Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street 4)

For a few seconds, his demanding possession interrupted her bliss. It was too much, really, having him pound so high and hard inside her. It took her breath away. But then the friction caused by the swollen, defined cockhead rubbing previously untouched flesh began to mount. It was like he was building a fire in her.

She moaned and stared up at him helplessly. He looked down at her, his handsome face so rigid, his eyes so wild it was almost frightening, like truly being taken by a force of nature. His strokes became longer, even more forceful. She bared her teeth in the face of the intense pressure and mounting pleasure, groaning, and lifted her head off the pillow, glancing downward. The staff of his cock glistened with her juices as it moved like a piston in and out of her, his pelvis smacking against her briskly in an arousing, erotic rhythm that quickened by the second.

She fell back, gasping against the pillows. “Oh God, the condom.” He was taking her so forcefully, so thoroughly, that the bottom rim of the rubber was coming down off his thick cock.

“I know it,” he ground out in a strangled voice, never pausing his powerful thrusts. “It’ll hold for as long as it takes. I won’t last. Not in this sweet little pussy, I won’t. I’m going to come.”

She squeezed her eyelids tight at his harsh, erotic words. He slammed into her and circled his hips, once again overfilling her, grinding their sexes together. She screamed in excitement and felt his cock swell and jerk inside her. His shout was blistering. Raw. She lay back on the pillows, panting in sharp excitement and vague discomfort, watching him as he began to come. Every muscle in his lean, ripped body was contracted tight, rippling and jerking. Spellbound, she realized she’d been willingly depriving herself of his beauty. She reached for him, suddenly wild to caress and stroke what seemed like miles of smooth skin and delineated muscle. But he made a ragged sound and pushed down on her shins, stilling her action.

He rode her while he ejaculated. The intense friction made her eyes cross. She joined him in climax, too overwhelmed by his stark possession to stand outside the flames.

“Fuck. I can feel you coming,” he groaned, sounding beyond miserable.

“No,” she yelped when he withdrew.

It was like abruptly having ice water poured on her steaming skin, the deprivation of his flesh was so severe. He fell down on the mattress, panting, his pelvis cradling her hip, his damp cock throbbing on her thigh.

“I had to. The damn condom isn’t going to stay put. I don’t want to spill in you,” he said at the same time that he slid his hand between her thighs. She cried out as her climax ramped up to its original potent blast as he rubbed her slick clit rapidly. Her eyes closed as she shook in pleasure.

“No, open them,” he ordered roughly.

She lifted her heavy eyelids. Both of his hands resumed moving, and she realized he stimulated both of them at once.

It struck her as overwhelmingly intimate, to stare into his fierce gaze while they both shuddered in mutual pleasure . . .

. . . to stare into the familiar face of a virtual stranger.

Chapter Three

He sagged onto the bed next to her, his head falling into the pillow. As she lay there and felt his harsh breathing near her ear, slow and even, her body seemed to liquefy, melting into the mattress. He was warm and solid. Her drowsiness paradoxically alarmed her somehow.

She’d just had wild, impulsive sex with someone she’d just met. She could count using one finger the number of times she’d done that in her life—and that time on spring break during grad school didn’t really count, given the uncustomary amount of tequila involved and the completely forgettable sexual encounter itself. She’d despised herself afterward for putting herself in that unsavory situation, vowing to never allow herself to lose control in that arena of her life again.

But tonight hadn’t been some drunken encounter with a cocky yet fumbling college kid. This had been a lightning strike of desire with none other than Ian Noble’s brother, the very man she was supposed to guide and soften for a potentially lucrative business deal. A deal that was certainly important to her boss, because Kam was family.

Ian.

A vision of Ian’s laserlike, blue-eyed gaze and impenetrable expression flashed into her mind’s eye. It set off a prickly feeling of anxiety that broke through her delicious lassitude. Realizing her hands were still above her head, she cautiously lowered them, glancing sideways at Kam all the while. Was he sleeping? His breathing had certainly become slow and even.

He reached up and grabbed one of her lowering hands. She started at his touch.

“I thought you were sleeping,” she said softly, her voice thick with relaxation.

“I’m awake.”

She turned her head fully and saw his stare on her. He certainly was. His facial muscles looked relaxed in comparison to how rigid they’d been when he’d been inside her—pounding, pulsing, demanding—but his gaze was sharp and alert. He kept her hand in his grasp and moved it to her waist, his arm draping her.

“You may have fried half my brain cells just now, but I don’t want to sleep. Not yet,” he muttered thickly in his rough, French-accented voice. Her heart throbbed back to life. Had there been a thread of suggestiveness in his tone? He moved the pad of his thumb over her wrist in a gentle quest. “I wanted you so much, I never got a chance to appreciate you. I was too busy combusting.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of her pearls on her Adam’s apple.

“I certainly felt appreciated,” she assured.

A smile flickered across his lips as he continued to touch her wrist. “Still, it was hardly a savoring experience. More like a gorge-fest.”