SYLVIE
It happened so fast that I only just had time to close my eyes. A firework went off in my brain, its explosions spelling out YES!
His lips were hard and hot, capturing mine and pushing them wide, demanding I open.
I’ve never experienced such a moment of going weak as when those lips hit mine.
It was as if two week’s worth of pent-up male frustration poured into me.
All those times he’d looked at me. All those times one of us had pushed the other away.
I opened, feeling weirdly perfumed and soft under his aggression.
Yet when his tongue touched me, it didn’t plunge in.
His lips held mine braced open, my mouth vulnerable, while the tip of his tongue just licked around the very inside of my lips, every hot contact sending a scorching shudder through my body.
I writhed under him, the throbbing in my side melting into insignificance as the pleasure soaked down through me.
His knee was between my legs and—God, I could feel the hot, hard tip of him pressing against my thigh through our clothes. Throbbing. Ready.
His tongue finally met mine, dancing with it, both of us panting together as things slid inexorably in one direction.
His hand brushed down my ribs, going lightly over the place it hurt, barely brushing my skin.
Then it returned, this time pushing harder when it reached my breast. My whole body went tense. Would he—
His hand slid smoothly up over the soft flesh with no hesitation.
His hand captured my breast and gently squeezed and, even through the thickness of the sports bra, it felt amazing.
Where his thumb rubbed across the naked skin, it felt as if it left a burning trail.
I immediately wanted his hands all over me, both of us naked, our bodies rubbing together until every damn inch of me had felt him.
I moaned up into his mouth, my tongue fighting with his, desperate to sample him. He was hardness and brute strength and salty, raw power.
He reluctantly broke the kiss, leaving two last panting kisses on my lower lip, and said.
“Let’s go somewhere else.” And then he was lifting me up to my feet and then, almost immediately, heaving me up over the ropes and down to the floor, swinging me through the air like a doll.
He jumped down beside me and pulled off our helmets, then stripped off our gloves.
He grabbed my hand and towed me towards the locker room.
The men’s locker room.
Just as we got to the door, he pushed me up against the wall and said, “Wait.” He kissed me again and it pinned me there as securely as a butterfly speared with a pin.
I felt him leave me and duck into the locker room. I kept my eyes closed. There was the sound of coins going into a machine and then the metal clank as it dispensed something. Then he was back, grabbing my hand again and towing me along.
When I opened my eyes, I glimpsed the condom in his other hand. A deep, hot throb went through me.
He pushed through a door and led me down a hallway I’d never been in. There was a stairwell at the end with a No Admittance sign hanging on a chain across it.
He stepped right over it, and lifted me over as well. Then we were climbing the stairs. Halfway up, he started kissing me again and we stumbled up like that, blindly feeling for the handrail. At the top, we pushed through another door, eyes still closed. I felt the sudden warmth of sun on my skin….
I opened my eyes and saw that we were on top of the building, the city spread out around us. A low wall around the edge would provide some privacy...if we lay down.
My stomach flipped over and then exploded into deep, dark heat. Jesus, are we really going to do this? Now? I could be dead in a few weeks!
And part of me answered, that’s exactly why we should. I needed to feel alive. I wanted this more than ever.
He pushed me up against an air conditioning duct, the metal sun-warm through my top. He raked his fingers through my hair. “Christ,” he muttered, “Christ, I’ve wanted you. Since I saw you in that fecking dump of a place.”
I remembered him looking at me, back at The Pit. “Then why didn’t you—”
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “You shouldn’t get involved with me.”
“Why?”
“I’m...bad, Sylvie. I’ve done bad shit.”
“I don’t care.” And I realized I didn’t.
“You should.”
“Well, I don’t. I don’t care what you did in the past.”
He grimaced. I could see him tensing up, battling with himself. Any second, he was going to tear away from me and stomp away down the stairs and I might lose him forever. That was unthinkable. I grabbed his head in my hands and, this time, I kissed him, showing him how much I needed him.
He growled. “This is a bad idea.”
“No, no, it’s a good idea,” I babbled.
He stared into my eyes. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes and he brushed it away, letting the strands slide through his fingers.
“Ah, the hell with it,” he said. And kissed me full-on and completely, his whole body flattening mine against the air conditioning duct.
I gave a low moan of relief. My hands came up and felt for him, grabbing at his sides through the soft cotton of his tank top.
God, he felt like oak underneath. My hands had been tingling for weeks at the imagined sensation of him under my palms. Now it was real, the hard ridges of his ribs and then, sliding around, the firm muscles of his back.
His hands were under my t-shirt, lifting it up.
I felt the tickle of wind and sun on my exposed sides and then the cloth was peeling up over my sports bra, off my arms..
.off completely. We had to break the kiss as it slid over my head and I opened my eyes, staring up at him.
He held my gaze for a second...and then he looked down over my body, eating up the sight of me.
The raw hunger in his eyes made me squirm, the feeling twisting down and turning to warm slickness between my thighs.
His hands stroked outwards across my stomach.
Every individual cell in my skin seemed to come alive, tingling and crackling.
I arched my back away from the duct, pushing myself into his hands.
The pain in my side came back as I moved, but the pleasure sluiced it away.
His hands slid higher and higher, moving towards my breasts.
“Wait,” he muttered. He tore himself away from me and stepped back, but only half a step. “I’m nothin’ if not a gentleman,” he said breathlessly. “I have to check you’re not concussed. You seeing double?”
There was only one gorgeous, muscled Irishman in front of me. “No,” I panted.
“Follow my finger.” He moved it back and forth in front of my eyes. I tracked it, resisting the urge to grab it and shove it into my mouth.
“What day is it?” he panted.
“Thursday!”
“Friday.” He shrugged. “Feck it. Close enough.” And he was grabbing my head between his hands again, cupping my cheeks as he kissed me.
His hands were on my hips, spinning us around so that I came away from the air conditioning duct, and his hands were sliding up under my sports bra, hooking it off, peeling the fabric away from my body.
My breasts lifted and then bounced free, the shock of the outdoor air on them making me gasp.
He pulled my bra off and tossed it away.
I opened my eyes to see him gazing down at my breasts, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust. “Christ,” he said.
“You’ve got the best tits this side of the Atlantic, girl.
Feckin’ perfect.” He filled his hands with them, lifting and then squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, and I groaned.
Then his thumbs started to stroke across my nipples, making them rise and harden with soft, expert swirls.
I felt my hips begin to grind and thrash, trying to get friction on my sex.
It was everything I could do to resist shoving my hand straight down there to rub myself.
But my hands were busy exploring his back, roaming over the thick muscles of his shoulders, delighting at the way the landscape bunched and changed every time he moved.
I grabbed the hem of his tank top and pulled it up, peeling it off his muscled core and then over the wide swell of his pecs.
He reluctantly let go of my breasts for a moment while it came up and over his head, then recaptured them.
I slid my hands around to his front, feeling the shape of his chest, caressing the pecs and stroking my thumbs over his pink, dime-sized nipples until he growled.
He suddenly ducked down, breaking free of my hands, and I gasped as his mouth found my breast. The sun had been warm on my skin, but his lips and tongue were blazing hot.
His tongue flicked over my nipple, fast and savage, then licked the smooth flesh again and again.
My fingers knitted into his hair, clutching him there, never wanting to let him go.
He opened his mouth wider and engulfed as much of my breast as he could fit in, sucking me in, playing his tongue over the softness and then lashing over the nipple.
I squeezed my eyes tight shut, rocked on my heels and pressed myself hard against his mouth.
His hand grabbed at my other breast, squeezing and fondling, working at it with just a little roughness.
Letting me know what it would be like when we got to the sex—hard and fast and unrelenting.
The twisting heat inside me spun even faster.
He released my breast and I felt the sun beating down on the spit-slick skin. His hand played over it one last time, as if he couldn’t bear to let it go, and the feel of his rough thumb drawn slowly over my wet nipple nearly made me explode.