He withdraws, flips me onto my belly, pulls me up onto my knees, then plunges his still-hard shaft back inside me with a grunt that sounds animalistic. Gripping my hips in both hands, he starts to thrust again.
My face buried in the duvet cover, I sigh in happiness.
His laugh is dark and knowing. “Aye, lass. I love it, too.”
I’m jarred by the mention of that four-letter word, but get distracted when he reaches around and starts to fondle my pussy as he fucks me, tweaking my clit and sliding his fingers all around the place we’re joined. I moan and close my eyes, desperately pulling at the blankets.
He says something in Gaelic, a brief, growled word, then fucks me harder.
Though I’m fully exposed, scars and all, I feel no self-consciousness. All my awareness is centered on my body and what he’s doing to it. The glorious way he’s making it feel.
Until he reaches back around and presses his wet thumb between my ass cheeks.
I jerk, stiffening. My eyes fly open wide.
“Easy, viper,” he croons gently. “Remember, you can always say no.”
“I can always use that pen on the nightstand to puncture your jugular, too.”
“Until I hear a no or you communicate what else you’d rather have me do, I’m amusing myself with this perfect arse of yours.”
Slowing the thrusts of his hips, he starts to gently stroke his thumb back and forth over the sensitive knot of flesh. Around and around, over and down, he fondles it as I try to decide if it’s amazing or if I’m going to buck and kick him under the chin.
After a few breathless moments, I go with amazing.
When he feels me relax, he growls, “Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous. My sweet girl. I’d kill an army for you. I’d burn down empires and lay all their gold at your feet.”
I shudder and squeeze my eyes shut, hiding my face in the blankets so he can’t see how much I love it when he talks like that. How deeply it affects me.
He breaches the knot of muscle and slides his thumb inside me, shushing me with softly spoken words when I gasp. It takes a moment for me to relax into it, but then I’m pushing back against his hand and he’s growling his approval.
He reaches around with his other hand and strokes my throbbing clit.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says, his voice husky.
I answer without thinking. “More. I want more. I want all of you.”
I meant to say “it,” but “you” slipped out instead. There’s a subtle difference in meaning, and he doesn’t miss it.
“And you’re gonna get all of me, wife,” he says, fucking me harder. “Now come on my cock.”
He tugs on my clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure throughout my entire body. Panting, I groan into the blankets, my face hot from hearing the sounds we make as our bodies slap together.
Through gritted teeth, he says, “You feel like silk. Wet, hot silk. Christ. Come, baby. Come for me.”
With my hard nipples dragging against the covers and his finger and cock filling me up, I orgasm with a sob.
He moans. The motion of his hips falters. His thrusts turn slow and then stop altogether as I clench and convulse around his girth.
He whispers, “Oh, fuck, viper. I can feel that. That’s fucking amazing. You’re coming so bloody hard.”
I sob again, jerking, my body completely out of my control. I feel boneless, like the only thing holding me up is the huge throbbing member I’m convulsing around.
He moves the hand that’s gripping my hip farther up my body, sliding it under my breast so he can fondle it and pinch my nipple. I buck back against him, begging for more.
A dark laugh in his voice, he says, “You like it when I play with your nipples as I’m fucking you, don’t you? You like my cock, and you like to come for me when I tell you to, because you’re perfect and you’re gorgeous and you’re all fucking mine.”
I don’t understand how we got here.
I can’t comprehend that this man growling all these filthy things is my husband. I can’t grasp the enormity of any of it, because only this morning, I was bracing myself to send Lili off into her married life, but now I’m here, facedown on a hotel bed, getting railed by a sexy, crazy Irishman who I don’t even like.
Or at least I’m telling myself I don’t.
The alternative is unimaginable.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I burst into tears.
I bury my face in the blankets and wail like a newborn baby, pounding my fist against the mattress because I hate myself for it so much.
Then I’m not facedown anymore, because I’m somehow sitting up in Quinn’s arms and he’s rocking me, murmuring into my hair.
“It’s okay, lass. You’re safe here with me. You’re safe.”
He squeezes those big arms around me, holding me tight. I cry all over his chest, hiding my face and burning with shame as I cling to him helplessly. I’m curled up in his lap with his legs crooked around me, so his whole body is curved around mine.
“I’m s-sorry.”
Cupping my head in one hand, he exhales and kisses my shoulder. “Don’t be a bloody idiot. You don’t have to apologize.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
He chuckles. “I’ll tell you what happened. I dazzled the swamp witch with my dick, she fell under a sleeping spell, and the real you woke up for the first time in centuries.”
Sniffling, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and heave a ragged sigh. “God, you’re an arrogant ass.”
He nuzzles my neck, whispering, “But I’m right.”
He’s right about one thing at least. I do feel safe in his arms. Safe, warm, and like an absolute, undignified moron.
What kind of woman cries during sex?
I’ll tell you what kind: a weak one.
In all the years Enzo abused me, I never allowed myself to cry until afterward, when he’d left me alone and bleeding.
“Lass.”
“Yes, Quinn?”
“We’re gonna need to do more talking.”
Exasperated, I say, “Right now?”
He pauses. “No. After I feed you and give you a bath.”
“I don’t need food or a bath.”
He lifts my chin and forces me to look up at him. In a gentle but firm voice, he says, “No, you need a lot more than that, but for the moment, you’re going to let your husband take care of your basic needs, and you’ll do me a big bloody favor if you’ll keep that forked tongue in your mouth until I’m finished. Understood?”
“Why are you being so damn bossy?”
He growls, “You’re wearing my ring. Your well-being is my responsibility. It’s my job to take care of you now. I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. Got it?”
My lower lip quivers until I bite down on it. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I simply nod.
He takes my face in his hands, kisses both of my wet cheeks one after the other, then says gruffly, “Good. Now get your sweet arse under the covers and lie here quietly like a good girl until I come back.”
Without waiting for me to reply, he peels the covers back, rolls us over so I’m lying down, stands, then pulls the blankets up under my chin. He fluffs the pillow under my head, kisses me on the forehead, and strolls away, whistling.
I close my eyes and pray for a sudden brain embolism.
Death is preferable to having to live with this new, weepy version of me.
Quinn picks up the phone and orders room service. I don’t listen to the words, only to the low, soothing cadence of his voice. After he’s done with the call, he switches on music, using a remote he found on the console under the television. That’s soothing, too. Some kind of Spanish guitar. Then he disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running.
It could also be the sound of my sanity pouring out my ears.
In a few moments, he’s back, naked, bending over me. “Food’ll be here in thirty,” he murmurs, pulling the blankets down. “Which is plenty of time for a bath.”
He picks me up and heads to the bathroom, carrying me in his arms.
I rest my head on his shoulder and say to his chin, “I’m trying not to be impressed by how easily you can carry a grown woman, but I have to admit, this is something else.”
He scoffs. “You barely weigh an ounce.”
“I weigh a few thousand ounces, as a matter of fact. Wait, were we talking about your brain?”
Grinning, he shoots me a sideways glance. “Ah, the swamp witch awakens. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Hullo, She Devil.”
“Hello, Spider-man. You’re much taller in real life than you look in the comics.”
“There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I’m sure.”
“You only think that because you’re obsessed with yourself.”
Chuckling, he sets me on my feet next to the bathtub. Pulling me against his body, he gives me a firm, closed-mouth kiss. Then he points at the water. “Get in.”
When I send him a hard stare, he smiles.
“Please get in.”
“Woof.” I step into the water, wincing because it’s hot, but the sting fades quickly, and I sink down with a grateful sigh, closing my eyes.
Quinn murmurs, “Scoot up, sweetheart.”
I bend forward. He lowers himself into the tub behind me, causing the water to rise dangerously high. He settles himself in, stretching his legs out on either side of me, then wraps his arms around me and pulls me back against the solid wall of his chest.
He rests his chin on top of my head and gives me a squeeze.
We’re silent for a while, just sitting together in the hot water, until he says in a thoughtful tone, “What if we get you a house?”
I wait for him to explain. When he doesn’t, I say, “For what, my collection of crowns made of human femurs?”
“I don’t think we could find a place so big. No, I meant for you.”
“For me to do what?”
“To live in.”
Frowning, I twist my neck and stare up at him.
He swipes a thumb under my eye. It comes away black with smudged mascara. He dips his fingers in the water and repeats it on the other side, cleaning off what must be an unsightly mess on my face made from the tears mingling with makeup.
Very gently, he says, “You said you’d never lived alone. That you went straight from your father’s house to…his.”
His eyes flash with hatred when he says “his,” but he quickly goes on.
“What would you think about getting a place of your own?”
“I don’t think I’m understanding the question.”
“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’ll force you to live with me.”
I stare at him in open-mouthed surprise.
“Don’t pull such a puss. I’m not that much of a caveman. Now turn around and let me fondle you while you think of clever insults.”
He grasps my jaw in his hand and faces my head forward. Then he sweeps all my hair off to one side and kisses my neck as he reaches around and cups my breast in his huge hand.
“Not live with you?” I say faintly. “Were you planning on doing that with Lili, too?”
He snorts. “Christ, no. I doubt the wee lass even knows how to feed herself. Seems like she’d require round-the-clock care, like a puppy.”
I’m about to argue with him, but recall the times she nearly burned the house down attempting to cook, and think better of it.
“You, on the other hand.” He chuckles again, now cupping both my breasts in his hands and pulling gently on my nipples. “Can take care of yourself.”
“But…you don’t want to live with me?”
He pauses his caressing to say in a husky voice, “Aye. I do. But more than that, I don’t want you to be miserable.”
I’m overwhelmed by the generosity of that offer. Stunned and overwhelmed, and not altogether believing, because how on earth would something like that even work?
“Quinn…I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to know. Just think about it.”
Massaging my breasts, he hums with pleasure. Powered by an internal nuclear reactor that never goes offline, his erection digs into my lower back.
He says, “Oh, but don’t think you’d be off on the other side of the city or anything. I’d buy you a house right next door to mine.”
That makes me smile. “Naturally.”
“I’d probably have connecting doors put in to join the bedrooms, too.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Sliding his hands down my rib cage, he squeezes my hips, then slips his hands between my legs. Kneading the tender flesh on my inner thighs, he murmurs, “You can’t blame me, lass. You’re a goddamn wet dream. You’re perfection. Every time I look at you, I think I could go blind.”
My heart expanding painfully, I say, “I’m quite average-looking, actually. You just have a thing for mouthy swamp witches.”
He breathes, “God, how I do,” and sinks a finger inside me.
I turn my head. He takes my mouth, kissing me deeply as he works his finger in and out and plays with my breasts, going back and forth between them.
“You’re trembling again.”
“And you’re talking again. What a surprise.”
Our faces are only an inch apart. He stares down at me, his hazel eyes soft and warm. A lock of hair falls across his forehead. I reach up and brush it away, my lids drifting lower as he lazily strokes his fingers over my clit.
He says, “Tell me about these romance novels of yours.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested to know what you like about them.”
I think for a moment as he gently pinches a nipple and my clit at the same time. The feeling is incredible. Which he knows, because he’s intently watching my face from one inch away.
In a breathy voice, I say, “I guess I like that they’re written for women. The whole world is made to please the male gaze, but romance novels only care about what we want. What we need. They’re specifically for our pleasure. Some of the stories are great escapist fantasies.”
He looks intrigued. “Maybe we should reenact one of these fantasies. What’s your favorite type of storyline?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Reverse harem.”
His brows draw together. “What the bloody hell is reverse harem?”
“Where one female has multiple male sexual partners.”
He freezes. His nostrils flare. His lips thin, and a dangerous glint appears in his eyes.
He growls, “Two things you should know about me. One: What’s mine is mine. Two: I don’t share. Three: See numbers one and two, woman.”
I laugh. “God, you’re easy to provoke. I was only teasing you.”
His outraged stare indicates he doesn’t find my teasing at all amusing.
“Okay, Mr. Jealous and Possessive, you can stop glaring at me now.” I press a gentle kiss to his thinned lips and say more softly, “I have no desire to have multiple men at a time. In real life, they’d all be more concerned about comparing the size of their dicks than pleasing me. And I’m happy that you don’t want to share, but I could do without the over-the-top alpha-male possessiveness.”
A rumble of displeasure goes through his chest, but he doesn’t say anything.
Smiling, I whisper, “And you claim to not be a caveman.”
He snaps, “I said I wasn’t that much of a caveman, not that I wasn’t one at all.”
My smile grows wider. I lounge against him, ridiculously satisfied by everything about this conversation.
“Don’t gloat,” he warns, nipping at my lower lip.
“It’s just that I’ve never had such a beautiful man act so crazy over me before.”
When he lifts his brows and drawls, “Oh, really?” I know I’ve made a huge mistake.
I close my eyes and heave a sigh. “Go ahead. Get it over with.”
“It’s just that I could’ve sworn I heard you call me…what was it again?”
I mutter, “Impossible.”
“No, that wasn’t it. Hmm.” He pretends to think. “It could’ve been beautiful. But perhaps I’m mistaken? Maybe I need you to say it again.”
“Or maybe you need to go find a speeding car to jump in front of.”
He slides his hand up my chest and encircles my throat with gentle pressure from his fingers. I open my eyes to find him gazing at me with such burning intensity, it makes me catch my breath.
His voice low and his eyes hypnotic, he commands, “Say it, viper. Tell me what you think of me.”
The way he’s wrapped around my body—legs, arms, and that big rough hand around my neck—should make me feel panicked. Or cornered, at least. Like a hunted fox, staring down its bloody end.
But all I feel is sheltered.
Secure.
As if his body is a shield instead of a weapon that could do me harm. For the first time in my life, a man feels not like war to me, but like home.
I gaze up into his eyes as an ancient calcified rock melts to warmed butter in the center of my chest.
Then I admit something truly horrifying.
“I think you’re a brilliant golden sun in a sky that’s only ever known the black and starless night.”
Through parted lips, he exhales a slow, astonished breath. His burning eyes could light the whole city on fire. When he touches my mouth, his fingers tremble.
I’m rescued from the feeling that I’m about to leap off a terrifyingly high cliff ledge and plunge headlong into a bottomless abyss when room service knocks on the door.
