3. Aoife
Aoife
What the hell am I thinking following this man away from the safety of the crowd?
Danger oozes from him, yet I continue walking.
The music and the noise of the party fade into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the shore.
The only light is from the moon shining overhead, casting silvery shadows that stretch across the path.
“Where are you staying?” he asks, his voice low, breaking the silence.
I hesitate for a moment before gesturing ahead. “In a private villa,” I say, my tone clipped, as if that will somehow mask the fact that my pulse is racing.
“Of course you are,” he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice.
We walk side by side, the tension between us palpable. Every step closer to the villa feels like a step away from reason. My body hums with awareness, my skin prickling under his steady gaze.
When we reach the villa, he stops just outside the door, turning to face me. “Your key card?”
I narrow my eyes, gripping the slim card tighter in my hand. “Why should I give it to you?”
The corner of his mouth curves into a slow, wolfish grin. “Because, love, if I were the big bad wolf, I wouldn’t be asking. I’d already have eaten you.”
The audacity of his response sends a shiver down my spine. Against every ounce of common sense I have left, I hand over the card, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment.
He slides it into the slot, the electronic lock clicking open with a soft beep. He doesn’t step in right away. Instead, he holds the door open, tilting his head slightly as he looks at me. “After you.”
I step inside, and the awareness of his presence steals my breath. The villa is quiet. The soft glow of the moon filters in through the sheer curtains, casting the room in muted silver tones.
The moment the door shuts behind him, the air shifts.
It’s not just tension anymore—it’s a storm, crackling with heat and intensity. Building with every shared glance, every unspoken word.
What the hell am I doing? The question flashes through my mind again, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of my heart. My body responds to him in ways I can’t control. The magnetic pull between us is impossible to resist.
He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, and I feel the heat of his body even before his fingers brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek.
“Careful, Eve,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp that seems to ignite something deep inside me. “You don’t want to get burned.”
His words are meant to be a warning, but they only make me want to play with fire. A slow smile spreads across my lips, desire pooling in my core as I meet his gaze head-on.
“Maybe I like the heat,” I say, my voice low and sultry, daring him to push me further.
His eyes darken, the blue deepening into something stormy and wild. He steps closer, erasing the last inch of space between us. His hand lifts, fingers brushing against my jaw as he tilts my face up to his.
“You don’t know what you’re inviting,” he whispers, his tone laced with danger and promise.
“Don’t I?” I counter, my breath hitching as his thumb grazes the corner of my mouth.
For a heartbeat, we hover there, the tension between us coiled tight, ready to snap. And then it does.
He kisses me.
It’s not soft or hesitant. It’s raw, consuming, and utterly unapologetic as he devours me like he’s starving. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me closer, while the other settles on my waist, anchoring me against the solid heat of his body.
I taste the faintest hint of whiskey on his lips as his tongue slides against mine, coaxing a moan from deep in my throat. My hands find his chest, fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his shirt, feeling the hard muscle beneath.
The kiss deepens, and the world around us fades into nothing. It’s just him. His touch, his heat, the way he makes every nerve in my body come alive.
When we break apart, I’m breathless, and my lips are swollen.
The look in his eyes sends a fresh wave of desire through me. His thumb brushes over my lower lip. “You taste like trouble,” he says, his voice low and rough, the sound of it unraveling what little control I have left.
“Then stop wasting time,” I breathe.
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, his hands strong and sure as they grip my thighs. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, my back pressed against the cool wood of the door as he pins me there.
His mouth moves to my neck, lips and teeth teasing the sensitive skin just below my ear. A shiver courses through me as he nips at the delicate spot, soothing it with his tongue.
The attraction between us is electric. Every touch, every kiss stoking the fire higher. Eamon’s hands roam my body, exploring every curve, while my own slide under his shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint, though his body says he’s already lost the battle.
“Don’t you dare,” I reply, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him back to my mouth.
He growls low in his throat, a sound that sends a jolt of pure desire straight through me.
The last shred of control between us shatters.
In an instant, he tears my bikini top, the thin straps giving way under his strength, freeing my breasts.
His hands are on me immediately, rough yet reverent, his touch igniting sparks across my body.
A gasp escapes me as his lips capture a sensitive peak in his mouth. I arch into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs. His hands slide down my sides, firm and sure, as though he’s learning every curve, every inch of me, and committing them to memory.
The door at my back is suddenly gone as he carries me deeper into the villa, his movements purposeful yet frantic, like he’s barely holding himself together. He lowers me onto the bed, the soft fabric cool against my heated skin.
He stands for a moment, towering over me, his blue eyes dark and predatory as they roam my body. Slowly, deliberately, he shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it to a nearby chair, the motion fluid and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
“You’re going to ruin me, Eve,” he says, his voice full of both frustration and reverence.
I sit up slightly, resting on my elbows. “Maybe I like the idea of being your undoing.”
That’s all it takes.
He’s on me again, his mouth crushing mine as his hands explore, leaving trails of fire in their wake. My legs part instinctively to welcome him, and the weight of his body presses me into the bed, grounding me even as every nerve in my body feels like it’s about to combust.
His lips leave mine to trail down my throat, over my collarbone, and lower still. When his mouth closes over the peak of my breast again, I cry out, my back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through me.
He growls in response, his hands sliding lower, finding the tie at my bikini bottom. Making quick work of the strings, the fabric slips away, leaving me bare beneath him. His gaze drops, and the raw hunger in his eyes is enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
“You’re stunning,” he says, his voice almost reverent, though the heat in his gaze tells me he’s anything but saintly.
His fingers trail along the curve of my hip, teasing, testing, as though savoring the moment before he takes what he wants. My body trembles under his touch, every nerve alive, every inch of me aching for him.
The corner of his mouth lifts, cocky and deliberate, but there’s nothing teasing in the way his hand moves, his fingers sliding between my thighs to find my slick heat. I gasp, my head falling back against the pillow as he touches me with a skill that feels maddeningly precise.
“Tell me what you want, Eve,” he murmurs, his voice low and dark.
“You,” I breathe. “I want you.”