Page 64 of Christmas with the Irish Devil
“Declan,” I whisper when his mouth latches onto my nipple, tongue circling, sucking deep. The word spills broken, a plea and a surrender.
He grins against my breast, biting lightly, then harder, making me arch. His other hand finds the tray on the nightstand—a plate of fruit and cheese, leftovers from hours ago. He takes a slice of strawberry, presses it against my nipple until the juice runs, then licks it away with slow, filthy laps of his tongue.
“Sweet,” he growls. “But not as sweet as you.”
I moan, my thighs clenching. He drags the fruit lower, trailing sticky juice down my belly, between my legs, smearing it over my clit before his mouth follows. His tongue is hot, hungry, licking the sugar and my slick in one long stroke that makes me cry out.
He eats me like he cannot stop, groaning into me, slurping, making wet sounds that fill the room. My hands knot in his hair, dragging him closer, my hips grinding against his mouth. When I come, it is sharp, jagged, my cry muffled by my hand over my mouth.
He does not let me come down. He climbs back up, lips wet, tongue tasting of me and strawberries. He kisses me, grindinghis cock against my slick folds, not entering yet, just teasing, torturing, dragging me higher again.
When he finally pushes inside, it is slow, deliberate, a claiming. I gasp, nails clawing his back, pulling him deeper until he fills me completely. He holds still, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.
Then he moves, slow at first, drawing it out, making every stroke deep and unhurried. His hands never stop—palming my breasts, stroking my face, gripping my hips. I arch into him, moaning his name over and over until it is the only word left in my mouth.
The hunger takes over. The pace breaks. He fucks me harder, faster, teeth dragging across my throat, his groans spilling filth against my ear. I claw at him, bite him, wrap my legs tight around his waist, grinding, writhing, riding every thrust like it will split me in two.
“Mine,” he growls, his mouth wet on my breast, his hand pinching my nipple until I scream.
“Yes,” I whisper, breaking apart beneath him. “Yours.”
And when I come again, gasping his name, he holds me like I am both fragile and eternal, his cock still driving into me, his body unrelenting, his love the only anchor I have left.
Declan does not let me breathe. He shifts, rolling me beneath him, then pulling me up with an urgency that feels both tender and wild. My body trembles, still fluttering from the last orgasm, but he lifts me easily, his cock slipping free only long enough to sit back against the headboard.
His hands grip my waist, turning me, guiding me until I straddle him backwards, my chest facing the tall mirror across from the bed. The sight makes my breath catch—my own flushed skin, my breasts swollen and marked, the bruises dotting my throat and chest like evidence of everything he has claimed. Hiscock presses heavy against me from behind, teasing the slick folds of my pussy.
“Look at yourself,” he orders, his voice low and wrecked. His hand comes up to palm my breast from behind, thumb rolling my nipple until I moan. “Look how perfect you are, riding my cock. Open yourself for me, Aoife.”
I do as he says. I spread my thighs wide over him, sinking down onto him with a cry that echoes in the quiet room. The stretch is thick, filling, my cunt swallowing him whole as my reflection moans back at me, head falling back against his shoulder. He groans when I clench down, his teeth grazing my ear.
“Good girl,” he growls, rocking up into me. “Bounce. Grind. Show me every filthy thing you want.”
I rise and fall, hips snapping, the sound obscene as his cock drives in and out of me. The mirror shows everything—the way my ass slaps against his thighs, the way my pussy glistens as it takes him, the way my breasts bounce under the grip of his hands.
He palms them greedily, tugging my nipples, pinching until I gasp and arch. His tongue drags over my neck, sucking another mark into my skin, and his other hand slides down, stroking over my clit as I ride him. The friction is unbearable. I writhe, grinding down in slow, sinuous circles, my body coiling like a snake on his lap.
Then his hand trails lower, slipping between my cheeks, pressing where no one else has ever touched me.
“Open it for me,” he murmurs, his voice raw. “Give me everything.”
I gasp, shuddering, but the sight in the mirror holds me captive—my body spread wide, his cock buried in my cunt, his finger pressing at my tightest place. I nod, desperate, my hands reaching behind to clutch at his thighs as I rock harder on him.
He spits into his hand, slicks his fingers, and presses again, pushing inside slow, stretching me as he fucks up into me at the same time. The sensation rips a cry from my throat, high and wild, and he groans against my ear.
“Christ, Aoife, you’re perfect. Taking me in both holes, milking me like you were made for it. Look in the mirror. Watch yourself give me everything.”
I do. I watch the way my mouth falls open, the way my body shakes as his cock drives deep and his finger stretches me from behind. My pussy gushes around him, the squelch filthy, my ass clenching on his finger as I ride faster, harder, every thrust dragging me closer to the edge.
He bites my shoulder, his hand twisting my nipple until I scream, and then I break again, my orgasm tearing through me. My cunt and ass clamp down at once, squeezing his cock and his fingers, milking, shuddering, soaking his lap.
The mirror shows me ruined, trembling, sobbing his name as my body gives him everything.
Declan groans, grinding up into me, his cock throbbing inside my cunt. “I’m close, Aoife. You want it? You want me to flood every hole you’ve given me?”
“Yes,” I sob, watching myself beg in the glass. “Give it to me. Fill me. I want every drop.”
The first push has me nearly breaking. My mouth opens, soundless at first, before a ragged cry rips through my throat. The burn is sharp, slicing through my nerves, the ache making my hands claw at the sheets for something to hold on to. Declan’s arm stays locked around my waist, anchoring me to him, his chest pressed hard to my back. His other hand cups my breast like it belongs to him, his thumb dragging over the nipple until it stiffens against his rough skin.
