Chapter 18
CHELSEA
He took my hand and led me back inside, his fingers threaded through mine like he wanted to make sure I didn’t slip away. When he closed the door behind us, he locked it, sending a twinge of electricity across my skin.
“I thought you didn’t lock your doors?” I said, remembering that first night I’d shown up at his place.
His lip curled in that sexy as sin half-smile of his. “I’d rather not be disturbed right now.” That electricity inside of me started shooting sparks.
In the living room, Seamus let go of my hand to throw a couple of logs on the fire. Almost instantly, it lit up, the dry logs catching and flaming fast. It was already warm inside, but next to the fire, it was hot.
For a moment, my eye caught the hole in the wall in the kitchen, and my chest tightened. Doing this was going back on what I’d promised myself. But him doing this… risking losing his best friend.
“Seamus,” I said.
Seamus’s back was still to me, but he must have heard the hesitation in my voice, because when he closed the grate and turned back to me, I sucked in a breath at the intensity of his expression.
He was only a few feet away from me, but he came forward now, until he was only inches away, the fire roaring to life behind him.
“Do you want me?” he asked, his voice husky.
Heat pooled in my stomach.
“Yes,” I said, breathily.
“You sure, Chelsea?”
That heat moved down, pulsing between my legs.
It was a challenge. This was his way of giving me a chance to leave. To scare me straight.
But all it did was make me want him more. Never dropping eye contact, I popped the top button of my jeans, then slowly lowered the zipper. The only sound until then was the muffled roar and crackle of the fire, and my pulse roaring in my ears. Then my zipper, deafening in the silence.
I took Seamus’s hand and slid it past the waistband of my panties, placing his hand against the soft curls up high, then drawing it to the slick wetness below.
I expected him to groan or pull his hand out so he could kiss me or slow down. Some part of me knew I was still trying to scare him off, to make it his responsibility, and I hated myself for it. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted him—him—so badly, I didn’t care about anything.
Seamus didn’t flinch as his fingers met my wetness. The only sign I saw that I’d affected him was the slightest twitch of muscle in his jaw.
I wanted him to crack. I wanted to be the reason he came undone.
But he was calm. Assured.
Then he took over. He slipped two fingers inside me so quickly, and expertly, I let out a gasp. I pulled my own hand away, needing to brace myself on his shoulders while he worked his fingers inside me.
A wave of pleasure jolted through me with each stroke of his fingers.
“You can’t scare me, Chelsea.”
How did he see right through me? “I—”
But he stroked my inner walls again, and I lost my words. He wasn’t even touching my clit and I felt the pressure build. Another stroke and I moaned against him.
“Oh God, Seamus.”
At the sound of his name, he closed his eyes.
So he wasn’t invincible.
I rocked on his hand.
He pulled me toward him, kissing me hard this time, urgently. He flicked the roof of my mouth with his tongue, matching the pull of his fingers down low.
When he broke the kiss, I let out a breath, grinding my hips against him as I reached my arms up over my head. I knew he’d feel the stretch of my breasts against him; the arch of my back, and I reveled in it almost as much as the pressure building at my core.
Then Seamus pulled his hand away.
“No,” I said, whimpering with displeasure.
“I have to do this right.” His voice was low, and even that sent pleasure rippling through me.
Seamus strode to his couch and pulled off the sheepskin rug hanging over the side, dropping it on the ground next to us. I bit back a moan. He’d take me right there, right now.
“Take your pants off,” he said.
I was powerless to do anything but exactly what he asked.
While he watched, I licked my lips at the thickness at his crotch, his pants straining so hard I swore the seams would burst. I hooked my thumbs into the top of my undone jeans and slid them down, twisting so he could see them slide over my ass.
“Fuck, Chelsea. You’re so fucking hot.” But when they were only halfway down my thighs, he kneeled, placing his hands over mine to stop me.
This time, instead of leaning against my stomach like he had outside, he pulled the gusset of my panties aside and drew his tongue right up my center, fast and dirty, making me cry out.
He grunted with apparent pleasure. “What were you thinking when you sent me that picture of your tits?” he asked me. “What did you think it would do to me?”
He drew my panties down now, but didn’t touch me, just bunched them in his hands against my thighs. Demanding me to answer without a word.
“I wanted you to see me,” I breathed. “I wanted you to want me.”
He ran a thumb over my wet slit, making me shudder.
“Were you thinking about what you wanted me to do to you?”
I wanted to open my legs, but they were constrained by my jeans. He did this on purpose. Heat cut through me. He wanted to be in charge.
I wanted to play with him, to use what little control I still had. “When you texted me back, I touched myself.”
He grunted.
“I wanted to fuck you, Seamus.”
He closed his eyes as if trying for control.
When he opened his eyes again, he grabbed my ass with one hand and spread my lips with the fingers of his other so my clit was exposed.
I had no control here. He’d only made me think I did.
And I loved it. I grasped his hair, breathing hard as he drew the point of his tongue against my swollen clit.
I cried out, straining my legs against my jeans. “I need to get out of these,” I said. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he said. Then he turned me around and spread his hand against my back, gently bending me over so my hands pressed against the heavy wood coffee table. With my ass in the air, he buried his face between my legs, thrusting his tongue into me.
“Oh God, Seamus.” I still couldn’t open my legs wide enough for him. It was torture, but it felt so good all I could do was moan, backing my ass up against his face. He fucked me with his tongue for a moment, in and out in quick strokes, until I felt myself close to coming.
“I’ve never… I can’t…” I was trying to tell him I couldn’t come without my clit being touched, but now I wasn’t sure if that was true.
He didn’t give me time to find out, because he pulled his face away. “I need to see all of you.”
He stood and pulled me up, then slid my jeans down so I could step out of them.
Now I was naked from the waist down, him fully clothed, and I was suddenly self-conscious. “You take off your clothes too,” I said.
“Half for half.” Seamus’s mouth curled in that little smile. He reached up to grab the back of his t-shirt, tugging it upward.
Good lord, he was gorgeous. As he curved his back to remove his shirt, I took in the tight, ridged edges of his abs and the thick bulk of his chest. He pulled the shirt over his head, leaving his thick hair rumpled and his torso bare.
He looked so fucking delectable I wanted to lay him down on the sheepskin and taste every part of him; particularly the trail of hair going down from his belly button and disappearing into his pants.
He saw me looking, and I saw the push of his cock against his zipper once more.
I reached for his belt, but before I could get to it he’d grasped my shirt, gently tugging me forward for another kiss.
Then, before I knew what was happening, he’d lifted and then lowered me so I was on my back on the rug, the tickle of wool soft under my bare skin.
“How did you do that?” I laughed.
He grinned, and God, his grin was so gorgeous I couldn’t help but swoon.
“You need to smile all the time,” I said.
“I only do it with you.” He lay down next to me, his elbow on the ground and his head in his hand. He trailed his hand down my shirt, onto my bare hip.
“Well, you should do it more. You’re gorgeous, Seamus. Honestly.”
He drew his hand down between my legs, dancing the tips of his fingers along my inner thigh. His lips curled up. “You just never noticed me before.”
It wasn’t a wounded comment. Just a comment. I could tell the difference. But I was getting distracted again, needing him. “And look at us now,” I whispered, thrusting my hips toward him. I wanted him to touch me again. I needed it.
He slid his hands up, straddling me with his elbows and pushing my shirt up over my breasts.
“Yeah. You, sending me naked pictures. Teasing me with these gorgeous fucking tits.” He brought his mouth to my nipple, sucking it through my bra.
His soft tongue and the scratch of the lace against the sensitive skin made me buck my hips with a gasp.
I pulled down my bra, freeing my breast for him to suck on. He tugged at my nipple, teasing it into a tight bud. He worked the other one too, and before I knew what was happening, his hand was between my legs again, this time his thumb finding my clit.
“And this sexy pussy. God, Chelsea.” He circled my clit as if it gave him the pleasure it was rocketing through me.
“Maybe I should send you a picture of that sometime,” I breathed.
“Now that would have killed me.” He slid down further, pushing my legs apart and situating himself between them. Then he lifted my legs, pushing them back so my knees were up at my sides, my pussy exposed.
“I want you,” I breathed.
He hovered with his face above my slit. “You want me to touch you here?”
I nodded. “Make me scream.”