Chapter 21 Aoife
AOIFE
We leave the restaurant late, the last ones out, the staff already gone and the lights dimmed to that after-hours hush that makes every sound sharper.
My heels pinch and I slip them off as soon as we step outside.
The air is cold on the pavement, cutting through the wine heat still buzzing in my blood.
Declan walks beside me without speaking, the weight of the night pressing in close.
His presence fills every inch of space even when he does not touch me, and I feel him as surely as if his hand were still at the small of my back, guiding me through the doorway as he had earlier.
When we reach the car, he unlocks it and I slide into the passenger seat, my heels tucked in my lap, tension strung tight in my chest. My legs are bare now, silk skimming against my thighs, every nerve alive. Declan rounds the hood and drops into the driver’s seat. But he does not start the car.
Instead, he turns his head and looks at me.
That look holds me still, pins me the way only he can, with eyes that see too much and say nothing. My breath catches, and I try to look away but I cannot. The air between us is weighted with everything unsaid, the danger of it humming in my ribs. He waits. And I break first.
I lean across the console before I know what I am doing. My mouth finds his, and the kiss is reckless, almost violent. His lips crash against mine, hot and unyielding. His hand clamps down on my waist like iron, dragging me across the console and into his lap as if I belong there.
I gasp into his mouth when my knees hit the seat, straddling him, my skirt riding up indecently high. He kisses me like he is starving, tongue demanding, teeth tugging my lower lip until I moan into him. The windows fog instantly, the small space filling with heat, with us.
His hands are not gentle. They push up under the silk of my dress, calloused palms sliding up my ribs until they close around my breasts, greedy, possessive.
The shock of it makes me cry out softly, breaking the kiss for a moment, my head falling back.
He takes advantage, dragging his mouth down my throat, biting and sucking until I feel the sharp sting of a hickey blooming there.
“Declan,” I gasp, the word fractured, half a plea.
“Shh,” he growls into my skin, his mouth branding me again and again, rough kisses that will leave me marked tomorrow.
His hands knead my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples through the lace until they harden against his touch.
I grind against him, my body desperate, seeking friction, my pussy slick already against the hard ridge pressing into me.
The air is thick with sound—the wet drag of kisses, my gasps, his groans vibrating against my collarbone. He palms my breasts harder, squeezing until it is almost painful, then softens the grip only to pinch, rolling my nipples between his fingers until I arch and moan, helpless.
“Look at you,” he mutters, biting the curve of my shoulder. “Already so fucking wet for me. You were thinking about this all night, weren’t you?”
I cannot answer. My hips grind down against him, shameless, and his laugh is low, dark, vibrating in my chest as his tongue laves over the marks he left.
I tear at his shirt, pulling buttons loose, desperate for his skin. My mouth finds his throat, sucking hard, giving him hickeys to match mine. The taste of him is salt and power, and when he groans my name, it vibrates through my tongue.
The car is a cage of heat now, windows fogged so thick we could be anywhere.
His hands shove the straps of my dress down my shoulders until the lace bra is pushed aside, my breasts bare in his palms. He seizes them, mouths them, sucks each nipple into his mouth like he owns them.
I moan, rocking on his lap, my slick smearing across his trousers.
His teeth close hard enough to make me cry out, and the sting shoots straight down to my cunt.
“Declan, please,” I whisper, nails dragging down his chest.
“Please what?” he asks against my nipple, voice a growl, tongue circling lazily, cruelly slow.
“Please fuck me.”
The words tear from me raw, and he rewards me with a kiss that devours, his hand shoving my skirt higher, baring me completely.
He groans when he feels how soaked I am, his fingers sliding over my slit, dipping just inside before pulling away to grip my ass.
He rips his zipper down, cock springing free, heavy and thick against my thigh.
The anticipation makes me shake. I press closer, straddling him fully, my breasts crushed against his chest, his cock sliding wet against my folds as I grind down. He bites my lip until it bleeds, sucking the sting away with a groan.
Then he grips my hips, lifts me just enough, and shoves into me.
The shock of it rips a cry from my throat, muffled in his neck. He fills me in one brutal thrust, stretching me wide, forcing me to take every inch. My nails dig into his shoulders, my body bowing back as the wet slap of our joining echoes through the car.
“Christ, Aoife,” he snarls, his mouth hot on my ear. “So tight. So wet. You feel like you were made for me.”
I can only moan, head falling back, his mouth finding my throat again, sucking hard enough to bruise.
His hands clamp down on my breasts once more, kneading them, pinching my nipples as he thrusts up into me.
The sound is filthy—our bodies colliding, the slick squelch of my pussy gripping him, my cries muffled against his skin.
I ride him hard, windows dripping with condensation, the car rocking slightly under the rhythm.
His cock hits deep with every thrust, grinding against that sweet spot until my moans turn into screams. He palms my breasts again and again, as if he cannot get enough of them, his teeth marking every inch of my chest, biting until I am painted in red blooms.
“Marking you,” he growls, sucking another hickey at the swell of my breast. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”
“Yes,” I gasp, grinding harder, desperate. “I’m yours.”
That breaks him. His thrusts turn savage, pounding up into me, his grip on my breasts almost bruising as he yanks me down to meet him. I am choking on every sound, lost in it, the air thick with sweat and sex.
“Come for me, Aoife,” he commands, his mouth crushing mine, tongue forcing its way in. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel you milk me dry.”
And I do. I shatter around him, clenching tight, screaming into his mouth as the orgasm rips through me. He groans, driving harder, hands twisting my nipples until the pleasure edges on pain, pulling every last spasm from me.
The orgasm tears through me, sharp and consuming, but Declan does not relent.
His cock drives into me again before I can even breathe, the thrusts relentless, wet slaps echoing in the fogged car.
I gasp, trembling from the high, my walls fluttering tight around him, milking him even as he pounds deeper.
“Good girl,” he growls against my ear, his voice thick, breath hot. “Clench down on me. Ride me through it. I want to feel you squeeze this cock like you’ll never let it go.”
I whimper, my body obeying before my mind catches up, my cunt tightening around him. He groans low in his chest, the sound primal, and his hands seize my hips, dragging me up and down on him like I am his personal toy.
“Bounce for me,” he commands, biting my throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. “Show me how greedy you are. Grind down like a filthy little snake on my cock.”
The words burn through me. I rise and fall in his lap, bouncing until the car rocks, until every thrust drives him so deep I see sparks.
Then I grind down, slow and sinuous, rolling my hips in circles, making him hiss and curse in my ear.
My slick gushes around him, soaking us both, the squelch obscene in the cramped silence.
His mouth finds my breasts again, hot and wet, sucking each nipple until they ache, his tongue dragging over them before he bites down.
I cry out, arching into him, hands clutching his hair.
He licks the sting away, groaning into the swollen peaks, tugging one nipple between his teeth while his hand twists the other.
“Fuck, Aoife,” he mutters, his voice breaking as I grind tighter, faster, wringing every inch of him. “Look at you riding me like you’ll die without it. Dripping all over me, marking me with your pussy, your tits, your sounds.”
I can barely answer. My cries are broken, guttural, filling the car as I bounce harder, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over until I am sobbing against his neck.
He slaps my ass, the sound cracking, and his teeth sink into my shoulder while he drives up into me, thrust for thrust with my frantic grinding.
“You were made for this,” he snarls, tugging my nipple until I squeal, then sucking it back into his mouth, rough and hungry. “Made to be fucked like this. To scream on my cock, to give me every drop of that slick while I ruin you.”
His words make me clench harder, my body shaking with another wave of release, smaller but sharper, my walls gripping him so tight he groans into my breast. My hips keep moving, grinding down like I cannot stop, serpentine, desperate, slick spilling between us in filthy, wet sounds that drown the air.
He pulls me down harder, slamming into me from beneath, his mouth still devouring my breasts, leaving me covered in hickeys and spit. His voice is a wrecked growl between kisses.
“Say it again. Say you’re mine while you ride me.”
“I’m yours,” I sob, bouncing, clenching, my body breaking around him. “I’m fucking yours, Declan.”
And he rewards me with another savage thrust, another bruise at my throat, another filthy promise whispered against my skin.