Chapter 14 Aoife
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 loll out 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. His groans 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.
“Christ almighty,” he groans, seizing my breasts with both hands like he’s starving for them. He mauls them rough, thumbs pinching my nipples until I cry out, arching into him. His mouth latches onto one, sucking hard, teeth scraping, tongue flicking until my whole body jerks.
I grind faster, desperate, slick soaking him, smearing all over his cock. He drags me harder against him, his groans breaking into filth against my skin.
“You’re dripping all over me, Aoife. Grinding like a slut. You want to ride this cock, don’t you? You’re fucking begging for it with the way you’re soaking me.”
My head falls back, hair sticking to my sweaty neck, and I moan his name, shameless.
His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, sucking greedily, teeth marking me up like he wants the whole world to see I belong here.
His hands never stop kneading, squeezing, pinching, his tongue making obscene sounds as he devours me.
Every grind drags the blunt head of his cock against me until I am trembling, until I can barely breathe for the need.
“Say it,” he growls against my breast, spit and teeth marking the skin raw. “Say you want me inside you, right here, right now.”
And I do. My voice is wrecked, filthy, pleading.
“I want it. I want every inch.”
The grinding has me so close I can barely think, but he growls low in my ear, and before I know it, he’s grabbing my hips, lifting me off his lap.
My knees almost give way when he spins me around and plants me on my feet, but his hands never let me falter.
He pushes me forward until I’m bent, my palms flat on the arm of the sofa, my skirt bunched around my waist, my ass pointed right at him.
“Stay just like that,” he orders, voice guttural.
His cock slides against me, thick and wet with spit and my slick, the head smearing over my folds.
I whimper when he teases me with the tip, and then the first spank lands.
The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene, and the sting blooms hot across my ass.
I gasp, my thighs trembling, and he does it again, harder, before pressing his cock right against me.
“Look at you. Bent over for me, dripping and shaking. You love it when I spank this ass, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, the word torn from me.
He thrusts into me hard, filling me in one brutal stroke that makes me cry out, my body clenching tight around him.
The stretch is dizzying, perfect, and he sets a rhythm that has me shuddering against the sofa, his hips slapping against my ass, wet and loud.
Every thrust drives me forward, and the filthy sounds of my cunt sucking him in fill the air.
His hands curl around me from behind, rough palms dragging up my stomach until they close greedily around my breasts. He yanks me upright, my back pressed against his chest as he fucks me standing, his teeth scraping my shoulder while he squeezes and pinches my nipples with savage hunger.
“Mine,” he growls, every thrust slamming deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes me scream. “These tits, this cunt, this whole fucking body—it’s all mine.”
I can only moan and beg, my hands reaching back to clutch at his hair, his arms, anything I can grab. He fucks me harder, spanking me again, the sound echoing as I sob with pleasure, my walls clenching so tight around him I can feel him groan against my neck.
The sofa creaks under us, my breasts bouncing in his hands as he uses me, dragging me up against him, pulling me back onto his cock like he wants to split me in two.
The wet slap of him pounding into me, the smack of his hand on my ass, the guttural curses spilling from his mouth—it’s all too much, too filthy, too perfect.
“Take it, Aoife. Take every inch. Let them hear you scream while I fuck this sweet hole raw.”
And I do. I scream for him, because there’s nothing left but the way he fills me, owns me, pounds me until the world goes white at the edges and all I can hear are the filthy sounds of us destroying each other.
His pace turns brutal, every thrust deeper, harder, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. His hands are clamped tight on my breasts, squeezing them like he owns them, pulling me back onto his cock so there is no escape from the way he pounds into me.
I feel him twitch inside me, the rhythm breaking, his groans turning guttural and raw. His voice is thick with desperation when it rips from his chest.
“Christ, Aoife, I’m about to finish. I can’t hold it—”
“Do it,” I snarl, pushing back on him harder, my ass slapping against his hips, my walls clenching like a vice. I tilt my head back, hair sticking to my sweaty face, voice filthy and commanding. “Give me every last fucking drop. Fill me up. Don’t you dare pull out.”
He growls my name like a curse and slams into me, one last savage thrust that has me crying out, my body spasming around him. His cock jerks deep inside me and then I feel it, hot and thick, spilling into me in hard, pulsing spurts.
“Fuck—fuck, Aoife,” he groans, voice breaking as he empties himself, grinding deep so he can push it all in. His hands seize my breasts, pulling me upright against him while he pumps the last of it into me, his teeth sinking into my shoulder like he has to mark me, claim me.
I moan, greedy for it, rocking against him, my pussy milking every ounce while I gasp, “Yes, that’s it. Give me all of it. I want to feel you dripping out of me when you’re done.”
He shudders against my back, cock still buried deep, his hips jerking through the last pulses as his cum floods me. The sounds are obscene—his guttural groans, my cries, the wet slap of our bodies as he thrusts every last drop inside, filling me until I can feel it leaking hot down my thighs.
When he finally collapses against me, chest heaving, his hands still tangled around my breasts, I am wrecked and shaking, held up only by the sofa arm and the strength of his grip. We stay there for a while, because nothing seems to make more sense.
Later, much later, he strokes my hair. “Let’s go home, Aoife.”
And because I’m too tired to argue but also because it feels like the logical way things are supposed to go, I nod my head softly.
There is nowhere else that makes sense. I pack up.
Siobhan is still outside and tactfully averts my gaze as I give an embarrassed wave.
“Can you lock up after me?” I call out to her, and she raises her hand in what I presume is yes, I’ll do it, just go.
I’m light-hearted and happy. This sentiment follows me through the threshold of the house, until the first thing I see in the hall is Moira at the top of the stairs, mouth a blade, eyes like winter water. Every nerve in me goes tight. Declain tenses beside me.
“Evening,” I manage, my voice thin.
“You mistake hospitality for invitation,” she snaps, eyes bright with manic intent. “And maternity for immunity.”
“Try me,” I say, and I could throttle myself for it, but I am too tired to be meek.
Declan’s jaw goes hard. “Mother.”
She doesn’t look at him. “Watch your ways, girl. You’re far too impulsive and far too brash for this world.”
“Good,” I say brightly. “You could do with someone showing you what a real human being looks like.”
The silence that follows is a polished thing.
I break it, because I am not a portrait and I refuse to be stared at.
“Not tonight,” I tell Declan, and the words cost me because my body wants the opposite.
“I’m going to bed.” He catches my wrist, gentle.
I pull free, gentler, and leave them to finish the war they started twenty years before I ever walked into it.
Down the hall, I lean against the door and breathe out all the bravado, then grin like a madwoman because he says, loud enough for the marble to hear, “You should start minding your own business, for once,” and I think, Yes. There you are.