Page 124 of Fifth Avenue Fling

She takes her lip between her teeth and drops her gaze to my chest. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I place my finger under her chin and make her look at me. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. Alright?”

She nods shyly with a small smile.

“Good girl.” I press a kiss to her nose. I never want her to feel like there is a problem because she doesn’t climax during sex. But I’ll be damned if I don’t die trying. Because I’m the one who’s going to get her there.

And the only guy who’ll have the privilege of making her come. The thought enters my head abruptly.

I take my time with my mouth exploring her jawline, breasts, her soft stomach, and the skin just above her swollen, beautiful pussy until I can feel her breathing change and her lower stomach quiver from desire.

I gently push apart her thighs again. Her legs tense a little as if she wants to push me away, so I have to go slow. Be patient. All good things come to those who work for them.

I glance up to see her eyes closed and her arms splayed on the pillow. Slowly, I make my way to the sweet spot between her legs. I move back and forth with my mouth, my tongue flicking against her clit each time.

I don’t stop until I hear those beautiful whimpers of pleasure and feel that sweet pussy let go for me.

Only me.

I watch her face contort and her breathing become jagged as she arches her back and really rides my face. She squirms and writhes above me, letting out little grunts and moans that send me wild.

“Killian,” she cries out. “Oh God.”

I’m certain nothing is better than this little green-eyed vixen’s legs spread open for me.

She has the most beautiful pussy. Her scent, her taste, her feel… I’m fully erect again.

She shudders as she lets go of control, and I fucking own her climax. Every whimper, every breath, every shudder is mine; I own them all.

Mine.

***

Fifteen minutes later, I rouse my head from the pillow.“I should go.”

“You could stay,” she replies, feigning nonchalance. “It’ll save you the trip home,” she adds jokingly, although there’s an unspoken question in there as well. “And I’ll even make you coffee and breakfast in the morning.”

Every night, I come to Clodagh’s studio to have sex with her, but I never stay. It’s a boundary I haven’t crossed.

“No, I better not.” I kiss the top of her forehead to soften the rejection. “But yes, you will make me coffee in the morning or else you’ll be punished.” I’m trying to lighten the tension of the elephant in the room.

She gives me a strained grin. “Tell me about it. My boss is a nightmare.”

I haven’t told her my plans to help her secure a green card, allowing her to stay in the US without issue. In a few months, when Mrs. Dalton is back and I’m no longer part of her life, she can pursue her carpentry wherever she wants.

I’ll move on from this fling and be free from ridiculous daydreams about my red-haired, inked carpenter.

I think about her at work. I think about her on my run. I can’t take a shower without jerking off.

My mind shifts back and forth between guilt over fucking a member of my staff—my live-in staff—and fantasizing about when I’ll do it again.

It’s the most obsessed I’ve been over a casual fling.

Which is why it needs to end.

***

It must be a midlife crisis.

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