Jory Strong: Inked Destiny

“No.” He touched his mouth to lips still glistening from the press of Eamon’s mouth to them. “Never.”

“Never say never.”

“So you told me once before and now I’m wearing your ink. When it comes to you, I seem to be a slow learner.” His tongue teased the seam of her lips and desire coiled hot and tight in her belly, spilling downward to her cunt.

“A slow learner, are you sure about that?” She opened for him, enticing him to enter her mouth so her lips could clamp down on his tongue and with a suck, gain the instant reward of feeling him harden against her stomach.

Hands speared into her hair on a moan, his fingers tangling there as her own combed through the luxurious dark mat on his chest and found a tiny male nipple. A brush of fingertips against it, the tug and twist of possession had his mouth leaving hers to say, “We’ll make this work, Etaín. No regrets.”

No regrets . She wanted it to always be that way, but she feared…

“Say it, Etaín,” he demanded.

“No regrets.” How could she have them? She’d needed him in her life all along, though she rarely admitted to feelings of loneliness.

Love, it swelled inside her, fierce and tender at the same time, and she wanted to give him pleasure, to express it in a way that would have him crying out in ecstasy.

He moaned in protest when she took her mouth from his, fingers tightening in her hair in a demand that she return.

“Let me,” she murmured against his ear, detouring there for the quick brush of lips and dart of tongue.

His hips lifted off the mattress, hard cock driving against mound and clit and abdomen, distracting her from her intentions.

“Maybe I should make you come on my belly,” she said, rubbing her clit against his length, fiery sensation streaking to her toes so they curled against soft sheets. “Isn’t that a popular male fantasy? To come on a woman’s pussy and breasts?”

His hands left her hair to grip her ass as she continued to rub and grind against his cock. “Have you been watching porn?”

She laughed. “I don’t need to now that I have you and Eamon.”

He gave a low growl at the mention of Eamon, tried to lift and settle her onto his cock. She resisted, feminine satisfaction a hot spread through her chest when she felt the spasm of his cock against her belly, the tip wet now with arousal, the musky, intoxicating scent of desire making her fight herself as well as him.

He shifted their positions so penetration became impossible, turning her into the one with the fierce need to come instead of the siren who’d wanted him to.

She moved, breath catching with each strike, each press and rub of her clit to his cock.

“Put your mouth on me,” she pleaded, hands leaving his hair to cup her breasts, to squeeze and twist and tug nipples tightened into knots of ache.

His nostrils flared. His hunger intensifying the desire. “Say please.”

“Please.” It was whispered feminine submission.

His smile was a flash of victory. “Another night I’m going to make you beg even prettier.”

“And another still, I’ll make you do the same.”

He laughed, a man anticipating rather than one afraid. “You can try.”

His mouth replaced her fingers to suck, each pull making her channel clamp and release, clamp and release.

Her head went back, eyes closing as her movements quickened, her clit swollen, erect, a throbbing center of pleasure between her thighs.

Her breath came in short pants. Arousal streamed from her slit, wetting him, wetting her inner thighs.

His breath was equally ragged, his mouth savage, inflicting heated torment with tugs and bites to her nipple, with the swirl of his tongue and hungry sucking.

The hands gripping her pulled her lower body more tightly to his. Hers was not the only frantic movement.

He thrust against her, freed her nipple to say, “Fuck, Etaín. Fuck, you make me crazy.”

“Good.” She didn’t want to be alone in her addiction, didn’t want to be the only one made helpless by a craving that intensified rather than abated.

Good . That single word echoed through Cathal like a challenge, like a red flag waved in front of a bull.

From the very first she’d had him by the cock, and now she held him with her ink, by magic. No regrets. It was the absolute truth, but he’d show her just what type of man she’d bound to her.

“Come for me,” he growled, his balls hard and tight with the need to do the same, his hands changing the angle where their bodies touched. Her clit a hot firm knob he worked against his cock, exulting in each of her whimpers, in the way she touched herself, fingers reclaiming nipples.

She was totally uninhibited. A goddess dedicated to pleasure. So sensuous he fought against lifting her, filling her and pounding into her until release took him.

“Come for me,” he said, grinding against her, watching her face flush as orgasm claimed her, giving her those moments before he lifted and positioned her onto hands and knees.

She went immediately to her elbows, canting her hips and spreading her thighs to reveal a glistening pink slit and plump folds, an offer so primal and carnal he gripped his cock to keep from immediately covering and thrusting inside her.

He was in control here. Not her.

Reaching out, he traced the seam between her buttocks, gave a husky laugh when her ass cheeks clamped in instinctive denial. He hadn’t taken her there, yet . But he wanted to, he would. The driving urge to claim and dominate lying just below the surface was a lesson he’d learned about himself thanks to her.

He traced the seam again, fingers slick with arousal coating the puckered rosette of her back entrance. “Maybe next time I’ll fuck you here. Are you going to say no?”

She shivered, erotic fear, anticipation, he didn’t know which, but it had fire streaking through his cock, everything inside him screaming for him to join his body to hers.

“Maybe I’ll say yes because I want you both inside me at the same time.”

It was his turn to react with instinctive denial, an automatic response to any allusion to Eamon. He did it with the thrust of his cock through parted cunt lips and into wet, tight heat. With pounding movement, a furious beat meant to eradicate her need for anyone but him.

She rocked backward, meeting his thrusts, driving him deeper. She took him as he took her, the sound of flesh against flesh accenting his low grunts. The feel of his balls hanging heavy and full between his thighs, striking her clit and making her cry out, filled him with savage possessiveness and feelings of power.

He staved off orgasm until hers was done, one last masculine victory before pleasure rendered him helpless, before semen jetted through his cock to fill her and the two of them collapsed to the mattress, bodies still joined.

Eamon stood as Liam escorted Etaín’s brother and father into the room. He’d expected the one but not the other. He had reservations about both, given the way they’d used Etaín’s gift over the years, exposing her to danger and seemingly unaware and unconcerned about what the use of it cost her.

Both men were dressed casually, expensively. He would have preferred to delay this particular meeting but the contact was as inevitable as the impending confrontation.

“Parker,” Eamon said, acknowledging the FBI agent who remained alive only because he couldn’t be certain Etaín’s brother had meant to make her the Harlequin Rapist’s target. “Captain Chevenier.”

The men claimed side-by-side chairs. Eamon sat across from them while Liam lounged in the doorway, interested audience and lethal bodyguard.