9. Harper
Chapter 9
Harper
It takes a lot to shock me, but I’m learning that Cian Mahoney has a gift for it. Gobsmacked is the only way to describe myself as I spiral through this strange alternate reality where Cian pins me to the wall in this gorgeous, beachfront bungalow, with his hard cock sandwiched between us.
None of this makes any sense.
I’m one-hundred-percent positive that he’s here to drag me back to New York.
I’m also positive that nothing in Shane’s orders contained an injunctive to drag me into a beach house and kiss me silly.
For sure, the leader of the Kings never said, “Cian, when you find her, push her up against a door and stick your tongue down her throat.”
So why is Cian doing this?
And more importantly, why does my body like it so much?
One touch of his lips and electricity crackles through me, top to bottom.
Speaking of bottoms, why’d he have to grab my ass?
That’s like the most sensitive part of my anatomy besides my?—
Not the point, Harper!
No, the point is that Cian’s lost his ever-lovin’ mind.
He flew to Oahu to drag me back to New York, not to engage in a hot make-out session.
And yet…
Cian cuffs the back of my neck with his strong fingers. That casual display of dominance as he seduces my mouth causes lust to wobble in my belly, almost like a buzz from one too many glasses of wine. Then, his fingers slide up the back of my skull, tangling in my hair and holding my head in place while his tongue continues to plunge and withdraw in a rhythm that mimics sex, lighting up every nerve cell like the Rockerfeller Center during Christmas.
Palming my ass with his other hand, he pulls me to him until I straddle his thigh. The touch pulses heat straight to my clit. When he rocks his leg forward, the delicious pressure is both too much and not enough. I chase the friction with a low moan, and the unexpected sound startles me so much that I recoil from Cian and cover my lips with my hand to stop his kisses.
Our heavy exhalations vibrate the air in chorus, the same way they did hours ago when he caught up with me in the street.
Good grief. I’m a freaking mess. I need to get myself under control, but he’s not giving me enough space.
His one hand remains buried in my hair, while the other still grips my ass, holding us together when I could really use someone to shove a continent between us.
This is absurd. This guy’s here to ruin my life, yet I just about screwed him with my clothes on.
I wrote off our last kiss as me being high on the anxiety of my imminent escape and slightly buzzed off a glass and a half of white wine.
That excuse just, poof, went up in flames. Agreeing to two minutes with the man in a dark alley is a far cry from what’s happening now.
But even though I’m all kinds of mixed up and turned on, I can’t afford to lose my composure.
No kiss will divert my quest to preserve my freedom.
No matter how incredible.
Until my breathing slows, I refuse to meet Cian’s eyes.
I can’t. The possibility of what I might find within those green depths terrifies me…such as the crazed expression of a sex-starved ladies’ man.
I rewind to our earlier exchange.
Why are you acting like this?
Why? Because I haven’t fucked anyone in months.
Ever since that night we kissed at the bar.
He’s lying. He must be. Cian gets laid more in six months than most guys probably get laid in a lifetime. No way he went without since the night I disappeared…especially when he had five women waiting for him back inside.
Except…what if he did? And if so, how is his abstinence my fault? Did my daring escape cause such a stir that Cian sacrificed all his free time to search for me high and low, leaving him no energy leftover to find convenient hookups?
Or is he implying that our kiss ruined him for other women?
I scold myself for that last thought and pretend I don’t like it as much as I do.
Whatever the reason for his sudden dry spell, am I to gather from the way he jumped me that he’s planning to use me as the receptacle for all that pent-up sexual aggression?
Wetness surges between my legs. My mind spins, and I can barely breathe. For all I know, this jackass plans to break my vagina in half, yet here I am. Ready to sign up with a permanent marker.
“Harper.” Cian’s rough, velvety voice curling around my name shouldn’t sound so erotic, but it really, really does.
“Hmm?” The noise muffles behind my hand.
“You’re covering your mouth.” His husky tone seduces my ears, while his delicious, musky cedar scent toys with my olfactory nerve. Heady, spicy-sweet, and masculine enough to dissolve the clothes right off my body. “Are you okay?”
“No…” My whisper is almost inaudible.
I must be dreaming. Did Cian really just ask me if I’m all right?
As far as I can recall, no man on earth has ever uttered those three words to me.
Yet another reminder of why I left.
My bottom lip trembles in reaction as the roller coaster of recent events starts to sink in. His thumb ghosts the curve, tracing it with the tenderness of someone who genuinely cares.
The soft kiss he presses to my forehead lulls me into a false sense of safety.
How absurd.
Inside, I ache to resist, but I’m paralyzed. Exhausted. Confused.
My mental faculties are depleted from worrying and playing through scenario after scenario in my mind. Trying my best to take care of myself when all I really know how to do is rely on others to do it for me.
His palms rub up and down my arms, and I just stand here, accepting these gentle, reassuring gestures at face value because I lack the energy to resist.
I’m not okay. Not at all.
But the fact that he asked me if I was, with concern gleaming in his eye while leaving soft kisses on my face…that means more than it probably should.
By the time his massive hands come to wrap around my waist, I’m overwhelmed by just how much it means to me.
Stupid, I know. Just because he said it doesn’t mean he actually cares.
I want to believe he does, though. And that probably scares me more than anything else.
When I don’t respond, he calls my name again. “Harper?”
Something he said to me the night before I fled rings in the back of my head. Before rational thought catches up to me, I repeat his words from the alleyway.
“One night.”
Seems like years ago, but in this moment, no memory could be fresher in my mind.
His brow furrows for an instant before understanding hits. Shock widens his eyes. Then they start to blaze. “You sure?”
Not by a mile. But still sure enough to throw caution to the wind.
I fold my arms over his shoulders and push myself up on my tiptoes. “Yes.”
Then I kiss him.
I kiss him the way I’ve always dreamed about kissing the man who cared about me. A man who loved me.
Cian’s not that man, but he’s likely the closest I’ll ever get, especially considering who’s waiting for me at the end of the aisle back home.
Whether I’m forced to marry Finn or sold off to some lesser Kings’ ally for my betrayal, I’m certain this will be my final chance to touch someone because I want to and not because I’m their property.
My heart twists, so I shove that thought aside and instead focus on the now.
A now where Cian kisses me eagerly, crushing me against the door and squeezing all the air from my lungs. I hang onto him for dear life while he claims my lips, ravaging me with his tongue and hands.
His kisses get me hot so fast, soon I’m moaning against his lips. He emits a guttural noise, too, like a hungry beast eager for a meal after a long hibernation and this make-out appetizer.
Dear god, the man knows how to kiss. I think I could do this forever. After his death, his tongue should be preserved and put on display at the Smithsonian.
One hand cups my breast. His thumb glides back and forth across my nipple, hardening it to a needy point and pulsing warmth straight to my core.
I slide my hands down his back, memorizing his muscles with the same enthusiasm. When they reach his waist, the urge grips me to do something terrifying.
Grab Cian’s ass. The thing is a work of art. Just like the statue of David.
Giving into my bold impulse, my fingers dip lower and find his glutes. They’re tight and rounded with firm muscle, and his groan when I squeeze is the single hottest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
His body flexes beneath my fingertips, which only makes me latch on harder. In response, Cian grinds his cock against my belly.
A preview of a coming attraction, emphasis on coming .
As if he heard the direction of my thoughts, he slides one hand down the fabric of my dress. His fingers glide past my belly button, tumbling down to the part of the garment that covers that hot, wet place between my thighs. Tantalizingly gentle, Cian begins to massage me though my clothes.
My eyes pop open in surprise. Cian’s eyes are open too. His dark, hooded gaze hypnotizes me, sending my heart knocking even harder than it was before. He watches my face even while he kisses it, like he’s analyzing my reaction.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Cian continues to pet me while he awaits my response. Our lips have come apart, but our foreheads and noses still touch.
I don’t have the ability to speak, so I just nod against his face, cheeks aflame.
No one’s ever asked me that question before.
“Say it, then,” he commands while he kisses that soft spot beneath my ear.
“Yes—” My word transforms into a sound I’ve never made before when he bites down on my earlobe. My clit’s tingling, and my hips are squirming as he keeps touching me.
“Yes what ?” he prompts with a growl in his throat, like he’s got an engine revving in his chest.
I’m three seconds from telling him to take me right here, right now, but instead a question slips off my tongue. “Is this…how you usually seduce a woman?”
“Don’t change the subject.” He returns to my lips with so much fire, I almost forget what I asked.
“Well, is it?”
This time when he growls at me, irritation and impatience edge his voice. “ No .”
“What do you mean no ?” I blink at him in disbelief.
But then Cian presses down on my clit, and my eyes roll back in my head.
At the spike of pleasure, my mouth drops open. “ Shit .”
“I like how you curse now when you’re with me.” His husky voice flushes my cheeks like an open fire. “Is it my turn to ask questions yet?”
My head drops forward onto his chest. I watch his fingers swirl in circles over the fabric covering my pussy.
“You have questions for me?” I stammer, embarrassed by how drunk and dizzy I sound, just from a bit of petting… Forget Cian. How pent up am I ?
“How much dick have you taken since you got here?” He drives his fingers under my dress and continues rubbing me, this time over my panties…which are damp from excitement. His hot mouth swallows the moan trying to snake past my lips.
He’s asking if I’ve been with anyone since I ran away? Why would he want to know?
When we break the kiss, we’re both panting again. Cian spears me with a hard expression, like the answer to this question matters a great deal.
“How much?” He rolls my nipple between his thumb and finger, and my back arches.
“None.”
“None?” His fingers stop massaging me in both areas.
“Unlike you, I didn’t come here for sex.”
We stand there, tangled around each other, unmoving, eyes locked.
I think it’s time for me to tap into my secret stash of confidence.
“Cian.”
“What.”
I lick my lips and gather my courage. “I want you to fuck me.”
A wild, rabid heat comes to his eyes. He whips me around to face the door, my back to his chest.
Fear, surprise, and anticipation mingle inside me.
Is he really going to rail me right here?
This moment is surreal.
The cool wood of the front door assures me that this is reality. With my cheek and hands pressed against it, I brace for impact but still find myself unprepared for what Cian does next.
He runs the tip of his tongue from the lobe of my right ear up and around the shell. His hot palms disappear under my dress and reappear at the hemline of my underwear.
“Spread your legs.” He nudges one leg between mine, forcing me to step wide. Then he rakes my underwear down, so they’re suspended between my thighs.
With his right hand, he reaches around my middle and finds my clit. His bare skin on my mine sends a bolt of pure ecstasy through me.
I gasp against the door and then flush with embarrassment. I don’t want Cian to know how much he affects me with only his out-of-this-world fingers.
His ego is plenty big already.
He tucks his face into my crease between my neck and shoulders and bites down again. “Is this what you had in mind?”
A moan escapes, despite my efforts to hold it in.
His tongue laves the skin he just marked. “Tell me what you want.”
My eyelids sink to half-mast as Cian works my clit like a damn professional.
When his voice drops an octave, my pulse sprints. “Well?”
Yes. And no. I want this, but if I’m honest, I also want more.
I want everything. The whole Cian experience.
But how do I tell him that? I already used up my confidence stash for the year. Embarrassment level: one-million percent.
His finger stops moving, and my body shrieks in protest. “Well?” he repeats softly.
Don’t ask me how I know, because I just do…if I don’t answer and spell out what I want, he’ll stop.
And I might die if that happens.
I swallow my trepidation and force out the words.
“I want you. Inside me.”