Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Something jarred him out of a deep, contented sleep and, at first, he wasn’t sure why.
The room was nearly pitch dark, only a faint light through the curtains illuminated Jal’s silhouette, still secure within the circle of his arms, her back to his chest, his knees behind hers.
That glorious arse of hers cradled in the hollow in between. But something was different.
He lay in the dark, waiting for a repeat of whatever had roused him from a very pleasant dream, in which he’d been relishing in the memory of her rising above him like a triumphant siren, arms raised and twisted around her head to hold her hair up off her neck.
Her eyes were closed, head thrown back, face and chest flushed from exertion.
Her hair, now spread on the pillow between them, tickled his nose and he smoothed it away. The space between them filled with the scents of jasmine and woodsmoke still clinging to the strands.
As if sensing his touch, even in her sleep, she stirred, her body seeming to ripple slowly. Her breasts lifted, then her back arched, and finally her arse pressed back against him, sliding over his cock, which had stiffened again in his sleep.
Ciaran looked down between them, even though it was too dark to see anything.
He could feel what was going on perfectly fine though.
Her gentle movements against him were what had roused him from sleep in more than one way.
His cock slipped between her thighs while she rubbed herself against him, sliding past her entrance without dipping inside.
“Are you dreaming, lass?” he murmured in her ear. His hand slid across her hip and up her stomach, coming to rest between her breasts. Her breaths were slow and even, as was her heartbeat under his fingers.
A sleepy moan escaped her lips and her body rippled again. “If I am, I don’t ever want to wake up.” she replied. Her voice, though thickened with sleep, was as languorous as her movements.
Laying still while she writhed against him was a new kind of torture. But lay still he did, until the heartbeat under his fingers started to pick up its pace, and her breathing changed. It was quicker, shallower, interspersed with soft gasps.
Ciaran slid his hand slowly down her stomach and over one hip to cup that soft place between her thighs that his cock strained toward but couldn’t yet reach.
He slid a finger into her slit and groaned at the slickness he found there.
He stroked slowly from her entrance to that tight bundle of nerves at the top, brushing lightly before repeating the long, slow path that was as much a tease for her as it was for him.
She clenched her thighs, squeezing his cock between them when he moved to stroke small circles around her clit. Her gasps became a more unsteady panting. Slowly, her arm lifted and wrapped around the back of his head, urging him closer.
He slid his arm out from under her neck and rose up on his elbow, brushing her hair back so he could press his lips to her jaw and down to that spot he’d found under her ear that she enjoyed so much, all the while keeping up his steady stroking of her center.
Her breathing hitched and her hand tightened in his hair as an orgasm rippled through her. Her clit pulsed gently under his fingertips.
For a few moments, she lay still in his arms, long enough that he thought she might have fallen back asleep. But then, she started to thrust back against him, this time more deliberate, more urgent.
“I need you inside me.” she demanded, her voice far less sleepy.
Ciaran rolled onto his back, his cock reluctantly sliding out from between her thighs and searched the top of the nightstand until he found the box he’d tossed there earlier.
He tore a packet open and rolled a condom over his cock before turning back onto his side.
His hand splayed across her stomach and drew her arse tightly against his cock.
One of her hands rose to cover his on her stomach, while the other reached back and grasped his hip, urging him closer, to get him where she wanted him.
“So demanding,” he purred in her ear as he slid his hand along her inner thigh and lifted her leg up and over his to give him access to her core.
Jal shifted against him as he wrapped a hand around his straining cock and fitted the head to her entrance.
He took her hip in his hand and pushed inside.
She was warm, and tight, and more than ready for him and he slid to the hilt in one slow, torturous thrust. He withdrew part of the way and slid home, again. And again.
They soon found a gentle rhythm, their bodies rippling apart and coming back together like the advance and retreat of waves on the shore.
Neither made a move to force the pace, each moment stretching out into an eternity that he never wanted to end.
Each stroke felt to him like the swing of a hammer on iron, forging something between them that didn’t yet have a shape, yet nevertheless connected them in a way he had never experienced with Annie, especially not in so short a time.
When he felt her turn her head toward him, demanding a kiss, he found her mouth unerringly in the dark as if he would always know where it was.
This kiss was just as tender, just as sweet, their tongues sliding in time with each torturously slow thrust. He pressed in deep, pausing there, and made a small circle with his hips.
She broke the kiss on a groan and threw her head back against his shoulder.
He retreated and then repeated the movement, and again, her inner muscles clenching harder and harder on his cock as she grew closer to her release. He tensed, his balls drawing up tight in response, a current of energy barreled down his spine.
Another stroke, two, and he thrust as deep into her as he could, buried his face in her hair, and went thoroughly to pieces. Dimly, he heard her make a sharp gasp and then a long, low groan as she toppled over the edge with him.
They lay curled together for a long moment as his cock slowly deflated and the rhythmic clenching of her sex eased. Reluctantly, he pulled out of her and left the bed, only long enough to dispose of the condom before gathering her in his arms once again.
She sighed contentedly at the return of his warm body against her back and soon her breathing slowed, evened out once again to the rhythm of sleep. Her body relaxed completely in his arms.
Ciaran remained awake a little longer, gently smoothing his hand over her hair, unable to keep from touching her.
He listened to their mingled breathing, the only sound in the night.
Her chest rose and fell under his hand, and he found himself wondering as he had so many times these past few weeks how it only took one look from her to have him craving her.
And that laugh of hers? The one full of wicked promises?
Well, that practically brought him to his knees.
And now that he finally had her in his bed?
Heaven help them both.
He took a deep breath and settled his head more comfortably on the pillow.
His hand slowly slid down low on her belly and came to rest just above the neatly trimmed curls that paved the way to her core.
Beneath his fingertips was a thin line of roughened skin a couple of inches long.
Ciaran frowned, his fingers tracing gently over it.
Jal stirred in his arms, snuggling against him before subsiding back into the stillness of sleep.
Ciaran lay his hand flat on her stomach once more, closed his eyes, and forced himself not to dwell on thoughts that suddenly raced through his head. There was only one reason for a woman to have a scar in that particular spot.
Instead, he concentrated on his breathing, on matching the calm, steady rhythm of the woman in his arms. A woman who clearly had more secrets than he’d thought. Sooner than he could have expected, he was asleep.