Page 35 of Christmas with the Irish Devil
“Out,” I tell her without turning, and the word holds both authority and apology. “Lock the side door.”
The door clicks. The lock settles. The ovens hum like steady hearts. Declan’s eyes are black, mine probably worse. He opens his mouth to say something and I don’t let him, not yet, because for once I want to be the one to end the conversation and start adifferent one. I fist a hand in his shirt, drag him the last inch, and kiss him again.
14
AOIFE
The prep table rattles when I shove him back, and flour dusts his shirt like a snowfall that clings to his dark fabric. His mouth is already on my throat, teeth grazing, tongue wet and rough as he growls my name like a curse. I yank at his belt, tearing it free like I am winning something, like I am stripping away every ounce of control he thinks he has.
I climb onto him, skirt pushed high over my thighs, my fingers buried in his hair, pulling him where I want him. He drags my panties down, leaving them hanging loose around one ankle, and drops to his knees like a sinner. His mouth crashes against me, hot and desperate, licking like my taste is his last chance at salvation. His tongue flicks and plunges, his groans shaking against me, and I grab the back of his head and grind down harder, making him take it, making him choke on how much I want it.
I am crying out already, sharp, filthy sounds that bounce off the tiled walls. He eats me like he is starved, tongue curling, lips sucking, spit dripping down his chin as he mutters between licks, “So fucking sweet. Drip on my tongue, baby, drown me in it.”
When he lifts me, his arms are iron bands, and he sets me on the counter like he has imagined this a hundred times in his filthy mind. My legs spread over the cold steel, my skirt bunched around my hips, and I tell him not to stop. My voice is shaking but hard, a command, and he smirks like the devil himself, breath hot against my ear.
“You can scream if you want,” he tells me, fingers already sliding inside, rough and fast, his palm grinding against my clit.
And I do. I scream, I swear, I beg, the sounds spilling out raw and shameless while he growls into my mouth and fucks me with his hand until I am dripping down his wrist. My body bows against the counter, my thighs clenching around his arm, and I feel him laugh against my neck, hungry and wild.
“Louder, Aoife. I want them to hear you when I make you mine.”
And I scream, because I cannot stop, because his tongue and fingers drag every filthy sound out of me, because he is not giving me a choice.
I slide down off the counter, legs still shaking, and drop to my knees in front of him. His cock is already heavy in his jeans, straining against the zipper, and I drag it open with hands that are trembling with hunger. He groans when I free him, thick and flushed, the head wet and leaking against my palm.
I lick slow at first, a long, filthy stripe from the base to the tip, my tongue curling around him like I want to taste every inch. His breath stutters and he fists his hand in my hair, but I don’t take him in yet. I just tease, flicking the swollen head with my tongue, circling until he curses under his breath.
“Fuck, Aoife. Open that pretty mouth and take it.”
I part my lips and slide down on him, inch by inch, feeling the weight stretch my mouth, my jaw aching in the sweetest way. He hisses through his teeth, muttering something in Irish that sounds like a prayer and a threat all at once. I let my tongue lollout as I pull back, drool spilling down my chin, the wet slurping sound loud in the quiet room.
I start to work him deep, sucking harder, bobbing my head until he is twitching against my throat. Every time he gasps I pull back, lips sliding off him with a wet pop, stroking him with my spit-slick hand while I look up at him through my lashes.
“You like that?” I whisper, my voice ragged, saliva dripping down to my collarbone. “You like watching me choke for you?”
His eyes flash dark and hungry, his jaw clenching, and I take him again, deeper this time, until the tip hits the back of my throat and I gag. The sound is obscene, a wet choke that echoes, and he growls, hips jerking forward.
“Christ, don’t tease me, girl. Don’t fucking stop.”
I keep pulling back right when he’s close, letting his cock slip free so I can lick along the shaft, kiss his balls, smear spit everywhere until it drips down to the floor. The noises are shameless—slick sucking, sloppy gags, the slap of his cock against my tongue. My own moans vibrate against him and I hear the way it makes him lose control, his voice breaking into curses, his grip on my hair turning savage.
When I drag my tongue along his length again, slow and taunting, he snaps. He thrusts into my mouth hard, forcing me to take him deeper than I planned, making my eyes water as he uses my throat like it belongs to him. The gagging is loud, raw, spit flying down my chin, and he groans like a man gone feral, fucking my mouth with hard, ragged strokes.
“Take it, Aoife. Take every inch. Gag on me, you sound so fucking good like that.”
I can only moan around him, eyes rolling back, drool soaking my chest as the slap-squelch of him using my throat fills the room
His hips piston against my mouth and I can feel the pulse in him, the way he’s seconds from spilling down my throat. Hisgroans are breaking, ragged, his grip white-knuckled in my hair. I gag again, spit flooding, my throat tight around him, and the sound drives him mad.
“Fuck, Aoife, I’m about to?—”
He yanks himself free, cock wet and slick with spit, still twitching against my lips. I try to chase him with my mouth, desperate for the taste, but he hauls me up to my feet like I weigh nothing, crushing his mouth against mine, tongue stealing back the mess I made of him. His breath is hot and furious against my face.
“Not like that. I need you wrapped around me.”
He drags me through the prep room, cock bouncing heavy between us, and kicks open the side door into the office. The air smells of paper and leather and stale cigar smoke. The sofa waits, low and worn, and he drops onto it with the authority of a king. His legs spread wide, his cock jutting up hard and wet, and he pulls me down onto his lap without asking, without giving me a chance to catch my breath.
I straddle him, skirt riding high, my wet pussy rubbing against the thick length of him, and the grinding is instant, filthy, the head of him catching right against my clit every time I move. My moan is sharp, unrestrained, and he drags my top up over my head, leaving me bare in his lap.
