17. Maeve
Maeve
All through dinner, my whole body hummed like a live wire.
I exit the bathroom in a sleep shirt to find Lorcan staring out the bedroom window. He turns when I shut the door.
I am head over heels for this man. Tonight I stop pretending I’m not.
It snuck up on me in pieces—the way he crouched for Oisin with that stupid mouthwash castle, the way he walked into that office today and turned a firing squad into a surrender, the way he looks at me like I’m not a transaction or a burden or a problem to solve. Like I’m worth wanting.
He notices the look on my face and his easy grin slides into something darker. Hungrier.
“Maeve.”
I cross the room before I lose my nerve. My hands land on his chest. “I’m done waiting. I’m ready.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I want you. All of you. Now.”
Something raw flashes across his face. Then his hands cup my jaw and his mouth crashes onto mine.
This kiss isn’t careful. It’s hot and hungry.
He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed and we go down together, his weight settling over me, one thigh shoving between mine.
I gasp into his mouth when the hard ridge of him presses right where I’m already aching. My hips roll up on pure instinct.
“Fuck.” His forehead drops to mine. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me.”
He peels the shirt over my head in one smooth movement. Cool air hits my skin and I almost cover myself again, but his eyes stop me cold. He looks at my breasts, my stomach, the freckles on my hips, like he’s starving and I’m the feast.
“Perfect,” he rasps. “Every fucking inch.”
His mouth finds my throat. Then the slope of my breast. When he sucks a nipple between his teeth I arch so hard the bed creaks. A broken sound rips out of me. He does it again, while one big hand slides down my stomach and between my legs.
I’m soaked. Embarrassingly so. His fingers glide through the slick heat and he groans against my skin.
“This all for me?” Two fingers circle my clit slow and tight until my thighs start to shake. “Tell me.”
“Yes—god, yes—”
“That’s my girl.”
He works me open with patience that borders on torture—first one finger, then two, curling until he finds a spot inside me that makes my vision spark white.
The wet sounds of him fucking me with his hand fill the room.
I’m panting, gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise, and when the orgasm hits it tears through me without warning.
My back bows. His name comes out broken.
He kisses me through it, gentling me down, but his body is rigid with restraint. I can feel how hard he is against my thigh.
“Lorcan.” I tug at his shirt. “Off. Everything. I need—”
He sits back just long enough to strip. The shirt hits the floor. The jeans and boxers follow. And then he’s naked on his knees between my legs and I forget how to breathe.
He’s big. Thick. The head of his cock is flushed dark, a bead of wetness already slick at the tip. My stomach flips with nerves and desire in equal measure.
“Hey.” He catches my chin and tilts my face up. Green eyes locked on mine. “We go at your pace. You say stop, I stop. You say slower, I slow. Understood?”
I nod. “I don’t want slow. I want you inside me.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He reaches for the nightstand, tears a condom open with his teeth, and rolls it on with practiced ease. Then he’s back over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other guiding himself to my entrance.
The blunt pressure makes me tense. He freezes instantly.
“Breathe, love. Look at me.”
I do. Those green eyes hold me steady as he pushes forward—inch by careful, burning inch. The stretch is intense. Too much and not enough all at once. My nails dig into his back.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Taking me so fucking well. Almost there. You’re made for this cock, Maeve. Made for me.”
When he’s fully seated, he goes still, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard. Completely inside me. Mine. Full in a way I didn’t know I could be.
“You okay?”
“Move.” My legs wrap around his hips. “Please move.”
He does. Slow at first—long, deep strokes that drag every nerve ending raw. Pain melts into heat, into something building low and fierce. His hips roll. The angle changes. Suddenly every thrust hits that same devastating spot, and I’m gasping, clawing at him, meeting him stroke for stroke.
“Fuck—look at you.” His voice is ruined. “Taking every inch. So tight. So wet. Mine. Say it.”
“Yours—”
“Louder.”
“Yours. I’m yours.”
Something snaps in him. The careful rhythm turns harder, deeper. The headboard knocks against the wall. His hand slides under my ass, tilting me up so he can drive even deeper, and the sound that leaves my throat doesn’t sound like me.
“Come for me again,” he orders against my ear, rough and low. “I want to feel this pretty pussy come on my cock. Give it to me.”
His thumb finds my clit and rubs tight circles.
The second orgasm detonates harder than the first—white-hot, endless, ripping a broken cry from my chest as I clamp down around him.
He curses, thrusts once, twice, then buries himself to the hilt and comes with a guttural groan of my name, hips stuttering, body locked tight over mine.
We stay tangled, hearts slamming, sweat cooling on our skin. He kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth—soft now. Reverent.
“You with me?” he whispers.
I turn my face into his neck and breathe him in. The words leave me before I can stop them.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”