me fully, his eyes burning with years of want. "Saoirse?—"
"No talking," I whisper, reaching for him. "Not anymore."
When our mouths crash together, it's like a dam breaking. Years of tension and denial igniting into desperate hunger. His hands fist in my hair while I claw at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin.
He breaks the kiss to look at me, breathing hard. "Are you sure about this?"
Instead of answering, I stand and reach for the zipper of my dress. His eyes follow the movement as fabric slides down my body, pooling at my feet.
"Fuck," he breathes, staring at me in nothing but black lace. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Your turn," I say, voice husky with need.
He stands, towering over me as he strips off his shirt. Years of hard work have carved his body—broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that make my mouth water. When he reaches for his belt, I stop him.
"Let me."
My fingers shake as I work the leather through the buckle, feeling his hardness pressing against the fabric. When I finally free him, he's thick and perfect and mine.
"Christ, Saoirse," he groans as I wrap my hand around him. "I've wanted your hands on me for so fucking long."
"Tell me what else you've wanted," I whisper, stroking him slowly.
He backs me against Mother's desk, documents scattering as he lifts me onto the polished wood. His mouth finds my throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin while his hands explore curves he's only imagined touching.
"I've wanted to taste every inch of you," he growls against my collarbone. "To make you scream my name until your voice breaks."
When his fingers find the edge of my underwear, I arch against him desperately. "Then do it. Make me yours."
He hooks the lace and pulls it away, leaving me bare and aching. His touch makes me gasp as he explores, finding me wet and ready.
"All these years," he says, voice rough with wonder. "You've been this wet for me?"
"Only for you," I breathe. "Always for you."
He drops to his knees between my thighs, and I nearly come apart at the sight. "I'm going to make you come on my tongue first," he promises. "Then I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."
The first stroke of his tongue makes me cry out. He works me with skill and hunger, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me open for him. When he adds his fingers, curling them inside me, I shatter.
"Conall!" I scream, not caring who might hear.
He doesn't stop until I'm shaking, oversensitive and desperate. When he stands, his mouth glistens with my release.
"You taste even better than I imagined," he says, positioning himself at my entrance. "Ready for me?"
"Please," I beg. "I need you inside me."
He pushes in slowly, stretching me around his thickness. The burn is perfect, claiming and being claimed all at once.
"So tight," he groans, his control slipping. "So fucking perfect."
