Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street 4)

He knew what to expect after Monday night and used a finger, and then two, to ready her, his lust mounting to rabid levels all the while. Her pussy was a man’s dream come true, especially when accompanied with Lin’s choked whimpers and gasps of arousal. She clung to even the relatively slender invaders of his fingers like a sweet, sucking mouth.

His cock lurched. Best not to think about Lin and sucking mouths right now.

He slid out his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his cock. “Shhh,” he soothed as he pulsed into her pussy and she gave a muffled moan. She clamped him like a vise, but her heat and abundant juices welcomed. Tortured. Lust raged in him. Jesus. I’m not going to last any longer than I did that first night, he realized incredulously. He flexed forward, accepting his fate. Relishing in it. Clutching one tight buttock, he watched as he sawed his hips and penetrated her more and more with each pass. Finally, he gripped both buttocks and pulled her against him, his balls grinding against her outer tissues.

She made a high-pitched, strangled sound. He could only imagine how it must feel for her. He was near to bursting with lust himself, she was so compact and small . . . supple and sleek . . .

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled before he began to thrust.

After a few moments of pounding into her and hearing their body’s frantic mating rhythm and Lin’s arousing whimpers and hums of pleasure, he stared at the back of the cloakroom. The sensation of her bobbing hips, strong counterthrusts, and the tight, unrelenting clasp of her pussy were more than enough to make him come. Watching the whole thing made it twice as excruciating. God, she was a fast, scorching ticket to heaven. Even if he was hell bound for rutting like a slavering savage on this exquisite, elegant woman, he’d arrive at the gates like a charging locomotive.

He jerked up her hips and ass and drove into her. “C’est si bon,” he hissed in pleasure as he fucked her at the divine new angle. He paused after a moment and grimaced at the halt of the intense friction. “Put your shoulders and head down on the cloak, baby. That’s right,” he praised, once again enthralled by the vision of her. Holding her hips up to his raging cock, he withdrew up and sunk into her again and again, his actions deliberate.

Perhaps a little ruthless.

Distantly, he became aware that he was likely putting too much pressure on her knees, but it felt so damn good. His only saving grace was hearing her sharp cry and feeling her muscular walls squeeze his driving cock as she climaxed a moment later. Her warmth rushed around him.

He saw red.

He rose to his feet, crouching over her. By lifting her hips to his thrusting cock and controlling her weight with his straining arm and legs muscles, he took some of the pressure off her knees while creating an optimal friction. He let go, fucking her in a frenzy of blind lust. The sound of their slapping skin outpaced his heartbeat in his ears. Nothing could have stopped him in that moment. He grasped for nirvana, taking one last savage thrust.

He crashed into her, holding tight. Orgasm hit, brutal and blistering, sparing neither of them. He wasn’t sure later if he’d continued to move, fucking her as he ejaculated, or if he’d been frozen in a rushing overdose of pleasure.

He only knew that as his orgy of need quieted, and his lust was appeased, regret began to worm its way into his awareness.

She kept her head lowered a minute later when he stood and helped her to her feet, the long, dark drape of her hair hiding her face. She started to turn away and lift her dress up over her breasts, but he stopped her.

“Lin?”

She didn’t move, her beautiful, thrusting bare breasts still rising and falling irregularly following their shared storm of lust. He used his free hand to push back her silky hair so he could see her face. She jerked her head away, but not before he saw what she tried to hide. Two tracks of tears shone on her flushed cheeks. Dread swept through him.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She swiped at the dampness and turned, finishing pulling up her dress. “Of course you didn’t hurt me. You must have . . . realized how much . . . I liked it,” she faltered.

It alarmed him, the strained quality of her voice. She was typically so controlled. True, she’d lost her temper with him this morning—deservedly so—but this break in her armor was much more alarming. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded, sounding harsher than he intended, out of concern. He wouldn’t apologize for taking her under these circumstances. In his opinion, it was a natural conclusion to all the heat they’d been generating all day, as normal a progression as a storm breaking after the buildup of a hot, sultry day. But he did feel guilty for how forcefully he’d made love to her . . . how savagely . . .

“I just had sex with you on the cloakroom floor of a hotel—”

“There’s no one around—”

“With my boss dining just down the hallway,” she finished without pause. His mouth snapped shut. She stared up at him wildly. Desperately. He couldn’t say which. One thing was for certain: He’d run up against her walls again.

He dropped his hands. “So. Here we are. Back to Ian.”

She turned abruptly and began fastening the collar of her dress around her neck. She found her discarded panties. Unable to think of anything else to say to make her feel better, he removed the condom, found a place to dispose of it and grabbed his discarded clothing. The atmosphere in the small cloakroom seemed to take on a heavy, stifling weight as they both gathered themselves. Their separation and silence seemed especially glaring following their raw, uninhibited joining just now. It seemed a little bizarre that they’d both been frantically in the grips of lust only moments ago. He finished dressing first, seething as he watched her smooth her hair and apply some lipstick from her purse, her back turned to him the whole time.