Chapter 2
Iclear my throat and my eyes skate across the room because there is nowhere safe to look.
Tattoos on his chest and his forearms. The flat plane of his stomach.
The thick cock hanging between his legs, half-hard and gleaming with a metal ring through the head that catches the lamplight in a way I shouldn’t be staring at.
I am staring at it. My throat is so dry it hurts.
“Are you serious?” The words scrape out of me. “You want to—with me? You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t need to know you,” he says. The Irish in his voice is thicker now, and I can’t tell if that’s the anger or the fact that he’s hard. “I just need to make her think I fucked you.”
“Make her—”
“Think.” He steps closer, and he is so much taller than me like this.
“We don’t have to actually do anything, not really.
” His eyes drop to my cock, which is, against every protest my brain is making, getting hard again.
“Though I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to.
Neither would you, from the looks of it. ”
“I’m not—that’s not—” But it is. My dick is stiffening under his gaze, and the shame of it burns hotter than the arousal.
“Mm, talk of fucking makes you hard, noted.”
“Shut up,” I groan, putting my hands over my crotch. “But you’re saying we just pretend?”
“We make it convincing.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer. “We’re already naked. She’s probably on her way back right now. Why waste the opportunity?”
“Why would you want to—” I stop because the answer is obvious. Revenge, humiliation, the same reasons I should want it. Except what I want, standing here with his hand on mine and his cock inches from my own, has nothing to do with Lilah.
“Just say yes, Chase.” My name in his mouth sounds different, rougher. “Before one of us changes our mind.”
I nod, just once. My throat won’t cooperate beyond that.
His hand slides from mine to the back of my neck, and he pulls me in, and his mouth is on mine before I can process what’s happening.
His lips are firm and demanding, his tongue pushing into my mouth like he’s taking something that belongs to him, and holy shit, holy fucking shit, I am kissing a man.
A man with stubble that scrapes my chin, a grip on the back of my neck that makes my knees weak, a cock pressing against my thigh and hardening fast. My brain short-circuits.
This is wrong, this is revenge, this is supposed to be for her benefit, and none of that matters because his mouth is hot and his tongue is in my mouth and I am kissing him back before I decide to, my hands finding his shoulders, his chest, the hard planes of muscle under my palms as I go up on my tiptoes and press closer.
He spins us and walks me backward until my calves hit the edge of the bed, and then he’s pushing me down, following me onto the mattress, his weight settling over me in a way that punches the air from my lungs.
He’s heavy and solid. His chest presses against mine, skin on skin, and I can feel every ridge of muscle, and my fingers itch to explore.
His cock slides against my stomach, leaving a wet streak, and the sensation is so sharp I groan into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he says against my lips, and kisses me again, deeper, his hand sliding from my neck to my jaw, tilting my face up to his. His other hand is moving down my side, tracing my ribs, my hip, and then he grips my thigh and hitches my leg around his waist.
The position shifts our bodies, and suddenly his cock is sliding against mine, and the wet friction of skin on skin makes my whole body jerk.
We’re both leaking, both hard, and the slide is slicker and filthier than anything I’ve felt in my life.
I gasp into his mouth, arching closer as his hips roll against mine in a slow, deliberate grind that has my toes curling into the sheets.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice rough against my mouth. “You like that, don’t you, sweet thing.”
His hand grips my ass, squeezing hard enough that I whimper, and the sound is so pathetic, so broken, that I should be mortified.
Instead, I am so turned on I can’t think straight, and he’s hard enough that I know he’s feeling it too.
He’s not just pretending. His fingers dig into the muscle, pulling me tighter against him, deepening the kiss, his tongue lashing against mine as his cock presses close in a slow, wet stroke that makes my vision blur.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he says against my lips. “Every little touch and you’re falling apart.”
“I’m not—” But I am. My hips are moving against his without permission, chasing the friction, and my cock is leaking so much pre-cum that the slide between us is getting slicker by the second.
His hand on my ass shifts, fingers spreading, and then one finger brushes against my hole, the lightest touch, and my body bucks so hard I nearly throw him off.
The sensation is electric and raw, a shock of need that goes up my spine and blows out behind my eyes. My hole clenches around nothing, hungry for contact, and I want it so badly I can’t look at him.
“Jesus Christ.” His finger circles my hole again, firmer this time, and I arch off the bed, a broken sound tearing out of my throat. “You like that? You want my fingers in this tight little hole?”
I can’t answer. My pride is in pieces on the bed around us. All I can do is nod, frantic, desperate, my hips pushing back against his hand.
“Say it.” His finger presses, resting against the ring of muscle, and the pressure is maddening. “Tell me what you want.”
“Your fingers,” I manage. “Please. Please, I want—”
Someone gasps in the doorway.
I wait for him to scramble backwards; instead, he grinds his hips into mine in a long, slow, deliberate stroke that reminds me he was doing this for revenge, not because he actually wants me. And that is more crushing than realizing Lilah is standing there.
I look over and she’s standing there, eyes wide, mouth open.
Kieran’s mouth curves into a smile so wicked it makes my stomach flip. He pushes up on his forearms and turns to Lilah, unhurried, like she’s the one who owes him an explanation.
“Oh, hey Lilah.” He says it like he’s greeting her at a party. “Thanks for bringing me this sexy treat. I was getting bored waiting for you. It’s sweet to realize you’ve become so much more accepting of me as a pansexual.”
Lilah’s eyebrows go up, then drop, and the color climbs her neck fast enough that I can watch it move. Her mouth opens, closes, opens again.
“What,” she says, each word precise and cold, “the actual fuck?”