Chapter 13
The feel of Lucky’s warm, wet tongue on his chin woke Gideon. Grabbing the beagle’s velvety body, he hugged the dog close and rolled to his side, careful to be quiet so as not to disturb his sleeping wife.
Initially, Lucky’s determination to awaken him from nightmares was startling, but he’d become used to it over the years. And truly, cuddling the dog helped to slow his racing heart as reality pushed the dreams back into the distant corners of his mind.
Sometimes, the nightmare was still vivid when he woke, and it was especially so tonight. A blend of memory and his fears, he was left with an icy knot of terror in his gut and cold sweat on his skin. Snuggled close, Lucky licked at the salty perspiration, happy to receive his owner’s grateful petting.
Gideon silently extricated himself and the beagle from the bed and looked down at Eva. She was curled toward him in a fetal position, her face soft and carefree in slumber. There was none of the tightness around the lips and eyes that he’d observed in recent days. She was always breathtakingly beautiful, but somehow more so while sleeping. He woke before her regularly just to enjoy the sight of her at peace, secure within the safety he provided.
A baby.
He shivered as the night’s chill further cooled the sweat on his skin. The clock told him it was just after three in the morning. Lucky became restless in his hold, so he set him down, grabbed his pajama pants from the bench at the foot of the bed, and tugged them on. They headed out of the room together.
The sweeping view of the Atlantic outside the expansive windows was now a luminous blackness, the moon revealing the edges of the clouds above and the white crests of the tumultuous waves below. It was easy to imagine they were at sea, separated from the world by hundreds of nautical miles. The feeling of remoteness was a charming feature of the oceanfront property they’d fallen in love with.
Nothing else in the world existed when they were here, and he couldn’t be happier. They unplugged—no phones, televisions, or AI assistants—and he needed nothing more than Eva’s company. She was endlessly fascinating to him, her mind so nimble and her heart so big. She nurtured and protected those she loved, and he was damned lucky to be among that number.
But she wanted more. More of him, of them . And being intimately familiar with that yearning himself, he understood how she felt.
Entering the kitchen, Gideon grabbed a glass and got cold water from the fridge. Lucky whined at the folding glass doors leading out to the deck. He headed that way, keying in the disarm code on their alarm system before unlocking and pushing aside one pane so they could both exit. It was warmer outside than in the house, the humidity lending a sultry quality to the night breeze. Lucky ran ahead to the stairs and down to the sandy shore below. Gideon grabbed their favorite piece of driftwood off the stair railing, leaving his water glass in its place, then followed him down.
The sand was cool beneath his feet, the world leached of color by the silvery light of a waxing moon. The waves surged and retreated rhythmically against the shore, the crashing waves creating a soothing cadence. Lucky danced in circles, eagerly awaiting a game of fetch. Pulling his arm back, Gideon whipped the driftwood stick down the beach, smiling at Lucky’s joy in chasing it.
Hadn’t he imagined playing with a child on the beach and then, later, multiple children? He had memories of playing at the shore with his father and cherished them.
In the early days of his marriage, he’d been afraid of fatherhood, positive that he wouldn’t be any good at the job. It had taken over a year of therapy to manage the nightmares that had made sleeping with his wife dangerous, and the healing was ongoing. He still had bad nights, but Lucky was his literal dreamcatcher, and he’d addressed a lot of the trauma that had made his subconscious a menace in the first place.
As his life stabilized around Eva, possibilities opened up. Making a family with his wife became a new tentative dream. When she’d told him she was pregnant, she had been noticeably scared, which had tempered his excitement. It was too soon, they’d agreed. There was still so much to accomplish as a couple before they’d be ready to share each other with children. But excitement and joy had quickly overtaken the doubts and apprehension.
He sighed and accepted Lucky's stick, throwing it again as he walked out from under the house into the open. The stars glittered profusely, seemingly a completely different sky from the one he slept under in New York. That sky was gray with only a scattering of stars, while this sky was inky blue and a field of sparkles.
When Eva awakened, he would tell her they should start trying. He was going to convince her that he wanted to, which he did, and he would find a way to put the memory of their previous miscarriage behind them.
The wind whipped through his hair as he followed Lucky’s paw prints. He took the stick when it was brought to him and threw it again.
He and Eva would mitigate the risks as best they could. He’d ensure she got lots of rest, wasn’t on her feet too much, had no stress or worries whatsoever, and overall, had the most peaceful and restful pregnancy achievable. She wanted their child, and he would do everything in his power to grow their family safely and in good health.
When Lucky returned to him again, Gideon turned to throw the stick toward the house, and they started back. Now that he had the beginnings of an actionable plan, he was keen to tell Eva and get started.
He laughed at himself for his sudden eagerness. He was already technically putting the effort in. He made love to his wife at least twice a day, often more, a frequency which shocked their therapist but was as necessary to them as breathing. Sex was how they bonded, allowing them to express the love that words were inadequate at communicating. And Eva was presently taking the placebo pills in her birth control pack while on her period, which meant she was already weaning off the hormones.
They were ready to begin trying.
So…
Throwing the stick one last time, he went to the bottom of the stairs and started up. The salt breeze ruffled the hair at his nape, and a sudden chill coursed down his spine, spreading goosebumps in a prickling wave across his skin. He paused mid-step, struck by a growing uneasiness. Lucky ran past him up the stairs and reached the top, then stopped suddenly, his body crouching as he began growling low in his throat.
Tilting his head, Gideon listened intently for any creaking on the deck above him.
He’d left the door open…
Spurred by icy terror, he raced up the stairs and ducked low when he reached the deck, making himself a smaller target. Lucky launched into frenzied barking. The house was still dark, the folding door still open. Darting into the house, he jabbed the silent alarm button below the security system panel, alerting the team on his way to the interior stairs, which he took two at a time to reach the bedroom.
He ran in, stumbling around the bench to reach Eva. Dropping to his knees, he felt for her almost blindly, his hands finding her soft, warm body.
She woke with an audible start, turning toward him. “What?” she asked huskily. “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”
Relief made him giddy, his heart pounding so hard he felt dizzy. Through the open bedroom door, he saw the downstairs and deck lights coming on as the security team swept the house.
With a rueful laugh, he sat on the edge of the bed. “I think I psyched myself out,” he admitted.
The landing light came on, and Raúl filled the doorway.
“I need to clear the room,” he said, flicking the switch on the wall and entering with gun drawn. He moved efficiently through the space, checking the bathroom, closet, and even under the bed. Meanwhile, outside on the uppermost deck, a male silhouette passed by their closed curtains.
Eva sat up, hugging the blankets to her chest. “What’s happening?”
He ran a sheepish hand through his hair. “I took Lucky out, and the breeze hit me wrong. Felt like someone walking over my grave. Then he wigged out about something, and I reacted.”
“Better safe than not.” Raúl retreated to the doorway and shouted down, “Clear!”
“I’ve got something,” Chase yelled back from outside.
All three of them tensed. Raúl headed down swiftly. Gideon stood, grabbed Eva’s silver kimono from the bench, and handed it to her. He shrugged into his robe and belted the black silk, then took his wife’s hand and led the way down to the living area.
Their team of three men—Raúl, Chase, and Rizwan—stood on the deck with Lucky sitting at their feet. The group had clustered at the top of the staircase to the beach, and it took him a moment to follow Lucky’s gaze and understand why.
The lethal crossbow bolt was black and, against the weathered gray siding, almost invisible. The vicious tip pierced the side of the house, its shaft a nearly straight line.
Chase glanced at them briefly. “Stay indoors.”
Sliding an arm around Eva’s waist, Gideon urged her to move inside with him. Settling her on the couch, he kneeled in front of her. “I’m going to start a pot of coffee for the team. Can I get you anything?”
She looked at him with blank, haunted eyes, and he saw the hopelessness there and something far more painful he recognized from when her mother had died: grief. Her silence was like a scream to him, her petite frame sagging under the weight of resignation. She’d already believed they weren’t safe enough to have a child; now, that belief was established as truth.
Gideon moved into the kitchen and started working on the coffee, repeatedly lifting his gaze to watch the team work. Through the open folding doors, he heard them clearly.
Raúl took photos of the bolt with his phone. “We’ll check the security recordings, see when it was shot at the house.”
“From the trajectory,” Chase said, “we’ll determine where the shooter was.”
“Must’ve been fairly close for accuracy,” Raúl said, almost to himself. “Way easier to hit the glass than this relatively small patch of siding between them. Thirty to fifty yards. Maybe a bit more distance if the guy’s an expert.”
Rizwan shined a flashlight around and beneath the Adirondack chairs nearby. “Got something else.”
Withdrawing a vinyl glove from a cargo pocket, Raúl crouched. He straightened with what looked to be a tube of black duct tape in his gloved hand. Bringing it into the house, he joined Gideon in the kitchen. The others followed.
Jaw clenching, Gideon knew with sickening certainty that they’d received another menacing note after two years of silence—delivered courtesy of the bolt.
He quickly wiped off the breakfast bar with a bleach wipe and watched grimly as Raúl tugged on another glove. Eva joined them, sliding onto one of the barstools. Her eyes were big and dark, her lips white. She clutched the lapels of her robe in a fist at her throat, her other arm hugging her waist.
Underneath the tape, a transparent sheet protector filled with black paper uncoiled as Raúl gingerly spread it open on the counter. Gideon’s jaw tightened with growing fury, a chilling rage spreading through him. The modus operandi was horrifyingly familiar. There were the Glasgow smiles carved into recent paparazzi photos of him and Eva. There were the mismatched letters crudely cut from headlines. And there was the twisted children’s rhyme.
He took his wife to the sea, sea, sea
To see what they could see, see, see
But all that he could see, see, see
Was her body at the bottom of the sea, sea, sea!
Eva shook her head mechanically, tears streaming down her face.
He turned his back on the malevolent taunt and focused on his wife, whose state of shock was his primary concern at the moment.
All the excitement he’d felt such a short time ago felt like something from a dream, and the plans he’d hoped to share with her were now trapped in his dry, aching throat. An unknown menace, dark and perverse, once again shadowed the cautiously optimistic future he’d envisioned.
The feelings of being unsafe and violated were made worse by their location. Their beach house had always been their safe place and now that was taken from them.
“I’m okay,” she told him hoarsely as he helped her back to the sofa.
But she wasn’t. And neither was he.
Ireland awakened to the feeling of freefall, her entire body jerking in alarm. Heart pounding, she lay there a moment, willing herself to calm. Blizzard stretched out a meaty paw and placed it on her leg, extending his claws just enough that she felt their prick against her calf.
“Listen, buddy, I’m not happy about being awake, either!” she groused.
She’d gone to bed early, the lack of recent sleep catching up with her, but she kept waking intermittently. A glance at the clock told her it was just past four. She debated just getting up. A cup of coffee, a shower—if she took her time, she could stretch it out and get to the office around six. Early, but so what? There was so much to be done; she could use extra hours in the day.
Reaching for her phone, she frowned at the notifications of missed messages. Yes, she silenced her phone at night, but no one ever contacted her anyway. She opened her messenger app and was delighted to see Ronan’s name with a new notification. She would never admit it, but she’d nearly locked her phone in the half-bath to prevent herself from calling him.
There was also a text from Angus, sent just after nine. She made herself open that one first.
Let me know a good time to stop by tomorrow. I’m available all day.
She chewed on her lower lip. Did it mean anything that he wanted to talk face-to-face? A text or even an email would save him trouble. But maybe that’s just how he liked to give his reports and was most comfortable with that routine…? If there were anything of an urgent nature, surely he wouldn’t delay telling her.
What did she hope to find out? That Ronan was as perfect as he seemed so that he could be an even bigger regret? The sexy, charming, talented, intelligent, phenomenal-in-bed, wealthy, musical dream man who got away. Or was she hoping a skeleton in his closet would be a dealbreaker for her, freeing her from his spell?
She opened Ronan’s message.
Invite me over
She exhaled through the surge of heat that flared throughout her body. She could hear his voice in her head, saying those three words to her in his melodic drawl, as seductive as sin itself.
He’d followed up with another message a couple of hours later.
Please
The last message was a few hours old, but she felt the intense craving behind it. That a man as magnificent as Ronan Boudreaux was jonesing for her rather than easily scoring a hookup… God, it turned her on to be so explicitly wanted by a man like him.
They should be staying far away from each other. What was wrong with them? She expected his family disliked her as much as her family disliked him. He had the exact same reasons as she to keep his distance.
What was this strange alchemy between them that was so irresistible? The only time she felt like herself anymore was with him, and yet she was unrecognizable in his presence—bolder, more aggressive, and yet more submissive, too. She felt emotions for him that frightened her because she didn’t understand them, yet when she was with him, she was fearless.
This invite expires in 20 mins
She stared at her reply for a long time. Don’t send it . Just because she half-hoped he was unconscious and wouldn’t see her invitation until too late, didn’t mean it wasn’t going to still be there on his phone when he woke. Then he’d know the weakness she had for him. She’d been so proud of herself for successfully resisting the urge to call him, which took more effort than she would like to admit.
But she was lonely and had been for a long time. Plus, she was making herself miserable, constantly thinking she was doing everything wrong. She was tired of her spinning thoughts. More than all of that, though, she wanted to be with Ronan. He saw what she needed and gave what he could. And the man fucking owed her that much for all the bullshit he was putting her through.
Ireland sent her text with the invisible ink effect to lessen her future embarrassment.
On my way!
His shortcut reply came so fast that she blinked at the screen in disbelief.
“No way,” she said aloud, still shocked. Blizzard gave a little warning growl of disapproval. Many people had cats who knew what it meant to be nocturnal, but not her. Blizzard started demanding that she move into the bedroom around ten o’clock, and as far as she knew, he spent the whole night taking up half her bed. And he became pretty grumpy if his beauty sleep was disturbed.
She added Ronan to her visitors list via the building app, then set her phone on the charger again. Sliding out of bed, she stretched and berated herself for being selfish. She could hardly look her father in the eye when Ronan’s name inevitably came up.
How could she ever explain that being with him made her happy in a way she’d never known? That even as he was destroying their familial legacy, he was supporting and encouraging her, and taking pride in the very accomplishments that were setbacks for him? Not that she would ever have to defend her actions.
The path she and Ronan traveled together inevitably forked, and the split loomed closer by the hour.
Ronan roamed the elevator like a caged beast, his gaze locked on the numbered display that ticked off each floor as the car raced to the top. He’d been pacing most of the night, strung out from wanting Ireland.
What had she done to him? When he was with her, he felt… peaceful. And it was a damned miracle that he recognized what she made him feel because he’d never known peace previously.
But there was a price: everything became increasingly discordant within hours of leaving her. He worried about her. Where was she? Was she taking care of herself? Was she safe? And did he enter her mind, even briefly? It enraged him that the fates would put a once-in-a-lifetime woman like Ireland Vidal in his path and make him the villain in her story.
But of course, he didn’t have the morals to be the hero.
And she was actively trying to distance herself from him, which stirred a primitive and possessive reaction so fierce he couldn’t restrain it.
When the elevator began to slow, he stopped pacing directly in front of the doors and pushed through them the second they began to open. A flash of red snagged his attention, and he found Ireland waiting for him in the vestibule, restlessly pacing just as he had. The bold crimson of her kimono was like a matador’s cape. He charged toward her, yanking his T-shirt off and tossing it aside. She met him partway, throwing herself at him with a soft cry.
The feel of her in his arms brought instant clarity. The pounding beat of her heart was the tempo he’d been missing. He had always been slightly off-key with the world, a burden on those he loved and who loved him.
But he’d found a rhythm with Ireland.
Pulling her long, slim body as close as possible, Ronan took her mouth with avid hunger and pressed her against the nearest wall. The taste of her, minty and warm, and the feel of her supple body, so strong and utterly feminine, licked like fire across his senses. He groaned, the sound filled with relief and torment.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him where she needed to take control of the kiss. The thrusts of his tongue were near frantic. His frenzy drove hers until she was trying to crawl up his body, her legs and arms tightening around him.
The look in her eyes when she’d watched him exit the elevator haunted him. Her initial joy shifted to regret and then guilt. Yet her desire for him burned through it all—but for how long?
He thrust his jeans-clad leg between hers, supporting her as he fumbled with the tie of her kimono. She caught his tongue with soft suction, drawing on it rhythmically, reminding him—as if he could ever forget—of the heady feel of that voracious suction on the head of his dick. He shuddered hard and thrust the silk open, growling when he filled his hands with her tits. He squeezed them, his finger and thumbs finding and teasing her taut nipples until she began to rub her pussy against his thigh.
“ Mon dieu ,” he muttered into her mouth. “I thought you weren’t going to call me.”
“I didn’t.”
He couldn’t stop kissing her. His hands stroked every inch of skin he could reach, proving to himself that he was with her, and she was his, at least for now. “I cursed you. Damned you to hell.”
“You should’ve left your table to me at Jazzie’s.”
“I fucking should have.”
She was equally frenzied, yanking open the button fly of his jeans to get to his straining penis. She whimpered at finding him commando. He was so aroused she had to pull his cock away from his belly, the rigid hardness pumped with thick veins. She traced them with her talented fingers, rubbing the precum that wept from the sensitive tip with the pad of her thumb. His brain and body seized at the exquisiteness of the sensation, his breathing quickening into panting.
For a long moment, he could only quiver helplessly as she stroked and fisted his aching cock, the pleasure of her touch so potent he gritted his teeth against the urge to spew his cum all over her pretty pink tits.
He knew damned well she would welcome him losing control that way. There was nothing they did together that was wrong or dirty or shameful, nothing that needed to be negotiated or explained. They were so attuned to how their bodies served each other’s pleasure, he was certain neither of them would ever find this freedom with anyone else.
His ardent mouth moved over her face. “I went down to Jazzie’s tonight. For once, playing music was no help.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her tone was sincere, and he didn’t doubt it. If anyone could understand what losing the comfort of an instrument truly meant to a musician, it was Ireland. Their shared love of music was one of their points of connection.
“So, I flirted with a beautiful, sexy woman,” he went on, “and took her to my room.”
Ireland’s body went stock-still; even her breathing stopped. A harsh sound that was almost a sob escaped her, and she released his cock, pressing her palms to his stomach to try pushing him away. Malicious triumph filled him. If she felt jealousy, she felt ownership.
Good.
Gripping her hips with flexing hands, he pressed his damp forehead to hers, his chest working with heavy breaths. “She tried to kiss me, and I threw her out.” He barked a bitter laugh. “You’ve unmanned me. I only want you.”
“Ronan…” She surged into him, catching him with a hand at his nape as she kissed him with everything she had—covetously, possessively, angrily.
“I have to have you,” he muttered against her trembling lips.
Then he sank into a crouch and buried his nose in the silky patch of curls just above her hairless labia. He inhaled deeply, the lush female scent of her intensifying the need that drove him so hard. Nuzzling her, his tongue dipped between her folds, finding her slickly aroused. Her head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, desire sweeping across her body in a flush of soft pink.
Sliding his hand behind her knee, he draped it over his shoulder, opening her up to his long, slow licks. Her flavor drove him wild. He’d imagined finding her in the Vidal offices, sitting her atop a desk or conference table, and sliding up to her succulent cunt with a rolling desk chair so he could tongue her to orgasm.
Like he was determined to do now. Swirling his tongue around her clit, he moaned and fisted his eager cock, which would have to wait its turn to feel her incredible pussy wrapped around it. Right now, he was locked into her honeyed flavor, avidly rubbing the flat of his tongue over her from cunt to clit. Her fingers slid into his hair, finding and massaging the sweat-damp roots, holding him against her soft folds as if it were even possible that he could pull away. Spearing his tongue, he teased the tiny slit that seemed too small to take his rampantly hard dick but could not be a more perfect fit.
She cried out and began rocking against his working mouth, riding his tongue as he speared into her with voracious thrusts, feeling the delicate muscles of her tight channel grasping to hold him. Later, he would spread her wide on the bed and settle in to feast, but impatience drove him now, the hours he’d spent waiting and hoping for her to reach out to him still too fresh in his mind. He groaned as he tilted his head to try and get deeper, the scent and taste of her so intoxicating he felt drunk on her.
“Ronan!” She gasped his name when he circled her clit with his lips and then suckled it, the tip of his tongue massaging the hood. She bucked against his mouth, her hands gripping the back of his head. Her thready cry when the orgasm hit her was like music to his ears, and he growled with masculine victory, surging onto his knees to better support her weight as she trembled and shook, her cunt pulsing and clenching around his driving tongue.
He continued licking her for long moments, gentling her as she twitched with aftershocks. Only when she was utterly relaxed did he wipe his wet mouth on her inner thigh and slide her leg from his shoulder.
He stood, holding her steady with his hands on her hips. She was flushed all over, her eyes dark and dilated in the dimly lit vestibule. He held her gaze as he pushed the kimono off her shoulders with one hand, then he raked her with a head-to-toe glance, thrilling at the sight of her beautiful body lush from orgasm and still hungry for his. His dick felt like a heavy club between his legs, and he was mere moments away from shoving it inside the hottest, tightest, sweetest?—
“ Malhereux! ” he bit out, his eyes squeezing shut.
“What?” Her hand cupped his face, and he leaned into her touch.
He looked at her. “I was in such a hurry to get here… I forgot to bring protection.”
Her eyes were luminous, her face so stunningly perfect it hurt him to breathe. “I have some, although I’m sure you need a bigger size than I have.”
“There are other ways to satisfy, cher ,” he pressed his lips softly to hers, “some of which we’ve already enjoyed together.”
She gripped his waist and arched her body sinuously against him, a temptress bent on his destruction, and he succumbed willingly, even gratefully. “I need your cock inside me,” she breathed, her lips on his jaw. “And your cum.”
Ronan’s palm hit the wall abruptly for support, his cock swelling so rapidly that his knees weakened from the sudden rush of blood to his already engorged dick. “ Merde ,” he growled, his thighs quivering with the need to drive hard and fast into her before she changed her mind.
“I’m on the pill.” Her voice was a whispered temptation. “And I’ve never had unprotected sex.”
“Neither have I,” he bit out, his entire body straining toward her. His hand at her waist slid around her, pulling her tightly to him. She was cool against his feverishly hot skin, the antidote to the craving that afflicted him.
He’d felt this way with no one else and had, in fact, feared an unwanted pregnancy so intensely that wearing a condom had always been a necessity. That was not a fear he had now, and that, more than anything, illuminated the gravity of his situation in a way nothing else could have.
Bending his knees, he gripped the back of her thighs and lifted her, opening her legs to hover her cunt over his raging cock. She reached between them and took him in hand, positioning him at the slitted entrance to her plush pussy. She rubbed the plum-sized head against her, coating them both in the slickness of their combined arousal. The feel of her satiny skin against the tender tip of his dick was so good his breath hissed out between his clenched teeth.
He lowered her slowly, a low pained growl rumbling in his chest at the feel of her opening to the pressure of his rigidly stiff penis. It was like sliding into a wet fist, the heat and pressure of her delicious cunt a shattering pleasure around his naked cock.
She inclined her head toward him, her hair spilling all around them. Her lips were parted on panting breaths, a soft whine in her throat as he slowly fed more of his brutally thick erection into her. She was breathtakingly beautiful always, but impossibly more so when she was taking his cock. Her hedonistic pleasure in his possession was as necessary as the feel of her squeezing him in greedy pulses.
Her hips began to move in tiny circles, screwing him deeper into her, massaging his ferociously stiff length.
He held her aloft, his legs trembling against his self-restraint. “Ireland… you’re going to make me come before I’ve given you all of my cock.”
“Hurry!” she demanded, fighting his grip. “You’re going too slow.”
He nipped her full lower lip, then soothed the sting with his tongue. “Let me savor you, cher . You’re always in a rush.”
She caught his face in her hands, her eyes wild. “Start fucking, Ronan. Now! ”
The ferocity of her lust was incendiary fuel for his desire. Snarling, he pinned her to the wall with a powering drive of his hips, burying his cock in her to the root. She screamed her pleasure, the sound reverberating in the small space and spurring him past any hope of control. He fucked her hard and furiously, driving deep and dragging back out again, her pussy gripping his dick so tightly he had to work back inside her with heavy thrusts.
She fucked him back with strength and passion, clinging to his shoulders as she tightened and released her powerful thighs, lifting and lowering in rhythm with his surges.
“ Dieu , I can’t live without this,” he moaned, already so close to coming. His hips pounded against hers, his whole body electrified by the sizzling ecstasy radiating from the place where they were joined. His cock was ruthless in its hunger for the feel of her, plunging and withdrawing until he was fucking her in near-mindless euphoria.
“I’m going to come,” she gasped, her body tightening and trembling. He adjusted the angle of her hips to stroke her pussy high and hard, driving the pleasure into her, knowing how phenomenal it felt to be deep inside her when she came. She sobbed and tensed, then fell into orgasm with a keening cry, her decadent cunt pulling on his cock in tremulous ripples.
His heavy sac drew up tight, his impending climax barreling through him like a freight train. He held it back by will alone, his back teeth grinding as he extended her release as long as possible, giving her pussy the entire length of his impossibly hard erection to clench down on.
Only when she went limp in his arms did he let go, feeling the orgasm surge from the base of his penis and up to spew hot and thick from the broad tip. Throwing his head back, he roared, spilling endlessly. His hips pinning hers to the wall, holding himself at the deepest point as he filled her to overflowing. The climax was relentless, his cock jerking with every hot pulse of semen until his vision dimmed, his jaw ached, and his legs grew weak.
With a grunt of dismay, Ronan felt his muscles give out, and they slid together to the floor. On his knees, he kept a desperate grip on her hips, unwilling to slip from deep inside her cum-filled pussy. Right here, now, she couldn’t be more his.
And he couldn’t be more hers. Did she know that? As he cuddled her close, their bodies wet with sweat and cum, he marveled that their connection could be both filthy and sweet, tender and merciless. She’d proven so adroitly that she could be everything to him.
Her lips moved over his face, tracing his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the arch of his brows. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
There was a teasing note in her husky voice, but her words sparked panic and frustration, nevertheless. It was intolerable that she could even jest about not having this when he couldn’t seem to go even a few hours without it.
Somehow, he gathered the strength to move from kneeling to standing, relying on her strength to keep them joined.
With one arm slung beneath the firm cheeks of her ass and one hand gripping the waistband of his jeans so they didn’t slide down, he managed to get them inside. Reaching over his shoulder, she shut the door behind them.
The moonlight was brighter in the condo, affording him the light to see her fully. It seemed impossible for a woman like Ireland Vidal to let him have her like this. He wasn’t worthy of her, which he proved by being with her now.
“Do you ever think about what we’d have if Vidal Records weren’t a factor?” he asked, longing for everything instead of the bits and pieces he was getting. How wonderful it would’ve been to go home together from Valentin’s, to make love without urgency and to wake her with more unhurried lovemaking before their lazy picnic in the park.
Regret darkened her lovely eyes. “All the time.”
Nodding, he offered her his mouth, and she took it with a soul-searing kiss. Even as his blood quickened again, Ronan knew this wasn’t sustainable. Something had to give.
She was right about his culpability. He’d had the experience to recognize that she was different and that his reaction to her was unique and powerful. If he’d walked away from her that first night at Jazzie’s, maybe they wouldn’t be here now. That she hadn’t walked away, either, did not absolve him. He’d known who she was and what he was doing to her family.
He had to be the one to make the break, whatever it cost him.