Chapter 15
Fifteen
ALEXANDER MOORE
Her lips tasted like fiery memories.
I'd spent days, years, fighting this attraction—this inevitable collision between duty and desire. Now, with Aoife's body pressed against mine, her fingers tangled in my hair, I could no longer remember why I'd resisted.
"This is a fucking mistake," I growled against her mouth, even as my hands moved possessively down her sides, memorizing every curve. She clung to me, no doubt feeling my hardness, then slid her legs back down on the floor, her mouth never leaving mine.
She bit my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. "Then make it a good one."
The last threads of my self-control snapped. I grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand while the other traced the delicate line of her throat. Her pulse raced beneath my fingertips—proof that she wasn't as composed as she often pretended to be.
"Do you have any idea," I said, voice dropping to a dangerous register, "what I've imagined doing to you since that night?"
Her pupils dilated, eyes darkening from cool jade to almost black. "Show me."
I released her wrists to cup her face, my touch gentle now. For a heartbeat, we simply stared at each other—and this simple act terrified me more than anything Beatrice could devise.
"Last chance to walk away, Aoife," I warned once more, offering an escape neither of us wanted.
Her answer was to curl her fingers into the front of my shirt, yanking me to her until our bodies aligned perfectly. "I'm not going anywhere."
I claimed her mouth with bruising intensity, swallowing her gasp of surprise. She tasted so sweet, her tongue meeting mine with equal fervour. I pressed her harder against the wall, one thigh sliding between hers, providing delicious friction where she needed it most.
"Fuck," she moaned, hips rocking against my leg in shameless need. "I've wanted this since I first saw you."
Her words sent a jolt of pure lust through me. "Say that again," I demanded, my grip tightening on her hip.
She smiled against my lips, recognizing her power. "I've wanted you," she repeated, voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "inside me, fucking me until I can't remember my own name."
Christ. The filth from those lush lips was more arousing than it had any right to be. "Keep talking," I ordered, my hands finding the buttons of her blouse.
"I touched myself thinking about you," she confessed as I pushed the fabric from her shoulders. "After that night at the gala. Imagined it was your fingers inside me, your mouth on my clit."
I nearly tore her bra in my haste to remove it. "And did you come?" I asked, palming her perfect breasts, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples.
"So hard I saw stars." She arched into my touch, shameless in her desire. "But it was never enough. I needed the real thing."
I lowered my head, taking one sensitive bud into my mouth. She gasped, fingers tightening in my hair as I sucked and laved, alternating between gentle and rough until she was writhing against me.
"I owe you something," I murmured against her flushed skin, moving to her other breast.
"What's that?" She gasped as I scraped my teeth across her nipple.
"Completion." My hands worked at the fastening of her jeans, pushing them down her long legs. "Last time we were together, I brought you to the edge over and over, but never let you fall."
Understanding dawned in her eyes, quickly replaced by heat as she stood before me in nothing but black lace panties. I dropped to my knees, hooking my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slowly dragging them down.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," I said, my voice rough with wanting. Her thighs were already slick with arousal, her scent making my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
"Alexander," she breathed, one hand tangling in my hair.
I caught her wrist, pinning it to her side. "Tell me what you want."
Her eyes flashed with that defiant O'Malley fire. "I want your mouth on me."
"Where?" I teased, pressing kisses along her inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where she needed me most.
"My cunt," she said, the crude word from those refined lips making my cock jump. "I want your tongue inside me, your mouth on my clit, until I come all over your face."
Jesus Christ. I hadn't expected this—Aoife O'Malley, dirty-talking temptress. "Keep talking like that," I growled, lifting one of her legs over my shoulder, "and I'll give you exactly what you want."
"You like it when I talk dirty?" She smiled down at me, a predator recognizing a weakness. "You want to hear how wet you make me? How I can't wait to feel your cock stretching me open?"
I answered by burying my face between her thighs, licking a long, deliberate stroke through her folds. She cried out, hips bucking against my mouth as I set a relentless pace.
"Yes," she hissed, nails scraping my scalp. "Fuck, your tongue feels so good."
I doubled my efforts, alternating between circling her clit and dipping into her entrance. Her thighs began to tremble, the taste of her arousal flooding my senses as I worked her toward release.
"Alexander," she panted, voice strained. "I'm close—don't stop—"
I pulled back just enough to speak. "Look at me," I commanded, waiting until those green eyes found mine. "I want to see your face when you come for me."
I slid two fingers inside her tight heat, curling them to find that perfect spot while my tongue returned to her clit.
The combination was her undoing. She came with a strangled cry, back arching off the wall, inner walls clenching rhythmically around my fingers as wave after wave crashed through her.
Before she'd fully recovered, I stood and claimed her mouth again, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She moaned into the kiss, hands fumbling with the buttons of my shirt.
"Off," she demanded. "I want to feel you."
I stepped back long enough to shed my shirt, then returned to her, the heat of her bare skin against mine sending electricity down my spine. Her hands roamed freely, nails leaving crescent marks on my shoulders, my back, anywhere she could reach.
"Bed," she gasped between kisses. "Now."
I lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bed. Her naked body beneath mine, auburn hair spread across my pillows, was a sight I wanted burned into my memory forever.
She reached between us, palm pressing against the rigid line of my cock through my pants. "I want this inside me," she said, the demanding princess even in her pleasure. "I've waited long enough."
I caught her wrist, pinning it above her head. "Patience," I warned, though my control was hanging by a thread.
Her free hand found its way to my waistband, unfastening my belt with surprising dexterity. "Fuck patience," she replied, pushing my pants and underwear down my hips. "I've been patient for two years."
My cock sprang free, already fully hard and leaking at the tip. Her eyes widened slightly, tongue darting out to wet her lips in a gesture that nearly broke me.
"My turn," she whispered, trying to push me onto my back.
I resisted, maintaining my position above her. "Not yet." I leaned down, nipping at her earlobe. "I'm not done with you."
Her eyes darkened with renewed desire. "What are you going to do to me?"
"Everything," I promised, voice rough with want. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember why we're supposed to be enemies."
She squirmed beneath me, seeking friction. "Then do it," she challenged, reaching between us to wrap her fingers around my length. "Unless you're all talk, Alexander Moore."
The touch of her hand nearly undid me. I growled, capturing both her wrists and pinning them above her head, my larger body completely covering hers.
"You think you're in control here?" I asked, rolling my hips to press my cock against her slick entrance without penetrating. "You think you get to make demands?"
"I think," she replied, voice breathless but still defiant, "that you want me as badly as I want you."
I couldn't deny it. The evidence was pressed against her thigh, throbbing with each heartbeat. I released her wrists to tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling just hard enough to expose the pale column of her throat.
"When I fuck you," I said, teeth grazing her pulse point, "you're going to come first. You're going to fall apart around my cock before I fill you."
Her breath hitched. "What if I don't want to?"
I smiled against her skin, recognizing the challenge for what it was. "You will," I promised, positioning myself at her entrance. "Your body already knows who it belongs to tonight."
With one powerful thrust, I buried myself inside her. We both froze, overwhelmed by the sensation—her tight heat enveloping me, stretching to accommodate my size.
"Fuck," I ground out, fighting for control. "You feel so goddamn perfect."
Her fingers dug into my shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks in my skin. "Move," she commanded, lifting her hips in silent demand. "I need you to move."
I withdrew almost completely before driving back in, setting a punishing pace that had her gasping beneath me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, drawing me deeper with each thrust.
"Is this what you wanted?" I growled, angling my hips to hit that spot that made her breath catch.
"God, yes," she admitted, voice breaking on a moan as I drove deeper. "You feel so fucking good inside me."
Her filthy words sent heat spiralling through me, pushing me dangerously close to the edge. I tightened my grip in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. "More," I demanded, teeth grazing her pulse point. "Tell me how it feels."
"Like I'm being split open," she gasped, inner walls clenching around me. "Like you're fucking me so deep I can feel you in my throat."
Christ. I slid my free hand between our bodies, finding her clit with unerring precision. She bucked against me, a strangled cry escaping her lips as I circled the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"That's it," I encouraged, feeling my own release building at the base of my spine. "Come for me, Aoife. Let me feel you fall apart."
Her eyes locked with mine, pupils blown wide with pleasure. "Make me," she challenged, even as her body trembled on the edge.
I yanked her hair roughly, forcing her to arch her back as I drove into her with renewed force. "Come for me now," I commanded, thumb pressing hard against her clit. "That's a fucking order."
Something about the command—the pull on her hair, the dominance in my voice—pushed her over the edge. She shattered with a scream, inner walls convulsing around my cock in rhythmic waves that threatened to drag me with her.
"Alexander," she sobbed, clinging to me as pleasure overwhelmed her. "Oh god, don't stop—"
I maintained my rhythm through her climax, only allowing my own release when her tremors began to subside. With a hoarse shout, I buried myself to the hilt and came harder than I had in years, possibly ever.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. I traced idle patterns on her back, unable to find words for what had just happened between us.
"What are we doing, Alexander?" she asked eventually, voice muffled against my shoulder.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her. "I have no fucking idea."
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "That's reassuring."
"Nothing about this is reassuring," I replied, though my arms tightened around her. "You're an O'Malley. I work for Ronan Flanagan. By rights, we should be trying to destroy each other."
She propped herself up on an elbow, studying my face in the moonlight. "Instead, we're fucking."
"Instead, we're fucking," I agreed, reaching up to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "And I can't bring myself to regret it."
Something softened in her expression—not vulnerability exactly, but a lowering of guards. "Neither can I." She traced the scar on my wrist, the crescent shape that had drawn her since our first meeting. "What happens now?"
It was the question I'd been avoiding since she walked into my room. What did happen now? We still had Beatrice to find. We still had family loyalties that placed us on opposite sides of a war that had been raging for generations.
"Now we sleep," I said, pulling her back against my chest. "And tomorrow..."
"Tomorrow we go after Beatrice," she finished, settling against me with surprising ease, as though we'd been sleeping together for years rather than hours.
"Tomorrow we go after Beatrice," I agreed, feeling sleep begin to claim me despite the enormity of what we'd just done. "After that... we'll figure it out."
It wasn't a promise, not exactly. But as Aoife's breathing evened out, her body warm and trusting against mine, I realised it was more commitment than I'd offered anyone in years.
Tomorrow would bring complications, recriminations, and the harsh light of reality.
But tonight—for these few precious hours—I allowed myself to hold the enemy I couldn't stop wanting, and pretend that somewhere, somehow, there might be a future where this wasn't a betrayal of everything I stood for.